#I was looking at a scan team’s feed

[obstinaterixatrix]

this one’s interesting, the main character is a bookbinder who wandered into supernatural stuff and now ghosts and demons love showing up around him, each chapter is him experiencing Something Spooky and I like how atmospheric the art is

it’s gen but the protagonist is gay and has a one-sided crush on an old professor who loves collecting supernatural stuff. ghosts hate showing up around him, so he’s very amped to hang out with the main character

I’m enjoying it so far, there’s been a couple of visuals that have made me go ‘eugh’

[ecrivainsolitaire]

Humans have the capability of perceiving when they're being stared at, even if they can't see it.

Dr. T'Chem was staring at Lieutenant /θkɡɾɑːˈŋæ/ (or as his current fling affectionately nicknamed her, "Tucker-Annie"), whose dorsal spikes were still rattling after the incident at the holodeck. It was his first time at the witness stand, and he didn't want to ruin a young star sailor's life.

Lieutenant Tucker-Annie was the combat specialist in charge of the training dojo of Federation Vessel TSN457, named after the Terra-Saturn-Ceres coalition where Dr. T'Chem currently served as the xenoanthropologist charged with facilitating human integration to the local Federation of Fraternal Planets and Satellites. The FFPS had the goal of finding planets with intelligent life to trade resources and technology, and due to their recent incorporation, local research vessels were fitted with diverse crews to acclimate everyone to each other's cultures and biological needs. Dr. T'Chem was the human expert in the ship, and was tasked with helping smooth over interpersonal relations among the crew.

The relations were, at that moment, as bumpy as Lt. Tucker-Annie's dorsal spike line.

An incident had occurred during a training exercise. The squad consisted of a Venusian, two Saturnians, three Ceresians, two monks from the Transcorporeal Temple of Robotic Ascension, and five Terrans (two humans, two dogs and a cybernetically enhanced cat). The exercise consisted of getting through a generic jungle scenario and, unbeknownst to the squad, avoiding a team of ninjas lead by Lt. Tucker-Annie trying to take them out one by one. It was supposed to test the way they would react to a surprise attack.

It was not supposed to reveal that humans could sense when they were being stalked.

Of course, any trained sailor would have an ingrained knowledge of potential threats and how to spot them. Look for the shadows that are too dark, listen for the spot air isn't blowing from, things like that. Basic things most people don't think about but that can be identified if you think about them.

This was not that.

"Something's watching us," said Crew Johnson, in that sloppy way only creatures with lips spoke.

"What do you mean? There's cameras everywhere, of course they're watching us," responded Crew Hessikh, slithering over the vines on a tree branch to cross a river. She grabbed the axe in Crew Johnson's belt with her telekinesis and took down a small tree to serve as a bridge.

"Crew Flufflepaws, could you please take a look?" Asked Crew Johnson, nervously looking around. Crew Flufflepaws got on the tree as well and scanned the terrain from above.

"I can't see anything, or smell anything. And my hearing isn't what it used to be. I'll stay on the lookout for—" a horrendous hiss interrupted the automatic translator's feed. Crew Flufflepaws' comm line cut off.

Hessikh and Johnson looked at each other. That was the strongest fighter of their team, gone. They knew it was a simulation, but it still gave them chills.

The rest of their crew mates were split into two different teams further along the path. Crew Fanning's voice came from the comm line.

"Johnson, Hessikh, are you okay? What happened to Flufflepaws?"

"We don't know, Johnson said something was watching us and it went to check, then we lost comms."

"I felt it too. I know this isn't that kind of exercise but I think— AAAHHH!"

Two blaster shots were heard, then a thud.

Lieutenant Tucker-Annie, who was watching Hessikh and Johnson from the mud pit behind the latter, had her tranquilizer dart ready. She got ready to shoot down Hessikh, but then heard a voice over the comm line.

"Code Lithium, we have a Code Lithium, we have to end the simulation, I just took down- I can't-" the breathing was sounding heavier and faster, too fast for a human.

"Fanning, calm down, remember your sutras. We need you focused, what happened?"

"I felt like I was being watched, so I turned around and saw this thing and it scared me and I jumped and I thought it was on stun mode and-"

"It's alright, we're calling it off. Captain, we have a Code Lithium! End the simulation now or- fuck, there it is again. Hessikh, do you see any heat sources?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary- why haven't they shot it down alre-"

The next thing Lieutenant Tucker-Annie remembered was the sound of a heel turn over the mud, followed by darkness.

Lt. Tucker-Annie woke up in the hospital bay, getting her tail regenerated by a robot nurse. She looked over and found her underling on the next bed, with a huge bandage on the side of his neck and a wing in a cast. Thankfully, he would be alright as soon as the stem cell bank was reprogrammed after her treatment.

The disciplinary board was called, an investigation was open, and both Crew Fanning and their captain were put on paid leave while the investigation was ongoing. Dr. T'Chem was called in as an expert after a review of the holodeck footage revealed there was no way Crew Fanning could have heard, seen or smelled the hidden sailor.

It was the first time in a while he hadn't helped himself to a glass of Venusian whiskey for breakfast. He really didn't want to mess this up.

"And would you care to explain how this is possible, Doctor?" Asked the prosecution, staring him down with an unnerving amount of eyes.

"I am as astounded as this court; our firm has been looking into Terran medical literature and we're still trying to figure out how it works; they don't even know, but they know it does happen, it's been documented for thousands of years. I have a hypothesis, but I don't know if it's even testable."

There was a murmur in the court. The judge asked him to elaborate.

"The way eyesight works is the light bounces off of opaque bodies and in its way it collides with the lenses in our corneas, which send it to the brain as electrical signals to be interpreted. The light that doesn't go into our eyes just bounces off our bodies and other opaque objects as well, the photons go everywhere and anywhere. This is the same for most species in this constellation, including humans. But even other Terran species don't have these abilities, as Crew Flufflepaws has testified."

A begrudging meow was heard from the audience.

"Order in the court, please. Dr. T'Chem, what do you suggest is the origin of this mysterious sense?"

The camera drones all hoovered around him. Dr. T'Chem straightened his fins and got close to the microphone.

"I believe it's possible that humans have a sense of touch so sensitive that they can feel the photons that don't bounce back. The ones that go into an eye instead of an opaque body. I think humans can actually feel in their skin when they are being watched."

There was an uproar in the crowd. His paramour, a dark skinned young human from the human settlement known as "Colombia", grabbed the religious symbol on her necklace and made a gesture with it he hadn't quite figured out yet.

The trial had to go on recess.

The implications were incalculable. Three dozen biologists from six different planets, including Terra, had emailed him before the end of the day to ask him to justify himself. Multiple human religious leaders took the chance to link it to demonic possession or moral evils. By the end of the week, four different labs were trying to figure out a way to double blind test shooting a photon cannon on a human's back and trying to get them to sense it.

But most importantly, the news made it outside of the Federation. The rumours about this new species that couldn't be stalked got so far, it ended up affecting the outcome of a border conflict with the Betelgeuse Libertarian Army on the Federation's favour.

Humans were terrifying.

If this is what they evolved to be, what was their planet like?

[yazmarina]

feed your misery

oscar piastri x afab!reader, side lando x reader

oscar already feels as if he's taken everything away from lando. what's one more?

warnings/notes: smut, slight (?) angst, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is fwb with lando, post-hungary 2024

a/n: everything i write for this goddamn race is partly sad. but this is also sexy. i hope it's sexy enough :')

"Hey, race winner."

Oscar whips his head around, momentarily confused. He immediately grins upon seeing you, though he tries to conceal it, his face settling into a polite smile instead.

But you spot it, despite his fireproofs covering the majority of his neck. The deep blush creeping up to his face is just barely visible over the collar.

You stopped him just outside of his driver's room, his helmet in his hand and his race suit hanging off around his hips. He smells strongly of champagne and his hair is slicked back from all the liquor drenching it.

"Hey yourself," Oscar responds coolly, opening the door to his room.

"Congratulations again," you reply, your neck craning upward as you try to meet Oscar's eyes.

"Thanks," Oscar says, eyes scanning over your face.

"New hair?" He goes on to ask, tilting his head to the side to study you closer.

You nod. "Yep. I thought today might be special so I did something different with it. And, it turns out, today was special, with you winning and all."

You end your sentence with an innocent bat of your eyes as you grin girlishly up at Oscar.

Oscar bites down on his lip, forehead creasing, as if deep in thought, After a few more moments, he jerks his chin inward, gesturing you inside.

"Why don't you come in?"

You pause, glancing around to see if anyone from the team is nearby. You've never been inside either Lando or Oscar's room in the motorhome, despite the...situations you've found yourself in with Lando before. He always preferred to have you in highly private places, and you understand why.

Not that you were expecting anything to happen with Oscar at this moment, that would just be in bad taste, as if it wasn't bad enough that a press officer was sleeping with–

"You okay?" Oscar asks, already inside, his eyebrows raised. Your hesitation dawns on him quickly enough and his lips meld into a smirk.

"Why? Scared that Lando might see you?" he adds, depositing his helmet on top of his massage table.

You scoff, stepping into the small space of his driver's room. The door clicks shut behind you and Oscar just stares, waiting for you to say something.

"Why would I be scared of Lando?" You ask, a hand on your hip as if to challenge the driver.

"Well, you should be," Oscar warns with a laugh. "He's not in the best mood right now."

"And whose fault is that?" You question.

"Not mine," Oscar deadpans, expression turning serious. You pause, realizing that you've hit a sensitive subject matter.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," you quickly apologize, pursing your lips.

Oscar chuckles and shrugs. "It is what it is."

"Though, seeing you might help him, you know...blow off some steam," Oscar continues, giving you a pointed look.

You force yourself to meet his eyes. "But I wanted to see you."

Oscar blinks, his mouth falling open at your admission. He snickers, as if in disbelief.

"Did the two of you fight or something?" Oscar mildly accuses.

"No, it's just...I thought it would be better if I left him alone for a bit," you explain. "Like you said, he doesn't seem too happy at the moment."

Oscar doesn't respond. He just looks, taking in the sight of you. You'd kill to know what's running through his head right now, with the way his eyes travel down your body. The urge to fidget with your McLaren uniform is strong, your skin growing warm under his hardened gaze.

"And you thought you'd come to me?" Oscar questions. "Like a rebound?"

You pout, but guilt pinches at your chest at his words.

You and Lando were never official, that was clear to you both. You only ever started messing around after his win in Miami, the celebratory dinner and partying leading to you joining him in his hotel room, fraternization clause be damned.

Then it happened again in Imola, and again in his apartment in Monaco. And so it went on like that for weeks, and it was only a matter of time before an unassuming hickey peeking over the collar of your McLaren polo caught Oscar's attention

"Any large mosquitos around here?" Oscar had asked on Thursday afternoon in Barcelona.

You looked up from your tablet, giving Oscar a look as the two of you walked the track. He gestured to his own neck and your hand practically flew up to your throat, your eyes going comically wide.

"That's just an allergy," you lied, ignoring the looks from Oscar's trainer and race engineer.

After the track walk, Oscar chanced upon you alone as you headed back to the motorhome. He fell into step beside you, nudging you lightly.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Oscar asked innocently enough, looking genuinely curious.

Just then, Lando came into view, walking straight towards you from the opposite side of the paddock. He flashed you a smile and a quick wink and all the words you had were lost to the wind. You stuttered, legs stopping altogether, your whole body rooted in place.

Oscar followed your line of sight and audibly laughed.

"No way." Oscar practically giggled. He gave you a long, hard look as you tried to gather back your bearings.

"I thought you were supposed to be my press officer?" Oscar asked teasingly.

"I am," you answered defensively. "What, you want a blowie, too?"

Oscar spluttered, obviously shocked, but he played it off with a nervous laugh.

"I mean, if you're offering," Oscar shot back, head tilted as if to challenge you.

It was your turn to balk at his words, your whole face morphed into surprise.

"Oscar Piastri," you began. "I never took you for one of those guys."

Oscar just shrugged before leaving you standing in the middle of the paddock, dumbfounded.

"I genuinely just wanted to congratulate you," you tell him now, crossing your arms over your chest.

Oscar nods. "You've congratulated me already. Anything else?"

The room falls silent again and you feel your frustration rising. What did you want? Are you so easy that you'd throw yourself at the nearest race winner, hoping that the adrenaline ends in a good fuck? Would you be so callous as to get in between teammates right after a race like that?

As if on cue, Oscar sighs, running a hand over his face.

"I already feel like I've taken something from him. You'd just be the nail in the coffin at this point," Oscar continues, watching you carefully.

You know what he's implying, and you know he's right.

But things have been different with Oscar for the past few weeks after Barcelona and the whole hickey incident. It's as if he refused to let you out of his sight, suspicious of every moment that you aren't in his presence.

'Were you with Lando?'

'Are you going home with him?'

'I'll take you home. No, Lando, really. I got her.'

Which could all mean nothing, really.

But you couldn't be too sure, either. There's a gnawing feeling inside of you, an itch you can't scratch, not until you find out if this is what you think it is.

So, you bite the bullet.

"He doesn't own me, you can't take what isn't his," you state matter-of-factly.

"That's not what I mean," Oscar deflects.

"Then what do you mean?" You press further, tired of whatever this back-and-forth is.

Something flashes across Oscar's face, something you've never seen from this gentle of a human being before.

"If I fuck you right now, will it change anything?" Oscar asks, voice sharp and eyes steely.

You're taken aback by his candor, but it's a relief to hear it outright, finally out in the open. What you both came here for.

"It changes everything," you declare.

Oscar sighs. Then swallows.

His hand reaches for you and before either of you can think much about it, your lips crash into his, your back slamming against the door. You hear the click of the lock and it's like a trigger, the way it strips you of your inhibitions, your hands reaching up to tangle roughly in Oscar's hair.

He licks into your mouth, messy and uncoordinated, but you gasp and pant all the same, relishing in the way he grinds against your thigh.

"Hurry up," you urge as he parts from you, lips attaching to your neck, well above your collar this time.

Oscar merely hums, taking your skin between his lips and suckling hard. You whimper, knees nearly buckling at the sensation.

"Oscar, you can't–"

He pulls away, hooded eyes admiring his handiwork.

"I can. And I just did," Oscar counters, reaching behind you and immediately tugging the zip of your skirt down. The garment falls at your feet and you kick it off to the side.

"You know he'll hate us both for that," you point out, touching right where you know Oscar marked you, a hint of regret in your voice.

You never meant for this to happen. You swear you didn't.

"I'll take my chances," Oscar says with a noncommittal shrug.

He kisses you again, fiery and impatient. Your own hands tug down at his race suit, a frustrated groan erupting from Oscar as he stumbles out of it, undoing his boots in a hurry as he does so.

You're overtaken by the smell of champagne, and you know you'll end up smelling like it too once you're done. Lando would be suspicious. He'd ask. He'd press. He'd beg.

Oscar's bottom fireproofs and underwear are peeled off, leaving him bare from the waist down. Your bottom lip fits between your teeth as you take in what's between his legs.

"Like it?" Oscar asks, voice dropping an octave, pressing himself flush against you. He reaches down and rubs his tip over your clothed cunt.

You gasp, hips bucking forward to meet the sweet friction against your clit. Your whole body rocks with his as you feel yourself swiftly soak through your panties.

"Oh god," you whisper, your fingers digging into Oscar's shoulders.

"So this is what Lando gets after every race," Oscar wonders out loud, taunting you. "This is what you've been keeping from me, huh?"

You shake your head, not trusting yourself enough to speak without stuttering.

"Y-You should've j-just asked," you manage between ragged breaths.

Oscar snickers. "That easy, huh?"

Before you could reply, you're pulled away from the door and shoved towards the massage table. You catch yourself, grabbing at the edge before you can topple over.

"Bend over," Oscar commands, palm flat against your back. He's not pressing you down, his expression stern but cautious.

You can refuse.

You do as you're told, laying your torso flat on the table. Oscar tugs your underwear down, letting it fall to your ankles before you sweep it away with your foot. You arch up as best as you can, just as you know Lando likes, and Oscar curses under his breath.

"Oh, muscle memory," Oscar jokes, aligning his cock with your entrance.

You huff, intending to bite back, but your words cut short when you feel Oscar sheath himself inside you, agonizingly slow, stretching you out completely.

"Fuck," you sob into your hand, a slight burn between your legs.

"You're okay," Oscar reassures, pulling back before fitting back in. The second time is less of a shock but you squeeze your eyes shut nonetheless, still not accustomed to Oscar's size.

"I got you," Oscar supplants. He leans down to kiss your shoulder.

"So good. So good for me."

You let out a breath, your body easing up as Oscar gently takes hold of your hips, going out and back in for a third time. It's easier now and you blink away the tears that have gathered in your eyes.

"Yeah?" He asks, burying his nose in the fabric your polo as he peers at your face. You gaze back at him as best as you can, given the awkward angle, your heart clenching as you catch him looking, eyes shining, even in the dim lighting of the room, imploring you, wide and vulnerable.

You nod.

"Yeah."

Oscar tightens his hold on you and slams his hips against yours harshly. He's relentless, setting up a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Oh my god," you gasp, voice garbled with how hard Oscar's going.

All you hear from Oscar is his shallow intake of breath, an occasional grunt when you clench particularly hard. The massage table squeaks beneath you, and you hold on for dear life as you feel your knees tremble.

It's a dizzying feeling to have Oscar this close to you, something you never thought you'd experience. And predictably, you can't help but think of Lando, somewhere out there, maybe even in the next room over, hearing you gasp and moan over Oscar's cock.

This is so fucked. This is unfair.

You whine when you feel Oscar push particularly hard inside, burying himself impossibly deep as you clench and clench and clench.

"Christ," Oscar mutters, thrusting into you shallowly. "I'm not gonna last."

You whimper, reaching behind you. Oscar grips your wrist, using your arm to anchor himself as he tugs you backward. You lift slightly off the table, the new angle allowing him to reach even deeper. His other hand remains locked holding onto your waist.

You know you look absolutely debauched right now, Oscar fucking you from behind like some bitch, in your uniform, no less. It sends your brain into a frenzy, knowing what this means, what it will mean after.

It doesn't take long before Oscar's rapid movements stop, his dick twitching between your walls, his cum spilling inside. He immediately lets go of your arm and you slump forward, exhausted.

Oscar drags his cock in and out a few more times, riding out his orgasm. You feel some of him drip out of you and you both groan simultaneously.

"Don't step in it," you warn weakly. You try to straighten up, your legs quivering from the effort.

Oscar maneuvers around the mess before bracing an arm around your waist and helping you up on the massage table. You watch as he bustles about, looking for tissues, handing you a few once he finds the box.

He retrieves your underwear from the floor and offers it to you.

"Was that too much?" Oscar asks, surprisingly tender.

You pause, unsure what to make of his question. It's nice that he's asking, but not something you expected.

"No," you say with a shake of your head. You push yourself off the table before hurriedly pulling your panties back on.

You can feel Oscar's gaze on the back of your head as you grab your skirt, dressing yourself silently.

"Are you gonna tell him?" Oscar presses. You turn to look at him.

"No. It doesn't matter, anyway," you reason. "We're not doing this again."

Oscar seems genuinely surprised at this. He catches himself and nods instead, portraying his understanding.

"It might matter to him, though," Oscar suggests.

You shrug weakly.

"I'll deal with it."

[reidmarieprentiss]

No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself. 

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster. 

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?” 

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own. 

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you. 

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable. 

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling. 

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you." 

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth. 

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter. 

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open. 

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[kairawrites]

first match.

author's note: first story I am sharing. please let me know if you want more for jude.

🌺masterlist🌺

pairing: jude bellingham x singer!reader

kiss prompt: Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

summary: After a nasty breakup and a smear campaign by your vengeful ex, your PR team goes into hyperdrive, searching for a way to salvage your reputation as you finalize your sophomore album. To reclaim your title as America's sweetheart, you reluctantly agree to 'date' footballer Jude Bellingham. After a successful and perfectly planned meet-cute, you realize the plan might actually work. To keep the rumor mill spinning, Jude invites you to Madrid to watch him play.

You sit stiffly in the plush leather chair, your gaze fixed on a random spot on the far wall. The spacious office of your record label, with its panoramic view of Los Angeles, feels more like a cage than a refuge. Your fingers toy absentmindedly with a loose thread on your sweater, the silence in the room heavy with unspoken tension. Last night was another sleepless one, your mind spinning with the chaos of the last few months.

The door creaks open, and Lara, your manager, strides in with her usual brisk efficiency. But it’s the man following her who catches you off guard. Tall and athletic, with a calm self-assurance, he immediately seems different from anyone you usually deal with during one of Lara’s many SOS meetings.

Unlike the man next to him, who wears a suit, he’s dressed in a well-fitted navy blackbomber jacket over a crisp white T-shirt, adding a casual yet polished touch. His dark jeans are tailored to fit just right, and his sneakers are sleek and clean, hinting at their designer pedigree without being overtly flashy. A simple silver chain peeks out from beneath his shirt. He wears a black fitted cap that he removes as he scans the room. His dark curls are neatly styled, and his eyes are a striking shade of deep brown—intense and thoughtful.

You turn to Lara, your irritation evident. “You didn’t say we were meeting with another artist. I’m not doing a feature with a random guy.”

Lara, however, ignores your protest, her focus on the two men before her. “Y/N, this is Jude Bellingham,” she introduces the young man with an upbeat, professional tone. She motions for you to stand. Doing so, you quickly shake his hand before sinking back into your chair. “Jude, meet Y/N.”

“Pleasure,” Jude grins, his eyes lingering on you as you lift your phone from the table.

Email Hendrix new song. You ignore the calendar notification before placing your phone back onto the table.

You were supposed to submit the new song last week, but it has been rescheduled for the third time. You pinch the bridge of your nose, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation you had zoned out of.

“Thank you for fitting us in during your vacation,” Lara says with a smile as your gaze drifts across the table.

You stare just long enough to take in the polite smile he offers. He’s handsome, you note distantly. “What’s your name again?” you ask, your voice flat.

“Jude Bellingham,” he repeats, his voice steady, though you can see the hint of surprise in his eyes.

You nod absently, not hiding your lack of interest. “Never heard of you.”

Lara’s eyes widen, and she quickly looks between you and Jude, an apologetic smile on her face. “I’m so sorry, Jude,” she says hastily. “She’s been…out of the loop for a while. She kinda keeps her head in the sand when working on new music.”

Jude’s lips twitch into a small, amused smile as he takes a seat beside his manager, who has been silently observing the exchange. “No worries,” he says, his tone easygoing.

He attempts to hold eye contact, but your gaze drops as Lara passes you an iPad.

Jude, however, can’t help but stare for a moment longer. He knows exactly who you are. He’s seen the headlines, the endless parade of tabloid articles that have taken over his social media feeds in recent months:

*"America’s Sweetheart Caught Cheating?”*

*"Ryan West’s Heartbreak: Y/N’s Betrayal?"*

*"Ryan West: Played a Fool by Y/N? Singer Dumped After He Helps Secure Her First Grammy!"*

*"From Darling to Villain: The Fall of Y/N."*

The headlines were relentless, painting you as the villain in the messy, public breakup with Ryan West, the wild, playboy singer whose antics are as legendary as his music. Jude had seen the pictures throughout your relationship—snaps of a happy couple slowly morphing to you tearful and exhausted outside of clubs and in the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, Ryan’s angry rants during concerts, and the public’s merciless scrutiny of every detail. The narrative turned on you overnight, casting you as the one who shattered the fairytale, though it’s clear to him now, seeing you in person, that there’s much more to the story.

You’re undeniably beautiful, even though your appearance starkly contrasts with the perfectly curated photos on your Instagram. Your skin glows softly in the muted light of the office, and your long dark locks are pulled back into a simple ponytail. Without makeup, your natural beauty is evident, but there’s a guardedness about you, a weariness that clings to you like a shadow. You’re wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and your lips are set in a firm line. Your dark, eyes remain focused anywhere but on him. You’re present in body but somewhere else in your mind, uninterested in the moment and, by extension, in him.

Lara notices how Jude’s eyes linger on your features, a hint of admiration in his gaze. She gently but firmly pulls your chair closer to hers, her expression shifting to one of urgency. As Jude leans over to better hear his manager speak, Lara shoots you a sharp glare. “Do you really not know who that is?” she hisses quietly. “Didn’t you read the email I sent?”

You shake your head, already annoyed by the direction this conversation is taking.

“He’s one of the biggest footballers in the world right now,” Lara explains. “He’s just finished a fantastic season with Real Madrid and is on vacation after helping his national team reach the finals of the Euros.”

“Throwing out accolades isn’t going to make me suddenly know who this guy is, Lara. I don’t watch soccer—”

“For the love of God, please do not call it that to his face,” Lara winces. “Since you didn’t read my email, here it is. He’s basically a household name for every fan of the sport. This isn’t just some random guy we’re talking about—Jude Bellingham is a huge deal. Kids want to grow up to be him, women want to sleep with him, and men want to be him. This is a massive opportunity, so you need to make this work because, frankly, we don’t have many other options right now. The media has been brutal, and we need to change the narrative.”

Change the narrative–the phrase that has appeared in every text, phone call, email, and conversation with Lara from the past six months. 

You take in her words, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. The last thing you want is to be forced into something like this, but you also know Lara’s right. If this can help you regain some control over the situation, it might be worth it.

“Fine,” you say at last, your voice laced with reluctance. “But let’s keep it simple.”

Lara nods, visibly relieved. Her swift response suggests she’s eager to finalize things before you change your mind. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this started on the right foot.”

You straighten your posture as Lara retrieves a stack of iPads from her purse. Powering the first on, she slides it across the table. Your expression remains guarded as you look at Jude. He seems relaxed, though there’s an air of curiosity about him as he watches you.

Jude clears his throat, attempting to ease the awkwardness. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice steady despite your apparent lack of interest. “I’m actually a big fan of your music.”

“Thank you,” you mutter, barely audible. “And thanks for coming.”

“Y/N, Jude’s team approached us with a proposal that could be mutually beneficial,” Lara explains. “We think it’s a great opportunity for both of you to take control of the media narratives for each of your careers.”

As she begins explaining the details of the contract, you lean forward to start reading it, trying to focus on the terms. You attempt to ignore the brown eyes carefully watching you from across the table by zooming in on the document. You skip each page, focusing on the bolded text. 

**Duration**: The PR stunt relationship will last for six months, giving both parties a clear timeframe for the arrangement. The time can be adjusted to fit the likings of both parties.

**Public Appearances**: Both parties agree to attend a minimum of five public events together, including concerts, charity functions, and social gatherings, to ensure maximum media coverage.

**Social Media Engagement**: Both will make joint social media posts and coordinate public appearances to generate buzz and maintain public interest.

**Media Interviews**: Both parties will participate in at least three joint interviews or promotional activities, designed to keep the media engaged and the narrative active.

**Behavioral Expectations**: Both parties are expected to maintain a positive public image and avoid any controversial behavior that could negatively impact the arrangement.

**Privacy Clauses**: Provisions are included to protect personal boundaries and ensure that certain aspects of your private lives remain confidential.

**Termination Conditions**: The contract includes terms for early termination, specifying any penalties or requirements for ending the arrangement before the agreed-upon end date.

You bite your lip, unable to hold in a nagging thought. You glance at Jude before looking back at Lara. “I don’t date athletes. My fans know that.”

Jude raises an eyebrow, a cheeky grin forming on his lips. “That’s fair. But, well, we’ve seen how it turned out with musicians. You might need to give an athlete a try.”

His smile spreads as he notes the narrowing of your eyes.

“I mean,” you huff directing your attention to Lara. “Won’t people be suspicious if I suddenly fall head over heels with someone like him? He’s not my type.”

“I can be pretty convincing.”

As you approach the security gate, you are greeted by shocked but excited murmurs. Fans recognize you immediately, their phones out, capturing every moment as you present your ticket. You pose for a few quick pictures, deflecting questions about whether you are here specifically to see Jude play. “Just here to enjoy the game!” you say with a smile, trying to stay composed despite the intense scrutiny.

“Follow me,” Toby Bishay, Jude’s best friend, says with a reassuring smile, breaking through your anxious thoughts. His warm smile brings one to your lips. “I’ll show you to your seat.”

“Just stick with Toby,” Jude assured you through a brief text exchange earlier in the morning. “He'll keep an eye on you. Glad you had a safe flight. See you after the match."

You trail after Toby, trying to shake off the feeling of being under a microscope. The perfectly crafted “meet cute,” which happened shortly after your initial meeting, was captured by paparazzi in LA, not taking long to circulate. The rumors exploded, and the world wondered when you’d be spotted together again. The time finally came nearly three weeks later, and now you find yourself on the biggest stage in the football world, every eye on you.

The electric hum of excitement buzzes through Santiago Bernabéu Stadium as you follow Toby through the corridors, the air thick with anticipation. Thousands of fans are already in their seats.

“Have you ever been to a game before?” Toby asks, glancing back at you.

“No, this is my first time,” you admit, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.

“Then you picked a great game for your debut,” Toby says, guiding you through the maze of hallways. “The atmosphere here is insane–unlike anything else.”

You study him as he glances at his phone, wondering how much he knew about the relationship between you and his best friend. 

“Jude pulled out the stops,” he chuckles, pausing to hold the door for you. “Wanted you to have the best seats in the house. Remind me to have him invite you more often.”

As you emerge into the open, the sheer magnitude of the stadium hits you like a tidal wave. The sea of fans stretches out in every direction, a sea of white Real Madrid jerseys and waving flags. The stands are a swirling mosaic of movement and color, with scarves held high and banners flapping in the breeze. The roar of the crowd is overwhelming, a vibrant, pulsating force that envelops you. 

The atmosphere reminds you of your own concerts—the energy, the collective excitement. But it has been a while since you’ve been a member of the crowd instead of the one performing. The memory brings a nostalgic smile to your lips. You hear the crowd chanting in unison, their voices melding together into a powerful wave of sound. “Hala Madrid! Hala Madrid!”  The energy is palpable, a living, breathing entity that seems to resonate with every cheer and chant from the stands.

You look over to find Toby watching you with a grin, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“This is nothing,” he assures you over the roar of the crowd. “Wait till the game starts.”

Toby leads you to your seats, which are positioned near the halfway line, offering an excellent view of the field. You can feel the weight of the crowd’s curiosity pressing down on you as you settle in. 

A flutter of nerves dances in your stomach as you notice the woman next to you widen her eyes. She quickly turns to her boyfriend, whispering something in his ear.

You adjust the jersey you are wearing. It was delivered to your house merely twenty-four hours ago, as you struggled to finish last-minute packing. It came with a note from Jude that read: Gotta look the part.

You instinctively reach up, adjusting the elastic of your ponytail. You remember leaning over the hotel sink, studying your handiwork. The high ponytail was strategic, making it impossible for anyone to miss Jude Bellingham’s name and number prominently displayed across your back.

You sit forward in your seat, your hands gripping the railing as you scan the warm-ups. Your brow furrows once you realize Jude is nowhere in sight. It is strange not to have seen him in person since your first public appearance. Busy with training, he had flown back to Spain while you attempted to work on your album. But the lack of inspiration meant you hadn’t made any progress. In the three weeks since your last meeting, most of your communication has been through text, with a few phone conversations as you worked out the logistics of your visit. His texts were a consistent flood of humor, cheekiness, and a few tidbits of personal information. He didn't seem to mind that your answers weren't nearly as interesting or long as his. He had expected it to take a bit for you to warm up to him. When you'd expressed the struggle with finding inspiration for your new song, he invited you out to Spain for the week.

“Don’t worry about the attention,” Toby says, sensing your discomfort. “Once the game starts, they’ll be too focused on Jude and the action to pay much attention to anything else.”

You nod, trying to take comfort in his words. You pull out your phone and snap a photo of the field as the players warm up. The view is breathtaking—the vibrant green of the pitch, the players stretching and preparing, the energy of the stadium. You carefully consider what to write before deciding to type “Hala Madrid!” and sharing it to your Instagram story.

You instantly close the app, knowing it will only take a few seconds for the post to confirm what the internet is already wondering. Clicking on your messages, you ignore the waiting message from Lara that reads: Remember to smile and cheer for your man!

Instead of responding, you click on Jude’s name. The last message he sent was a simple, No need to say thank you in response to your gratitude for ensuring Toby would be your guide.

You quickly type, Have a great game! before slipping your phone into your purse.

As the game begins, the referee’s whistle pierces through the air, and the match kicks off with a burst of energy that ripples through the stadium. The crowd's collective roar washes over you. Your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation, and you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

As the first half unfolds, Toby leans over, pointing out a few things. “So, Jude’s playing midfield. His job is to control the game—set the pace, connect the defense and attack. Watch how he moves off the ball, too. That’s where he really shines.”

You nod, not entirely sure you understood everything, but appreciating Toby’s effort to make you feel more comfortable. 

At first, you find it hard to focus. The crowd is so loud, so passionate, that it is hard to concentrate on anything else. You’d never seen anything like it—the way the fans were completely engrossed in every pass, every tackle, every near miss. But as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself getting swept up in the atmosphere, your eyes increasingly drawn to Jude.

He is everywhere on the pitch, commanding, graceful, yet powerful. The way he moves, the way he controls the ball, it is almost hypnotic. Toby was right—Jude was something special out there.

“See how he’s always looking around?” Toby points out as Jude receives the ball. “He knows where everyone is before he even touches the ball. That’s what makes him so good—he’s always thinking two steps ahead.”

You nod, your focus entirely on Jude. The noise of the crowd fades into the background as you watch him maneuver through opponents with a grace and precision that’s nothing short of extraordinary. The skill and artistry of his play make it clear why he is so adored by fans.

Suddenly, a collective gasp from the stands jolts you from your trance. Your eyes snap to the field just in time to see Jude being tackled hard. He hits the ground with a thud, and for a brief moment, he lies motionless. Panic grips your chest, a cold wave of fear crashing over you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, clutching the edge of your seat. The stadium seems to hold its breath with you as Jude sits up. Your heart pounds in your chest, your mind racing with worry.

Relief floods over you as Jude grins, pushing himself off the ground. The crowd erupts into cheers, and Jude gives them a reassuring wave. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing.

“Surely that’s a foul,” you glance over to find Toby grinning. 

“That happens a lot,” Toby says with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Jude’s used to not getting calls. He’ll be fine.”

You nod, your eyes following Jude as he moves back to position.

The game progresses, the tension building with each passing minute. As the half winds towards halftime, the tension in the stadium is palpable. Jude makes another run down the field, and you can’t help but feel a knot of anxiety in your stomach. Memories of his earlier tackle flash through your mind, making you hold your breath as you watch his every move. You grip the edge of your seat, your heart racing with anticipation.

Jude skillfully navigates past a defender, and you can barely contain your nerves as he lines up for a shot. The entire stadium seems to hold its breath in a collective gasp as the ball sails through the air. Time seems to slow down in that suspended moment, and your eyes follow the ball as it arches toward the goal.

Then, with a powerful strike, the ball whizzes past the outstretched arms of the goalkeeper and smashes into the back of the net. The stadium erupts in a cacophony of deafening cheers. The sound washes over you like a wave, a mix of joy, relief, and exhilaration. You find yourself on your feet, screaming and jumping up and down, completely swept up in the euphoria of the moment.

Toby pulls you into a hug, the thrill of the goal echoing in your cheers. The crowd's energy is infectious, Jude stumbling forward as his teammates crash into him in excitement. 

As the crowd’s cheers intensify, Jude escapes the huddle and waves to the stands. Your heart skips a beat as you realize he’s jogging in your direction, his eyes locked on yours.

Without hesitation, Jude leans over the barrier and pulls you into a tight hug, his arms securing around your waist and drawing you close. You giggle, maintaining your balance as you feel the heat and sweat of his jersey against your skin. Jude’s embrace is warm and comforting, his grip tightening as his face buries into your neck, and the crowd’s cheers fade into the background.

As you pull back from Jude’s embrace, still breathless from the moment, you can’t help but exclaim, “That was amazing!” Your hands instinctively rest on his cheeks, feeling the warmth radiating from him. "You were--amazing!"

Jude’s smile broadens, a genuine, radiant expression that lights up his face. His eyes lock onto yours with a softness that surprises you. There’s no trace of the cheekiness you expect from him.

“I had to make your first match memorable,” he breathes.

“You did that.”

Jude’s eyes linger on your grin as if savoring the sight. He registers the way your smile lights up your entire face, making you look even more radiant. The warmth and joy in your expression seem to captivate him, making you appear more beautiful than ever. It’s a sight he, and the world, hasn’t seen from you in months, and the pride he feels at making you smile swells beneath his racing heart.

Your smile softens as his grip drifts to your hips. The warmth of his smile seems to draw you closer as if an invisible force is compelling you to bridge the gap. His eyes hold a gentle intensity, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the entire stadium fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared understanding and anticipation.

But the spell is broken as his name rings through the intercom system, forcing you to blink. The deafening roar of excitement from the crowd reminds you of the public nature of the moment. Jude’s gaze shifts briefly to the surrounding commotion, and with a playful grin, he pulls back, his smile still warm but tinged with a hint of mischief.

“So, how about a kiss? It’s definitely what they wanna see.”

"And let me guess, you're a man of the people?"

"So I've been told."

Your eyes roll. Lightly pressing against his shoulders, you arch your brow as his grip remains. Your eyes pass over Jude's shoulder to the players returning to their positions. 

“Maybe if you get another goal.”

“Deal,” he winks, before pulling back with a smirk and jogging back onto the field.

You watch him go, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the moment. As you sink back into your seat, a hand resting on your chest to steady your breath, the realization of the stunt hits you with renewed clarity. It’s all part of the carefully orchestrated PR show. But as you look at Jude rejoining his teammates, a small part of you wonders if there’s something more beneath the surface. The match continues, and you find yourself caught between the excitement of the evening and the nagging reminder of the reality you’re playing in. But you can't help but wonder what will happen if he looks at you like that again during your week in Madrid.

[her-favorite]

SPENCER REID

SPENCER REID X F!BAU!READER

warnings: SMUT, brat!sub!spencer/softdom!reader, needy!spencer

a/n: requested! first spencer fic :))!! still bad at hc’s </3 - i’ll have better spencer fics out i swear 😭 this is bbaddd!! also three fics in one day?? who am i

SYNOPSIS: headcannons of brat!spencer & softdom!reader !!

tags!: none yet cause idk who wants to be!

— ➳ brat!spencer who.. loves to talk back to you. whether it be about a case you and the team were working on or just in general.

“if the unsub targets blondes then maybe it stems from past rel — ” you start, gesturing with your hands as you glance from each team member.

“actually,” spencer starts, index finger pointing forward to gain attention. this was a usual reoccurrence, but the look in his eyes.. he did it on purpose.

— ➸ softdom!reader who.. is as patient as possible with spencer, even when he’s acting out.

— ➳ brat!spencer who.. gives you attitude on purpose, practically asking for a punishment.

“spencer, can you grab that for me?” you ask, reaching your hand out as you keep your gaze on the file before you. your eyes scan the paper, rereading every detail listed.

“no, ‘m’busy.” he replies, long fingers gliding over his own paper as he reads abnormally fast. your head snaps over to him, analyzing his behavior. spencer’s been acting like a brat the entire day - giving you attitude, ignoring you, whatever he knows will set you off. that was your last straw.

making your way over to him, your fingers grasp his chin to make him look up at you as he stays seated in his chair. brown, doe eyes lock with yours, the angle only feeding the faux innocence radiating from him.

“fix your attitude, spencer. you’re asking to be punished.”

— ➸ softdom!reader who.. treats spencer with tolerance until things move to more private places.

— ➳ brat!spencer who.. nags you when wanting attention.

“spencer, not right now.” you mumble, your pen moving along the paper smoothly as you write. there was a deadline for this report and you needed to get it done by tomorrow morning.. but, of course, spencer just so happens to have absolutely nothing to do (for once).

“no,” he whines, digging his face into your neck as he presses wet kisses to the skin. “want you now.” he mumbles, soft lips brushing against you. it was pathetic how tempting he was, even like this - needy.

your opposite hand reaches up to move into his hair, tugging slightly to bring him back. spencer whimpers as his lips part, a shaky exhale leaving them. his eyes meet yours, pure lust swirling in his dark irises.

“behave.”

— ➸ softdom!reader who.. can read spencer like the back of your hand, especially when he’s needy.

— ➳ brat!spencer who.. claims to be unable to take you overstimulating him, but he doesn’t even think about wanting you to stop.

“i.. i can’t!” spencer whimpers, though does nothing to pull away from your grasp. if anything, his hips buck up into your fist, a guttural moan leaving his lips at the action.

“yes, you can.” you hum, still moving your hand along him. his dick was sensitive, as was his entire body - it was obvious. but the way he reacted to your touch was just so addicting. your free hand moves up to gently make spencer nod his head.

“mm.. i can. f.. yes! i can!” spencer moans.

— ➸ softdom!reader who.. secretly loves when spencer acts out just so you can remind him who’s in charge.

the explicit sounds of skin slapping skin echoes through spencer’s bedroom, alerting anyone that could hear what was happening. your nails dig harshly into his shoulders as he whines, eyes scrunched tight beneath fogged glasses.

“such a fucking brat.” you spit, your hips relentless as you move atop him. “you’re being so good f’me now, spence.” you exhale, a soft moan leaving your lips as he only seems to fit deeper inside you. spencer whines at your words, biting his bottom lip as he pants. babbles leave his lips - for once, unable to form coherent sentences.

“i’m good.. m’good, m’good, m’good.”

— ➳ brat!spencer who.. loves eating you out, despite not wanting to follow your rules.

moaning into you, spencer’s tongue explores your most sensitive parts as he eats you out like a man starved. it was borderline animalistic the way he does it - sloppy and messy, unusual to his normal routine, maybe he was just extra needy tonight.

“y’taste so good.” he mumbles into you, whether the words were to you or himself. a moan escapes your throat as he envelops your clit, sucking on the bud as he looks up at you, a curl to his lips. fuck, he looked sinful.

— ➸ softdom!reader who.. praises spencer for the smallest thing just to get a reaction out of him.

you nod as you listen to your boyfriend, absorbing the information he was spewing about the case you guys were currently working on. mentally noting down important aspects, you give him a sweet smile once spencer finishes his rambling.

“thank you, spence. you did so good.” you tell him, picking up a few files. your lips turn up once you hear him sputter, a cough following from his throat. glancing over at him, you smirk.

“did i say something wrong?”

[lizslibrary]

Facade

Summary: Bucky x Reader fic where Reader is sick but decides to go on a mission anyway.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, please comment or critique it; I am always open to suggestions. I also struggled on finding a good ending, so I just decided to leave the rest of the story up to the imagination of the reader. 🥰

Warnings: assassin!reader, Sickness; flu, overexertion, guns, fighting, fainting, Slowburn (Picks up in the end,) angst, fluff, guilt, angry Bucky

Word count: 2,007

---------------------

I lean my back against the side of the jet, trying to appear as normal as possible. We were going on a HYDRA intel mission and I was sick. I knew going on this mission was a bad decision, but I couldn’t let my team down.

 As I took a deep breath, I could feel a pair of eyes watching me; I didn’t even have to look over to know it was Bucky. He stared at me with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted slightly backward. I could tell he knew something was wrong, but I didn’t bother meeting his gaze.

A few minutes later, the plane landed in a remote location, and slowly, the back door dropped with a soft hiss. I unstrapped my seatbelt and hoisted my gun over my shoulder walking down the ramp and into a thick layer of snow. The cold air felt nice against my flushed cheeks, and I sighed as I watched the rest of the team trail out of the jet.

Steve stood confidently as he began giving orders, “Sam and Natasha, patrol the outside; make notes of everyone entering and exiting the compound.” “y/n, Bucky and I will take the inside, working on containing and evacuating evidence that may be crucial to Hydra’s destruction.” Steve stood silent for a moment. “Does everyone understand?” 

Everyone nodded and stood next to their partners. I notice Bucky watching me from behind Steve. I turned my head away from him so I wouldn’t give myself away. I knew that if he found out I was sick, he would stop the mission and make us turn around.

“The snow is thick, walk slow and conserve energy…we have the whole day ahead of us,” Steve says, beginning to walk forward.

Everyone trudges behind Steve in silence, our footsteps making quiet crunching sounds through the snow. I follow closely behind Steve, while Bucky trails closely behind me. I make sure to place my feet in Steve's already deep footprints, the last thing I wanted was to be drained of my energy before we'd even reach the compound.

I look up at the dark gray sky; we must be high up in the mountains, looking down on what seems like endless miles of nothingness.  It wasn't surprising that HYDRA would be located here, being a rather isolated organization.

A little while later I began to make out the rectangular shape of the compound through the dense snow that was falling from the sky. My hands were getting numb from holding onto the straps on my gun holster and my legs ached from walking through the snow. Steve looked over at me, I saw concern but I just gave him a reassuring nod and pushed forward.

As we got closer, I noticed that the base was a massive, grey complex. The building was made of concrete and had no windows, just little square holes that littered the walls...it reminded me of a prison.

Steve came to a stop and crouched behind a concrete barrier, he motioned for us to do the same. The team huddled beside Steve and watched the camp, it was only a few yards away allowing us to see movement from behind the large, barbed fence.

"Send Redwing out, we need to see the safest route for entry," Steve ordered. Sam was quick to oblige, sending the drone into the snowfall.

It hovered above the entrance to the complex, giving us an accurate view of how many guards there were. There were three men posted around the entrance, all wearing black helmets. One of them remained stationed by the gate while the other two patrolled around the gate.

Sam watched the feed from the drone, scanning the screen for any more guards, "Seems like there are only three near the entrance...if you can take them out you have a clear path to a set of double doors." Sam said looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye "The problem is...how are you gonna get in?"

"Tony said that there should be a keypad on the outside, luckily for us he managed to find the code," Steve said with a small grin on his face, I could hear a small chuckle come from Bucky.

Natasha shook her head "I wouldn't expect anything less from that man."

"Sam, keep a watch on Redwing and head to the left side of the building. Natasha, you take right." Steve says "Bucky y/n, follow me...be aware of your surroundings."

As soon as the plan is said, we jump into action. Steve begins creeping towards the front of the complex, with the sound of our footsteps ringing in the snow-covered ground, while Bucky and I cover him. Steve slams his shield into the neck of one of the guards while I wrestle another to the ground and knock him unconscious. My head is spinning as I stand up but I help Bucky take care of the last guy.

With the first threat taken care of, we hurry over to where Steve is standing, "This way," Steve points at a door on the side of the building. We follow closely behind him and watch his back as he types in the code on the keypad.

  He grabs the handle and turns it.  The door creaks open slowly, revealing a very dimly lit hallway. Steve leads the way down the hall.  The smell of damp stone fills the air, with the faint scent of blood and gunpowder lingering in the air.  We follow silently behind Steve until we get to the end of the hallway, where it opens up into two different hallways.

“I’ll take the right side, y/n Bucky go left,” Steve says

Bucky and I walk down the left hallway and I can feel my palms getting sweaty with each step. Something felt wrong, where was everyone? Why were there no HYDRA agents? I glance over at Bucky and see that he has a crease in his eyebrows, I could tell he was wondering the same thing. I grip my gun closer to my chest, it was eerily quiet and something felt off…very off. 

As we near the end of the hallway we enter a large room. It was filled with old dusty computers and lots of filing cabinets. I approach one of the computers and take out the hard drive making sure to put it in my pocket in hopes that it will be important intell. I watch Bucky enter a side room and suddenly the lights turn off and I jolt when I hear the loud slam of a door shutting.

It’s pitch black and I can hear footsteps circling me in the room “Y/N!? Y/N!” Bucky is pounding his fist on the other side of the door. 

I feel disoriented and dizzy as I try and move around the room “Bucky!? Where-?” I am cut off by a gloved hand covering my mouth; I scream and slam my elbow into the person behind me.

My breathing becomes more labored as I try and fight off the people attacking me. I feel myself on the verge of passing out.

 I grab my knife out of my pocket and slam it blindly into someone's torso. I lose my balance and I fall backward, causing my head to slam against the corner of the table. I let out a yell of pain and felt a warm liquid running down my neck.

I scramble back into a wall and feel someone else's hands on me, I try and fight back but my movements are disoriented; I am helpless. 

As soon as I feel all hope is lost, the door bursts open filling the room with light. Before I know what’s happening gunshots ring out and silence fills the room. My vision is swimming and I see a familiar, blurry silhouette approaching me; guilt fills my stomach.

“M-..sorry Bucky…” I slur as fight from blacking out.

Bucky scoops me up in his arms, and before I know it he is sprinting out of the compound and into the snow. My body is limp in his arms and I can hear him murmuring incoherent prayers as he runs.

Soon, we reach the jet, and he quickly puts me on the medical table. Everything around me is blurry and I don’t know what is happening.

I am so tired. Maybe I should sleep. Bucky wouldn’t be mad if I just slept for a minute…

--------------------------------------------------

My mind is pulled into the dark, tempting world of sleep.

A bright light fills my vision as I wake up. I blink a couple of times in an attempt to get my eyes to adjust to the light. What happened? Where am I? Several thoughts plagued my mind all at once and my body flings itself into an upright position.

Bucky stands up as soon as he sees me awake "Hey, hey! You're okay, you are safe.." Bucky says, gently trying to get me to lay back down.

The memories of last night flood my mind and I feel an intense wave of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I take a small glance at Bucky and notice the relief in his eyes quickly turn to that of hurt, maybe even anger. The look in his eyes pained me to see, I knew he felt upset about my actions.

"Bucky...I-"

"Why?" he says suddenly, staring me straight in my eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

Bucky closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself "Sorry doesn't cut it." He says sharply "You almost died y/n."

I look away from him and shake my head "I know...but if I hadn't gone someone could have gotten hurt."

I watch anger form in his expression "Liz." His serious tone forces me to look at him "Are you not listening to me? You almost died!" His tone gets louder as he talks, "When I brought you back on the jet you were burning up and sweating...did you know that your fever almost reached 103."

Bucky takes a step backward and faces the wall, he rakes his fingers through his hair. "Do you understand that had I not been there and broken through a metal wall, you would be dead." He turns to face me again "Do you not understand that if you had died in that room; I would have blamed myself?" He looked me in the eyes "Do you not understand that if you died, I would have nothing else to live for?"

"Better me dead than you," I say quietly.

Bucky clenches his fist and inhales a sharp breath "Never, and I mean never, say that shit to me ever again." He grabs my hands and stands silently. "y/n, you give me a reason to wake up in the morning; the feeling I get when I see your gorgeous, happy face in the morning makes me feel alive."

I stare at him speechlessly and he continues "I know this is a terrible place, and a terrible time but I have to tell you..." The look he gives me makes my body tingle "I love you. I love you too much to the point where it hurts...and when we were in that compound I watched as the life drained from your eyes, and I felt more scared in that moment than I have ever had in my entire life...because I knew that If you were to die, I would have nothing left to get me out of bed in the morning, I would have nothing left to get me home safe from missions, I would have no more life because without you; I have none."

Bucky's words make it feel like the world has stopped, like it's just me and him and nothing can stop us from being together. I stare at Bucky's beautiful eyes, and he stares at mine; they tell me that I am here, that I am alive, and that I'm next to the person I love and care about most in this world.

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

I wrote this for ao3 originally. I'm working on the final part, so I thought I'd start reposting here in the meantime. I hope someone likes it. I feed on comments btw. Just leaving that there.

Ghost’d had missions go badly before… No, scratch that. He had been part of missions that had gone terribly. Some he had barely survived. A lot had failed. That just happens.

Still, he felt like shit.

He was familiar with the feeling. He didn’t understand it, though. Everyone in his team had made it out alive. Even more than that, there had been only a couple minor injuries. That was a luxury he had learned to appreciate. Yes, the target they were supposed to find and bring back to base was laying, dead, on the floor of the helicopter. It wasn’t an especially gruesome sight, either. One shot at the back, most of the blood was still wet on the floor of the enemy base. Ghost had seen people practically turned inside out; this was almost as pleasant at it could get.

He had been dragging the target. The target, because they didn’t have a name. They never did. It had been a person. A very well informed person, if he had to guess, based on the urgency to get them back. Now they were a corpse. They had made the transition in his arms. He hadn’t even realized the target had bled out until they were already flying back.

Price wasn’t going to be happy, but he knew how the job was. Casualties were expected. At least the target wasn’t in anybody else’s hands.

Ghost looked down at his own. His gloves were dirty. If he flexed his fingers, he’d feel the stickiness of the blood. He knew the feeling well enough to be certain that the burning of the cold water of the sink wouldn’t erase it.

The movement of the helicopter landing made him look up. He jumped over the body of the target and stepped out. The sun didn’t touch his skin, completely covered in military grade fabric. But he felt it nonetheless.

His eyes, used to scanning his surroundings, had found you standing at the edge of the helipad. You were right next to the medics, ready to help save the corpse he had dragged here. Suddenly, Ghost became aware of every little sore and tense spot in his body. He had always thought you were capable. Your hands were smaller than his, more delicate- everyone’s were- but still ruthless and unwavering. He took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take you to get rid of all the knots in his back.

Your neck looked pretty, too. No, not pretty. He almost shook his head. Inviting. Warm. Your blood was close to the surface there, but still hidden. Where it belonged. He tore his gloves off, struggling with the stickiness.

Ghost didn’t cry. It wasn’t a matter of pride, or toughness. He had simply forgotten how to. But he started to walk towards you and felt the heat flooding his throat. The closer he got, the smaller you looked and the more pathetic he felt. His boots dragged him across the cement; yours were steady, still. Clean. He was covered in dirt. Another step and he was almost at arms reach. His uniform was itchy. He hadn’t noticed that since he was a rookie. And his holsters were tight, Ghost made sure of that.

Would you hold him tighter?

Would you be warm? Warmer than the target? You’d feel alive.

You’d smell of your shampoo- he had grown used to its fragrance in the showers: it lingered and overpowered his unscented one, even if you had left hours ago. It reminded him of warm, cleansing water. Of the feeling of being bare.

He shook his head. The mask was getting uncomfortable. Your skin looked so soft, though. He blinked. Your collarbone against his lashes. The idea made him inhale deeply.

Another step and he was next to you. You smiled at him; not a big smile, rather a small, confused one. Ghost stared at you for a second, the tears stabbing his throat. All he could do, head ducking as if aiming to hide in your neck, was to shake his head.

Then another step and he kept walking to his barracks: back still tense, nose still burning with the smell of gunpowder, hands itching with dry blood.

Part 2

[stupidlittlespirit]

Good Boy

Rating: NSFW (very!), mdni Type: Longform Tags: webcam show, voyeurism, sex work, masturbation, female body described, one use of gendered language ('ma'am'), virgin!Reigen, pathetic!Reigen, Word count: 5797 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3! Reigen finds your webcam show and proceeds to be a pervert.

“Should I send my boss a video of what I'm busy doing?” You ask, rocking your ass back and forth. The skirt lifts when you bend down and Reigen catches a peek of your underwear when you lean over a little more. You turn until your back is to the camera and then begin to lift the skirt higher and higher as you dance, tantalisingly slow.

Reigen squeezes the base of his cock and smirks to himself. “I wouldn't bother.”

He finds the video by complete accident.

Reigen is scrolling aimlessly through the feed of his favourite porn sites, rows upon rows of explicit content at his fingertips as he trolls through videos he's seen so many times before he has them practically memorised. They don't do anything for him anymore.

He's bored of the repetitive scenarios and over the top acting, and if he has to watch another shitty, stilted skit again he's going to stop jerking off for the rest of his life in protest.

Well. Maybe he won't go that far, but he's certainly fed up with the lack of excitement.

It's closing in on 1AM on a Friday night and Reigen is spending yet another weekend all on his own. Serizawa is busy with school friends, Dimple isn't in the mood to find a host body for a night out and Mob is likely fast asleep. If he's honest, even Reigen knows how pathetic he'd look if he asked a kid to spend his afterschool time with him.

The only other person he has to ask out is you. You're the newest member of the team and even though you've been out with all of them a fair few times, tonight you'd dismissed his suggestions with the simple excuse of being busy.

You hadn't specified what you were going to be busy with, but Reigen supposes it isn't really any of his business. He can't deny his disappointment, though.

He'd hoped you might jump at the chance for one on one time with him, and whilst he stares at the screen of his computer, desperate for something to make him feel less lonesome, the sting of your rejection is only softened slightly by the alcohol he's had for dinner.

At his feet, there are several cans of chuhai. Every time he drinks alone in his apartment, he finds that he only has two options when no one wants to be around him. One: get so wasted that he passes out before he can think too much about his misery or two: jerk off to prevent himself from thinking about his misery.

Right now, Reigen is reasonably drunk, he's totally lonely, and most of all, he's horny. He supposes he may as well achieve both outcomes at once tonight. He isn't looking for anything in particular right now, just something that might take the edge off and help him sleep a little better. His expectations of finding anything particularly exciting are very low.

However, perched at his PC, shirtless and in his sweatpants, Reigen is starting to think it might be a waste of time. Nothing seems of interest to him. It's either too weird or too boring, and he wonders if he might be better off just calling it a night.

In a last ditch attempt, he switches from his typical porn site to a newer one. One he hasn't tried before. Usually he'd watch something pre-recorded, but he faintly remembers reading something on a forum somewhere about the newest trend of cam girls.

The post had detailed how viewers could make requests for a performer to do whatever they wanted, all live and in real-time, and he has to admit it sounds a lot more interesting than viewing the same video over and over.

He clicks the first link that pops up from his search.

The website is simplistic and once he's clicked through his verifications, Reigen begins to scan the rows of people on offer. There are women and men and everything in between, but every time he selects one, the performer seems bored and uninspired. Sometimes, they're not even there.

Reigen tries the second page. He's halfway down it, not really paying full attention anymore, when abruptly one of the little preview windows looks vaguely familiar.

Squinting, he leans in to get a better view to try and place where he's seen that room before. The decor in the thumbnail looks like a place he's seen before, but he can't quite put his finger on where.

Reigen clicks it and at first, he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing. That decor, the colour of the walls, the furniture…. It's your apartment. He knows because he's been there; he's crashed on that very floor after several messy nights out, right beside the cushy bed that the camera is centered on.

He's absolutely, definitely, a hundred percent sure that that's your room.

For a second, he worries that someone might have snuck into your apartment and hidden a spy camera amongst your things without your knowledge. It's not unheard of for creeps to conceal webcams in places to catch footage of unsuspecting victims and although Reigen likes his fair share of voyeuristic content, he would never watch something that wasn't clearly a purposely set up scenario.

He reaches for his cell phone where it rests besides his keyboard, fully intending to call you and make you aware, when suddenly you're walking into frame and sitting on the bed, dressed only in your underwear, some sheer stockings and a ridiculously tiny little skirt.

You shoot the camera a coy smile and offer a little wave. “Welcome back, everyone.”

Reigen's jaw drops open.

You're on his fucking porn site.

You. Of all people.

Stunned, he watches you shift so that you can lie down on your bed, lounging leisurely on top of a thick, comfy looking blanket that covers your bedspread.

The lighting is low and moody, but there's a clearly a softer source of light emanating from somewhere behind the camera to ensure your half naked body can be seen properly.

Music is playing gently in the background, and beside the bed is a small table, on which rests a small selection of intimidating looking sex toys. There are a couple of interesting looking dildos, a chunky vibrator, and a few bottles of oil or something similar.

He watches you lean forward slightly to apparently read something on screen, your eyes scanning back and forth. Your tits press against the fabric of your bra as you shuffle up where you're resting, leaning forward to fiddle with what he assumes is your computer.

Reigen’s throat suddenly feels very dry.

Barely five hours ago, you'd been wishing him a nice weekend as you'd left the office, heading off for home to spend the weekend doing something that didn't include him. When you'd told him that you'd been too busy to go for a drink with them, he hadn't thought much of it.

Perhaps you'd been lying. Perhaps the real reason you'd said no had been to go and do this....

Briefly, he wonders if he's seeing things. Perhaps the room is simply similar to yours and you're not really you at all. Just another person who looks exceptionally similar.

He decides he needs to make sure that what he's stumbled across is the truth and not an unbelievably accurate illusion.

Reigen reaches for his phone again. Your face is just out of frame now and he can't be 100% sure that it's really you, but he's certain that he needs to find out. To test his theory, he types out a simple text, something casual to ensure that you'll have no idea that he's watching, and waits to see what happens.

[Reigen] - Hey, are you busy?

On screen there's a buzzing sound. You twist into a kneeling position to reach behind you and his blood runs cold. There's no way that it's a coincidence your phone is going off right now.

As he watches you shuffle back up to sit closer to the camera again, your pretty face comes into view and so does your cell phone, head aloft like a trophy. No doubt about it: this is no look alike.

You study your phone, reading the text and then glancing over to look at your audience. "Oh," You say, holding your phone up with a cheeky grin. “It's my boss.”

Underneath the video screen, there's a chatbox that's scrolling along, ticking upwards with each new message that pings through, and you look away from your phone to check it.

Several new chats pop up at your announcement and Reigen somehow manages to tear his eyes away from you to see what's being said.

What does he want? asks one viewer.

You laugh, soft and amused. “He wants to know if I'm busy.”

Your voice is softer than Reigen used to hearing it; teasing and intimate in a way that does something funny to his insides. A few more messages spin up in the chat:

is he cute?

Do you like him?

Would you fuck him?

Reigen swallows hard.

It's not like he hasn't thought about it. He's considered it several times, actually. In great, vivid detail. When he can't find any decent porn to get off too, he often finds thoughts of you wandering into his mind. Reigen knows it’s weird and unethical, but if no one else is aware then it's not like anyone can be hurt by it.

He's harboured a crush on you since the moment you'd walked into the office to drop off your CV and he hasn't known peace since. Every time you bend over to pick up files, he sneaks a peek at your ass. Whenever you brush up against him in passing, he prays he doesn't get hard. It's a nightmare.

When he's alone and he's given up on finding an ethical source of arousal for the evening, he’ll think about you in your office wear, or your underwear, or sometimes in nothing at all.

He's always had to imagine what you might look like naked and for some reason, he's never been able to get the vision to seem quite right. With nothing to reference, it's hard to know beyond the silhouette hidden by your clothes.

Until now, anyway.

You're leaning in close to look at the chat messages again, your tits pressed up against the thin fabric of your bra. They jiggle nicely as you move and Reigen feels his cock stir in his sweatpants. He reaches for the half-empty can of chuhai beside his PC and takes a swig to soothe his dry mouth.

“Oh yeah,” you say, biting down your lower lip. “Very cute. I'd fuck him anytime.”

Reigen almost chokes on his mouthful of fruity alcohol, spluttering awkwardly.

You begin to run your fingers up between the valley of your breasts, reaching over to toy with the lace cups of your bra and dipping your fingertips underneath the material to brush against your nipples.

“He's got such a great ass,” you whisper to the camera, biting down on your lip to stifle a smile. “I check him out all the time but he never catches me. What do you think he'd do if he did?”

Reigen's breath hitches. His face feels red hot at your confession and he knows that he's probably bright red, but can't believe what he's hearing.

The chat bumps up several rows, filled with suggestions and fantasies:

He'd punish you.

Probably promote you lol.

I bet he'd fuck you in the office.

“He would,” Reigen groans out loud to his empty room. “You have no idea how much he would.”

He's had plenty of daydreams about that exact scenario; bending you over his desk when everyone else has gone home for the day or letting you ride him while he sits in his office chair, slow and sweet until he fills you up. The thought drives him insane.

Almost of its own accord, his hand slips down to palm at his dick. There's a steadily growing wet patch on the front of his pants as pre cum begins to gather at the head and the slick friction of the fabric there only arouses him more.

“Ah,” you gasp happily as you pinch one of your nipples. “I wish.”

After a few seconds of touching your tits, you trace your hand up towards your collarbone and run your fingertips along them, back and forth slowly. It's teasing, erotic almost, and Reigen imagines your delicate fingers on his own skin, tickling along the soft flesh of his thighs or clutching at his back.

He's still reeling at your admitted attraction to him. He knows there's a chance that you're only playing things up for the camera, but he's so hard and so turned on by the notion that you might be into him that he doesn't care how true it is right now.

Rather than worry too much about the legitimacy, he hooks his thumb into the waistband of his sweats without looking away from the screen and shuffles in his seat so that he can expose his cock fully.

He knows he shouldn't really be watching this. He isn't even sure why you're on this website; he pays much more than he used to and there's no way you're short for cash, so you're not moonlighting to make ends meet. Maybe you just enjoy it?

The idea thrills him and so does the knowledge that what he's doing is forbidden. Again, he supposes that if you have no clue that he's watching you right now then he can excuse his actions…. Right?

“It's so unprofessional,” You're almost whispering now, talking softly as your touch travels to different parts of your body. “But I think about it all the time.”

Reigen reaches for the small bottle of lube that sits in the corner of his desk while you talk, squeezing some out onto the fingers of one hand. He trails it around his dick slowly, ignoring the chill and covering himself until the skin is slick and wet.

The chat pings again, except this time there's the sound of coins dropping. A pink message appears:

[400 coins] Ass shake/Dance

Briefly, Reigen is confused. He has no idea what that means and his hand pauses to check the message. Next to it is a little cartoon coin, and he realises that you've been tipped money to do an activity.

You smile brightly, however, clearly pleased by the strange sound, and slowly you get up from your seat. “Thank you so much!” You giggle, blowing a kiss to the camera.

He watches you stand and fiddle with something that looks like a TV remote, and then the quiet music in the background becomes a little louder. You begin to sway your hips in time with the beat of the music, turning on the spot slowly.

“Should I send my boss a video of what I'm busy doing?” You ask, rocking your ass back and forth.

The skirt lifts when you bend down and Reigen catches a peek of your underwear when you lean over a little more. You turn until your back is to the camera and then begin to lift the skirt higher and higher as you dance, tantalisingly slow.

Reigen squeezes the base of his cock and smirks to himself. “I wouldn't bother.”

Your skirt recedes to reveal the bare skin of your ass. You're wearing lacy underwear that barely covers your pussy and Reigen groans at the sight, watching closely as you wiggle your hips until the fat of your ass wobbles deliciously.

He barely gets ten seconds worth of a look before you're moving back to sit on your bed, and he can't help the disappointment that rises in him.

With his free hand, Reigen takes a chance and bravely types out a message in chat:

[anon] - keep going

“Ah ahh,” you chastise, clearly reading the command he's sent through. “Tip to make requests, boys, you know the rules.”

Reigen isn’t sure what he's more turned on by; the business sense or your bossy attitude.

One handed, he swiftly clicks through on the link that auto generates in chat to make an account. He spares a thanks that modern technology allows him to keep his credit card info saved online and as soon as everything has gone through, he comes right back to your room.

The chat spits out a menu, triggered by the forbidden request, that clearly states an extensive menu of services. There are lots of options, and Reigen's mouth begins to salivate as he scrolls down the list. Whilst he's busy reading, another tip comes in from a different user:

[800 coins] - topless

“Oh,” you say, grinning as you reach for your bra straps. “Stepping things up, huh?”

Your comment makes Reigen look up again and his stomach flips when he realises what's about to happen.

Teasing, you thumb down each strap, letting them fall down to your sides. You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp and very gradually, you lower the pretty lingerie until finally, the lace falls away to expose your chest to the camera.

Reigen stares at the screen, mouth open, and his hand begins to stroke his cock. He's imagined seeing your naked chest more times than he can recall but his mind's eye is nothing in comparison to the real (or rather, virtual) thing. They're gorgeous. Perfect, in fact. He's not sure that he's ever seen anything better.

Embarrassed as he is to admit, Reigen has never actually seen anyone naked in real life. He's never even fucked another person, but he's seen his fair share of porn and none of those videos compare to you.

Every fantasy he's ever had has been completely imaginary and he doesn't dare make a move to find sex in real life; being an adult virgin is horribly embarrassing and he doesn't want to risk being laughed at. For now, he'll stick to his usual viewing habits.

“Fuck.” Reigen mutters, breath hitching. His hand works the length of his cock, fist tight and slick with lube, and on screen you're reaching up to play with your nipples again.

Enraptured by your image, he tightens his grip on the bottom of his dick every time you pinch yourself gently.

You take both tits in hand and squeeze them together, biting your lower lip and grinning as chat messages pour through. It's evident that you're enjoying yourself and it makes Reigen feel slightly less guilty for being a pervert.

The languid strokes of his cock become even slower while he types out the message he'd intended to send before, heart pounding in anticipation:

[950 coins] - remove skirt/underwear

The jingle of the tip plays and your eyes light up. “Oh,” you say, leaning forward to check the request. “You're new here.”

Momentarily, Reigen's hand pauses. His username is just a randomly generated set of numbers. There's no way you'd be able to tell his true identity from, yet he briefly panics that you might have rumbled him. He holds his breath for a second.

You nibble your lower lip and smile, but his cover isn't blown. “You guys are excited today, hm?” You laugh, getting up again and shifting the camera to ensure everyone can see what you're doing.

Carefully, you make a show of lifting up your skirt and undoing the side clasp before letting it fall to the floor with a soft thump. The panties you're wearing are tiny, yet they cover you well enough that it's hard to see much just yet. You give your ass a little shake again and bend over, spreading your legs.

Relieved, Reigen's hand begins to move again and without looking away, he shirks his sweatpants completely. His body feels hot all over and being constrained by his clothing feels unbearably uncomfortable. He kicks the trousers away from him and grins at your excited laughter.

“How's the view?” You ask, squeezing your ass gently.

“Perfect,” Reigen grunts, as though you can hear him.

You're reaching between your legs now, stroking your covered pussy up and down, and Reigen moans quietly. Chat messages are stacking up below your video screen, but he only has eyes for you right now.

Deliberately unhurried, you drag your hand back through your legs and take hold of the waistband of your panties. You pull the fabric down, down, down, slipping it over your round ass until finally you're baring yourself to the world in the most intimate way.

Wetness clings to your underwear when you tug it away and you're visibly aroused by the movement, making a soft sound of pleasure.

Reigen almost cums immediately. He grits his teeth and exhales sharply, letting go of his cock and willing himself not to finish early. It would be a shame to spend himself so soon and he wants nothing more than to spend all night staring into you.

“Like that?” You ask your audience, voice a little muffled now that you're turned away.

Several messages affirm that they do, in fact, like what they're seeing.

Reigen breathes heavily through his nose and rolls his chair closer to the monitor again. He takes a second to calm himself down, though he doesn't stop watching you wiggle your backside, and once he feels capable, he types out another request:

[1000 coins] - touch yourself

This time, he follows it up with a ‘please’ and you turn slightly to see what's happening.

You smirk and move back toward the bed, choosing to sit down and spread your legs this time. The view is still perfectly clear and Reigen finds that he likes this much better; he can see your pretty face, your tits and your wet pussy all at once. Hand firm on his dick, he starts to jerk off again.

“Do you like what you see?” You giggle, hand wandering southwards.

“Fuck, yeah I do.” Reigen groans, swiping his thumb over the head. The motion sends a shiver through his body and he fumbles with his free hand and keyboard to type out an affirmative answer.

You smile, coy, and stop your fingers just above your clit. “And what do we say when we want something?”

Reigen swears under his breath. He likes this; being forced to ask nicely and hope that he's given what he wants. He doesn't know why he enjoys it, but the idea of having to plead for your attention and his own release does something undeniable to his body, and he loves every second.

The flush on his face travels down his neck and burns the tips of his ears, spurred on by his myriad of emotions.

With one sweaty hand he types out:

please

touch yourself, please

The smile that comes to your face when you notice his message is positively wicked and your hand drops lower, gathering wetness. “I think you can ask even more nicely than that, can't you?”

He doesn't care that he's paid for a simple act. What he's getting right now is more arousing than anything he could have ever dreamt of receiving. The way his cock twitches in his hand suggests his body agrees. “Please.” Reigen whispers to his empty room, voice breaking. “Fuck, please, touch your fucking pussy for me.”

Panting and moaning with every stroke of his fist, Reigen shakily taps out another desperate response.

plsaase

pls

im begging u

It's obviously the right response because you do exactly as he asks: your fingers begin to brush over your clit and you gasp at the contact. Gently, you rub yourself in tiny circles. Your skin glistens in the light and even with the music playing, he can hear your moans and sighs when your touches speed up.

Reigen jerks himself off in time with your movements. His apartment fills with the wet, oily noises of his lubed up palm on his dick and his heavy breathing, broken only by his pathetic begging for more. “Oh god,” he whines, leaning forward in his seat to grip the edge of his desk. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He wants to ask for more, to see you get even more explicit, however he worries that if he lets go of his desk he might keel over. Fortunately for Reigen, another request pings in. This one goes even further.

The anonymous user tips a significant amount and much to Reigen's horny delight, asks you to use one of the larger sex toys on the table next to your bed.

A few minutes pass in which you continue to touch your clit and Reigen realises that you're getting caught up in this yourself. You're so lost in your own pleasure that you're too busy to see what your audience want.

It turns him on no end.

Eventually, you force yourself to pause and glance at the chat. There are a few annoyed messages about you ignoring them, but you pay them no mind, instead saying a breathless thank you to the new requester and reaching for a sizable, pink dildo. It's thick and decently long, and you hold it out for him to see properly.

“Should I use this one?” Your voice is fraying at the edges, strained from all your noise.

Oh yeah

Fuck yeah use it

Do it

You don't appear to need much encouragement and you sit back on your elbows, legs spreading even wider as you rub the head of the fake cock over your pussy.

Reigen imagines that instead of cool, false plastic, it's his dick that you're grinding your hips into. He pictures himself between your legs, gently slapping the swollen tip of his cock against the soft, wet folds of your cunt whilst you squirm and groan in pleasure. His moans are getting louder now, unrestrained and wrecked, and he knows he sounds like a girl but he can't find it in himself to give a fuck.

Again, he almost cums, but rather than let it happen he allows himself to get as close as he dares and then stops touching completely. He has plenty of time to draw this out; you haven't even put the dildo in yet.

You're still circling it around your hole slowly, grinning and chewing on your lip in anticipation of what's to, rather ironically, come.

Sweat trickles down Reigen's neck. He's over stimulated and unbearably turned on, body red hot and flushed. He reaches for his drink again and takes a quick gulp before picking right up where he left off.

“Wanna see me fuck myself?” You tease, peering at the message box.

Reigen is the only one who responds. He knows it's likely because every other person in here is too busy getting off to answer, yet he seizes the chance to catch your attention.

yes please

Your warm smile returns and he finds himself smiling too, enjoying the way your expression softens. “You're a sweetheart, aren't you?” You say fondly, sitting up a bit more.

Reigen grins and nods, even though he knows you can't see him. He dials up his politeness, practically gagging for your attention, and moves his hand down to stroke along the sides of his dick, teasing himself as he type:.

yes ma'am

Something changes in your gaze at his message, hot and intense, and you start to circle your clit again. “Ask me again.” You sigh happily. “Be a good boy.”

Reigen's brain almost short circuits at your comment. He moans again and tips his head back, hand working hard between his legs. “Oh, my god.” He chokes out, scrambling to answer via his keyboard. “Fuck, that's- say that again.”

please ma'am

pls fuck urself

ill do anything i swear

just call me that again

You're clearly entertained by his request. Even more so, you appear to be turned on by it. Slow and steady, you ease the dildo into yourself, keening loudly at the sensation yet still managing to fulfill Reigen's request.

“Good boy,” you breathe, smiling wide. “You're such a good boy for me.”

Reigen makes a humiliating noise. It's a mix of a moan and a sob, and he stops jerking his cock in favour of fucking his own hand instead. His hips buck forward wildly, uncontrollable and desperate, and he attempts to match the tempo in which you fuck yourself.

He watches in awe as you drive the dildo into your cunt, arousal dripping down the length of it and leaving it shiny and slick.

“Oh, fuck,” Reigen chokes out breathlessly, grinding into his fist like he's fucking you himself. “Don't stop, fuck, don't stop.”

His moans mix with yours on screen and if he could bear to close his eyes, he might imagine that this is what it feels like to be inside you. As it is, he can't bear to look anywhere but at you.

Your hand is moving quickly now, pumping the toy in and out while you rub your clit just as fast, crying out in pleasure.

Reigen's girly moans pick up in pitch and he begs you with everything he has: “Keep going, please, I-ha! You feel so good, so good, fuck!”

As though you can hear his pleas, you don't relent your movements. Your tits bounce with the force that you're fucking yourself with and you groan every time you hit a good spot.

It's obvious that you're no longer playing along with whatever your audience wants; You're lost in the sensation and Reigen is completely beside himself, right there with you.

His chair rocks and creaks underneath his moving weight and he scrunches up his bare toes against the wooden flooring to stay put, listening to you as you continue to encourage him.

“You're my good boy, aren't you?” You pant, eyes closed. “Touching yourself just like I asked….”

“Yeah,” Reigen whimpers. “I swear, just for you, whatever you want.”

“Fuck,” you sigh on screen, angling the toy. “Fuck.”

Reigen can barely breathe. He's sweating profusely, rivulets trickling down his brow and blurring his vision, and he can feel something tight and white hot coiling in his lower belly.

The pressure is building slowly, growing with every pass of his fist and every moan you make on his monitor, and his ability to speak unravels. He's babbling about anything and everything, eyes darting from your pussy to your face, and the feeling in his belly spikes.

“Oh, god, oh fuck,” he whines, long and low. “I'm gonna cum, I'm- please, let me cum!” His pathetic moans hitch and in their lull, he hears you speak a single word that sends him crashing over the edge:

“Reigen!”

You cry his name quietly, sweeter than a prayer, and shudder as you climax with him.

Unable to stop it, Reigen's orgasm hits him so hard he almost blacks out for a moment. He cums hard, spilling all over his fist and stomach, his toes curling and body convulsing with intense pleasure. He ducks his head and shouts something unintelligible, drool dripping down from his open mouth to mix with the mess on his hand.

The aftershock of his orgasm has him spasming in its wake, muscles twitching and cramping as he heaves for breath. Reigen releases his cock and slumps back in his chair, panting hard like he's run a marathon.

He's fairly confident that it might be the best orgasm he's ever had.

On screen, the music has stopped and there's only the sound of your laboured breathing filling the silence. You're panting hard, pussy spread by your toy, and you look wrecked. Your hair is a mess, your eyes are half-lidded, and underneath you the blanket is soaked.

Reigen wipes the sweat from his forehead with his clean hand and takes a few minutes to gather his bearings. He sees you remove the toy slowly and place it back on the bedside table before you sit back down, cross legged, on the bed. You avoid the wet patch, wrinkling your nose and flipping the blanket over to prevent yourself from sitting on it, and you pause to catch your breath. Your chest rises and falls rapidly for a minute, and he watches you catch your breath.

Clearly you're a seasoned professional however, because you go back to checking your chat messages only minutes later. Every user in the room is overjoyed with your performance and Reigen has to agree. He's never seen a porno anywhere near as sexy as what he just witnessed and he's not sure he ever will.

Reigen reaches over for the box of tissues next to his computer and carefully wipes up the mess on his hand. There's cum on the floor too and when he's confident that his jelly-like legs won't let him fall off the chair, he leans down to clean it up.

Once everything is less sticky, Reigen checks the chat. There are a good few messages pinging up and they make him smile, big and stupid, and more than a little smug:

Who is Reigen?

Fuck, he's a lucky guy

Wish I was him

Listening to you moan his name, watching your face whilst you'd fucked yourself silly, it's all imprinted on his brain forever.

He's still reeling over the fact that it was his name on your lips as you came. You've never shown interest in him like that, at least not to his knowledge, and if you've been getting yourself off to the thought of him anywhere near as much as he has to you, Reigen wonders if it might be worth catching a few more of these streams until he can find the courage to see if you might want to to go out sometime.

You're putting your lingerie back on when he looks back up to you again. There's a glow to you that only appears after a good fucking and Reigen's stomach summersaults. He knows that the small crush he has on you is going to snowball dramatically now.

He won't be able to look you in the eye again without thinking of the sounds you've made tonight. That being said, he’ll worry about how to deal with the awkwardness and the shame of spying on his subordinate once he's sober tomorrow morning. For now, he’ll enjoy the rest of his evening watching you.

You don't acknowledge the chat’s questions about who you're thinking of in your intimate throes, instead choosing to finish getting dressed and then grabbing your phone from where it sits at the end of your bed.

“Now I really should reply to my boss,” you tell the chat, leaning across the gap to click something with your mouse. “One second.”

The stream mutes and your fingers move back and forth over the phone keypad quickly. There's silence, and then Reigen's cell vibrates loudly. It scares the shit out of him and he snatches it up, staring at the screen.

Sorry. I was playing online. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?

Reigen grins and fires back the smartest reply he can think of.

[Reigen] - Don't wear yourself out ;)

On his monitor, he sees you laugh silently, head tipped back and smiling wide, and his heart skips a beat.

Tomorrow it is.

[blackdollette]

happy (belated) birthday to me!

"eat my birthday cake, take all your clothes off." | spencer reid

madly. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: what better way to end your birthday than stuffing your face?...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords @hiireadstuff

⊹₊⋆ pairing: celebrant!bau!female!reader x spencer

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1,111 (lucky number!)

⊹₊⋆ contents: fluff, smut, cunnilingus, squirting, fingering, overstimulation

a sheepish knock came from the wooden door of your office.

“does the birthday girl have a minute to spare?”

you sluggishly spun around in your chair, eyes landing on spencer’s figure peeking in. a little smile tugged at your lips. it had been a long, stressful day. half the team didn’t even know it was your special day, but you could leave it to spencer to be that shining light at the end of the tunnel.

“nice birthday hat.” you remarked, staring at the rainbow spiraled party hat that sat on the crown of his head. a smile lit up his face in response.

you beckoned him to come inside, signalling for him to shut the door behind him as he held out a plate to you, holding a large slice of your favourite cake with a lit candle on it. your mouth dropped in a flattered grin as you accepted it, setting the plate on your lap.

“thanks, spencer. i appreciate this.”

spencer shrugged, his hands shoved in his pockets. “i meant to drop it off a few hours ago, but you seemed so caught up with work and everything. i figured, now that you’re alone, why not just give it to you now?”

you nodded, watching as he scanned the area once more to make sure the coast was clear. it was 11pm, but he didn’t want to take any chances. after a meticulous peek through the window, he shut the blinds and took your hands in his, gracefully bringing you to your feet and bringing a secure hand to your waist to ensure your balance, his lips finding yours in a polite but thirsty kiss. 

you sighed softly into the intimate display of affection, your hands finding the back of his hair and tangling themselves in his chestnut-brown locks. he held your waist in a close, unyielding grasp, his tongue sinfully meeting yours in a silent battle. it took all your willpower to not tear his clothes off and let him have his way with you right then and there.

spencer passively pushed you back down to the chair that you had originally been seated on, standing in front of you with a furious blush covering his cheeks. he cleared his throat, going down on one knee so he was level with your chest. he looked up at you, his doe-like eyes nearly manifesting a pleading expression.

“you… don’t mind if i give you your present right now, do you..?”

you pursed your lips, wiping away the thin string of saliva that dripped from them with your thumb. “go ahead, spence…”

he nodded, his hands resting on your thighs and kneading the flesh softly. “i’ve been practicing all week for you…”

his fingers crept under the fabric of your tight, short black skirt, starting to pull it up just enough to reveal your panties to him. he wasted no time running his thumb up and down your clothed crotch, giving you those eyes the entire time. it was like he wanted you to run absolutely mad tonight.

he began to pepper sweet little kisses onto you, forcing your legs further apart and feeding on the noises of your quiet mewls. the teasing was quickly getting to your head, making your body jitter in response to his touch.

he slipped a finger underneath the thin fabric, pulling it to the side and sighing at the sight of your swollen, wet cunt. 

“well, would you look at that… and i haven’t even gotten started yet.” he whispered into your pussy, his mouth connecting with your lips in an open-mouthed kiss down under. a strained squeal escaped your throat, your hand finding the back of his head and gripping it loosely.

spencer’s fingers dug into the plush skin of the back of your thighs, kneading the flesh in his grasp as he flicked his tongue on your puffy clit. your back arched in the seat, your vision starting to go slightly misty. you had to admit, he was way better at this than he let on.

“...s-spencer… i-i..”

as you began to request for him to pick up the pace, he darted his tongue in and out of your tight hole, groaning contently at the taste of the honey between your legs. at this point, he was doing it more for his enjoyment than yours. his tongue greedily flicked against your entrance, a shit-eating grin plastered on his saliva coated-lips. as far as he was concerned, this was paradise.

you squirmed as he jutted his tongue in and out of you, your hand starting to push him away as you felt your intestines tightening up. he departed his lips from your cunt, panting heavily as he struggled to speak.

“c’mon, baby… lemme do this. you deserve it…”

he clung on to you even tighter, making your legs wrap around his neck as he feasted on you like you were his last meal. you were so aroused that you hadn’t even noticed when he slipped his fingers into your sopping wet hole.

he curled his digits inside of you, his fingers pressing against your bladder as his wet lips tugged at your clit. he was desperate to have you saturate his pretty face with your fluids. and it was only a matter of time before you did just that.

“spencer..!”

you wailed as his fingertips began abusing your cervix. and that had done it. before you could do anything to stop yourself, you were gushing and creaming and squirting all over his face, your body succumbing to his passive dominance. like a starved dog, he hungrily fed on every last drop, pumping his fingers in and out of you rapidly to summon yet another waterfall.

he made you orgasm again and again, not reaching true satisfaction until your juices poured down his neck, drenching his uniform in an artfully messy way. he exhaled deeply, standing up and wiping off his dripping hands on his pants. meanwhile. you had melted into the seat, struggling to compose yourself after the brutal overstimulation.

he smiled slightly, extending a hand to you to help you up. you shakily took it, allowing him to pull you back to your seat. your knees were practically trembling and your panties were hanging loosely at your ankles.

spencer slowly fell to his knees, gingerly pulling them back up and patting your hips gently afterward, ignoring the obvious wetness in between your legs. he got back to his feet, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug, whispering as tears began to prick your eyes.

“...i hope you liked the gift, baby. you deserve it.”

author's note: this was meant to come out yesterday but I hope yall enojyed!!!

[moni-logues]

Hiiiii Moniiiiii!!!! :) How are you?

I say a few request the other day and i would like to ask for one if its ok so may I please request a JiminxReader where they are co-workers, maybe a frienemies to lovers? and could you please highlight the fact reader has a mole somewhere special (shoulder, tigh, upper lip idk) that Jimin takes liking and loves kissing? thank youuuu xx

LOOK AT ME!!!! I'm FILLING A REQUEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DID SOME WRITING!!! LOOK, MA, NO HANDS!

Pairing: Jimin x reader (afab)

Genre: co-workers to lovers, slight enemies to friends to lovers

Summary: You were certain, when Jimin started at your company, that you were going to hate him. You had been wrong. Equally sure you were now that you were just friends. Just friends...

Word count: 5.1k

Content: oral (f. receiving), protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, one very bad stupid joke because i couldn't not, they're both drunk/sobering up; pretend this is actually set somewhere and that place is probably in the UK (hence Jimin Park not Park Jimin)

This Meeting Should've Been an Email

JP: this meeting should’ve been an email 

YN: it should have been an email between the two of them 

YN: i don’t even know what we’re doing here 

JP: i'm online shopping 

YN: 😂 

YN: maybe i'll do the same 

YN: spend all the money they don’t pay me 

JP: atta girl! 

You were trying to keep your face neutral, pretending you were listening to the discussion at hand, paying attention so that, if they directed a question to you, you’d be able to answer. Working from home was preferable to working in the office in a thousand different ways, but you did hate sitting on camera in a meeting that didn’t require you. Acting had never been your strong suit. You bit your lip, then rolled both into your mouth to stop yourself smiling.  

JP: what do you think of this? 

Jimin sent a link to a shirt so expensive, your mouth gaped without permission. Black and sheer, blousy with fewer buttons than sleeves. It was certainly something, but you weren’t sure it qualified as clothing—not for that price. 

“Oh, I’ve just seen your face—is there something wrong?” your manager asked and you started. 

“No, not at all! Sorry!” 

You had no lie or excuse to give, so you hoped he wouldn’t probe. He didn’t. 

YN: why would you spend so much money on so little fabric? 

JP: it’s fucking beautiful, that’s why 

YN: more beautiful than rent? 

YN: or food? 

JP: yes 

* 

You drummed your fingers on the desk, willing yourself to do some work, to at least look like you were doing some work. 

You had got into the office early, as you liked to do, so had secured your favoured desk, in the back corner, where you could surf the internet (decidedly not working) as much as you liked without anyone able to see your screen.  

You had all the right programs open: databases, emails, teams, spreadsheets, and checklists. You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything with them.  

Jimin had told you, first thing this morning, that he wasn’t going to come in today. You didn’t see the point of being there without him. Who would you go on unnecessary walks with, just to get out of working for ten minutes? Who would convince you that walking the further distance to the good coffee shop was definitely worth it, as were the pastries they sold that the closer one didn’t? Who would distract you for 75% of the day, if not Jimin? 

No one.  

You told yourself to do one task and then you could have a break. You turned back to your monitors and scanned your to-do list. You needed something quick and easy. Then an email came through from your manager. The subject alone made your stomach drop: Team changes!! The second exclamation mark wasn’t right at all. 

“Hi all, 

I’ve got some good news and bad news. 

Bad news: Jimin is leaving us! 

Good news: he’s got a great new position as a manager just down the road! 

We’ll have to have some discussions around resourcing in Ops and I’ll of course feed that back to you and we’ll arrange how we’ll cover Jimin’s tasks in the interim. I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on before his last day, but we’re such a great team, I know we’ll manage! It’ll be a great loss, for sure, and we’ll all be sad to see him go, but I hope you can be happy for him, too.  

See you in the meeting at 2. 

Hugh” 

Anger simmered in your gut before you could be sad. The passive aggression of ‘I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on’ and the fact that Jimin hadn’t told you. That you knew it would be months before anyone was hired in Jimin’s place and that you would be expected to pick up all the slack, for no credit and no extra pay. That he hadn’t told you. 

YN: you’re LEAVING?!?!?!!???!!?!?!?! 

JP: yep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

YN: cannot believe you made me find out from HUGH 

JP: 😇😇😇 

YN: you’re not allowed to leave me here 

JP: you should quit too!!!! 

You left that one on read and decided to knuckle down to work. You had a lot to do, you decided, and it couldn’t be put off any longer. 

You felt weirder than you had expected to. Unsettled for the rest of the day. Not really able to focus, but your mind wasn’t busy—there was nothing in it. You couldn’t fill it with numbers or comms or monitoring. Couldn’t fill it with office gossip (there wasn’t any). You took yourself on a walk, for fresh air, hoping the breeze would blow away the cobwebs, but that didn’t work either.  

* * * 

“Hi, Jimin!” Chloe called from across the office when Jimin entered, only in his second week of work. 

“Hi!” he called back, walking away from your bank of desks and towards the ones at the other end of the room. 

You rolled your eyes. Pretty boys were the popular ones. Go figure. You had known he would ingratiate himself with that little group the moment you had met: there was something almost simpering about the way he behaved when introduced around the office. As if it was some sort of one-man parade in which he was the star. Arrogant, you decided. Arrogant with no reason to be. 

He had a dance background (even less relevant than your history degree) so it wasn’t as if he had any experience in this field. It was his first office job since graduating; he had graduated at the same time as you and had spent a year working in retail before landing this job. So he didn’t even necessarily have technical or communication skills. He just had a pretty face. And a dancer’s body. 

You couldn’t work out how he became everybody’s best friend within five minutes. Even less when you started hearing people calling across the office for him to help with this problem and that.  

“Jimin, can you show me how to do a purchase order again?” 

“Jimin, what supplier did you use for your banner?” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin!” 

You knew you knew just as much as he did, if not more. You’d been here longer. You just weren’t as... all that. Didn’t have the sparkle or the smirk. Fine, you weren’t glamorous but this job wasn’t supposed to be about style. You got the work done and you did it without fanfare because you weren’t desperate for attention and praise. 

Unlike some people.  

* 

“Guess who got the promotion,” you said on the phone to your best friend. 

“Oh my god, is it you?! Did you get it?!?!?!?!!?” 

“Nope.” 

You ended the word with a hard pop and said no more. Wendy was quiet on the other end for a second. 

“You didn’t?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then who did?” 

“I’ll give you one fucking guess.” 

“Not Jimin.” 

“Of course it was Jimin!” 

You had been all but assured the next open spot that came up. It was virtually guaranteed! Until Jimin swanned in and swiped it from within your claws. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Way.” 

* 

You got the promotion after that but it wasn’t a sweet victory. Forever, you would have to live with the fact that Jimin was promoted ahead of you. Even though he had less experience and had worked there less time. Even though all the managers encouraged you to apply. It left a permanently bitter taste in your mouth.  

Then they had a shuffle of staff.  

And you ended up on a project team with him. 

* 

JP: I’ve finished all the documents for this submission; please let me know what you think! 

You’d have liked to tell him to go fuck himself. You’d have liked to open those documents and tear them to shreds, cover them in red tracked changes, and make him look like a fucking moron. 

But you couldn’t do that because they were good. Perfect, in fact. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.  

YN: look good to me. 

You always gave him a passive-aggressive full-stop. You couldn’t be out and out rude to him, both because it was unprofessional but also because he didn’t deserve it. He was good at this job, it turned out. Didn’t have a head for data, but didn’t need one because his talents elsewhere were just as valuable.  

You had begrudgingly traded some tasks with him when your team was first set-up (you gave him the worst ones, the ones you liked the least because you might have been forced to share but they hadn’t specified what) and you were too proud to admit that he was actually better at them. He had a much better eye for visuals; his external comms samples were always flashier and prettier and neater and more engaging than yours had been.  

He had suggested a slightly different tracking method for your monitoring and you had had to pretend to have wifi troubles and leave the meeting to seethe for a minute. 

He brought in snacks to the office when you had meetings scheduled and had the gall to remember that you didn’t really like chocolate. 

He covered for you when you were ill without complaint and without any mistakes. 

He started sitting next to you in the office so that you could talk about the project more easily.  

He started sending you gifs and memes.  

He started making cute, little jokes over private message when you were in meetings together.  

You started, somehow, somewhen, you didn’t know why, growing fond of Jimin Park. 

* 

And now look where you were.  

You were hurt that he didn’t tell you first. You were surprised. You were more than just work friends now, weren’t you? You had each other’s personal numbers! You spent time together outside of work (sometimes)! Didn’t that deserve a little confidence? He couldn’t have even mentioned that he was looking for work elsewhere?  

* 

“I haven’t forgiven you, you know,” you told him as he arrived at the office, taking the desk next to yours as he now always did.  

“For what?” 

“For leaving! And for not telling me!” 

He laughed and, ordinarily, you’d have laughed at yourself along with him, but you didn’t feel like it today. You didn’t want to be laughed at. You wanted him to take your feelings seriously. You wanted him to apologise. You wanted him to not leave.  

* 

You spoke about it reasonably often, his leaving, his new job. How excited he was. How nervous. How weird it would be to not see each other every day.  

You didn’t speak about how sad you really were that he was going. You didn’t speak about the sting of betrayal you still felt but didn’t want to investigate. You didn’t speak about how his quitting really, truly made you want to quit, too, even though you liked this job, even though you were (had been) happy there.  

* * * 

It came around all too quickly. Jimin’s last day. The office was packed because everyone wanted to see him off. Of course they did. Everyone loved Jimin.  

Including you.  

* 

“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good feeeeelloowwwwwwww! Which nobody can deny!” 

No one had expected the unit director to be the life of the party and it was providing an excellent diversion from the sinking pit in your stomach. With every drink, the end drew nearer.  

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see Jimin ever again, but you wouldn’t see him as often. He would make new work friends. You would be replaced. There felt something so final about it all, this evening stretching as long and taut as you could make it.  

So taut it might snap. 

* 

You were the last two in the pub. You used to sneak out early together after work drinks; head back to your place or his and eat chips in front of something you both talked over; took yourself to your exclusive club-house for two where you could gossip about the evening and who got too drunk and who was making eyes at whom.  

But you didn’t want to leave tonight and Jimin was hosting so he couldn’t leave until the last guest did. 

Or until the pub kicked you out after last call. 

A bell rang. 

“Last call!” 

Fuck.  

“Think that’s time, baby!” Jimin cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “My last day at work is officially over!” 

You whined, too drunk to stop yourself. You knew you’d had one too many. Two too many. Perhaps the whole bottle of wine too many. But you had to keep drinking if you were staying at the pub, and you wanted to keep drinking so you’d stop feeling so weird and sad about this. You looked up at Jimin and he smiled back down at you.  

God, he was pretty.  

“Don’t go,” you said, lips pouting so hard they barely let the words out.  

Jimin laughed again.  

“Back to my place, then? Your favourite chippy is on the way!” 

“Absolutely!” 

The relief that washed over you was almost strong enough to knock you over. There was still a little more time.  

* 

You squabbled at the chip shop. You could hardly remember why even as you were stepping out of it. It had turned the night just a touch sour. You didn’t want that. But you’d take that over the ending of it.  

* 

“What do you want to watch?” Jimin asked as you flopped, heavily onto his sofa, box of chips in hand. 

You shrugged. 

“Any genre you particularly fancy?” 

“I literally don’t care,” you replied sharply. 

You felt more than saw the look on Jimin’s face and chose to ignore it. He came to sit next to you on the sofa and you felt a little suffocated. He was too close. You could smell him. His shampoo? His laundry detergent? You’d never quite been able to pin down just exactly what it was that made him smell so nice; the opportunities you’d had to get that close to him just hadn’t been enough.  

“Why do you smell so good?” you asked, though it sounded like an accusation.  

Jimin laughed. 

“I smell like a brewery and fryer oil!” 

“No, you don’t! You always smell good!” 

You were starting to hear it, how drunk you sounded, which, on the plus side, meant you were just starting to sober up.  

“Thank you,” he replied, a little more tight-lipped than he might normally have been.  

The conversation, if you could call it that, ended there. You watched the drama he had put on in silence, munching chips, and sipping water, and not talking. You were drunk and tired and had already said too many things you hadn’t meant to. You didn’t know about Jimin.  

You watched one episode and then another and then another and just as Jimin’s TV was asking if you were still even there, Jimin turned it off. 

“I’m calling it,” he said with a wide yawn. “I’m fucking tired.” 

That was your cue to leave. You were also tired. Heavy with alcohol and lack of sleep. Blood viscous like molasses. You didn’t want to go. 

“I don’t want to go.” 

Jimin blinked. His lips twitched and you knew he was laughing at you. This was not the script the two of you usually followed. Then he shrugged, allowing the smirk to cover his mouth.

“Ok, then, stay.” 

“I don’t want you to go. Don’t leave.” 

He chuckled. 

“Why would I leave? I live here!” 

“Work!” you cried, stumbling as you put a tingling, dead foot on the ground, coming to a stand. “Don’t leave work!” 

He groaned your name in a way you hadn’t heard before and it made your stomach flop. 

“Don’t keep saying that. It’s too late; I’m going!” 

“Don’t.” 

“You going to miss me that badly?” 

You just looked at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Yes. Yes, you were. Yes, you would. Yes, you missed him already. Missed him so much you wanted to pull him closer. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. Wanted to- 

Fuck. 

You started, taking a small step back. 

You wanted him. 

To kiss him. To touch him. To see him. To know him. Not to be his work friend. Not to be his friend. To be his. His. 

It hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or throw up. Maybe both. You weren’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much to the emotional slap in the face you’d just given yourself.  

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jimin said, his eyes wide and cute, his smile a little rueful. “So much.” 

You felt something. Something charged. The hairs on your neck pricked. 

“How much?” you asked, voice escaping you in a whisper.  

“So much that it makes me not want to go.” 

You felt your eyes drawn to his, had no choice but to look him in his sweet face, his dark, swirling eyes glinting in the low lamplight. You couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t move. Felt suspended in this second that stretched and stretched and stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore. 

“Ji-” 

His name wasn’t out of your mouth before his lips were on it. Soft. Plush. Sweet with wine. His tongue swiped at your lower lip and you were eager to let him in, to taste him, to satisfy the hunger that had reared its ugly head, jaw gaping, teeth dripping, that must have been lying in wait, biding its time, hiding itself even from you.  

There was no denying it now.  

You didn’t talk as Jimin pulled you closer. Didn’t speak as he pulled your tucked-in T-shirt from the waistband of your jeans to slip his hands underneath. Didn’t make a sound when his fingers deftly picked at the clasp of your bra, instantly springing free, to allow his hands beneath that, too.  

Could only just stop yourself moaning when his lips met the sensitive skin on your neck at the same moment as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t make a sound. The silence was so loud and you didn’t want to disturb it, even though what he was doing to you felt so good. Felt so unreal. You didn’t want the noise to puncture it, this bubble, this fantasy, this something that was happening that had been so unexpected even though it, now, felt like it had been a long time coming.  

Then Jimin moaned. Removed his lips from your skin and opened his mouth, letting sound spill from it freely, almost wantonly, as he pulled you even closer. Close enough to feel him against you which set your knees trembling.  

He looked at you, a little hesitation in his eyes, the hem of your top in his hands. You still couldn’t speak, just nodded, put your hands over his and pulled upwards. Watched in stunned silence when he unbuttoned his own shirt, let it fall to the floor.  

It occurred to you then that you had never seen this Jimin before. Not just the kissing and the erection and the arousal pooling in your underwear. You hadn’t even seen him topless. Had never seen the fine trail of hair that dipped beneath his waistband. Had never known he had a tattoo across his ribs.  

Never mind. 

You’d have scoffed if you’d had half a mind about you. Never mind.  

You were minding all this very, very much.  

You reached out to touch him, pressing the pads of your fingers to his chest lightly, testing to make sure he was real. He was. Soft and smooth and rippling with goosebumps under your fingers.  

“Fuck,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.  

“Yes, let’s,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

You laughed, then laughed some more, shocked at your own surprise.  

Fuck! 

Fuck!! 

Jimin’s mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. His hands, too, flying over your body, gripping here, pinching there, slipping inside your jeans, flicking the button open and dragging down the zip. You retaliated, pushing his undone trousers to the floor, pushing your hand into his boxers, encircling his hot, hard cock with your fingers. The wobbly whine that trembled out of him made your core clench. 

“Jimin,” you said, breathlessly, calling his attention to your face. 

He held your gaze there for a second, a second or two or three—his hand groping at your backside, yours around his shaft—and then you didn’t need to say anymore. He was grabbing at your jeans and your underwear, pushing them down your legs, pushing you onto the sofa, kissing at your face and your jaw and your neck, all the way down, to your breasts to your navel to the crease of your hips and further.  

You couldn’t have been silent, even if you’d still wanted to be. The wet muscle of his tongue laved over you, all over you, exploring, familiarising, teasing until you were grabbing at his hair, nails scraping his scalp. 

“Jimin!” 

You wanted to shout, to demand, but you only gasped, only whined, your breath taken from you as his lips closed around your clit. Still, it seemed he’d got the message.  

You writhed beneath him as he sucked, as his fingers slipped easily inside you, curling against you insistently while his tongue flicked over your swollen bud, as his lips sucked, as you bucked and twisted and spasmed beneath him. You could have said it was too much, this was too much, but it was Jimin, and suddenly ‘too much’ seemed impossible. You’d have died under him. You’d have let him go forever. As long as he liked. Though you were twitching and squirming and your legs clamped around his head, he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until you were screaming from one orgasm to another, gushing over his hand, being lapped up into his mouth. Until you were seeing stars. Until your breath barely came in, went panting out in sharp staccato gasps. Until he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and shiny, and sat back on his heels.  

“Fuck,” he said and his voice was tight, hoarse, sounded strained.  

Strained like his boxers, still covering him if only barely. He palmed at them, eyelids fluttering, head tipping back.  

“Fuck,” he said again as he brought his face back down to you, as he scattered kisses across your torso. “I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.” 

The words didn’t register, didn’t hit, because his lips were still moving against you, his hands brushing up your sides and over your breasts, cupping them up to his mouth so he could lick over your pebbled nipples, suck them into his mouth one at a time. You were dazed. 

But not done. 

“Jimin, please.”  

“Please what?” he returned, teeth grazing lightly over the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet against your shivering skin.  

“Please fuck me. Please.” 

He grinned, the glitter in his eyes turning wicked.  

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long, too.” 

He abandoned you, briefly, supine on the sofa, as he at last shucked off his underwear and fumbled in his wallet for the condom that was closest to hand.  

He knelt back over you and you felt him at your entrance, one hand holding him there and the other pulling at your thigh, positioning you where he wanted you, how he wanted you. 

He could have you however. As long as he had you.  

“Ready?” he asked, as if he had to. As if you weren’t already tipping your hips trying to capture him, as if your walls weren’t fluttering already, as if you hadn’t made a great mess of his sofa cushions.  

“Yes.” 

You groaned in unison as he slowly pushed into you. You hadn’t expected him to feel this big, stretching you as you squeezed him, as he continued to push until he was fully seated, settled inside you, all the way in.  

He lowered himself onto his elbows, nudged your nose with his, kissed you. Slow and deep, his body unmoving. You wondered what was stopping him, tilted your hips a little, wrapped your legs around him, clenched tight until he shuddered with a gasped laugh. 

“If you don’t want me to come like, immediately, you’re going to have to stop that.” 

You laughed back, in disbelief, still not really experiencing this as the Real Deal, still convinced this might be a dream. That Jimin was fucking you—was not fucking you right now because he needed a second to gather himself, a second to keep it together so he could fuck you.  

You relaxed yourself as much as you could, stroked his hair, flicked his earlobe with your tongue and bit down lightly on the soft flesh. Let your mouth explore where it could reach.  

“Jimin,” you whined, when he still hadn’t moved. “Please.”  

He didn’t reply; his face was tucked into your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing there. You were two seconds from begging again when he finally moved. He dragged backwards, slowly, and shot forward, fast and hard. Then he did it again. And again. His hips moved fluidly; his arms caged you in securely; his lips sucked soft against your skin.  

He had worried it would be quick, but you were sure time was slowing down. It was stretching itself over this moment so that it lasted forever, so that each time Jimin slammed his hips against yours, it took an age; every kiss lasted an hour; every gasp became a long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn’t quick; it was eternal. It was elemental. 

It brought you into your body in a way that made you feel more than human. That made you feel animal. That made you feel pure and unshackled and unburdened. That made you feel free. Free because all you had to pursue was pleasure. All you had to concern yourself with was your body and his and the way they came together. There was no time, no loss, no rush, no ending, nothing to spoil the sanctity of this coupling.  

It wasn’t always like this. You’d been around the block enough to know that this could have ended differently. On another night, you might have been lying on someone else’s sofa, waiting for it to end because you were simply bored now, because they had been all talk and no trousers, because they weren’t doing it right and you couldn’t be bothered to correct them.  

Jimin didn’t need correcting. He was, as ever, a fucking overachiever. His girth pushed against your g-spot with every thrust and his length made each drag deep and lasting. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do. 

Then he pushed himself up onto one hand and used his free hand to push low on your abdomen as he continued to piston against you. The gasp it stole from you was choked and you felt your legs twitch, tighten, pull close as the rest of your body collapsed inward, too. He reached his thumb down, pressed it against your clit and let the snap of his hips move you, just slightly, just enough that it was teasing again, that you could feel him in a way that suddenly was not quite enough. Was maddening. 

“Jimin,” you keened, sweat dripping down your spine as your back arched from the sofa. 

“Say it again.” 

“Jimin.” 

“Again.” 

“Fuck, Jimin.” 

He growled, deep in his throat, and your hips jerked as he pressed his thumb harder against you, swirled it in circles, rough and quick until you were coming again, gasping, squirming, clawing at his arms, your back threatening to snap in two. He kept his teeth clenched as he fucked you through it, as he pushed through the tight spasms of your cunt, as he fought to last until the end, until your body flopped, spent and lead-heavy into the cushions. 

Only then did he let go, did he give a final few thrusts, did he moan loud and long as he came.  

He flopped beside you on the sofa and you lay there, breathing heavily in a silence that felt light. You felt his lips press at your clavicle, his fingers then tracing the same spot. Then his lips again. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You’ve got a little mole here,” he murmured, still directing most of his attention towards it. “I haven’t noticed before... I like it.”  

You hummed, satisfied, heart secretly thrilling. You let him kiss you, back and across the straight line of collar bone, flicking his tongue over your mole. What dedicated attention you hadn’t had for such a long time.  

You could feel your eyelids droop, felt as though maybe you should clear some things up before you passed out; you weren’t sure you’d make it that far. Then Jimin spoke, cutting through that drunken, post-coital haze. 

“Never shit where you eat.” 

“What?” 

He looked at you. 

“Never shit where you eat. I don’t fuck coworkers.” 

Reality came crashing in on you like a tsunami. 

You were coworkers. No, you had been coworkers. You weren’t anymore, because Jimin was leaving. Had left. Had worked his last day, celebrated in the pub, and then fucked you into the sofa. Had fucked his former coworker. You.  

“So you’re saying, all this time...?” 

He shrugged. 

“Not necessarily all this time. But yeah... You?” 

You shrugged back. 

“Literally wasn’t aware of it until tonight. Until you were trying to get me to leave.” 

He laughed breathlessly. 

“I wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I was trying to get you into bed.” 

“Oh.” 

A beat. 

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?” 

He laughed again, full-throated this time. 

“We fucked, didn’t we?” 

“On the sofa.” 

He swatted your arm playfully. 

“Technicality. I still say it counts.” 

“That’s the sort of carelessness and lack of attention to detail that’ll get you fired, y’know?” 

“Oh, you’re firing me?” 

“Perhaps I am.” 

“Wow, fired on my first day. My parents will be so disappointed in me.” 

“First day?” 

You looked up at Jimin, heart racing wildly. None of this had been expected; none of this was sinking in. Did a first day necessarily imply a second? A third? More?  

“First of many... If you want.” 

You did want. You nodded.  

“Great,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to yours. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss my probation.” 

“A meeting? Nah, this could be an email.” 

[deucebox]

: ̗̀➛ our sweet adorable… child? wait-

scaramouche x reader

fluff

794 words

note: scara referred to reader as the kid’s mom once but they/them pronouns still used. not really proofread hehe.

you didn’t know that having a kid around would allow you the opportunity to witness another side of scaramouche you thought you would never see.

scaramouche could only look at you with furrowed brows with his arms crossed on his chest. “the hell is that?” he scoffed.

“a… child?” you answered unsurely with a hint of ‘isn’t-it-obvious?’ tone, hugging the frame of the little girl closer to your body.

the young man clicked his tongue in annoyance, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. “where did you get it?”

“she spawned from the sky— for archon’s sake, i have no idea either!” you snapped back and cleared your throat after. “but really, i was looking at the stalls in the market a while ago when she suddenly held my hand and tagged along. i tried asking where her parents are but she seems to not know and i’m guessing she’s around four years old?”

he scanned the girl in your grasp and the kid stared back innocently. she turned her body to his direction and stretched out her arms.

you chuckled and walked closer to scaramouche and he reluctantly held her. “what’s your name, little one?” he inquired warily.

“yuina!” she cheerfully answered, craning her neck to the side and gazed curiously at the red strings dangling from his hat.

yuina leaned forward and rested her chin on scaramouche’s shoulder and reached out to pull the string downward, causing him to throw his head back a bit and you stifled a laugh.

scaramouche groaned and immediately went to lecture her. yuina couldn’t help but pout sadly as her ears took in all his scolding.

“kunikuzushi.”

his head snaps towards you upon sensing the emphasis of threat in your voice. you irritatedly signaled him to look at yuina’s state and so he did.

scaramouche stared at her glossy eyes, red nose, and flushed cheeks while trying not to let out a sob.

his eyes widened slightly for a fraction of second before stuttering out an apology. “s-sorry. don’t cry, yuina. i’m not mad at you, hush now.” he gently pats her head before proceeding to wipe away her tears with his thumb.

“k-kuni…zuhi…?” she imitated but only jumbled her own words.

“you’ll get it right next time,” he sighed.

“kuni made my yuina upset? what should we do to get back at him?” you joked and squeezed her chubby cheeks softly.

“‘m hungry.” yuina cheekily smiled. with her simple gesture, both you and scaramouche were stunned for a moment with how cute she is.

“then let’s make kunikuzushi pay for our food!” you suggested and scaramouche could only let out a huff.

“yuina,” she pointed at herself and you two pay attention to what she was going to say next. “papa… mama…” she then pointed at scaramouche and then you.

“ridiculous. we are not your paren—mhmp!” you gently slapped his mouth shut and just nodded at her. “we can be your second mom and dad, yuina! we’ll take care of you.” you reassured and she let out a small ‘yay!’

he reached out in his pocket and fished out a chocolate candy. scaramouche unwraps it with one hand and brought it closer to yuina’s face.

she instinctively reaches for it but scaramouche brings his hand further away, making the child whine. “ah-ah-ah. if your hands get dirty, you might wipe it on my clothes. let me feed it to you instead.” he reasons out, voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“how come you never feed me affectionately like that?” you shamelessly sputtered and he grimaced at your statement. “grow up, y/n.” he snarled, bringing back his attention to yuina as she gratefully munched on the treat.

“could be saying the same thing to you,” you whispered. “what?” he glared. “nothing!”

“don’t be like your mom, they’re always so mean to me.” he feigned hurt and yuina giggled before agreeing, scaramouche smiled in victory before insisting a high-five with her.

“why are you teaming up on me now, huh?” you playfully scrunched your nose disappointingly.

“let’s leave y/n now and we’ll buy you whatever you want to eat, yes? good.” he insisted.

yuina happily booped scaramouche’s nose. he stilled in shock and for once today, he breaks and smiles.

“feeling bold now, are we?” he teased and lowered his head a bit so that his nose could touch hers. being a witness of this tugged your heartstrings in the best way possible and you could just melt there and then at the sight.

you didn’t even notice that they were both looking at you expectantly. “are you just going to stare at us and not eat?” he sassed and you excitedly walked to his right side, your hand finding its way to hold his unoccupied hand.

perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad if you and scaramouche keep yuina for the rest of the day.

and if i suddenly kill yuina then what

just kidding hehe. scaramouche’s backstory was my main reason for writing this in one sitting and i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i do!

i really really hope this was to your liking nakskkw rbs are greatly appreciated ty ily pls take care *smooches*

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

saw the anon who asked abt wandanat x reader! could we possibly get any thoughts on them? you’ve been feeding us with all this wanda content and it’s so amazinggg!

Omg ofc I do… sorry for responding so late pls forgive me

Like just imagine a subby nat and dom wanda omfgggg the lowkey switch in me is going insane..

Natasha acts all tough in public and in front of the team, all smolders and crossed arms and power stances, but both you and Wanda know what she’s like in the privacy of the bedroom. Not that you’d ever reveal it, you both love your girlfriend too much to betray her like that. 

Wanda prefers to remain mysterious, all quiet and lingering in the shadows, scarlet wisps dancing around her fingertips and green eyes ever alert. She isn’t a fan of showing off her dominance, even in the bedroom. She much prefers quiet control, commanding her girlfriends with a single look and a flick of her fingers, scarlet magic ready to take control at any moment. 

The enchanted strap she wears never fails to drop Natasha to her knees, her cold exterior melting away as Wanda places a gentle hand on her cheek, cradling her head. Natasha can finally let her mind calm, her eyes focused solely on Wanda instead of scanning the room for the nearest exit, her trust placed completely in her lover’s hands.

You’re just satisfied to watch most of the time, in awe of your girlfriends’ presence. But, you can’t help the ache that rises within you, arousal burning in your veins at the sight of Wanda thrusting roughly into Natasha. The helpless moans that sound out from the spy, only to be muffled when Wanda shoves her head into a pillow, causing you to pant like a dog in heat. 

Once you’re desperate enough, Wanda will beckon you over with a single crook of her finger and a small, satisfied smile. 

You’re eager, ready to do whatever she commands. And that’s just the way she likes you. Some days, she’ll command you to eat out Natasha, gently fingering you while you overstimulate the spy until she’s pleading and begging for relief. Other days, you’ll suck her strap, taking it down your throat until Wanda grabs your head and shamelessly fucks your mouth until she’s satisfied. 

On special days, when Wanda is feeling favorable, she’ll let you eat her out. She’s a fan of sitting on your face, grinding her hips against your lips and tongue as you devour her, juices running down your chin. She likes to make out with Natasha as you lick and suck at her clit, moaning into the Russian’s mouth and grabbing her throat tightly as she cums.  

God, these two would be the death of you someday. And you wouldn’t ask for it any other way. ♡ 

[peachhcs]

losing the championships

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will's self-doubt creeps in after losing the finals making him snap at the one person who's always there for him, almost making her turn her back on him.

2.6k words

warnings: a bit of angst, arguing, crying, this is a sad post in general

ik im feeding y’all rn but i feel weird putting this out in two days and not now haha, but guys you know i had to do it. i had to get the angst out. i think this is like the first angsty post in the series?? i hate when there is angst, but i love writing it lmao. i'm not sure how accurate some of this is, but i hope the trio stays on for another season!! i'd actually be devestated if they don't. anyways keep requesting!! <3

au masterlist

it didn’t feel real. nothing felt real watching her best friends crumple to the ice in utter defeat and heartbreak just two days after winning the semifinals. samy stood up in the stands nearly motionless while everything around her fell silent. she didn’t think those moments were actually real whenever they played in movies, but here she was hardly focusing on anything but her best friends in tears. 

her eyes couldn’t leave ryan on his knees with his face in the ice. she just wanted to wrap all of them into her arms so none of them would feel this type of pain anymore. 

the stupid jumbotron panned to everyone’s reactions, basically putting the boys on full blast when they most definitely didn’t want anyone to see them crying like they were. samy’s heart only broke further when she finally looked down at her boyfriend trying to hold himself together while comforting a sobbing ryan and teary gabe. 

her own eyes grew teary seeing those three so destroyed not knowing what was next for any of them. that was probably the scariest part. 

when will searched for samy’s gaze the waterworks broke like a dam for the couple. the youngest hughes was completely crying and will’s shame settled into his skin that he lost the game without even scoring a single point. 

their coach urged the boys down the tunnel before the cameras could get any more shots of them. samy tried pulling herself together, but her hiccuping cries didn’t stop slipping out no matter how hard she tried holding them in. 

boston’s side of the lobby was nearly silent which almost mirrored michigan’s team two days ago. suddenly, seeing those happy memories wasn’t as easy anymore. samy’s mind raced wondering if this game really was the last for her favorite trio or if they’d stay on one more season with boston. 

thirty minutes passed before the bc boys slowly trickled out of the locker room. their bloodshot eyes and tear stained faces were enough to send more tears into samy’s own eyes. her lip quivered waiting for her boyfriend to appear, but he didn’t come out after his usual spot behind ryan and gabe. the two boys found samy’s gaze, frowning even deeper. 

“hey, i’m so sorry. i-i have no words,” samy brought them into big hugs hoping to ease a bit of their ache. 

“what a fucking night,” ryan muttered bitterly. 

“you guys played well. those refs were idiots making calls,” the brunette shook her head. 

“will’s still in there. he’s..he’s not taking this one too well. you can go in if you want, but he may explode. I i don’t want you to think he’s mad at you, he’ll just find something to take his anger out on,” gabe explained briefly. samy’s eyes slid towards the locker room doorway where her boyfriend hid. 

“don’t worry, i know how he gets. I’ll see if i can talk to him,” she couldn’t be scared of will. 

he was her best friend and boyfriend. he’d never intentionally hurt her and if he said things, she knew he was just angry with himself, not her. the girl shuffled her way towards the locker room trying to put on a brave face for will’s sake. 

she knocked on the door before slowly pushing it open. her eyes scanned the practically empty room until she found her boyfriend slumped in his stall at the end of the benches. her hands trembled as she slid further in and leaned against the door. 

“will?” 

his eyes snapped towards hers. he looked like a mess and that only unleashed more waterworks seeing him in this state. it wasn’t one samy saw him a lot in, so when she did, it hurt extra hard. 

“if you’re here to try and make me feel better, i don’t wanna hear it,” the boy mumbled bitterly which quickly caught samy off guard. 

she wasn’t expecting that from him so immediately. 

“i’m not. just here to be with you,” the girl said, trying to hide the shake in her voice. 

“well, i’m not really in the mood to be around anyone right now. just go. i’ll be out in a few minutes,” the bitterness in his voice definitely stung, but samy tried shaking him off knowing he was just upset. 

“will..” she inched forward, wanting to reach out to him. he looked as if anyone touched him he’d just break into a million pieces. 

“i said go. i don’t need your fucking sympathy. i feel feel like shit,” the blonde snapped this time making samy instantly draw back. 

“i know you’re upset, i get it. this loss fucking sucks. i’m just trying—” 

“you don’t fucking get it, samy! i just lost the championship game 2-0. we scored zero points. you know how fucking embarrassing that is? i’ve been trying to prove myself all season about how good i can be and then i lose the championship game. you’ll never fucking get it!” there it was. 

will’s tone rose with anger and hurt all mixed into one. samy swallowed the nerves climbing higher in her stomach as she tried remembering none of this was really directed at her. she was just the person will was getting his anger out on. 

“i-i do get it, will. remember my championship game in december? we choked. i-i get it, i do. it sucks and i’m so sorry it ended this way. i wish it didn’t—”

“stop saying you get it. it’s not the fucking same. you’ve never had to work for anything in your life because of your family!” 

the blonde’s harsh words finally hit a nerve. samy’s face twisted and she didn’t know anymore if he really didn’t mean it or not, but through the anger, will realized what he said. 

“samy..i didn’t—”

“fuck you, will. you of all people should know how hard i’ve worked to be where i am right now. i know you’re upset about everything right now, but you don’t need to bring me down to make yourself feel better. don’t bother waiting up. i’m leaving with ryan and gabe,” samy stormed out of the locker room before will could say anything more.

the tears streamed down her face as soon as she was in the lobby again. ryan and gabe instantly noticed her distraught expression, immediately going to her. 

“shit, what happened?” ryan muttered. 

“can we just go? i can’t deal with him right now,” samy choked out. the two exchanged a worried glance, but obliged. 

the whole ride back to the hotel was nothing but silence as everyone reeled from the disappointing night. 

—

gabe let samy camp out in his hotel room for the night. he didn’t dare ask her what happened in the locker room knowing she’d tell him if she wanted to; however, the dark-haired boy wanted to go knock some sense into will knowing he most definitely snapped too hard at samy which made her want to avoid him. 

it was almost two in the morning when there was a small knock. still awake, the two exchanged wary glances, so gabe got the door. 

he pulled it open to reveal a very weary, teary-eyed, sad, and frustrated will. for a moment, gabe almost let him in, but he stopped himself because he didn’t want the boy blowing up at samy again. the girl sat nervously on the bed just out of sight of the door listening in on them.

“is she here?” will rasped out, voice dry from the amount he cried after samy left the locker room and getting back to the hotel. 

“i’m not sure i wanna answer that,” gabe stood his ground. 

“come on, perreault. leno said he didn’t have her,” will tried again. 

hearing how wrecked he sounded broke samy’s heart all over again. gabe gazed back at her, a look in his eyes asking her if she really wanted to see him. 

even though he insulted her, something in samy was still trying to justify it for him being upset and angry. she really wanted to believe he didn’t mean it. with that, the girl crawled off the bed and shuffled her way behind gabe’s 6’1 figure. 

“we can talk in your room,” samy mumbled. 

“o-okay,” the shake in her boyfriend’s voice made samy want to lunge herself at him and make all the pain go away, but she had to stand up for herself still. 

“you’re sure?” gabe wondered before letting her go. 

“i’m sure. i’ll see you tomorrow,” she rubbed his arm and stepped around him. 

her and will walked three doors down where his hotel room was. it was basically hers too since most of her stuff was scattered across the room over the past few days they’ve been there. 

will shut the door behind them. the brunette looked at him expectantly knowing she said everything she could. a beat of silence passed before the tears quickly filled the blonde’s eyes and he started completely sobbing in front of her. he crumpled against the door, choking sobs falling from his lips as he body sunk into the ground. 

for a second, samy just stared at him until her instincts kicked in and she went to him without hesitation this time. 

“oh will,” she curled into his side, stroking his hair as his body fell into hers. 

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean any of it. i don’t know why i said it. i was upset and i know that’s not an excuse at all,” the boy rambled into her shoulder. 

“i know this loss hurts, but taking your anger out on people with harsh words isn’t gonna make it better,” samy said.

“i know, i know. i-i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you. that’s not fair to you at all.” 

“i was just trying to comfort you like i always do after losses,” the girl hated seeing her boyfriend so upset like this. his tears dripped everywhere on her even after samy tried wiping them away with her thumb. 

“i know. i shouldn’t have pushed you away like that. i just.. I didn’t want you to see me like that,” will’s voice grew softer at his small admission. 

“what do you mean like that?” i’ve seen you lose games before.”

“i don’t know if this is how you felt after your soccer game, but i felt so pathetic for losing a championship game where we didn’t even score. my pride was hurt and i worried you’d think i wasn’t good enough anymore because i lost like that,” his words continued breaking samy’s heart. 

she grabbed ahold of his face so he was looking at her, “i’d never think any less of you because you lost. it happens. you’re not pathetic for losing and i promise it doesn’t make me look at you any differently.” 

“i guess i’m just always scared you’ll get sick of me and realize i’m not actually worth it. that and a hundred other emotions were just going through me and it came out really wrong,” will frowned. 

a small sigh escaped the girl’s lips hearing the boy she’s known all her life doubt himself so much. “you’re always worth it, will. nothing’s ever gonna change that for me, okay? i’m always gonna be in love with you and wanna be around you win or lose, whatever's happening in your career. you’re stuck with me,” a small laugh escaped their lips at the last part. 

“i know that. i just get really doubtful when i get down on myself and hard losses like that happen.” 

“i get it, but i’m not going anywhere, okay? you played your best tonight, those refs were making shit calls and unfortunately, denver just figured us out.” 

a small nod came from will. he pushed his forehead onto samy’s just trying to ease all the thoughts running through his mind while focusing on the way she ran her fingers gently through his hair and around his curls. some of his roots were rough and red from the way he pulled harshly on them earlier, so her gentle motions slowly eased the ache. 

“i’m scared that i don’t know what’s gonna happen next with any of us,” will spoke again after a small silence. 

he lifted his head again to meet his girlfriend’s gaze before leaning it against the door. 

“are you gonna sign on?” the idea played in samy’s mind as well after tonight’s game. 

the decision was entirely up to the coaches of each of the guy’s respective teams, but considering how well all of them played and improved in one season, they may want them sooner rather than later. 

“i don’t know. it’s up to whether the sharks want me now or later,” will answered. 

“have you talked to ryan or gabe? what they may do?” 

“washington’s pushing closer to the playoffs. they may want ryan on for it. i dunno. gabe’s most likely gonna stay. i don’t think the rangers are quite ready for him yet. the ideal situation is we all stay one one more season with boston,” will explained a bit, his fingers drawing mindles shapes into samy’s leg. 

“what do the sharks say about you?” the girl wondered with a raised eyebrow. 

“you know what they say about me. they want me now. they wanna wait another year. it’s..sort of up to me i guess,” will shrugged a bit, avoiding eye contact. 

“would you sign on now?” she rephrased her question from earlier. 

“if i sign on now, my entire life gets flipped around in a week and i have to move to california, but then i’d possibly get to play in the playoffs. if i wait, i get to stay with boston and everyone for another year and more importantly, see you more frequently than if i was in california,” samy rolled her eyes at the last part—he was always so down bad for her. 

“don’t make the decision based on me, will. you’ll see me still.” 

“i know, but i think i do subconsciously anyway. you’re just my life now,” his words sent a deep blush across the girl’s cheeks. 

“i’m flattered,” she rubbed the side of his cheek making him lean into her touch. 

“you’re everything to me, samy. i’m really, really in love with you and i can’t imagine my life without you in it,” will smiled softly. 

the girl flushed, but returned his smile. hearing those kinds of things come out of his mouth was still something the brunette was getting used to even after 9 months of being together. 

“you’re everything to me too, will. i love you a lot.” 

the boy leaned forward to place a gentle, yet loving kiss on her lips. they melted into one another, small sighs escaping their mouths at the contact. her hands tugged at his curls while his own curved around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer like he needed her as close as possible or else he couldn’t function. 

part of it was true. without samy, will was lost like a fish in the ocean. she was a part of him and he was a part of her. they were intertwined and always would be. her soft lips soothed every single thought and self-doubt will had because as long as his favorite girl believed in him, that was all that mattered. 

“i know i said this already, but thank you for being here. it means a lot to me,” will said when they pulled apart. 

“i’d never miss this. i’ll always skip classes for you,” she grinned. 

the boy beamed, pulling her back in for another kiss. 

the two didn’t get into bed until nearly 3:30 in the morning. samy curled into will’s side, his arm tightly around her as she laid on his chest. the tension in the air completely dissipated and the cries died down. things felt okay again. 

they’d sleep tangled in one another all night knowing the next morning samy had to catch her plane back to michigan and will would be left with one big decision that would decide what plane he had to catch. 

[urgardenandmine]

crushes and beats ☊ - m. lee

summary: you have a small adventure in SM's building and meet a cutie genre: fluff pairing: m!reader x mark lee word count: 2.1K

the weather was NOT in your favor on this summer day. well, not just the weather but the whole week itself.

this week was your first week within the SM building after winning what seemed to be a total scam considering you saw the ad to attend a once a year producer group session with a bunch of others from other countries. 

you received the news in your college dorm, while you were aimlessly scrolling on your x feed, just reposting a bunch of mindless posts on what a hippo would look like crossed with a watermelon. as you were scrolling on your phone, you saw the ad plastered in the usual pastel pink they would always use to market their stuff.

"CALLING ALL PRODUCERS!

Want to be a part of SM’s producing session and possibly be chosen to compose a song for our artists? Here’s your chance!

Go to our website and click the form!"

it looked inviting but what if it wasn’t real? (even though you still did it so it was real considering you were now here in their branch in korea.)

while in your dorm, you were procrastinating on your homework. though you had asked for an extension, you were already approaching the extension deadline but i mean everyone deserves a fun small break now and then.

hopping out of bed, you slid into your soft and cozy koala slippers as you took five steps onto your classic off-white rolly chair. opening up your silvery blue laptop, you typed in the link below in the post you had seen earlier. clicking enter, you were taken to a google doc form that was headlined with the official SM logo. the title read “PRODUCER SUBMISSION.” it looked promising but you didn’t have high hopes of getting in. nonetheless, you clicked out the tab and opened up your drive of beats you had made. 

the requirement was the sample be at least a minute long, which was easy considering you had full song lengths of beats. looking at each one you had in your drives, you closed your eyes and clicked on one. opening one eye, you had saw that you clicked it yet the name wasn’t shown (which was somewhat concerning since most of your files were named with the most absurd names like “cocomelon’s rival.”). you shrugged it off, somewhat confident in your skills yet not so cocky you would just automatically book a flight to korea. 

fast forward to a day later, you had received an international call and was told by their marketing team that you won! except you were like literally in the middle of school and like you had to tell your friends, family, pets, the school itself and like whoever else was involved in your life that somewhat needed you nearby. you had received the call during a small passing period between your classes, choking on your apple while surrounded by your friends as you all ate under a tree. you immediately ran to your dorm, your friends close behind as you started to pack for the weekend to get onto the paid flight to another country. 

another fast forward, you were kinda not expecting this rocky ass start in korea where you had to keep up appearances. korea was apparently dealing with a small heatwave this summer, and by small, it was literally 38C (or 101F). you were dressed in long sleeves, not really thinking much on what you packed considering you were packing every ten minutes after every ten minutes of studying last weekend. it wasn’t a good system but you did ace your sociology quiz with a 45/50. 

you were racing through the concrete halls, seeing a bunch of staff walking in the other direction as you had your laptop nestled in one arm, also filled with a binder, papers and your lanyard dangling off your hooked index finger and a single iced sweetened americano in the other hand. in retrospect, you shoulda brought your bag but didn’t want to look like a newbie in front of people who were great composers. 

scanning the glass doors, you read the labels on them except one issue, you struggled to read korean. you squinted your [e/c] eyes, looking at each door as you slowly began to walk passed the doors. one door had said “recording room/(1)녹음실,” which looked familiar since you saw that in the syllabus you were given with your other companions. standing in front of the textured glass door, you took a sharp breath in and let out a relaxed breath out. this should be a piece of cake. you already braved a flight to another country, braved talking to the security guard since you were an hour late and spoke no korean, braved asking for a sweetened americano even though you forgot the word for sugar and ALSO braved wearing a big baggy long sleeve in this weather. 

looking down at your hands, you gently squatted down and placed your cup down at your feet. inching forward with your now one free hand, you turned the handle and turned a small 90 degrees, using your behind to keep the door open. you bent down, grabbing your cup as you then turned back around and pushed your way through the door. it was heavier than you expected but you came for a music workshop, not an actual wood workshop. 

the recording studio was huge, almost the same size as your dorm. to your right, there was an L-shaped black leather sofa. the walls were a soft beige, which differed from the color of the booth as the booth itself was an eggshell white. in front of you was the equipment you had researched beforehand. 

you stepped closer, amazed at all the technical buttons and other mechanics the sound technicians had to work with while the famed idols you have heard of. realizing you were too lost in thought, you shook your head and checked the time on your watch. 1:27 PM. the session should start soon, but it was weird considering you were the only one here but maybe even producers were sometimes a little late.

making your way to the couch, you sat down and placed your equipment in your lap. setting your drink on the carpeted floor, you smiled as you took the whole room as well as the experience. this was real and happening. you were here to show off your talents. 

the door soon slowly opened, causing you to shoot up and look at the one in charge of the session. as you slowly centered your focus, the person you expected wasn’t the one you were met with.

in front of you stood a somewhat lanky and built man, adorned in a grayish tame impala hoodie. he had baggy navy blue sweatpants as well, paired with zebra adidas. as well as that, he had black messy bed hair by the looks of it and rounded frame glasses. 

“(2)아, 안녕하세요.” the man spoke, extending his right arm as he bowed. you looked at him, bowing back and trying to reply with the same greeting he had said to you. standing up straight, the man eyed you as he raised his right eyebrow, smirking.

“you speak english?” he asked, his small laugh making you feel a bit more at ease.

“yes, thank god. i mean-!” you groaned, smacking your head gently as you placed your hand into your palms trying to hide your embarrassment as you spoke before you could even think. hearing a small hearty laugh, you looked up as you saw the man chuckle and hold his stomach.

“nah, no worries! that was me before coming here too.” he said, staring at you, shifting into a more comfortable stance.

“i’m mark, nice to meet ya.” he introduced himself, extending his hand as you reached for a firm shake. the name sounded familiar but it wasn’t so close to ringing a bell. 

“sounds kinda familiar.” you spoke, making him place a hand over his heart, feigning a hurt act.

“wow~, welp, hate to break it to you but i’m kinda known here. i’m in a group called NCT.” he explained, making you nod as you finally realized where he was from. NCT. they sounded familiar but your music taste was all over the place. you solely remembered NCT as the group who basically claimed the color green. you smiled at him, showing him your pearly whites as you chuckled.

“nice to meet you, mark. i’m [y/n].” you introduced yourself, giggling softly as you did a small wave at him. looking at him, a small blush creeped onto his ears as he cleared his threat and looked away. you tilted your head, seeing him blush. you blinked, feeling your own neck get warm as your cheeks were slowly getting more color. turning your head away, you coughed softly. 

mark looked back at you, then seeing beside you your equipment as he pointed. 

“what’s all that?” he asked, walking a bit closer as he stood a foot from you. you turned your head to your laptop and papers, smiling gently as you got closer to them.

“oh! i’m here from winning the SM producer/composer competition.” you explained, looking at him as he scratched the back of his neck. his smile had faded, causing you to look at him and be a bit confused.

“i kinda hate to break it to you but the producing session was at 11:30 AM.” he revealed, causing you to feel your heart break a smidge. looking down at your feet, you could feel your energy shift the mood in the room. you couldn’t believe that you misread the rubric time. how could you have misread “11:30” as “1:30?” granted, you were also trying to do an essay overseas from your college. letting out a somewhat exasperated sigh, you looked up at mark and smiled.

“well, thanks for letting me know! i’ll be on my way.” you forced a small smile onto your face, bending down to slowly grab your things. as you reached down, you felt his hand placed onto yours. looking to your right, your eyes met as he began to smile at you.

“well, i mean you’re already here so why not just show me what you got?” he suggested, causing you to blush harder than ever. mark smiled widely, grabbing you stuff as he placed it onto the table and opened your laptop for you. he sat down on the chair on the left, reaching down to grab a cord and plugged it into your laptop. as he turned his head, he had still saw you standing there, lost in thought. he had patted the chair across from him, signaling you to sit down. 

snapping yourself out of your trance, you shook your head and made you way to the chair. mark had scooted closer to you, causing you to relax from the nerves you felt as you stared into his eyes. you opened your files, searching for one to show him. as his brown eyes read every file, he chuckled and leaned into your personal bubble, pointing a finger at one file.

“can you play this for me?” he asked. your eyes trailed his finger, seeing the file he wanted to be played. you froze, the file being named the absolute most dumbest thing ever. 

“you want me to play this?” you reiterated. you didn’t even remember what this beat/sample sounded like. you were somewhat tipsy when making this (if drinking about almost ten moscow mule during a frat party was “tipsy”). 

“yes. i would like for you to play “daddy won’t lemme see the ice king.”’ he read, laughing between each word. you groaned, smiling as you shrugged it off and clicked on it. shutting your eyes tight, you prayed to god that this file was an actual work of art. to your surprise, it kind of was. the cord mark plugged into your laptop had played the file on the surround sound speakers above you. the sample was one that was more of an r&b vibe. the sample was similar to that of jazmine sullivan or lucky daye. 

looking to your left, mark was beaming. you chuckled, looking at him as he looked towards you. you immediately paused it, now remembering you weren’t sure if you were allowed to be in here. he slowly touched your hand, reassuring you. your eyes met, making you both feel comfortable enough with one another that you could drop each other’s guards. 

“i’ll make you a deal. you and i make a sick song out of this and i won’t tell if you won’t.” he proposed. furrowing your eyebrows, you looked at him a bit confused. he laughed sheepishly.

“i’m not really supposed to be here either.” he said, looking around as if he was a school boy that got caught pranking the teacher. you smirked, leaning forward. taken aback, mark looked at you as you bit your bottom lip.

“i won’t tell if you won’t.”

⋆｡°✩

(1) = 녹음실 = recording room/studio

(2) = 아, 안녕하세요 = ah, hello

i hope this story is good for y'all nctzens! i was a part of the group but not gonna lie, jeno's my favorite but no one heard that from me...

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Author's note • After my recent rant, Ive decided to feed the girlies who want fics that align with canon Aemond. Sooooo Im coming home for my girls with an fire & blood timeline retelling & not just more boring ass Mary Sue × Aemond smut. So we are starting from the beginning. The vibe is, "I could make him significant worse".

Word Count ~ 1.4k

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ●viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ii ~ 'Age of Hero's'

123 AC

It was not until later that night the young princess saw her uncle again. It took little effort to convince the Kings guard that she was not here to continue to jeer at the prince, but rather to give a sincere apology. At least, that is what she had told herself. It had not occurred to her, why or how men oft bended to her will. In truth, Visenya had little thoughts on such things, for all she knew, she asked and received accordingly – and if she did not receive, she would promptly sway until her desires were met.

It was this very naivety, this innate trust that the world would simply open its loving arms for her whenever she pleased, that worried her mother and father so dearly. Both knowing the ways of men, the violence and sickness that dwelled in her heads, most especially about a Princess of Valyrian blood. Seen less so for her heart and more for her blood born proximity to the God’s themselves. To power of fire made flesh, and of course. The beauty which came with Valyrian blood.

Visenya entered Aemond’s room quietly, and when she came before him, came before his body splayed out upon his bed she swiftly averted her gaze. The princess cleared her throat, a small noise of a disturbance left his mouth as he jumped, swiftly propping himself upwards.

“What are you doing in here? You ought-” His voice laced with outraged as The Princess interrupted.

“Temper yourself. I’ve not come to goad you. I just, I came to apologise.” A small laugh left her, she put her hand up.

“I do not give a shit.” Aemond snapped.

Visenya tilted her head, scanning him, “Fine. But I shall do so anyway.”

“Why?” Asked Aemond, the air teaming with uncertainty as he watched his sly niece walk slowly, stalking through his room like a cat.

“Because it is right, it is what is owed, and I’ve no intention being in your debt.” Visenya sighed, her voice almost aloof, smug. Her eyes look in the space, the perfectly kept books and scrolls upon his desk. The princess reached the dark mahogany desk that was seemly gleamed in the firelight. It seemed the prince had little taste nor need for decor, he seemed to only own objects for utilitarian purposes, he was so… conservative, Visenya thought. In fact, the only unkept thing was an open book, her pale fingers grazed the pages. Clearly, he had taken it from her Grandsire’s personal Library. She looked at the top, small writing detailing the topic ‘Age of Heros: Symeon Star-Eyes’. She had never heard of such a thing, her thoughts interrupted as another pale hand snatched the book away.

The prince’s eyes met hers with a venomous glare as placed the small book back upon his desk, “I find it difficult to believe you care about what is right.”

Visenya scoffed in response as she paced to the other side of the desk, her fingers as cunning as she as they found his book once more, “True. Perhaps I don’t, however it hardly matters. For even if I am saying it to benefit myself, my meaning is sincere.”

Frustration and rage tore through Prince Aemond as he then turned and stepped forward, who was she to dare apologise? After all this time, all these years of enduring her fucking bastard brothers torment? No, no Aemond would not tolerate it, he was not one to embrace pity. “I’ve no reason to accept your pathetic apology and I have no use for the rag of pity you continue to throw at me!” He snapped.

Visenya found herself taken aback by the fire in his eyes, she felt her own frustration boil as she bit back with equal fervour, “Yes, well perhaps you ought to! Since it seems I am the only one who is willing to throw it to you, and actually, unlike what you may think. I have little interest in hating you.”

“Do not lie.” Aemond stepped forward, his voice low.

“It is no lie. I do not hate you, we most certainly do not get along. But, I have little reason to hate you.” She shrugged, Visenya relaxed once more.

Though Prince Aemond could not tolerate it any longer, he would not take another drop of her insolence… her teasing, her lies! He snapped again, “You… you and your brothers torment me for your own amusement.”

“As does Aegon.” The Princess sneered, once again he had gotten himself into a state, she thought.

“I do not give a shit about Aegon! He is a fool and already a drunkard, and… and, well he is also my brother.” The prince wanted to push her, slap that smarmy sneer from her face. He stumbled upon his words, feeling more flustered, more overcome with the memories of all of his sister’s bastard’s torment. Their stupid, arrogant faces.

Visenya, ever cool, raised her brow, “So?”

“So, it is different.” He bit back.

Visenya stepped forward, folding her arms as she analysed him, by the Gods was he bothered. Still, she retorted back, “I dare say Aegon torments you for his own amusement far more than I. In fact, I do not torment you at all. They are mere jests!”

“Mocking me for not claiming a dragon is not a simple jest!” He had had it, the prince suddenly found himself unable to control it anymore, his hands came out before him, connecting with his niece’s chest as he pushed her back.

Visenya stumbled only slightly, she looked down and then swiped a stray hair from her face. Silence fell between them before a moment, a piercing silence. The soft breaths of Aemond to be heard as he tried to temper himself. A slight guilt filled him, but not for what he had done to the Princess, rather what may happen to him if his father found out. Or worst of all… if her father found out. The silence dragged, before shattered with the soft cackles of Visenya. Her face beaming.

“Gods…” She laughed, tilting her head back. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did tease him for her own amusement. Tis his fault really, Aemond ought to learn how not to be so easily pestered, he ought to enjoy her attention on him. Only the Gods knows how many other boys try and fail to garner her interest. Yet it was him, who truly captured Visenya. A cruel smile rose to her face.

“Just get out!” Aemond snapped again, feeling a slight measure of weakness under her gaze. He reached forward, grabbing her wrist harshly as he forced her to the door,  

As he did so, Visenya cackled, enjoying this far too much, she laughed as she spoke, “Very well, I apologize for my lapses, and I will not speak on your lack of a dragon again, Uncle.” The door swung open and Visenya nearly gasped as she felt the firm grip of the Kings Guard outside his chambers grip her shoulder.

“Come, princess. The hour grows late, the both of you ought be in your bedchambers for the night.” The King’s Guard voice rang firm as he began to escort Visenya away, her eyes lingered upon Aemond once more, as she giggled.

The cheeky cackling of his niece could be heard through the prince’s heavy doors, Aemond wore a bitter expression. He was utterly infuriated, utterly exhausted… and utterly ashamed in his own inability to not give in to her teasing. He scanned his room, the firelight casting a soft orange glow, the air was warm, and it’s smell a comforting indication of embers. Aemond sat upon his bed once more, eyes sharp and pained, a part of him wished to crawl into the arms of his mother but he did not send for her. No, he would face this alone, he would not behave as the weak little bellyacher they all thought him to be. He would be strong, infallible; he would be a man.

Upon this thought, Prince Aemond rose up from his bed, approaching his desk once more as he longed to find comfort in the tales of great knights and ruthless warriors; to read of Symeon Star Eyes. Yet, as the young prince’s eyes met the mahogany surface, he felt his gut coil with rage once more.

His book had been swiped.

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