#Maybe I will study more and make something of it

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

PR disaster

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. Franco is one of my favourite drivers so it was time that I wrote something for him :)

From the moment Y/N was hired as Williams' new PR manager, she knew the job wouldn’t be easy, especially with Logan's departure. Managing a driver's exit was never simple, and controlling the public narrative seemed like her biggest concern. However, she quickly realized that her true challenge came in the form of Franco, the young talent who had taken Logan’s place in the team.

Franco wasn’t just an exceptional driver; he was a whirlwind of energy and charisma. For the fans and the press, he was a breath of fresh air, full of charm and wit. But for Y/N, he was a constant source of headaches. Whether he was flirting with journalists, posting cheeky comments on social media, or creating unnecessary drama, it always ended with her cleaning up the mess.

"Y/N, did you see his latest post?" One of her assistants burst into her office, waving a tablet in the air. Another post. Another reckless comment from Franco.

Y/N groaned. Of course, he couldn’t help himself. She had spent the last week trying to reign him in, explaining time and time again that his social media presence needed to be professional, not a flirt-fest with every reporter and fan that interacted with him.

"This needs to stop," she muttered to herself, standing up from her desk. She stormed through the paddock, her frustration building with every step.

When she found Franco lounging near the team garage, chatting up a group of reporters—no surprise there—she called his name sharply.

"Franco. A word." Her tone left no room for argument.

He flashed his signature grin, excusing himself from the conversation and strolling over to her. "Hey, jefa," he said casually, as if nothing was wrong. "What’s up?"

(Hey, boss)

“What’s up?” she repeated, her voice laced with exasperation. “You’re what’s up. I just had to deal with your latest ‘incident’ on social media—again.”

Franco shrugged, leaning against the wall with an easy confidence that only made her more irritated. "Ah, it was just a little fun. People like it when I’m myself."

Y/N crossed her arms. “Flirting with journalists isn’t being yourself, it’s being reckless. You need to tone it down. This is a professional environment, not… whatever you think it is.”

He raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanour never faltering. "¿Estás diciendo que no te gusta que sea encantador? No puedo evitarlo si soy irresistible." (¿Are you saying that you don't like that I'm charming? I can't help it if I'm irresistible.)

Y/N frowned, her Spanish rusty but enough to pick up on something. "What?"

Franco grinned wider, sensing an opportunity. "Nada, nada," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know, maybe you should try smiling more. You’re always so… serious." He tilted his head, looking her up and down in a way that made her feel like he was studying her every reaction. "Me gusta más cuando te ríes… tienes una sonrisa preciosa, ¿sabes?" (Nothing, nothing) (I like it better when you laugh … you have a beautiful smile ¿you know?)

Her brow furrowed. Okay, that part she definitely understood, and it only made her more determined to get her point across. “This isn’t about me, Franco. This is about you being impossible to manage.”

He leaned closer, his tone dropping just slightly, enough to make her feel the warmth of his presence. "¿Imposible? No, jefa. Imposible sería si intentaras resistirte a mis encantos. Aunque… lo estás haciendo muy bien." (¿Impossible? No, boss. Impossible would be if you tried to resist my charm. Even… if you are doing it well)

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What did you just say?”

Franco simply smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You know, if you want me to be more ‘professional,’ we could… work out an agreement.”

“An agreement?” she asked, wary of where this was going.

He nodded, stepping just a little too close for comfort. “Sí. I’ll behave. No more trouble. But… on one condition.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?”

Franco’s grin turned almost predatory, though still playful. “You go on a date with me.”

Her jaw dropped. "A date?"

"Sí, una cita. You know, dinner, maybe some wine… you can lecture me all you want. But I think you’ll find I’m much better behaved when you get to know me… fuera del trabajo." (Yes, a date) (… out of work)

Y/N could feel her face heating up, partly from the absurdity of the situation and partly because Franco’s intense gaze was starting to get to her. “You’re joking.”

Franco tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “¿Parezco que estoy bromeando, jefa?” (¿Does it look like I'm joking, boss?)

Y/N stared at him, her mind racing. There was no way he could be serious. This was just another one of his games, another flirtatious comment that she needed to brush off. But as Franco stood there, grinning like the cat that got the cream, she realized he wasn’t backing down. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting, full of that infuriating confidence.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, turning on her heel to walk away. But as she took a step, Franco called after her.

"Well, I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing then… Maybe tweet a little something extra for the fans later."

She froze, clenching her fists at her sides. This man was impossible. She could already picture the chaos his next social media stunt would cause. The endless calls, the damage control, the headaches…

Y/N spun back around to face him. “Fine,” she blurted out, her voice filled with frustration. “You want a date? You’ll get your stupid date. But only if you promise—promise—to behave.”

Franco’s grin widened, looking almost triumphant. "¡Perfecto! I knew you couldn’t resist." (¡Perfect!)

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “This isn’t about ‘resisting,’ it’s about making sure you don’t ruin the team’s reputation. One dinner, and you tone it all down.”

Franco nodded, still smiling like she’d just handed him the world on a silver platter. "You won’t regret it, jefa. I’ll be a perfect gentleman." (boss)

Y/N scoffed, turning away once more. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

As she began walking back to her office, she could hear Franco’s voice calling after her, his tone teasing and undeniably smug. "No te preocupes, jefa. I’ll be on my best behaviour… unless you want me to misbehave a little." (Don't worry boss.)

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small, almost begrudging smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Franco was trouble, and she knew it. But for some reason, as infuriating as he was, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of something… interesting.

Grumpy or not, she’d agreed to the date. And she had a feeling this was only the beginning of whatever madness Franco had in store for her.

[syluslnd]

Hello I'm sorry if you're not taking requests. But please please if you are can you make the part 2 of Sylus as an online sugar daddy meeting with his sugar baby.

But please ignore it if you don't take requests and your writing is SOOO GOODD. Have a nice day!!

Sylus meeting with his online sugar baby

(note-you sent this a while back when I first started posting so I hope you’re still around lol I’m sorry for taking so long🤍)

Tags • virgin reader,sugar daddy sylus,verbal teasing,fingering,climaxing

5k word count (I got carried away sorry)

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Sylus himself couldn't even believe he was doing this. It wasn’t just a waste of time for him; he never thought he’d be the type to seek out a woman, especially in a place like this but something about you intrigued him in a way he couldn't ignore.

As he leaned against his sleek black car outside the arcade the neon lights flickered, illuminating the faces of the young couples and friends inside. He felt out of place the leader of Onychinus waiting in a childish venue a stark contrast to his usual world of power and control.

He glanced at his watch, the minutes stretching painfully. He was serious about this arrangement, after all. He had his reasons, practical ones—companionship, a distraction from the relentless pressure of his life. But he couldn't deny the thrill of meeting you, the allure of stepping into a world so different from his own.

The sound of laughter drew his attention, and then he saw you approaching. Your smile was bright, a refreshing contrast to the shadows that usually loomed around him. You looked confident almost carefree as you made your way toward him.

“Hi! sorry if I kept you waiting,” you said your voice light and cheerful,opposite of how he’s used to people greeting him.

“It’s fine,” Sylus replied, maintaining his serious demeanor. “I’m just getting used to this.”

“This?” you asked, gesturing around the arcade. “I get it,It’s not exactly your usual scene.”

He finally met your gaze, feeling a flicker of something unexpected—curiosity, perhaps. “I’m not here for the games sweetie”.

You smiled at his straightforwardness, your cheerful demeanor undeterred by his serious tone. “I figured,but the games are kind of fun! You should try one!”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, intrigued but unwilling to show it. “I doubt I’d find much enjoyment in... this.” He gestured around, feeling a mix of irritation and fascination at how different your world was.

You chuckled softly, the sound warming the chilly air between you. “You might be surprised,It’s nice to escape sometimes.” There was a glimmer in your eyes that caught him off guard.

“Escape?” he echoed, feeling the weight of his own reality settle back over him. “I’m not sure that’s possible for me.”

Your expression shifted slightly, the playful light dimming as you regarded him more seriously. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. He didn’t want to scare you away, but vulnerability was foreign territory for him.

You looked at him, studying his chiseled features and the tension that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you said softly, as if sensing the walls he’d erected around himself.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he replied, a hint of angst creeping into his tone. It was a reminder of the danger he lived in, the enemies lurking in shadows,never being able to be off guard . “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Your gaze remained steady, unwavering. “and yet here I am,Isn’t that the thrill of it? To step outside our comfort zones?”

“Thrill,” he muttered, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “More like recklessness.” But even as he said it, he couldn’t shake the instinct to protect you, to shield your brightness from his dark world.

You tilted your head, curiosity gleaming in your eyes. “You’re so serious sylus,what are you afraid of?”

He hesitated, the weight of his duality pressing down. “That I’ll lose you, kitten.” The admission surprised even him. He didn’t know you well, yet there was something about you that ignited an urgency within him.

Your smile returned, softer now, disarming his cold demeanor. “I’m not going anywhere,not yet at least.”

For the first time, Sylus felt a crack in his armor. Perhaps this sugar daddy arrangement was about more than just companionship; it was a chance to explore a connection that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As you took a step closer, he felt an instinctive need to draw you nearer, to keep you safe. “Let’s get out of here,” he said abruptly, surprising even himself with the sudden protective urge.

You blinked, a mix of confusion and excitement dancing across your face. “Where to?”

“Somewhere... away from all this.”

And with that, the tension shifted. Sylus realized he was no longer just a mafia boss seeking distraction; he was a man drawn to someone who could bring light into his otherwise shadowed existence.

As sylus drove you to the hotel, the tension in the car was palpable, a mix of excitement and uncertainty. The neon lights outside blurred by, but all he could focus on was the way you shifted in your seat, a nervous smile playing on your lips.

Once inside the hotel, he led you to a private suite, the door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality. The room was elegantly furnished, dim lighting casting a warm glow. You looked around, your earlier cheerfulness tempered by a hint of shyness.

“What happened to the lively little kitten I met at the arcade?” Sylus teased, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “You seemed so confident, and now...”

You bit your lip, glancing at the floor. “I don’t know! It’s just… different, you know?”

“Different,how so kitten?” He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”

“No, it’s not that” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. “It’s just... you’re a bit intimidating.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Intimidating? Sweetie, I promise I’m just a guy, a guy who’s curious about why you’re suddenly so shy.”

You took a breath, trying to regain some confidence. “I guess I just didn’t expect to be here, with you, like this.”

“Is that so?” He leaned against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, the teasing glint in his eyes intensifying. “I would’ve thought you’d be eager to explore every aspect of this arrangement.”

“Explore?” you echoed, feeling your cheeks heat.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, a playful smirk on his lips. “Try out all the fun things you can’t do over the phone .”

Your heart raced and you glanced away, flustered. “I—”

“Come on, kitten,” he coaxed, stepping closer again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you a little more innocent than you let on? Is that what this is about?”

You froze, your mind racing. “Um, well, I—”

“Are you a virgin, sweetie?” His words hung in the air, a teasing challenge that made you blush even deeper.

Your eyes widened, caught off guard. “I… maybe?” The admission slipped out before you could stop it, and you felt utterly exposed.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Well, that explains the shyness,but it’s cute,” he said, leaning in closer a playful glint in his eye. “I didn’t realize I was dealing with such an innocent little thing.”

You shifted your weight, heart pounding. “Stop it!” you protested, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “You’re making me feel like a kid!”

“Maybe you are,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze serious. “But don’t worry, kitten. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Your stomach fluttered at his words, a mix of excitement and nervousness washing over you. “You’re such a meanie!” you said, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably.

“I’m just having a little fun, sweetie,” he replied, his voice low and inviting. “You’re adorable when you blush like that. I could get used to this.”

The playful banter hung in the air, creating an electric atmosphere. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the walls you’d built around yourself slowly crumbling. “Maybe I’ll show you more of my personality if you promise to be nice,” you offered, your voice teasing back.

“Oh, I’ll be nice,” he promised, stepping back slightly to give you space. “But I can’t make any guarantees about being gentle.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the thrill that raced through you at his words. “I guess I’ll have to hold you to that.”

And in that moment, amidst the teasing and the laughter, something shifted between you, a connection deepening beneath the playful facade. Sylus felt a flicker of something he hadn’t anticipated—an urge to protect not just your innocence, but also to cherish the light you brought into his dark world.

Sylus moved towards you, the teasing smile on his lips fading just enough for his expression to darken, a serious intensity taking over. He crossed the room slowly, closing the space between the two of you, and before you could react, his hands were on your waist. With a firm but gentle grip, he lifted you effortlessly and plopped you onto the bed. The air left your lungs in a quiet gasp and for a moment, you were caught off guard by how swiftly he moved.

“Sweetie,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something lower, something that made the room feel smaller. His gaze locked on yours, the playfulness still there but laced with a seriousness that hadn’t been present before. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

You swallowed hard, the nervousness creeping back in as he loomed over you. “I… I think I do.”

He smirked, but there was something almost sad in it. “You think, huh?” His thumb brushed lightly against your waist as he knelt onto the bed, his hands still holding you in place. “Kitten, I’ve been playing this game for a long time. I know when someone’s out of their depth.”

The teasing edge in his tone made your heart race, but there was a weight behind his words that made you shift beneath him, uneasy but drawn in all the same.

“You’re a sweet little thing,” he said, his voice almost tender, though his words held a darker undertone. “Too sweet for someone like me. This isn’t like those playful messages online, sweetheart. I live in a world that’s... far from innocent.”

Your breath caught as his fingers trailed up your side, the motion almost soothing despite the tension in the air. “But you… you still want me here, don’t you?”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I want you, kitten. More than I should,but I worry about what happens if you stay in my world too long.”

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, your mind spinning. “What do you mean?”

Sylus pulled back slightly, his face hovering just inches from yours. The smirk returned, but his eyes were shadowed, conflicted. “You see, I’ve got my fun little games, but outside of this room? My life isn’t soft. It’s sharp edges and shadows..and you” he said, brushing a thumb over your cheek, “you’re too innocent,you don’t belong in that darkness.”

Your stomach tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “I can handle it. I’m not a kid.”

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it this time. “You’re not a kid, but you’re pure, and I’m not.” His hand found its way to your chin, tilting your head so your eyes met his. “You think being my sugar baby is all fun and games. But in person? It’s different. You’re not just playing with me anymore, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”

Your pulse quickened as he shifted his weight, pinning you gently beneath him. “And what if I want to get burned?” you whispered, feeling bolder in the heat of the moment.

For a second, his expression softened, and his fingers threaded through your hair as he gazed down at you with a mix of affection and regret. “Careful what you wish for, sweetie,” he murmured. “I might just give it to you.”

Despite the teasing, there was an undeniable protectiveness in the way he spoke, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or keep you at arm’s length. It was as if he feared that pulling you too far into his world would extinguish the light you carried—something that had begun to matter to him in ways he wasn’t prepared to admit.

And in that moment, you realized Sylus wasn’t just worried about what he could do to you. He was worried about what his world could do to someone like you.

Sylus hovered above you, his eyes flickering between restraint and desire, that teasing smirk playing on his lips as if he was holding himself back. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, his fingers still gently grazing your cheek. Despite all his playful words and sly smirks, you could see it—he was hesitating, his dark world swirling in his mind, wondering if pulling you closer would be a mistake.

For a moment, you bit your lip, considering what to do. But something inside you shifted. If Sylus wasn’t going to make the move, you would.

With a sudden burst of boldness, you reached up and cupped the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His eyes widened in surprise, the smirk faltering just slightly as you pulled him closer, your lips hovering inches from his.

“I’m not as fragile as you think, Sylus,” you whispered, your voice steady even though your heart pounded in your chest. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if caught completely off guard by your sudden boldness. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker, something hungry.

“Oh, kitten,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, “you think you’re being serious, don’t you?”

You kept your grip firm on the back of his neck, refusing to back down. “I am serious.”

The way his eyes softened at your determined expression made your stomach flip. He found you adorable—your attempt at taking control only seemed to amuse him more. “Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with affection and a hint of that ever-present teasing. “So tough, huh?”

Before you could say anything else, Sylus closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands, which had been holding you so delicately, tightened their grip, pulling you flush against him.

Your boldness evaporated as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a wave of flustered heat. The intensity of his kiss left you dizzy and though you had initiated this, you quickly realized you were in over your head. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you felt your face burning with embarrassment.

He broke the kiss just long enough to chuckle against your lips, his breath warm as he whispered, “What’s the matter, sweetie? You’re the one who made the move.”

You could barely respond, too flustered to form words. He loved it—he could see it in your wide eyes, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. You’d been so bold just moments before, but now? Now, you were back to being the adorable, innocent girl that had him wrapped around her finger.

Sylus leaned in again, this time brushing his lips over your cheek, down to your jaw, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “So cute when you’re all shy like this.”

Your hands trembled slightly, but you held onto him, trying not to completely melt under his touch. “I’m not… shy” you mumbled, but the words came out weak, betraying how flustered you really were.

“Oh, sure” he teased, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “Is that why you can’t even look me in the eyes right now?”

You wanted to protest, to regain some sense of composure but before you could, his hand slid down from your waist, trailing over your hip, slow and deliberate. His touch sent a shock of heat through you, and you instinctively arched toward him, though the movement only made you feel more embarrassed.

Sylus grinned against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you responded to him. “What happened to handling everything, kitten? Still think you’re in control?”

The way he spoke, his voice thick with amusement and a teasing edge, made it clear he was fully aware of the effect he had on you. He wanted to push you, see how far he could take it.

His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing over the curve of your thigh, teasing you just enough to leave you breathless. He pulled back just slightly, his face hovering above yours, his eyes scanning your flushed expression with a mixture of fondness and wicked delight.

“You look so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, his tone soft but with that same edge. “But you’re not ready for the things I want to do to you, are you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you met his gaze, determined not to back down completely. “Try me,” you whispered, though your voice was shaky.

Sylus chuckled again, leaning down to kiss you once more, slower this time, savoring the moment. “Oh, kitten,” he whispered between kisses, “you’re going to be so much fun.”

Sylus hovered over you, his lips barely leaving yours as he deepened the kiss, drawing out every flustered breath and soft sound you made. His hand, still trailing over your thigh, paused, fingers curling just enough to make you squirm beneath him. He pulled back, only an inch, enough to look at you with that knowing smirk—the one that told you he had complete control of the situation, no matter how much you’d tried to take charge.

“You really think you’re ready for this?” he asked, voice low, dark, but still teasing. His hand slid higher, resting on the bare skin just beneath the hem of your dress, his thumb brushing in soft circles that made it impossible to focus.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest, but you managed to meet his gaze with more boldness than you felt. “Yea,I can handle it.”

For a second, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, his smirk softened into something more, something almost affectionate. “You’re adorable,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Trying so hard to be brave.”

Before you could respond, his hand gripped your thigh a little tighter, drawing a soft gasp from you. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your neck. “But you don’t have to pretend with me, kitten. I know exactly how to get under your skin.”

The teasing lilt in his voice sent a thrill through you, and though you wanted to hold onto that boldness, the way his fingers danced across your skin made it impossible to keep up the act. Your breath quickened, and you could feel the heat rising in your face as his touch became more deliberate, more confident.

“See?” he murmured, his lips brushing over your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You’re already trembling, sweetie. I told you… you’re not ready for this.”

His words were a challenge, but they weren’t mocking. It was as if he was genuinely testing you, seeing how far you’d go before backing down. And despite the way he was unraveling you, you weren’t ready to surrender just yet.

“I can handle you,” you whispered, though the quiver in your voice betrayed your confidence.

Sylus chuckled softly, his lips moving up to your ear, the sound of his voice sending a shiver through you. “Is that right?” His hand slid even higher, fingers brushing dangerously close to places that made you gasp. “Then why do you sound so nervous, kitten?”

Your face burned, and you instinctively bit your lip to stop the soft whimper threatening to escape. But Sylus wasn’t about to let you off the hook that easily. His lips were back at your neck, pressing a lingering kiss there before whispering, “I love how quiet you get when you’re flustered. It’s like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

You could feel the warmth of his smile against your skin and it made your pulse race even faster. His hand moved deliberately now, tracing the edge of your inner thigh, teasing but not giving you what you secretly craved. It was maddening how in control he was, how effortlessly he played with your reactions.

“You’re so easy to read, sweetie,” he said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression both amused and intense. “I could keep this up all night, just watching you squirm.”

You couldn’t help it—your face flushed a deep red and you looked away, embarrassed by how easily he was getting to you. But Sylus wouldn’t let you escape that easily. He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently turning your face back to his.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “I want to see every expression, every little blush. It’s too cute to miss.”

The tenderness in his words made your chest tighten, but there was still a darkness to them, a possessiveness that left you breathless. You were caught between the soft affection he was showing you and the overwhelming heat of his touch and you were losing, fast.

“I can’t…” you started, but the words fell apart as he leaned down, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. His hand slid higher, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, and you gasped into his mouth, your body arching involuntarily toward him.

He broke the kiss just to smirk against your lips, clearly loving the way you were reacting. “Can’t what, sweetie?” he teased, his breath mingling with yours. “You were so sure you could handle it.”

Your mind was spinning, and though you’d started this, it was clear that Sylus had taken control completely. But despite how flustered you were, you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted more, even if you could barely keep up with him.

“I can handle it,” you whispered, more determined now, though your voice shook.

Sylus smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned down again, this time his lips brushing just beneath your ear. “You’re so stubborn, kitten. I like that about you.”

Then, his hand slid down, tracing a slow, torturous path along your inner thigh. His touch was light, teasing, just enough to leave you aching for more but never giving in completely.

“But you still have so much to learn.”

Sylus’s smirk deepened as he watched your breath hitch, every little movement you made betraying just how much he was affecting you. His fingers, still tracing delicate patterns along your inner thigh, were slow, deliberate, and maddeningly teasing. Every time he got close enough to make your heart race, he’d pull back just a little, dragging out your anticipation until it felt unbearable.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dropped lower, sending a thrill down your spine. “You’re trembling already, kitten. You’re not used to this, are you? No one’s touched you like this before.”

You didn’t trust yourself to respond, but that only made his smile grow. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your neck, letting the heat from his lips sink into your skin. His free hand slid up to your waist, gripping just firm enough to make you arch toward him instinctively. He knew exactly how to play with your body, how to drive you wild without even giving you what you wanted.

Sylus pulled back just slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and the intensity in them made your stomach flip. He tilted his head, watching every flustered expression cross your face, drinking in the way your lips parted, the soft, breathless sounds that escaped you.

“Still think you can handle me?” he whispered, his voice rich with amusement, but his touch told a different story—it was heavier now, more intent.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath, but it was impossible with him this close. His fingers trailed back up your thigh, higher this time, slipping just beneath the edge of your underwear, the movement slow, teasing.

The sensation made you gasp, your body instinctively pushing closer to his. That small, desperate movement wasn’t lost on Sylus. He grinned, clearly loving how much you were craving his touch now.

“You’re not as innocent as you act, are you, kitten?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin. “Look at how you’re moving for me. You’re not shy now, are you?”

His words sent a wave of heat through you, and though you wanted to hold onto that boldness from earlier, you couldn’t deny how flustered you were under his control. Your body was betraying you, responding to every touch, every low whisper and Sylus was enjoying every second of it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, but he didn’t kiss you—not yet. He stayed there, close enough that you could feel his breath, the teasing proximity making your pulse quicken.

“You’re going to have to ask for it,” he whispered, his voice dark and tempting. “If you want more, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell me.”

Your mind was spinning, but the heat of the moment made it impossible to think clearly. Sylus’s hand was still tormenting you, fingers barely brushing over the sensitive skin between your legs, teasing you in a way that made it hard to form words.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as his touch grew more deliberate, his fingers moving in slow, torturous circles that left you breathless.

“Come on, kitten,” he coaxed, his lips grazing your jaw, his voice dripping with amusement. “I know you want it. Just say it.”

You could barely breathe, let alone speak, but the way he was looking at you, the way his touch had you completely at his mercy, left you no choice. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Please what?” he asked, his tone smug, but his touch never faltered. “You have to tell me exactly what you want.”

Your heart raced as the words hovered on the tip of your tongue, but Sylus wasn’t going to give you any relief until you said it. He waited, his touch slow and deliberate, every movement sending shocks through your body.

“I want… more,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk grew, clearly satisfied with your answer. “That’s a good girl” he murmured, and without warning, his fingers slid fully beneath the fabric, pressing against the heat of your body.

The sensation made you gasp, your back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure shot through you. Sylus’s hand moved with deliberate precision, his touch confident and unrelenting. He watched your reaction with a dark, predatory gleam in his eyes, clearly reveling in the way you responded to him.

“You’re so sensitive, kitten,” he whispered, his voice low and husky as his fingers moved in slow, torturous circles. “I could make you come just like this, couldn’t I? Just by playing with you a little.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him, and you hated how much truth there was in his words. The heat was building inside you and the way Sylus’s fingers moved—slow but intentional, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—had you desperate for release.

But he wasn’t going to make it that easy for you.

Just when you were about to lose yourself completely, Sylus’s hand stilled, pulling back just enough to leave you breathless and aching. You let out a soft, frustrated whimper, but Sylus only smiled, leaning down to press a teasing kiss to your lips.

“Oh, sweetie,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice filled with dark amusement. “I told you, I’m not going to be gentle. I want to see just how far I can push you.”

Sylus watched you squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling under his touch. His lips ghosted over your neck, sending shivers through your body, while his hand lingered just out of reach, keeping you on edge. Your breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, your body aching for him to push you further.

“Look at you, kitten,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with wicked intent. “So desperate already… all from a little teasing.”

You whimpered in frustration, your hips moving involuntarily toward his hand, silently begging him for more. But Sylus wasn’t going to give in that easily. He smirked against your skin, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive spot between your legs, but not applying enough pressure to give you what you wanted.

“I could keep you like this all night,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Just on the edge, begging for more. But…” His hand slid back into place, pressing more firmly now, drawing a gasp from you as he began moving again, slow and deliberate, each touch pushing you closer to the edge. “…I want to hear you scream my name.”

His fingers worked with maddening precision, moving in slow, rhythmic circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. Every touch, every stroke, was pushing you higher, closer to the point of no return. Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the heat coiled tight inside you, ready to snap.

“That's it, sweetie,” Sylus whispered, his voice dark and enticing. “I can feel it. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You could barely respond, too caught up in the overwhelming sensation building inside you. Your fingers gripped the sheets, your body trembling beneath him as his pace quickened, his touch becoming more relentless, more intense.

“Sylus…” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his tone both commanding and teasing. “I want to hear you say my name when you come.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and before you knew it, the wave hit you. Your body tensed, then shattered, pleasure crashing through you in overwhelming waves. You cried out his name, your voice shaky, breathless, as your body gave in to the intense release.

Sylus didn’t stop. His fingers kept moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were trembling and gasping for breath, completely undone beneath him. Only then did he slow, pulling back just enough to leave you sensitive and spent, but still aching for more.

As your body came down from the high, Sylus grinned down at you, clearly pleased with the way he had unraveled you so completely. His eyes were dark with satisfaction, and that familiar teasing smirk was back on his lips.

“You look so cute when you’re a mess like this,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Was that what you wanted, kitten? Or did I push you too far?”

You could barely speak, still trying to catch your breath, but Sylus didn’t need a response. He chuckled softly, his hand trailing lazily down your thigh as he watched your flushed, exhausted expression.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his tone both affectionate and mocking. “I’ll take it easy on you… next time.”

He pulled back slightly, his fingers still brushing over your skin in slow, teasing strokes that made you shudder even in your sensitive state. “But you’ve got a lot to learn if you think you can keep up with me.”

You looked up at him, still dazed from the intensity of your climax, and Sylus’s smirk only deepened. He leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth before whispering against your lips, “You’re mine now, kitten. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he slid his hand away completely, leaving you breathless and aching, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent

“We’re just getting started,” he teased, a satisfied chuckle escaping his lips as he watched the lingering need in your eyes. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

[jarofstyles]

Appetency

Okay so we've got a bit of a long one. Kinda enemies to lovers if you blink, fuckboyrry turned softrry, dedication galore, hesitant Y/N and confident H, you're gonna love it. This is the first half- the other half is already up on Patreon and will be here later on 💕

Check out our Patreon for early access to the second half and 200+ exclusive writings

Warnings- slight angst, mentions of anxiety, alcohol, cocky h turned into a loverboy... nothing too crazy in this part.

WC- 8.5k

“Why are you every-fucking-where.” Y/N stopped short, glaring at the man across from her. The entire party, she had been trying to avoid him- but he wasn’t letting that be at all possible.

Harry grinned widely at that, the most obnoxious and infuriatingly pretty smile with those stupid dimples. Leaning against the wall as he studied her for a good moment, there was no hiding the not so casual enjoyment he got out of flustering her. 

Finally, he broke the silence, standing up from his casually cool stance on the wall. She knew he was going to say something that annoyed her and it was proven as he opened his mouth. "C’mon, don’t be like that. Perhaps you just can't keep me off your mind, baby girl. Can’t stop thinking about me, seeing me everywhere…"

“Ew. Do not call me that.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust for the nickname, walking past him. He followed, of course, because he always did. “Just because we have a few similar friends doesn’t mean you need to be at every social event. I’d love a break from your smug face.”

"You can't possibly be getting tired of this handsome face already…" He protested as he followed behind, his words purposely trying to rile her up. Getting a rise out of her seemed to make his whole day, and usually she would laugh it off but this time… things were different. Finding a spot in the kitchen, he watched as she puttered around trying not to look at him. 

His eyes danced with amusement as he added in some more. "Or are you just mad that I always seem to steal the show, love? Not my fault that I'm effortlessly charming and captivating, darling."

“Humble, too.” She snorted, grabbing a drink from the cooler. Buzzballs were not the thing she’d want to choose when she was thinking about the next morning, but they were exactly what she needed when it came to trying to mentally escape right now. “You’re insufferable. Really.” His eyes were on her as she used her nail to pop open the cap. 

“So are you going to leave me alone, or follow me around all night?”

Harry chuckled in amusement at her sarcasm, enjoying the way she rolled your eyes at him. "Leave you alone when you look this lovely? Not a chance in hell, darling." He hummed, tapping his own bottle against the counter. He paid no mind to the new people who entered the space, eyes glued on the girl he was talking to. "But as much as I'd love to keep annoying you, I have a much better way we could spend time. Don't you remember, love?" He purred. “I certainly do. It’s hard to forget the way it feels when you moan-” The interruption was instant, her hand gripping onto him. 

“Harry…” she hissed, tugging his arm further down the dark hallway and into a bedroom. Who’s? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had seen where this was going, and she didn’t want him to say it too loudly. Everyone was so god damn nosy and respectfully, she didn’t want to deal with any of that. Not after all she had said.

“Listen.” Putting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head up at him as he stood a little too close. “We hooked up, it was a mistake. You know it.” Though it didn’t seem like he thought so considering how he trailed her ever since. “We… we were a little drunk and I was lonely and you were there.” 

Y/N knew she was slightly lying, but she was trying to fool herself. If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it. They’d always had chemistry. It was intensity that burned between them, her disdain and his addiction to getting a rise out of her. It was only a matter of time that they’d give into some sort of blow out- but she hadn’t expected it to be as good as it was. It couldn’t happen again. 

Harry had that knowing smirk on his face as she tried to deny it all, knowing exactly where this was headed. The thrill of chasing her, of getting under her skin was intoxicating, addicting. He loved making her growl and huff and glare at him, because it meant getting her undivided attention.

"Was it really a mistake?" He asked as he leaned against the door, finally giving her some breathing room.  "Or have you just been avoiding me because you couldn't stop thinking about it?"

The truth was that he had been thinking about that night ever since. Multiple times. Before he went to sleep, when he was in the shower.. It was hard not to. 

Her jaw clenched, placing her bottle down and crossing her arms. “Look. You’re hot, Harry. You don’t need me to tell you that. You’ve got plenty big of an ego. But I’ve been avoiding you because it can not happen again.” 

Y/N knew that Nina was into Harry and she really didn’t want to start any drama. Not that he even seemed remotely into her, but because she acted like he was someone she had dibs on. As gross as it was, she tended to start shit with anyone Harry pursued and she just wasn’t in the season for drama. There were other things to worry about other than start a feud over a man. 

He had known about Nina's crush on him, but he didn't care about her. He never had, and he never would. As fucked up as it was, what they had, in his mind, was just a harmless flirtation, nothing more. Y/N knew that, but Nina didn’t. He couldn't have been more clear he had no interest in her, but some people took delusion to heart. 

It didn’t matter how good Harry gave it to her last time, how hard her legs shook, how sore she was in the best way. Didn’t matter if his tongue was hot and through and how he’d cleaned her up with it. It couldn’t be repeated.

Harry's smirk only widened as she openly admitted he was attractive, his ego inflating even more. But when she mentioned avoiding him, his smile faltered slightly.

"Why can't it happen again?" He asked, moving closer to her, his eyes darkened. Too close, making her take a deep breath. If there was one thing he would give him, his presence was commanding. Felt. Her body was very familiar with his now, wanting to lean into him, but she fought it.

“Because.” She sighed tiredly. “I really can’t deal with any drama. I’m exhausted, and the last thing I need is that she-devil going after me because she thinks I’m ‘stealing her man.’ “

The man let out a laugh, amused by the comment. Yeah, he knew exactly who she was referring to and found it funny. He knew she could be a drama queen, and he definitely didn't care for her possessive tendencies, but he had told her that they had nothing going on between them and never would.

He stepped closer to her, his greedy hands reaching out to touch her hips, his touch firm. "You're not stealing me, love. She never had me, and she's delusional if she thinks she does." His eyes gleamed with desire as he looked at her, his touch becoming a bit more possessive in his own way. "And I want you, not her."

“Harry, you don’t actually want me.” She groaned in frustration, trying to ignore how her tummy dropped as he pulled her into him, his other hand curling around her jaw. Stupid body, stupid hormones, stupid muscle memory.  “You think you do because you like a chase. You don’t actually like me or anything, you like how I fuck.” She said bluntly, glancing up at him.

Harry's smug expression faltered as she protested. He could feel the annoyance, but he also noticed the way her body responded to his touch. There was no denying that. "Is that what you really think?" He asked, his grip on her jaw tightening slightly as he looked down at her. "That I'm just chasing you only for the thrill of the chase, for the sex?"

His eyes darkened, his other hand moving lower on her hip, pulling her flush against him. He could feel her body against his, the softness, the warmth, and he wanted it all back. There had been no way she could tell him that she hadn’t enjoyed it, considering he’d made her cum 3 times, made her gush all over his cock. She’d clung to him, held onto him, whimpered his name. But he’d taken care of her, he had gotten her some pomegranate juice and a snack, helped her tie her hair up, driven her home. When the contact had been nonexistent, he was hoping she was just making him work for it- but that wasn’t all this was to him.

“Yeah.” She furrowed her brows. “Is it not?” Harry wasn’t the relationship type, not usually. Everyone knew that. Y/N had constantly reminded herself that when they’d first met and she had a bit of a crush on him, only to see that he liked to fuck em’ and leave ‘em. It lost the appeal and she had resented him a bit for it. 

Was it fair? No. She knew that. But their dynamic had been built on that resentment. 

Harry's jaw clenched at her response, frustration and something else flickering in his face. He loosened his grip on her slightly, his gaze searching her eyes, trying to convey something she obviously wasn’t picking up on.

"And what if I told you that you were wrong?" He asked, his voice low. "What if I told you that there's more to me than just chase and sex?" He tilted his face closer to hers, his hand on her hip keeping her snug. He hadn't realized it himself just how touch deprived for her he actually was. Did she really think it was all just… a game? Had he not proven himself to her that night? Granted, he had maybe fucked up in how he communicated after but… the ball had been put in her court. 

He could tell that she was skeptical, but he was determined to make her believe him.

"I want you." He said firmly, his hand on her jaw moving to wrap around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I want everything. Your body, your mind, your heart." His hand on her hip moved lower, his touch a little needy. "And the fact that I can't have you is driving me insane. Want you to believe me."

“But why?” She sputtered. “All we do is argue. All I do is blow you off and all you do is follow me around to piss me off.” 

She had no idea he had his own fascination with her. How he’d silently watched her, observed, saw how she was with other people and wanted that chance to feel that. To have one of those smiles for himself.

Harry shook his head with a light laugh, his grip on her flexing slightly as he stared down at the girl he had been playing cat and mouse with. "Because I'll take the arguing, the blowoffs, all of it, just to be near you. I don't know when it truly started, but you've gotten under my skin, love." He pushed her back against the door, his body pressed against hers, trapping the girl. Looking down at her, his eyes were dark with desire, with honesty. It was a little unsettling.

“Harry.” She swallowed, eyes fluttering as his fingers stroked over her jaw and down over her throat, tenderness tinging the touches. “It’s not funny if this is a joke. It’s not.”

Harry's let out a tired breath, his touch gentle as he stroked her delicate skin, taking advantage of every touch. He could see that vulnerability in her eyes, and it only made him more determined to prove himself. "M’not joking. " He said firmly. "This is serious, I want you, and m’not giving up until I have you."

“Then you’re gonna have to work for it.” She exhaled sharply, pushing out of his hold and escaping back towards the party.

Y/N was almost fooled into giving in again- but she could give in without a real, true idea of what he was dedicated to. Maybe it was cruel of her to try and write him off as a bit of a slut trying his luck, but she’d never been awarded the chance to get to know him outside of their usual dynamic. 

That was why, the next day, seeing him on her front porch had her gasping in surprise. “Shit!” She yelped, keys falling to the wood below her. 

He looked good. The night of sleep seemed to refresh him, he’d showered, and he was bright eyed this morning. Determined. Why? She didn’t know. But this was not at all what she had expected when opening her front door. “ You scared the fuck out of me. What are you doing here?”

"Good morning, love." He greeted her. “Nice to see you this mornin’. You look gorgeous.” That cheeky fucking grin, as usual, tilted on his mouth. 

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in question. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

Harry flashed her a grin, completely unfazed by her skepticism.  "I'm here to see you, of course." He said, as if it was obvious. “Silly thing.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to get too huffy with him but he was nearly speaking in riddles and she didn’t have the patience for that. “Are you alright?”

Of course he was amused at how frustrated she looked, finding her impatience obviously endearing. Maybe it was just her, though. Y/N was a bit of a weakness of his, he found. Pushing himself up the final step, he grabbed her keys and handed them back to her, making no effort to pull his hands away from her own. 

"I'm fine, love." He hummed casually. "I just wanted to see you." Holding her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on the skin. Casual intimacy that slightly caught her off guard.

The girl merely looked at him in confusion.  The plan for today had been to go to the grocery shop and do stuff around the house, not entertain the man who had admitted to wanting her last night- but she knew if he was here, it meant he was determined to get his way.

Aka, spending time with her. 

“Okay.. So now you saw me.” She said lowly. “Do you want to go home now?”

The sight of her looking so flustered and on edge fueling his determination, he shook his head.  "Not yet." He said, his voice low and firm. "M’not leaving until I get some of your time."

Y/N closed her eyes, taking a deep inhale through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Meditative breathing did wonders, it seemed. Usually. She knew Harry well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to keep prodding until he understood that he probably had no actual intention of being around her long term. He was looking at her with metaphorical sex goggles on. Yeah, she was good in bed, but that was only a tiny portion of her. 

He’d learn eventually.

“Well, I have to go to the store. So…”

Harry watched you closely as she opened her eyes from the attempting to calm herself. It was a little unnerving to know she needed to calm down from such a simple interaction but then again, he had been coming on a little strong. It was his nature, but he tried to relax his stance a bit. No way was he going to let an opportunity to spend time with her be wasted. He was dedicated now, wanting to win her over.  "You're going to the store?" He leaned in closer. “Looks like I'll just have to come with you, then."

Y/N sputtered as he took her handbag and totes from her, tucking them under his arm as the other held her hand. 

“C’mon.” He said smugly, pulling her towards his car. She followed, confused at how he had just agreed to go grocery shopping with her. Willingly. It wasn’t something he liked doing and she knew that- she somehow had found out one night that he had his delivered- but he seemed eager to do this with her. 

The last thing she expected was for him to open the passenger door and help her inside, but he did. Like it was second nature, opening it up and taking her hand to aid her into sitting sound, placing her bags on her lap.

Harry's smirk widened as he scooped up her handbag and totes, his grip on your hand firm as he guided her towards his car. He snickered under her breath at her sputtered protest, enjoying her disbelief that he was actually willing to go grocery shopping with her. Like it was some sort of hardship.

Once he had settled her in, he leaned in closer, the smell of cinnamon gum filling her senses. Keeping his stance, his eyes locked on her, his gaze intense. He could see the confusion in her eyes, and it only fueled his determination to make it second nature to her, to expect this sort of thing from him. . 

"You look cute this morning." He said, his voice low and smooth. "Did you get much sleep last night?" He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle.

Her cheeks felt hot as he tenderly touched her, the softness of it all surprising her. “Um… I did.” The compliment had flustered her too. It wasn’t something she was used to from him. Their usual dynamic was tense on her end and being a pain in the ass with a stupid smirk on his. This sort of treatment was new to her. 

“Thanks. You look….” It felt unnatural to compliment him, but she meant it. Strangely enough. All of this was so new to her.  “Nice.”

Harry chuckled at the slight hesitation in her words, enjoying the way she was thrown off by his tenderness. One day she was going to accept it.  He smiled at her attempt at a compliment, narrowing his gaze at her. "Just nice?" He teased, raising an eyebrow.  He placed a light hand on her knee, his thumb stroking her skin in small circles, his touch gentle and comforting.

“Well, handsome? I dunno.” She grumbled. “Just so you know, you’re carrying all the grocery bags. If you insist on coming along you need to be useful.”

"Oh, I can be very useful, love. You jus’ need to find out what else I can off s’all." He said, his hand continuing its caressing on her knee, his touch sending a little jolt through her body "And don’t worry, I’ll carry all the bags. You just worry about picking out what you need."

Harry could see the doubt in her eyes as he reassured her about carrying the bags, and he knew he had to prove it. Not just that, but the whole thing. He hadn’t won her over quite yet, but he would. 

Removing his hand from her knee, he ignored how much he missed the touch and stood up straight, standing tall and strong next to the car. 

"You don’t believe me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just watch, sweetheart. Gonna shock the shit out of you."

——-

Y/N was suspicious. 

Harry was… behaving. More than, actually. He was being sweet and polite, borderline charming. Standing beside her as she pushed the cart, grabbing the items at the top shelves, not rushing her at all. He was flirty, sure, but nothing insane that truly made her roll her eyes at him. His voice was soft spoken and held only a tiny bit of the arrogance it usually did… and she liked it.

Who the fuck was this? And what had they done with the normal Harry? 

“You’re freaking me out a little.” She mumbled, checking off another thing on her list. “Like, you’re being pleasant. That’s not normal for you.”

"What, I can't be pleasant sometimes?" He teased, giving her a look. 

He couldn't help but grin as he watched her check off another item on the grocery list, his eyes roaming freely over her focused expression. He was enjoying this, he realized, enjoying the chance to be close to her more than he would have ever expected. "Maybe I’m just in a good mood today." He said, leaning against the cart.

“It’s just suspicious.” She glanced at him from the side of her eye. “You’re always following me around and trying to get me to snap at you. So excuse me for being a little confused when you’re acting so normal and nice.”

Harry liked working her up and getting reactions out of her, but he liked her. Y/N gave him the tummy butterflies, the excitement, the hot cheeks, all of it. She just didn’t know that- or was heavily in denial. It was his fault, he knew, from never expressing how serious the desires were and expecting her to read between the lines. But fuck, could she blame him? Y/N was a spitfire.

“Can you- fuck.” She groaned. “This can not get any worse.” 

Across the aisle, she saw her. Nina. Glaring at the scene of Harry standing a little too close to Y/N, doing a domestic activity like shopping together… It looked like they were way more than friends. This wasn’t something he liked doing and of course, the other girl would know that… So the situation didn’t look too good.

Harry could feel the shift in her mood as she spotted Nina across the aisle, and he tensed up slightly, ready for the inevitable confrontation.  Fuck, and they’d been doing so good. Of course, someone had to throw him a curveball. 

Good thing he was willing to work for this. 

"Relax." He said quietly, his hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, thumbing over the fabric. "I'll handle it."

Harry could feel the tension in her body as he held onto her, knowing that she was on edge. He knew Nina could be a handful, and he didn't want her to add to the stress of the situation. Especially after Y/N was seemingly warming up to him.

He took a deep breath and turned to her, his expression neutral but firm. 

"Nina." He said, his voice calm and steady- almost bored. "Why are you glaring at us like that?”

Nina’s eyes flicked between the pair, her expression hardening as she spoke. “What are you two doing?” She asked, her voice dripping with disdain. 

Harry kept his expression neutral, his hand on Y/N unmoving as he spoke to her. “We’re shopping. Is that a crime?” He replied, his tone cool.

Nina’s lip curled up in a sneer, her eyes narrowing. "Shopping? Is that all?" She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Awfully domestic, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, unruffled by her attitude. "Yes, Nina. We’re just picking up some groceries. Is that so hard to believe?" he challenged, letting her try and intimidate him. It wasn’t going to work. 

The girl’s jaw clenched as Harry responded to her, clearly annoyed at the lack of reaction she was getting from him. 

She took a step closer, sizing Y/N up with an unpleasant expression. She really needed to not make that face- it was unflattering.  “Is this a date or something?” She snapped, her eyes flickering over to Harry.

Harry chuckled at Nina’s question, finding her assumption humorous. 

He looked over at the girl he wished would say yes, his eyes filled with amusement. "What do you think, love?” He taunted.  Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but he didn’t particularly care. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted out of this interaction. Hell- she never wanted his interaction at all. “We’re shopping.” She said lowly. “And we have to go.”

Nina pursed her lips as her response, clearly unsatisfied with the answer she was given. She never could leave well enough alone. Harry could see her gearing up for another snarky comment, so he quickly interjected. 

"She’s right." He said, his tone firm. “We do have to go. Bye."  There was no hint of remorse on his face as he motioned for her to get out of the way. 

With that, he guided Y/N forward, steering both her and the cart towards the checkout area.

“Christ.” Y/N rubbed her temples. “She’s gonna try and burn my house down. I know it.” She sulked.

Harry chuckled at the outburst. He continued steering the cart towards the checkout area as she went back over the list, a small smile on his lips. 

"Don't be so overdramatic." He teased. "She's not gonna burn down your house. She's just jealous."

“Harry, she’s scared like, 4 women away from hanging out anywhere near you completely.” Y/N sighed. “I know you don’t see it as much, but she’s tenacious. I don’t know what’s going to get her to stop, but you need to actually have a conversation with her to tell her you’re not interested. Or whoever ends up being your girlfriend is going to have to deal with her crawling around.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly as she mentioned Nina’s past behavior. He knew she could be intense and possessive, but he didn’t realize the extent of her actions. Considering he hadn’t even slept with her, it seemed like a massive overreaction. Of course there had been natural curiosity over some of the women in their friend circle had gone, but now that question had been answered. 

He bit his lip, mulling over the words as he helped her load the groceries onto the checkout belt. "You’re right." He said finally, his voice serious as it broke up the beeping of the items being scanned. "I guess I didn’t realize it was that serious. M’sorry. I don't particularly want to have that conversation, but it needs to be had. I’ll talk to her."

Harry continued helping you with the groceries, lost in thought for a moment before speaking again. "I’ll talk to her soon, make sure she knows for sure me and her are never going to be a thing and if she wants to try and scare off anyone I talk to, she won’t be invited to anything else." He said firmly, his eyes serious. 

"But first," he added, breaking the tense air as his tone turned playful again, "We have to get these groceries home. I’m starving."

—

It was safe to say that she was even more confused than she had started off being. 

Harry helped her bring the groceries into her place. He helped her unpack. He even fed her cat while she washed the fruit so she could put it away. Helping himself to her house like he had a right to be there, a comfortability that had her a little spooked. 

It was hard to accept the thought of Harry actually liking her. First, she hadn’t ever seen him with a serious girlfriend. All she had been exposed to was seeing him fucking around with different people. Secondly, he was always so playful and unserious that internally, the most insecure part of her felt like maybe it was a trick, and it made her more apprehensive of him. 

It wasn’t fair of her to be so judgmental when she was not a virgin mary herself; she knew that she wasn’t giving him a proper shot, but it was scary. He was scary, in a way.  Maybe it was the idea of how far feelings could go if she gave in, but it felt hard to stop those original emotions she had towards him from coming back. 

“Thank you.” She said awkwardly as Harry sat at her breakfast bar. “Um, for helping put away the stuff and bringing it inside. That was really nice of you.”

Harry, who was lounging in a chair at the breakfast bar, chuckled at the awkward gratitude.  "S’no big deal." He said, his tone casual. "I’m happy to help." 

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes roaming over her face, his favorite thing to do. Watching her was the best part of being around her.  He could see the tension in her shoulders and the uncertainty in her expression, and it made him wonder what was going on in that head of hers. Why she was so apprehensive. Yeah, he knew he had a weird dynamic with her before, but no one thought of him as a bad guy.

The longer he looked, the longer Harry could tell that there was something bothering her, and he wanted to find out what. Call it morbid curiosity, but it was needed. He leaned forward a bit, his eyes locked on her pretty face.

"You seem a little tense." He said, his voice soft. "Is everything okay? You've been quiet since we got back."

She hadn’t expected him to call her out on it, but she should have. Harry was as blunt as they came, and she could have laughed at it if she didn’t feel a little anxious. 

“I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at her feet for a moment the soft green ladybug socks he had given her a laugh over. “I’m a little anxious, I guess. This new dynamic kind of… put me off kilter.” The confession hung in the air before she continued.  “I’m used to you being annoying and… I dunno. It’s unfair of me, but I keep getting nervous that this is some joke to you and you’re gonna go back to being obnoxious once I let my guard down.” She winced. “And I’m sorry. That isn’t fair to you when I know I haven’t been the nicest to you either. But I guess you intimidate me a little.”

Harry listened intently as she spoke, his expression softening as she revealed the source of the troubled look on her face. He knew that he had been a bit of an arse in the past too, and he could understand why his sudden change in behavior had thrown her off. 

He leaned forward on his hands, his gaze still fixed on the girl’s tense stance, lips rolled into her mouth. "I get it." He said quietly. "And I’m sorry if I intimidated you or made you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I wanted to do."  He ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly. "And as for this being a joke... it’s not. Not in the slightest. Trust me."

“I guess I’m a little confused too.” She admitted. “Where all of this is coming from. I know we hooked up a few weeks ago, but you didn’t call me or anything after. I wasn’t expecting you to, don’t get me wrong, but then I felt awkward seeing you at all the events and stuff and you were acting normal. I never let you get alone with me on purpose because I didn’t want to hear you tease me for giving into you.”

Harry’s expression soured a bit as she brought up the hook-up. He knew he hadn’t done anything to dispel her doubts about his intentions, and he felt a pang of regret.  He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. How could he explain it without sounding as stupid as he felt? “I know I didn’t call you after, and I should have. I was an idiot… I just… I thought maybe you wanted me to chase a bit, that the ball had been left in your court after I dropped you off at home and… and I didn’t think, honestly.”  He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. 

“You have to understand why I’m a little uneasy.” With arms wrapped around herself, she let herself look back up at him. There was no trace of joking on his features and it did make her feel a tad bit better.  “It’s not that I didn’t like… what we did.” It was the best she’d ever had. “But I think I’m not cut out for just hooking up. I don’t regret it, even if I acted like I did.” She decided to give him a tiny bit of her vulnerability to see what he did with it. “I just know that hooking up, for me, never ends well. And I don’t know you really well, Harry.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, nerves shot. The last thing she wanted to do was seem desperate about locking him down or something, but she couldn’t lie to him or herself.

“I’m not trying to make you feel any sort of pressure to want to date me or anything. I’m just trying to lay down a boundary that for me, I think I’m one of those people that really needs an intimate connection and trust with someone. For some reason I trusted you that night, and I know you wouldn’t harm me in that way, but sobered up and standing in front of you, I feel a little apprehensive. Like, I don’t want you to feel any sort of pressure from me, but in order to have me in the way you said you want… it has to have some level of commitment is basically what I’m trying to say.”

Harry listened intently as she laid down the boundaries, his expression thoughtful. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes and in the way she fidgeted with her shirt, and it tugged at his heart in a way he hasn't felt before.  The last thing he wanted was for her to feel any sort of regret and he was glad she hadn’t so far, but he had to appreciate her laying out the law here. It gave him direction on where to go. When she finished speaking, he took a moment to process the words before responding. He can feel the seriousness of the conversation, and it's clear that she wasn’t making demands lightly.

He took a deep breath, his own vulnerability on display in his honest gaze. It was imperative to him that she understood how much he got it. How dedicated he would be to it if given the chance. "I understand." He said quietly, licking over his bottom lip. "I understand that you need a committed relationship, darling. I also understand that you need trust and intimacy in order to get there." he added, his voice soft. 

He took a moment to organize his thoughts, then continued speaking. It should be laid out in front of her. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately… about us, I mean.”

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly, taking the moment to look him in the eye. It was the most serious she had ever seen him. Usually he had that smirk on his face, so smug or teasing, he’d be poking and prodding at her to get a reaction- but nothing about this interaction was insincere. It was almost off putting to see him this way.

Harry's gaze met hers, his eyes intense. "I mean that I've been thinking about us in a more serious way." he admitted.  He took a deep breath, his expression tentative. "I know I've been kind of hot and cold with you… and I know that I've played games in the past. But after we hooked up… I really couldn’t stop thinking about you. How different we were like that… How good it felt. So I want you to know that... I don’t want to play games with you. I want t’be serious about this."

Y/N hadn’t expected that answer. In all honesty she thought he’d reject her, say he wasn’t into it and keep it moving. That was what she was prepared for- not this. That sort of confession had her realizing that maybe she really didn’t know him at all. She knew some parts, sure, but seeing him like this was brand new. This man in front of her was a familiar stranger, at least this new side.

“I’d have to get to know you better.” She brushed her hair behind her ear, giving him a tentative look. “And it would be a little slow. I think I could give you a chance, though. I’ve been unfair to you, I think. I feel like we… kind of got off on the wrong foot.”

Harry lets out a small sigh of relief, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m okay with slow.” he says, his voice sincere. “I’m willing to work for it.”

He leaned back a bit, giving her a little more space as a hint of his usual playfulness returned to his features.. “And I think you’re right… we got off on the wrong foot. But I’m glad we’re taking the time to get to know each other now.”

——-

—— 

Harry was coming over again. 

It was strange. Since they’d agreed to explore something romantic, seriously, he had changed. Not completely, not to the point where she wondered who he was before, but enough to make her soften up. Hints of him being a pain in the ass we’re still there. But he was… sweet. Genuine. A little silly in a cute way that she hadn’t allowed herself to enjoy before. 

One of the biggest shocks of all, was the fact that he was so gentle with her. He handled her with care, even if he was a little overly touchy. She was getting used to it because she found herself liking it, but he was the first guy to really be a bit of a clinger. 

That was the last thing she had ever expected from him.

His touches were soft and sweet and he looked at her with this little twinkle in his eye that she knew he couldn’t genuinely fake it. He liked her- liked her , liked her. 

She was still a bit shy with him, but it was slowly melting away each time they saw each other. Now the nerves were barely there, being overtaken by anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought would happen- being excited and antsy to see Harry, wanting him back in her house. 

He was coming over tonight and she had been prepping for a bit, primping and priming herself even though she wanted to look casual. There was never once so far that he hadn’t told her she looked gorgeous, and it had started becoming part of her daily routine. She wanted to impress him, make him say it again and mean it.

Her tummy twisted as she heard his car door slam shut, smiling to herself as she adjusted her cropped top and went towards the door. 

He was beautiful. Really, gorgeous as she opened the door to reveal him in the early evening light. He looked a little tired from work,slight bags under his eyes, but his smile melted her a little as he walked right into the house, dropping his bag in the foyer with little care for its well-being and picked her up in a big hug. Her feet dangled as she squealed, strong arms wrapped around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly. 

“Hi.” She beamed shyly, feeling him set her down on the floor.

Harry couldn’t help but grin as he placed her down, his strong arms wrapping around her waist lazily.. He loved how delicate she felt in his arms, and he loved the way she squealed with surprise as he lifted her up a bit. Really, he loved most things that had to do with her. Taking a moment to admire her cozy appearance, his gaze lingered on her cropped top. “Hi.” He replied, his voice soft and warm. “You look beautiful.”

Like clockwork.

Before she could respond, Harry was pulling her back into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder as he held her, rocking slightly. A prime example of how touchy he was, unable to stop himself. He nuzzled her neck, letting his cool nose brush against the hot skin. “I missed you.” he mumbled, his voice muffled against her, leaving a little shiver in it’s wake..

When he said things like that it made her want to giggle madly, but also melt into a puddle. He truly meant it, was the thing, and she had a hard time understanding how this had happened. How he had gone from her little enemy to the person she looked toward to seeing the most. 

“I missed you too.” She admitted, fingers tracing down his back. It was an attempt to get more open about her feelings. Harry was being candid about his own, so she felt like she could extend him the same grace. Even if it was slightly terrifying, she had no reason to hold back anymore.

Harry pulled back slightly to look at her, a soft smile on his lips at her shy admission. "I like it when you say that." he teased, his voice low.  He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, his thumbs tracing small circles on the bare skin. He loved the way the cropped top revealed just enough to make him want more, and he found himself struggling to focus on anything but the feel of her body under his hands.

Harry wanted her, and there was obvious desire for her there. In all honesty, there was a lot of desire for her in general that he had done his best to keep under wraps  He’d been so good, trying so hard to prove himself- but that didn’t mean he was a saint. He was beyond attracted to her in every sense of the word, and it was hard to ignore that..

“Excuse me.” She let her smile grow, her tone playful. “My eyes are up here.” 

Y/N knew Harry wanted her in all of the ways, and he’d been exceedingly patient. He knew she was trying to build their connection before getting intimate with him again, and she appreciated it- but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy knowing he desired her. 

Or that she didn’t have those same urges.

Harry's gaze flicked back up to meet hers, a cheeky grin on his face. "I know where your eyes are. I look at them plenty, do I not?" He replied smoothly, his hands still resting on her waist, giving a gentle squeeze.  He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as she shot him a look, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But you can't expect me to ignore the rest of you when you're wearing something as distracting as that." Testing the waters, he was seeing how far his flirtation could go.

“It’s loungewear, you freak.” She scoffed, a hint of a smile turning up her lips. Leggings and a cropped top were a bit of a reward for him, though. She figured if he had been so patient with her then he could at least get to look at her. “But I’m glad you like it.” 

Taking his hand in her smaller one, she led him towards the kitchen to show him the pizza boxes and salad she had made to pair with it, feeling weirdly shy about it. That was the theme of today, considering she had come to a conclusion in her head- but he didn’t need to know about it quite yet. “I knew you’d be hungry when you got off work, so I ordered ahead.”

Harry's eyes lit up as he saw the food, warmth spreading through him. No one had been thoughtful like that to him before, but of course she would be. This sort of thing was why he had liked her. He’d seen it time and time again with their other friends and secretly wished for some of it for himself, that sort of care… and now that he got it, he felt that yearning for her get a little bit stronger. He let out a low whistle. "You knew exactly what I needed." he murmured, a grateful smile on his lips. 

Pulling her into him, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind. He nuzzled her neck again, his breath warm on her skin. "You're too good to me." he murmured, his voice showing just how grateful he was.

Y/N shivered slightly as he spoke against her skin, large arms wrapping around her and making her feel that same brand of delicacy that only Harry had been able to accomplish. His arms were just… beautiful. Built and muscular, covered in those tattoos, she loved every single thing about them. Looking at them, feeling them, how he used them… she couldn’t admit it out loud yet, but being in his arms was one of her new favorite places. 

“You texted and said you didn’t sleep well and you had a rougher day at work and… I dunno. I thought maybe you’d like something ready when you came over. I would have cooked myself but I had a workshop.” She rambled on a little bit, feeling the need to overexplain herself.

Harry squeezed her tighter, his chin resting on her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, his nose buried in hair as she spoke. 

"Mmm. " He hummed, his voice low and gravelly. He ran his nose over her throat, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. "You didn't have to do all this, you know." He moved his hands down over her hips, his thumbs tracing soft circles on the exposed skin there. "But I'm really grateful you did." He was quiet for a moment before speaking again, his grip on her tightening slightly. "Can I ask you somethin’?"

“Hm?” She replied. It was hard to focus. Sure, it would be awkward if anyone else say them just standing in her kitchen with the large man wrapped around her body, but no one else was there to judge her for indulging both herself and him in this sort of cuddle. 

Harry's body was pressed against her, a small smile on his lips. He really did enjoy this moment of quiet intimacy just as much as he enjoyed the more energetic moments where they’d go out or he’d help her take care of her garden.

"Can I stay over tonight?"

It should have been a scarier question to her, all things considered, but the answer came out of her mouth naturally. 

“Sure.” She nodded. There was no second guessing it either. “Is that what that bag was?” She realized he had brought in a bigger duffle than his usual work one, but she had thought it was maybe just to change from his work clothes.

Harry's smile grew as she agreed so easily. "Mhmm." he hummed, his voice low. His hands moved up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist. "I wanted to be prepared just in case you said yes." Presumptuous? He’d prefer the terms hopeful, even confident. They’d been doing so well, he had to at least ask.

He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a hint of a smirk on his face. "So... where can I sleep?"

He turned her in his grip, letting her look up at his face now with narrowed eyes. Her heartbeat quickened though she tried to calm it down. He was teasing her a little bit, but he did genuinely want to know. 

“If you promise no extreme funny business… you can sleep in my bed.” She placed her hand on his bicep, squeezing a little. It was her own reward. “But remember, Harry. No sex. Okay?” Gliding her other hand up to cuff over the back of his neck, she decided it was finally time to tease him back a bit. “However… If you’re really, really nice to me… I may let you kiss me again.”

Harry's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a hint of challenge. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to the girl’s.  "You're being bold, darling." he teased, his voice low and playful. "Are you trying to tempt me?"

“A little.” She hummed. “I like when you’re sweet to me. So if you keep it up, I’ll let you kiss me as long as you’d like tonight. I know I’ve been holding all of that intimacy hostage…” 

It had been driving him wild. Near kisses and her letting him brush his hand over the curve of her ass a few times before putting them back up to her hips, he’d tested the waters but got rejected. Now, she was loosening up a bit. 

“So.” She blinked up at him. “Are you gonna be nice to me tonight so you can kiss me?”

Harry's eyes glinted with a mixture of desire and playful mischief. He loved it when she teased him just as much as he loved it when she got all shy and flustered. Which one he likes more, he couldn’t tell. "Oh, I'll be so nice to you tonight you won't be able to stand it." he purred, his voice low and husky. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were flush against each other. "But I have one condition, little miss."

“What is that?” She questioned, unsure what it could be. With him, it could be anything.

"You have to promise me that if I'm being too... forward, you'll tell me to back off. I don't want to overstep. Even though I want to kiss you until you can't think straight. So promise me you'll speak up if I get too much." 

Her smile widened, nodding in agreement. He’d just earned himself quite a few points. Never had she expected him to be as respectful as he was, but she utterly adored it.  “I will. I promise, I’ll tell you.” She agreed, leaning up to kiss the curve of his jaw. “But it’s time for you to eat. I can feel your tummy grumbling.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering over her pretty face. He loved the way her smile widened, and the feeling of her plump lips against his jaw send a shiver down his spine. More. He wanted more, and more, until their mouths were tingling and numb. Until she looked drunk on the kisses, clinging to him like he could only hope.

"Mmm. Okay, fine." he grumbled. "I'll eat. But only if you feed me, since you were so kind as to order ahead for me." He gave her a puppy-dog look, his lower lip jutted out in a mock-pout. It was good, she’s give him that- but not good enough.

“Absolutely not.” She snorted. “Nice try.”

[obsessedbtch]

𝟐 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬, 𝟏 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝟏 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

hopkins! p. bueckers x fem!reader

summary: she can’t let you read her, she is so difficult to understand, you are tired of crying because of her.

warnings: angst!! paige doesn’t know what she wants.

note: kinda short, trying to make my writing more smooth and understandable

“sometimes it’s better to close the window no matter how beautiful the view is.”

scanning once again the notes you toke from spanish class, the blue ink keeping company to the paper and the little sticky notes spread around this one. in a few days you had an exam, being the paranoid person you are, wanting anything more than a perfect score made you study everything you have been seeing since day one, finals were around the corner. you decided to study all the way to north carolina. wanting an excellent grade wasn’t the only thing disturbing your mind, a certain basketball player was also bothering you, maybe that’s why you couldn’t make the information stick in your brain.

it bothered you, it bothered that you couldn’t understand her, you tried, but she was so difficult to read, she refused to open up to you, even though you have been dating for quite a while, maybe it wasn’t even dating, it felt like you were just fuck buddies, a shoulder to cry on, a friend.

some times she couldn’t keep her hands to herself, her hands being glue and your skin being paper, it was difficult to take off once glued together. other times, she wouldn’t even take a glance at your direction, making a conversation with everyone except you, it made your eyes itch with tears and your throat tightened.

the only ones to observe they way you will agonize for her, was the brightens of the moon and the stars, highlighting beautifully the black sky when it came dark, looking down on you laying on your backyard while your parents where gone, you thought that your pillow was sick of having to absorb your salty tears.

some how, the itchiness of the green grass beneath you, the full round moon, with small white dots shining around her, brought you comfort, when the cold was to much to handle and it felt like a rough breeze surrounding the nude of your arms and legs, it filled the noticeable hole in you heart, filling it up with comfort, the one you desired so bad.

you have a bad habit, a terrible one. is it really that bad wanting, desiring something so bad? it truly is if its making you feel all kinds of ways, but not the ways that made you feel loved, or make your breath shaky and unstable when your heart started to speed up.

you could write about her to the point of suffocating, not thinking the right words to describe her, staring at her was like looking a blank paper, you don’t know what do with it until they gave you instructions, you don’t understand why is it blank, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t express anything, it’s so difficult to understand.

“i cried while writing about you in my diary.”

you couldn’t stop writing about her.

it was so late, you couldn’t bother taking a look at the clock.

the sound of little rock’s hitting constantly on your window was something to familiar, you knew that perfect aim to well, it made you write even more faster, not taking note about how awful your writing became the more you write about her, it was so noticeable, the words coming from the bottom of your heart and the cold tears threatening to came out like water falls from your eyes once you blink, it made your eyes even more watery and burn from not blinking, not wanting to ruin your perfectly done homework.

finally giving up, fixing your posture, you allowed your back to take a break while still hearing the rocks hitting on your window, taking it like a background sound, but it made you feel frustrated.

as consequence of relaxing, the tears that pilled up in your eyes came out like just like you expected, without writing anything and not being concentrated in anything, it made the sound of the rocks grow louder.

standing up from the chair, making aside the thoughts of the person hitting your window was paige.

opening the curtains not being welcomed with the shining sun of the early morning, instead, it was the sight that gave you comfort, that dried your coldly salt tears with the breeze making your once warm pinkish cheeks sticky.

but this time it didn’t bring comfort.

it made your heart explode.

the view was so beautiful, the stars filling the darkness not leaving any blank space behind, the moon, today it was a third quarter.

you stared at her, trying not to show any emotion, just like she did when you tried to talk to her, it was like you switched roles, she had a agonizing stare it almost made you cry.

she looked up to you, opening her mouth to say something but nothing came out, she didn’t know what to say, the words kept getting stuck on the bottom of her throat.

your hands made their way to your wide open glass window, you needed to close the window, right now or you wouldn’t be responsible for your actions, but it was such an amazing view.

the sound of your windows crashing because of the sudden collision made your walls shake, the sound making you shut your eyes tightly, afraid that if you opened them again you would run into her arms, only opening them again once you closed your curtains.

written by coeur!! byeeee

[momotonescreaming]

All the things I would do

Rating: M | WC: 5.5k | Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Relationship Study, Kissing, Mild Smut [Read on AO3]

Buck loved having sex in the loft. He loved having sex with Tommy in the loft.

The way he could drag Tommy upstairs by his hand, fingers entwined, no walls or doors in the way to slow them down. The way he could fall backwards onto his mattress, sending Tommy tumbling on top of him with a playful tug of his hand, falling into place easily. Large thighs bracketing his hips, keeping him pinned, held in place — not that Buck wants to leave when Tommy has him like that.

Hand curling around Tommy’s waist, around his neck, pulling him even closer as Buck smiles into a kiss. His boyfriend (boyfriend!) falling into it naturally, almost entirely in sync. Letting himself be pulled, pinning Buck where he wants him. Bracing himself on the mattress to kiss and kiss and kiss Buck.

Buck’s had sex in the loft before, it’s a fact, logically he knows that it’s technically no different than when he was with Ali or Taylor or Natalia. That Buck and Taylor would hurry upstairs with the same desire and rush to have sex that he and Tommy do.

But it feels different. More. Better. Unlike anything else he’s experienced before.

Like he’s a giddy teenager experiencing dating for the first time combined with the freedom and experience of an adult. Maybe it’s just better with Tommy.

Tommy, who was better than Buck could have possibly dreamed.

Who took his whole world and flipped it upside down. Opened his eyes. He was free and he was Tommy’s. He had a boyfriend who was cool with this being his first relationship with a man (once he had gotten over the initial hurdle and panic, which, fair, Buck felt terrible about it too) because they both knew he was in this with Tommy. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he was ready for — he told Tommy as much — but he meant it when he said he was ready for something with Tommy. He liked Tommy, he wanted to be around him, he wanted to explore what dating this incredible man meant.

This incredible man who was cool with whatever pace Buck wanted or needed to set — whether he wanted to slow down or speed up. Buck wanted to explore it all with Tommy.

Who’s always checking in, making sure Buck’s alright, and it never feels condescending. Partly because Buck actually really appreciates a partner doing that for him, showing that they care and don’t want to pressure him into something he’s maybe not ready for just yet. But also partly because he now knows that Tommy needs it as well. To be the partner he never had when he first came out. Not to say that he doesn’t listen to Buck when he says yes, he’s sure. He wants this. He’s ready. Because Tommy listens when he talks, really listens, and takes him at his word when he says he wants more, they can progress.

So they were taking it at Buck’s pace, and Buck couldn’t be happier. So was Tommy, if what he was telling Buck was any indication. The way he looked at him. And why wouldn’t it be. Tommy kept looking at him with happy, crinkly smiles that took over his whole face. With soft, tender gazes that made Buck feel like he was about to melt on the spot.

When Buck said that all he wanted to do was make out like teenagers, groping on his couch with no intention of going any further — Tommy said of course. And he was a very willing participant. Letting Buck explore his lips, his tongue, the way that he kissed him. Kissing him back. Feeling Tommy’s 5 o’clock shadow against his chin, stubble scratching against stubble. Resisting the urge to lick a hot, wet line in the cleft of Tommy’s chin. Muscled shoulders underneath his grasping hands. Sighing and moaning into Tommy’s mouth at every little reminder about just how masculine Tommy is. And just how into it Buck is. A part of Buck wonders why it took him so long to realise that this was something he was into.

Sharp cheekbones and a jaw so chiselled it was like he was made from marble. Short hair and muscles bigger than his. Buck finds himself moaning the first time he gets pinned underneath his boyfriend and realises that if anything, he’s the smaller one in the relationship. They’re the same height, both muscled, but Tommy’s just slightly broader, with a thick chest and biceps as big as his head. He kind of wants to bite him about it.

It feels easy with Tommy, natural, but not like he’s just falling into it with him like when Buck was in his other relationships. Less like he’s being whisked away in someone else’s current and more like he’s going with the flow. Together. He was choosing Tommy and Tommy was choosing him back. It was an easy decision to make. Like he was talking about with Eddie — they just clicked.

He wants to explore everything with him.

Tommy sent him his first ever dick pic, and it was kind of insane how good it was. Blew his fucking mind. He felt like a teenager again with how horny it made him. He remembers it vividly, Buck lounging on his brand new couch, flipping through channels for something to watch, texting Tommy. His boyfriend recently back from shift in his own house and starting to unwind. Took a shower to clean off the day, got changed, and so Buck flirted a little. Maybe asked for a picture. He felt all giddy and little ridiculous as he did it, excitement bubbling up in his chest as Tommy actually sent a photo back.

Reclined into his mattress, one arm resting above his head, gently flexing. Hair all tousled and curling at the nape of his neck where it was still damp from his shower. He was shirtless, because of course he was, camera angled to show off the full expanse of his torso. Showing off his abs, his scar, his pecs, that Buck definitely wanted to bite. Tommy knows what he’s doing, all casual and cool and Buck really can’t get enough of it. He also kind of wanted to make it the lockscreen on his phone, if he wasn’t sure Eddie and Hen and the rest of the 118 would tease him for it as soon as they caught sight of it.

So, biting lip, Buck sent a photo back. Tried to pose in such a way that was flirty, fun and sexy without him looking like a total fuckboy. Although, Buck thought — Tommy would probably like it if he flexed his bicep or lifted his shirt to show off his abs. Posed like a frat boy, just a little. Because he knows that Tommy’s into him. Doesn’t have to worry about sending a photo that’s too much too fast.

It was exciting, exchanging those photos that got sexier and sexier with each click. Buck unbuttoning his shirt, his jeans. While Tommy tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Shucking his pants down his thighs as Tommy sent a photo of him palming himself through the thin fabric of his grey sweats, dick tenting the fabric. And fuck, what Buck wouldn’t give to see that in person. He’d seen people online talk about hot guys in grey sweats before, not thinking much about it, but he gets it now. Slowly starting to forget about angles and flexing his muscles, trying to take the best possible photo for Tommy and focusing on just how fucking hot he felt. Pulse racing, breath coming heavier, excitement running through him. How he wanted to show Tommy just how much he was effecting him.

He was sexting a guy. His boyfriend, even. It was fucking exciting. Invigorating.

And then Buck got his first ever dick pic, and he shamelessly jacked off to thoughts of Tommy in the middle of his living room couch. Didn’t even make it upstairs. Didn’t even think about the possibility of anyone barging into his apartment. Was so caught up in the sight of Tommy — all of him, and damn there was a lot— in the thought of what his dick might feel like in his hands, heavy and warm and velvety skin. What sounds Tommy would be making — moaning like he did in the hospital lobby, gasping and grunting as he got off to thoughts of Buck.

Shirt falling off his shoulders, unbuttoned and baring his naked chest. Pinned on only from the couch underneath him, fabric wrinkling. He didn’t care. Jeans stretched around his thighs, straining as he adjusted himself. Underwear pulled down just enough to expose himself, tucked under his cock, fabric damp with precome. He sent Tommy a photo of that too.

Things progressed easily from there. Buck was all in, no hesitation.

It was like that photo finally broke through the final wall of nerves sitting in Buck’s head — the one of Tommy fisting his hard cock, pretty and pink and leaking, just for Buck. Head thrown back on his bed, exposing the long lines of his neck. That while he was in this, and knew Tommy was hot, had been shamelessly jerking off to thoughts of Tommy — the reality of seeing a cock like that had him a little nervous. It was first. Having a photo made it easier, Buck thought afterwards, breaking through the anxiety of a first time and the what ifs swimming around in Buck’s head.

Tommy was hot. Buck was horny. And he had nothing to be worried about. The heat and the lust and the want rushed through Buck and swept all the anxiety away like a wave.

He wanted phone sex and to come in his pants dry humping with Tommy on the couch. Wanted to drag Tommy into the shower together and get his hands on him. Maybe drop to his knees and ask Tommy to teach him how to suck cock.

And Tommy was there every step of the way.

Dirty talking on the other side of the phone, voice deep and smooth and sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. Relationship still so new but Tommy still somehow knowing exactly what to say to make him groan. To feel the heat pooling inside him as Tommy tells him exactly how he’s going to take him apart. To tell Tommy how good he is at this, how perfect. Tell him about all the things he does to Buck — his racing heart, his stuttering words, wanton moaning into the phone.

Ready and willing to rut against Buck like a teenager, sloppily making out in the living room of Tommy’s house. Never once complaining about the denim of his jeans straining against him as they fuck fully clothed. Pinning Buck to his couch, sinking into the cushions, grinding their clothed cocks together. One hand in Tommy’s hair, mussing up his curls; the other raking down his back. Grasping at fabric, feeling the heat of him, the shifting lines of his muscles. Creeping lower to grab at his ass and swallowing Tommy’s moan as he does so. Writhing and rutting against each other until they came in their pants, and Buck was kind of obsessed of the feeling of Tommy pulsing against him, hot and sticky. It was so hot, they’ll definitely be doing that again if Buck has anything to say about it.

Not to say that’s all their relationship is — sex.

Buck finally got to go on that go karting date — at that track out in the desert he’d been talking about — where he had a lot of fun discovering that Tommy was very good at it, actually. Made sense, since he was very much a car guy. It was kind of a perfect date. Out in the sun, clear skies, doing something exciting with Tommy. Racing around the track, calling out and teasing everytime they passed each other. They made a day of it, going for a drive, Buck holding Tommy’s hand over the Jeep’s gear stick. His boyfriend’s large, calloused hand entwined with his, warm and comforting. He felt lighter on the way home, that now achingly familiar giddy-happiness sitting in his chest like honey. Buck drove home with a grin on his face, hand resting on Tommy’s thigh.

There were other dates of course, where they tried a mini golfing place down by the beach and quickly discovered that they were both sort of terrible at it. Spending hours walking through the park together, just talking and enjoying the fact that he was allowed to hold Tommy’s hand. They re-did their dinner date and actually made it to the movie, sneaking glances at each other in the dark of the theatre.

Tommy was taking him on hikes — at some local trails he frequented, where they were surrounded by nothing but nature and the cloudless sky. In a muscle tee with the sleeves cut off, and his familiar blue gym shorts, Tommy led them up the trail with a grin on his face and a backpack strapped to his back. Water bottle, bug spray, sunscreen, emergency first aid kit. It was nice to date someone who got it, another first responder, someone who was just as prepared as he was. The sun beat down on them as they hiked the trail, sun warming his skin until he felt like liquid gold. Talking about everything and nothing, about calls and documentaries Buck had watched. About what work Tommy was doing on his car and a little more about Harbour Station.

His muscles were warm and he was sweaty by the time they finished the trail, Tommy much the same as he drove them both back to Buck’s loft. Safe to say he was distracted on the ride home. He was sun warmed and sated, watching a bead of sweat drip Tommy’s neck as he sighed into the cool air of the Jeep’s AC. Licking his lips, trying very hard not to think about leaning over the centre console and licking it up. Feeling the saltiness on his tongue, the warmth of Tommy’s skin radiating out, the way his breath would hitch.

But Buck really doesn’t want to risk a car accident and have to call 911 — they’ll never hear the end of it. So he lets Tommy drive, watching him navigate the roads of LA with ease. One hand on the wheel, and the other burning hot as it rests on Buck’s thigh. And then, he invites Tommy back up to his loft with a flirty gaze and a coy tilt to his head. He really doesn’t want this date to end. Buck thinks he could spend hours with Tommy and never grow sick of it, never feel the itch that he needs space.

Tommy agrees.

So Buck spent the elevator ride up to his loft bouncing on the balls of his feet, biting his lip and trying to keep his hands to himself. He won’t be able to restrain himself otherwise, and he really doesn’t want to piss off his neighbours. Tommy gives him a knowing glance out of the corner of his eye, gaze raking over Buck’s body. That familiar smirk on his face. He doesn’t feel objectified, like Tommy’s just in it for his body, he feels wanted. Desired.

It feels like the beginning of something.

Sex might not be the only thing their relationship is — but it is an important part. Hell, Buck was a self proclaimed sex addict for a time. It took a lot of reflection, and a lot of talking through it in therapy, but Buck was now comfortable with the fact that him desiring sex, desiring that intimacy — isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Having a high sex drive isn’t a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with needing that connection to another person. Unabashed and unashamed. And he wanted that with Tommy.

Buck wanted that connection, that closeness. He wanted to explore sex, explore his bisexuality — with Tommy. Whether it was hard and fast, hot and steamy, or slow and exploring. He wanted it all.

So as soon as they shut the front door to Buck’s loft behind them — they were on each other. Reaching for each other in tandem. Hands grasping at waists and sweaty shirts, Tommy throwing his backpack onto the floor and kissing Buck as soon as he’s free of it. Buck pulling Tommy towards him by his waist, wrinkling the fabric of his sweaty shirt — sending them slamming into the door behind him with the force of it.

He smiles into Tommy’s mouth as his boyfriend brings an arm up to brace himself on the door — using the leverage to slow their descent into the door, just slightly. His heart jumps as he realises what Tommy did — trying to stop Buck from slamming his head into the door — taking care of him, even now. Even still.

Buck slides his hands up Tommy’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin pressing into the palms of his hands. Burning hot, it’s not enough. Skating along the hardened muscle, the sweat pooling on his lower back. He wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer, closer.

Closing his eyes as Tommy kisses him back. Leaving his arm braced on the door above them, bracketing Buck in, the other burning a hole in his side. All he can smell is sweat and salt and Tommy. There’s nowhere he’d rather be. Kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. Prying Tommy’s mouth open with his tongue, wet and hot. Dripping spit down his chin as he sucks on his tongue.

Tommy groans into his mouth, a low rumble, and he can feel every shake of it where their chests press together. Sticking together with sweat. If Buck was less horny, he’d maybe think about how gross they both were, sticky from hours in the sun. But he is, and Tommy is so fucking hot like this. Sweaty and gross and masculine. He grips the fabric of his shirt, and uses the leverage to pull Tommy’s hips into his. Thin fabric of their gym shorts leaving nothing to the imagination. Feeling every inch of him, the thick hard line of his cock.

Then it’s Buck’s turn to moan unabashedly as Tommy starts to gently rut against him. Mouth dropping to his neck as Buck tilts his gaze towards the roof of the loft. Eyes fluttering open, gasping for air, letting his gasps and moans filter out into the open air.

A giggle escapes him. They’re still pressed to his front door.

Tommy slows, pressing wet kisses down his neck. Along the curve and lines of his jaw. Taking his time with each one, deep but not enough to leave marks. Buck finds himself pushing up Tommy’s shirt, exposing his bare chest as he ruts against him.

“Tommy,” he moans, the word shuddering as he exhales, and there must be something in his voice because Tommy pauses. Pulls away from Buck’s neck, leaving behind a hot wet mark that cools in the open air. Buck would pout at the loss of contact if they weren’t pressed together as close as they are.

Tilting his head, raising an eyebrow in that way he does, Tommy looks at him. Mouth twitching up at the corners. He can see how spit-slick and pink they are. He really wants to kiss him again. “Evan.”

“Why’d you stop?” Buck says, smiling. Panting through the words, heat of his skin cooling in the summer air. Running his hands up Tommy’s sides, along the lines and curves of his muscles. Dipping lower, enjoying every inch of their clothed cocks pressing together. Tilting his head to catch Tommy’s gaze, eyes shining. He still feels all giddy and bubbly inside. The heat and desire boiling up with this undercurrent of sheer joy. “I thought we had something good going.”

“We do.” Tommy says simply, smoothly, smiling softly back at Buck as if he has no idea what he’s doing to him. Bringing his hand down from the door above them, dropping to cradle Buck’s face. Hold his haw in his hand, thumb running in gentle circles. Calloused thumb scratching against his stubble. It’s a good sound. “But I was just wondering if we’d be more comfortable in that big fancy shower of yours. There’s room for two, isn’t there?”

“There is now,” Buck says giddily, the smooth tone of Tommy’s voice washing over him, rolling through him. Sending a shiver down his spine, straight to his thickening cock. He’s sure Tommy can feel it. Good. He loves it when Tommy puts the moves on him, and loves being able to show him exactly how much.

He grabs Tommy’s hand, laughing giddily as he pulls them both into the bathroom. Tommy’s chucking behind him, fingers entwined with his. Kicking the door behind them, slamming shut, but neither flinch at the sound.

Tugging gently on their entwined hands, Tommy pulls Buck back into his orbit, reaching out with his other hand to rest on his hip. Steadying them. Bodies pressed together, still warm and sweaty, but the red-hot urgency is cooling.

Buck can go at Tommy’s pace, too. It’s nice, when Tommy lets himself set the lead like this, when he knows it’s something Buck’s into and comfortable with. He bites his bottom lip, plush and pink, drawing Tommy’s eyes down as he gently brings their hips together again. Not moving, not writhing and grinding like he wants to, just pressing the lengths of them together. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Tommy says back, voice just on the edge of teasing. Buck kind of really wants to keep kissing him. So he does. Eyes fluttering shut as he brings their lips together again, hand resting on the back of Tommy’s head, tangling through his sweat-damp curls. He moans into Tommy’s mouth, deepening the kiss, when Tommy pulls back.

Buck chases his lips with his, almost subconsciously, already so caught up in the feeling of Tommy’s kisses. He’s sort of addicted already, ever since that fateful day in the middle of the loft. What can he say, Tommy’s a good kisser. Good enough to flip his whole world on his head. Open his eyes. Tommy chuckles gently at Buck chasing his lips, gently rubbing his thumb in circles at Buck’s waist.

“Wanna get the shower going for us, baby?” Tommy says, voice deepening as his eyes lock with Buck’s. Squeezing their entwined hands as he takes a step back, increasing the space in between them. Hands anchoring them together, even still, and Buck appreciates it. His heart jumps in his chest as he squeezes back.

“Oh yeah?” Buck flirts, eyes shining as he looks over at Tommy, shining under the overhead lights of the bathroom. “And what are you gonna do?”

“Well I don’t know about you,” Tommy teases, releasing Buck’s hand and smiling. A coy little tilt to his mouth, shining eyes. “But I figured I’d start here.”

And then he’s locking eyes with Buck, gaze darkening, as he reaches an arm behind his head to grip at his shirt and pull it over his head. Buck watches the shifting his muscles as he rolls out his shoulders, the grin on Tommy’s face as he shakes out his hair. As he puts on a little show knowing that Buck is watching.

Trailing down the length of his body, his pecs — shining with sweat, his abs, the trail of hair that dips below his shorts. Buck licks his lips, smirking back at his boyfriend.

“You sure I can’t just stay right here?” Buck teases with a tilt of his head. Angles his body, flexes his restless hands. “Keep watch. Make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I-I’m a firefighter, you know?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, face crinkling up in that now achingly familiar way as he throws his damp shirt to the ground. Neither of them watch to see where it lands. “I’ll be fine. You can look all you want later.”

“You promise?” Buck flirts, deepening his voice and eyes darkening as he roams his gaze over Tommy’s naked torso.

"I promise," he says, smirking back over at his boyfriend. Teasing. Flirting. Just the way Buck likes.

"I'm gonna hold you to to that," Buck teases back, delaying the inevitable moment where he rips his gaze away from Tommy. From his now exposed chest, the sweaty tanned planes of his skin. Exposed and tempting. He bites his lip, eyes wandering over Tommy one last time. Drinks in the sight of him, the feel of his gaze locked with his.

He eventually gives in and turns to the shower. Opens the door and turns the water on, fidgeting with the controls. Trying to find the sweet pot between too hot and too cold.

Tommy, Buck was learning, was almost always cold. Always wearing an undershirt, or had a jacket thrown over his outfit. Always had a throw blanket draped over the back of his couch, or pulled over his legs. Thrived in the hot summer sun, and loved his showers scorching hot.

Buck was fine with the cold. If anything, the LA sun was an adjustment for him. Was walking around in shirts when everyone else was donning long sleeves. Layers. Found there was nothing wrong with a cool refreshing shower.

Hence, the need to find the sweet spot between not too hot, and not too cold. Logically Buck knew as soon as they were both in the shower together their attention would be drawn away from as something as simple as temperature. Towards sweat and skin and the heat of their bodies pressed together. But he couldn't help but try. Try and make it good for Tommy, for himself, for the both of them together. Find the sweet spot that worked for the both of them.

He wanted to make it work.

Logically he knows that it’s just a shower, that they’ll be distracted soon anyway, but he can’t help but want to make it good for Tommy. Make the water a little hotter than normal, just for him. Show Tommy that he wants to take care of him too, that he’s learning things about Tommy and he wants to keep learning.

There’s a rustle of clothes behind him, a squeak of shoes against tiled floors, barely audible over the sound of the now running shower. Buck bites his lip, barely holding back a grin, as he dutifully continues adjusting the water. Arm reaching in, feeling the water run over his hand. Wet and heating up quickly.

He’s barely focusing on the water. Letting the rush of water splashing against tile wash over him like white noise, absently adjusting the temperature and pressure of the water as he focuses on the sounds behind him. Of Tommy toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, placing them in a pile by the door. In that way Buck is noticing he almost always does. His stomach swoops at the thought — that Tommy’s been around enough for Buck to start to notice more of his habits.

Then Buck swears he hears the sound of Tommy’s gym shorts hitting the floor, and he can’t hold back the sharp inhale of air. Warm and cloying with steam, holding in his lungs.

Buck makes himself keep looking at the shower.

Hair at the back of his neck standing on end, goosebumps rolling down his arm as he feels Tommy’s presence behind him. Sweaty, naked, so fucking hot — and Buck’s not looking at him. The unspoken rule that they’ve created, when Tommy took the lead and told him to turn around. Start the shower.

Heat pooling low in his gut, that familiar itch burning underneath his skin, Buck’s in the middle of giving in and turning around anyway when he feels it. His hands on his waist, thick and calloused and burning into his side through the thin fabric of his shirt. Breath hitching as he feels the sheer presence of Tommy behind him.

Tilting his head to try and get a look at his boyfriend behind him, holding in place as Tommy slowly presses closer to him. He catches a glimpse of him smirking, face crinkling up in that way it does, before Tommy squeezes his waist and closes the distance between them.

Buck gasps as he feels Tommy press up behind him, all hard muscles and sweaty skin. Calloused hands holding him tight as Tommy’s cock presses up against his ass. One hand still braced in the shower, feeling the rush of water; the other reaching backwards to try and get a hold of any part of Tommy. To press him even closer, to feel his skin burning into his.

Now that he has this, now that he knows this about himself, Buck really doesn’t know how he didn’t realise this earlier. His attraction to men, and masculinity, and the way it made him feel. Broad shoulders and hands larger than his. Hard muscles and hairy bodies.

But a part of him actually really likes that Tommy was the one who helped him realise. That he’s not just attracted to men, he’s attracted to Tommy. He likes Tommy’s broad shoulders and mechanics hands. His muscles and the snail trail that leads down his abdomen. He likes his short hair and 5 o’clock shadow. He likes the way Tommy makes him feel. He likes the way Tommy shows up for him. To dinner, and to the café, and to hopefully many more.

He really likes the way Tommy is now kissing down his throat, leaving wet marks in his wake. Hands still on his waist, body pressed against him, enveloping his. Buck groans, tilts his head to give Tommy more room, and starts to rut backwards.

“I can’t help but feel,” Buck gasps, as Tommy nips at his skin and quickly soothes the mark with his tongue. “That I’m overdressed.”

“Oh you are, are you?” Tommy murmurs into his skin, and he can feel the sounds vibrating through them, rumbling his chest. “I can fix that.”

And the his hands are dipping lower, skating along his sides before pushing up the hem of his shirt. Achingly slow at first, skin on skin contact sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. Calloused hands sending out sparks. That itch under his skin building again, rising and burning with each inch of skin Tommy touches.

His boyfriend laughs behind him, calls him impatient, before kissing his neck again. And then they’re stripping him down, faster now, hands on waists and chests and grasping at fabric. Tommy pulling off his shirt and Buck kicks off his shoes, not caring where they land. He thinks he absently hears them thump on the wall before Tommy gets his hands on his shorts and all of a sudden Buck is very distracted.

He absently thinks how hot it would be if Tommy just ripped his shorts right off his body, as he grips onto the shower while Tommy slides his shorts and his underwear down his legs in one fell swoop. Hands gripping the waistbands, fingers curled under the elastic, pressed into his bare skin.

As soon as he’s free he grabs Tommy’s wrist and pulls, sending the two of them tumbling into the shower. Water burning hot, soothing worn out muscles and sweaty skin. Tommy dutifully following behind, closing the door behind him.

They instantly forget about the water. Focusing on sweat and skin and soap and their two bodies pressing together. Water soaked kisses where their spit mixes with the spray of the shower. Slick bodies moving in tandem, and yet rooted to the spot.

Tommy’s planting his feet and bracing an arm on the wall behind Buck. He’s making sure they don’t slip, that Buck’s safe in his arms. And if anything, that’s what drives Buck to determination. To grasp their cocks in one hand, to want to make Tommy gasp and moan and grunt as he comes apart.

He loves the noises Tommy makes. Cataloguing them in his head, making note of what he can do to pull a noise out of Tommy. Figuring out what he likes and what he loves. The exploration, the figuring things out has always been a favourite part of sex for Buck. He’s a good fuck, he knows this, but it’s the exploring what his partners like and wants is what really drives him. It’s not enough to be a good fuck in general, he wants to be a good fuck to them.

To Tommy.

He wants to be good for Tommy. To hear him groan and moan Buck’s name. To hear him say perfect, and right there, just like that, and you’re so good to me Evan.

There’s going to be a lot of soft, tender sex in their future, Buck knows this for certain. Doesn’t even have to ask. Tommy will pick him up and carry him upstairs like he weighs nothing, gently lowering him down onto his bed, gaze soft and loving. They’re going to fuck face to face, so Buck can hold Tommy’s hand and they can kiss each other senseless. Slow and sensual, the two of them sinking into the moment as they sink into each other. Kissing all the words that are too soon to say into each other’s mouths.

Buck can’t fucking wait.

[amirasainz]

Can you please do reader is Charles and Alexandra ex but they are obsessed with her and can’t believe she dumped them, they trying to get her back but she’s moved on. Maybe only if your comfortable do Charles and Alex dark?

Alright, so this is my first time writing something dark. I hope I did a good job. Pease keep in ind that this is just a story for entertainement and nothing about this is real.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

In the grip of obsession

The room was spinning, a dull throb pulsing at the back of Y/N’s head. Her eyelids were heavy, her limbs weak and uncooperative. Darkness surrounded her, but as her senses slowly returned, she realized she wasn’t in the club anymore. She wasn’t anywhere familiar.

The cold, sterile scent of the room mingled with the faint smell of expensive cologne. Panic crept in as she tried to move, her body betraying her as her muscles refused to respond. Her wrists felt raw, tightly bound behind her back. She could feel soft silk pressed against her skin, but the comfort of the fabric was overshadowed by the hard chair beneath her.

Slowly, Y/N forced her eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering in from a nearby window. Shadows danced across the room, but through the haze of confusion, one thing became terrifyingly clear—she was not alone.

"Finally awake, mon amour?" a voice broke the silence, soft but with an undercurrent of dangerous obsession.

Charles.

Her heart dropped into her stomach as her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on him. He stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the streetlights outside, his piercing eyes locked onto her. His usual boyish charm was gone, replaced by something darker, more unhinged.

"You shouldn’t have gone out," came another voice from the corner of the room, this one softer but no less menacing. Alexandra stepped into the light, her arms crossed as she studied Y/N like a predator watching its prey. "You knew better than that."

Y/N's mouth was dry, her throat burning as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged whisper, "W-what... What is this?"

Charles walked toward her, crouching in front of her chair. His face, usually so handsome and full of life, was twisted with something she could only describe as obsession. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care.

"This," he whispered, "is where you belong."

Her heart pounded in her chest as the realization set in. This wasn’t a nightmare she could wake up from. This was real.

"Why are you doing this?" Y/N's voice was shaky, fear creeping into every word. She tugged at the ropes binding her hands, but they didn’t give.

"You broke up with us," Alexandra said coldly, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing. "You thought you could just walk away? After everything we’ve been through? After all the hate you put up with for us?"

"That wasn’t your choice to make," Charles added, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to us, Y/N. You always did."

She shook her head, her vision still blurry, but the horror of the situation cut through the fog in her mind. "You’re insane... both of you."

Charles chuckled, his eyes darkening. "Maybe. But we don’t care anymore. We tried to let you go, we really did. But you’re everywhere, Y/N. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every race, every podium, every fucking interview, it’s you. I can’t breathe without thinking about you."

"Neither can I," Alexandra said, her voice calmer but no less disturbing. "You broke us, Y/N. And now we’re just fixing what you broke."

"You can’t do this," Y/N gasped, her voice cracking with desperation. "Let me go, Charles. Alex, please..."

But they just stared at her, unmoved by her pleas.

"You went out clubbing, Y/N," Alexandra said, almost scolding. "Dressed like that, with those friends of yours. You’ve moved on, haven’t you?"

Y/N didn’t answer, too scared of what they’d do if she told the truth.

"You’re ours," Charles growled, his patience wearing thin. He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. His eyes blazed with possessiveness. "You always were, and you always will be. We were too nice before, letting you walk away like that. But not anymore."

Tears stung Y/N's eyes as she struggled against the restraints. Her wrists burned, her head pounded, and the overwhelming feeling of dread consumed her.

"I don’t love you anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Charles' grip tightened painfully on her jaw, his knuckles white with tension. Alexandra's eyes flashed dangerously.

"You don’t mean that," Charles said, though his voice wavered. He was trying to convince himself as much as her. "You’re just upset. You’ll remember soon enough how good we were together. We made you happy, Y/N."

"You made me miserable," she spat, her voice gaining strength despite the terror gripping her. "I couldn’t even go online without people tearing me apart for being with you. And you did nothing. You let them do it. You cared more about your careers than about me."

Alexandra's face twisted with fury. "That’s not true! We loved you—we love you. Those people were jealous, that's all. They hated that you had what they wanted."

Y/N shook her head, refusing to be gaslighted by them. "No, you loved the idea of me. But I was never enough for you."

Charles stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His hands raked through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "You don’t understand. You were everything to us! We just... we just didn’t know how to handle it then. But we do now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she saw the crazed determination in his eyes. They weren’t going to let her go. Not ever.

"You can’t keep me here," she said, trying to reason with them. "Someone will notice I’m missing. The team... my friends..."

Alexandra smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "We’ve taken care of that. Everyone thinks you left the club with some random guy. They'll believe whatever story we give them."

Y/N’s stomach churned. She hadn’t realized how carefully they had planned this.

"You won’t get away with this," she whispered, though even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

"Oh, but we already have," Charles said, stepping closer again, his hand cupping her cheek with a false tenderness. "You’ll see, Y/N. In time, you’ll remember how good we are together. We’ll make you love us again."

Her breath hitched as she saw the manic intensity in his eyes. There was no reasoning with them. They had crossed a line, one from which they could never return.

"You can fight it," Alexandra said softly, brushing her fingers down Y/N’s arm, "but you won’t win. We’re not going to hurt you, Y/N. We just... we just need you back." Alex gave forcefully gave her a kiss on the lips, while Charles sucked the skin of her neck between his teeth, leaving a hickey behind. And just like that, they left.

Y/N closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She was trapped, bound in more ways than one, and no one was coming to save her.

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C1)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess

I wasn't jealous before we met. Now every woman I see is a potential threat. The once timid, tame, collegiate girl I was before I met you has turned me possessive, it isn't nice.

And it’s all your fault, Oscar Piastri. You’ve taken the calm, rational part of me and set it on fire, leaving nothing but the green-eyed monster in its place. Oscar Piastri, you have turned me into a jealous mess, filled with envy and desperation I never thought possible. It’s like you’ve invaded every corner of my mind, making me obsess over the thought of you, the idea that someone else might take you away from me.

Even in my wildest, most fantasmic dreams, I would never have predicted that a spontaneous trip to Santorini, Greece, would spark the greatest lustful romance of my life. It was supposed to be a simple escape, a break from the pressures of college life. But the moment I laid eyes on you, everything changed. The calm, composed person I used to be unraveled with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment we spent together under the Mediterranean sun.

But here I am, in a whirlwind romance that’s as exhilarating as terrifying, driven by emotions I didn’t even know I had. And the craziest part? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This chaotic, intense passion has awakened something in me that I can’t ignore, something that makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.

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Three weeks ago, I was drooling on page one hundred thirty-eight of my physics textbook on thermodynamics, barely awake and running on fumes. I was practically strung out on Monster Energy Drinks and those overpriced, sugary lattes from the campus vending machine—the only thing keeping me from completely passing out on the spot. The dense equations and dry theories blurred together on the page, making it impossible to focus. My brain begged for a break, but I kept pushing, hoping the caffeine would magically make the material stick.

News flash, it didn't.

So, when Mama casually mentioned that we’d be vacationing in Santorini for summer break, it was like a lifeline had been thrown my way. Suddenly, the fog of exhaustion lifted, and a thrill of excitement surged through me. It was as if a dormant part of me, buried beneath layers of stress and routine, had been awakened, eager for the unexpected adventure that awaited.

The idea of trading my study desk for the stunning views of Santorini seemed almost surreal. My thoughts raced as I imagined wandering through the picturesque streets, soaking in the sun, and immersing myself in a world far removed from the rigors of academic life. It was an escape I hadn't known I needed, a break from the monotony of textbooks and equations.

I pictured myself strolling along the charming alleys lined with whitewashed buildings and vibrant bougainvillea, the scent of the Mediterranean Sea mingling with the aroma of fresh local cuisine. The thought of exploring ancient ruins and savoring sunsets that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink felt like stepping into a dream.

And not to mention, a part of me was inkling for a dream-like, rom-com-esque summer romance. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery could bring that fantasy to life.

As I swiped through images of ancient ruins, bustling cityscapes, and pristine beaches, I couldn't help but imagine myself in those exotic locales, experiencing the same thrilling adventures and romantic escapades. It was hard not to get swept up in the fantasy, picturing myself in those picture-perfect settings, with someone special by my side. It could quite literally be anyone, at this point. My horrific failed romancing attempts as well as my "not quite mediocre", yet "not quite stellar" looks were keeping me away from all the hotties.

The contrast between the vibrant, sun-soaked images on my screen and the monotony of my daily grind was stark. Quite embarrassing, frankly.

It fueled my desire for something more; something that broke away from the predictability of my studies and everyday responsibilities. Each scroll made the dream of a spontaneous adventure feel more urgent, intensifying my longing for a chance to immerse myself in the extraordinary.

Girls that I had grown up with were posing like models. Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan. And I wanted to be just like them.

Teeny tiny bikinis tied by a loose string, new ear and a belly piercing, flip-flops, and red tan lines. Margaritas, mojitos with lime, white wine. Loud club music, the nightlife of a girl in a foreign country, and dark blue eyeshadow and glitter. Flocking around older guys with them, locking lips with handsome strangers in bars, and flaunting all their escapades (or namely, their sexcapades) It was all so racy, daring, and outgoing. All of these things were unlike me, but I was a girl who dreamed of having fun. So you never know, I could suddenly change overnight.

The thought of stepping into that world, even just for a summer, was both thrilling and terrifying. It was a side of life I had only seen through screens, and part of me wondered if I was capable of embracing it. What would it feel like to let go of all my inhibitions, to live without worrying about consequences? To be that carefree girl who dances until dawn, flirts shamelessly, and collects stories too wild to share with anyone but your closest friends?

I couldn’t help but wonder if that girl was buried somewhere inside me, waiting for the right moment—or the right place—to emerge. Maybe Santorini would be the setting for my own little transformation, a place where I could shed my quiet, reserved self and become someone who seizes the moment without hesitation. After all, isn’t that what summer is for?

And when Mama told me about our trip to Santorini, that possibility suddenly seemed within reach. The idea of a vacation to such a dreamlike destination felt like the perfect catalyst for the change I’d been secretly craving. But more than that, it was a surge of joy and gratitude that hit me, knowing how hard she worked to make this happen. Growing up, it was just the two of us—Mama working tirelessly to provide for me and make every day special despite our modest means. She had always done her best to ensure that I had the opportunities I needed, even if it meant making sacrifices. The idea of a vacation, something so seemingly extravagant, was a rare treat, and I was thrilled beyond words.

To say the least, the envy was palpable, a green-eyed monster gnawing at me, craving the excitement and connection that seemed to radiate from every carefully curated Pinterest-worthy post.

Yeah, you can say that that excitement might not have lasted that long.

"Wait, wait, wait, repeat that please?" I questioned, exasperated by both the shitty wifi in my dorm room as well as my mother's purposeful exclusion of information. I sat criss-crossed in my twin-xl dorm room bed, surrounded by the comforting clutter of my college life. My phone rested precariously on the edge of my left knee (balancing carefully as I too, was practicing balancing my temper), its screen flickering with a weak signal as I struggled to catch every word Mama was saying. To my left, a wall was covered in an eclectic array of Polaroids and dimmed fairy lights, creating a soft, warm glow against the stark white of the dormitory walls. The space felt cozy but cramped, with textbooks and scattered notes littering the desk beneath the small window, which offered a view of the bustling campus below.

"Well I thought it would be a wonderful surprise for you," Mama said, elated over the fact that this bit of information was quite important. She wore a gigantic stretching grin on her face, a strict contrast to the curvature of my dimpled frown.

"By purposely excluding that we would be sharing a house with another family?" I incredulously asked, my left eyebrow arching up, my mouth turning into an even more prominent downward frown. Fuck, the shitty dorm wifi is acting up again. Now on Facetime, I was stuck like that. Great. I was eternally engraved into my phone as an unhappy bitch.

"You can make wonderful friends! I heard that they are your age," Mama wiggled her eyebrows. Figures. Of course, she would turn an opportunity that seemed to actively pray on my downfall into a splendid opportunity for me to, *shudders*, socialize.

"I don't need new friends, and there are four of them! That's a lot of people," I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the hair and finger-combing the stray bits of hair out of my face. Socializing was a lot for me sometimes. The thought of mingling with a whole new group felt like a daunting task, especially when my comfort zone was so tightly packed within the walls of my current routine. Each new interaction felt like a potential minefield of awkward conversations and missteps, a far cry from the cozy familiarity of my small circle. (Okay, a circle may be an exaggeration. Maybe a direct line would be a better description to describe the relationships around me: small, minimal, clean)

"Four kids your age, and two parents. This is the perfect mixing pot for you to make friends," Mama pointedly replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't need friends," I lied.

"That's a lie," Mama accused. Well, not accused. She was right, but I wouldn't give that to her. I was innately stubborn. Wonder where I got that from…

"Of course not! I have a great social life, thank you very much," I lied, again. Blinking slowly, I tried to not let my eyes expose me.

"You haven't brought a boyfriend home ever. And you have one friend total." Mama snapped back.

"Well, Clementine is a very amazing and loyal best friend," I narrowed my eyes.

"Amen to that one," I could hear Clementine's voice echo from her bunk bed next to me. She was mindlessly scrolling through her phone under her light-blue comforter, yet this nosy bitch was still listening to our conversation.

"Mind your business Missus Nosy," I sassed at Clementine.

"Whatever, your business is mine. You forget we are literally ten feet away from each other." She groaned as she flipped to face me from under the comfort of her blankets. Mama laughed and I grimaced again.

"Seriously, you should branch out. As a young lady, you must learn to explore your choices-" Mama continued, and I could feel a heartfelt lecture incoming.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it I know." I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do with this family?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

"You’ll figure it out," Mama said with a reassuring tone. "It's an opportunity to meet new people and have some fun. Plus, they might have interesting stories to share."

"Right, because nothing says 'fun' like having to navigate the quirks of a new family while on vacation," I said, sarcastically. "I suppose I could use a few new stories to tell."

"That's the spirit! And who knows, maybe you’ll end up having a great time. Sometimes the best adventures come from the unexpected," Mama said optimistically.

"I guess we’ll see. Just don’t be surprised if I spend most of my time avoiding their overzealous attempts at bonding," I replied, half-joking.

"Fair enough," Mama laughed. "Just promise me you’ll at least give it a chance. And who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. I promise," I said with a resigned sigh. "I'll give it a chance, even if it means putting up with a bunch of new faces."

"That’s all I ask," Mama said, her voice softening. "I’m looking forward to this trip, and I hope you will be too."

"Me too, I guess," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Just don’t expect me to become best friends with everyone right away."

"Deal," Mama said with a smile. "And remember, it’s supposed to be an adventure."

"Adventure. Got it," I said, rolling my eyes again but smiling this time. "Let’s hope it’s more exciting than a group project."

"Exactly! Now, get ready for a summer you won’t forget," Mama said, her tone upbeat.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, "I’ll do my best."

As the call ended, I shook my head, trying to shake off the unease. Interrupting me from my daydreaming, Clementine cleared her throat.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'll do my best." She mocked me in a high-pitched voice.

"Girl shut up," I groaned, throwing one of my various squishmallows at her head.

"Branch out my ass, you need to get cronked." Clementine gestured enthusiastically. Yes, she was the most extroverted person that I knew, and I loved it about her. We were just two opposite ends of a stick, and I did have a lot to learn about her charisma as well.

"What you just described is quite literally the evil alter-ego version of me, you know that right?" I deadpanned. Throwing back the squishmallow at me, she continued.

"Oh, come on! Loosen up and have some fun," Clementine replied with a flourish. "You’re too stiff, girl. You need to embrace the chaos and just go with it. And you know that you really want to have fun." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Okay yes fine, you got me." I rolled my eyes again.

"It's the summer somewhere new, be happy! You can be anyone that you want for a bit." She said.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe if the wifi wasn’t being a pain, I’d have a better attitude," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Blame it on the wifi all you want," Clementine said, laughing. "But seriously, you’re going to have a blast. Just let yourself get loose. Besides, how often do you get to have spontaneous adventures like this?"

"True," I admitted, "but it’s a lot easier for you to say. You thrive on chaos. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Okay, make me sound like some ravenous gossip party monster, Mrs. Malnourished-From-Any-Entertainment," Clementine rolled her eyes.

"Hey!!" I sputtered, trying to feign madness. I failed, as I immediately burst out laughing.

"And I swear you’re going to learn to love all the chaos too!" Clementine said enthusiastically. "It’s all about stepping out of your comfort zone. You’ve got to live a little!"

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling. "Alright, Miss Extrovert, I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to start dancing on tables or anything."

"Hey, you never know!" Clementine teased. "You might surprise yourself. Besides, it’s all about making memories, right?"

"Make memories, youthful nature, spring in my step, all right I get it man!" I yell, burrowing my face in my pillow, also conveniently getting a mouthful of hair. Yum.

"And don't forget it's actually time for you to get laid," Clementine said in a sing-songy type of voice.

"Clementine!" I exclaimed. She really had no filter, this girl…

"What? I'm just saying," Clementine shrugged, her grin widening. "A little romance never hurt anyone, right?"

"Yeah, but could you not be so… blunt about it?" I replied, trying to regain my composure. "I mean, it's one thing to tease me about dancing on tables, but this is pushing it."

Clementine laughed, unabashedly. "Oh, come on. You're going to a beautiful place with a bunch of people your age. It’s practically a recipe for adventure. And who knows? Maybe this will be the summer you meet someone special."

"Or maybe it’ll be the summer I learn to tolerate sharing a house with strangers," I said, rolling my eyes. "But thanks for the… encouragement."

"Hey, I’m just trying to help you make the most of it," Clementine said, her tone softening. "Sometimes a little push is all you need to open up and see things differently."

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. "Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll keep an open mind. But no promises on the whole ‘getting laid’ part."

"And plus, I have absolutely no skills in approaching any guy ever. You know this," I cried in despair. Clementine laughed, recalling all the times when my horrible romancing skills failed me. Note, there are way too many to mention, so why do I even bother to find a boyfriend in the first place…

"Oh, I remember the summer fair incident," Clementine said, her laughter bubbling up. "You were trying to strike up a conversation with that guy at the cotton candy stand, and you got so flustered you ended up spilling your drink all over him."

"Please don't remind me of that, oh no," I groaned.

"And then, in an attempt to salvage the situation, you accidentally knocked over the cotton candy machine. The whole thing turned into a sticky, sugary disaster. You actually looked beet red it was so funny," Clementine continued laughing.

"I still cringe thinking about that," I groaned, hiding my face. "I was so embarrassed I avoided that fair for months."

"And let’s not forget that one party during Midsummer's last year," Clementine said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh let's not bring that one up from the archives-" I started to say.

"Girl you need to stop pretending that you can actually dance," Clementine giggled.

"Hey! I actually didn't know that he was a professional dancer, okay? Showing me up that badly was so embarrassing, I did want to die so bad at that moment," I recalled.

"I was trying to save your horrid fate," Clementine continued.

"You can't just gesture to me at a party and try to whisper yell, it's so loud. That would've never worked," I argued.

"Well from the sidelines it was actually pretty funny seeing you trip and then knock over those plastic cups," Clementine continued.

"Yeah? It wasn't funny when I landed in that bowl of punch face-first though," I whined.

"Yeah! Of course, it wasn't because my car smelled like the rancid mix of alcohol and punch for weeks," Clementine complained.

"That's my revenge for you. You should've yanked me out of the dance circle the minute I stepped foot in there. Why I did it, I have no idea to this day," I lamented.

"Ugh, meanie," Clementine laughed at me.

"That was such a mess, though" I admitted, cringing. "I had to help clean up while everyone tried not to laugh at me."

"But hey," Clementine said, her tone softening. "All those awkward moments make for great stories, and they don’t define who you are. Sometimes, it’s those hilarious failures that end up being the most memorable."

"Fine, Mom," I droned on. "You have a point."

Clementine’s eyes twinkled with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "Exactly. And besides, who knows? Maybe this summer will be the time you finally get it right. You’re going to be in a new place with new people. It’s a fresh start."

"I suppose," I said, still feeling a bit skeptical but warming up to the idea. "I guess there's something to be said for making a fool of yourself in a new environment. It might not be so bad if everyone’s in the same boat."

Okay, I lied again. It was that bad.

(Guys I promise that I'm not a serial liar, I just exaggerate. A bit.)

The overwhelming heat of Greece, and pretty much the heat of the Mediterranean hit me like a truck immediately when I landed. It was dry heat, no humidity no nothing. Just good ole heavy heat. Sweating through the airport terminal, then customs, to the shuttle, my bra was pretty much damp by the time I had stepped onto the cobbled ground in front of our air b&b.

Beaded sweat was clouding my vision, completely ruining the pretty vision I had when I put gel on my forehead to curl my baby hairs. I was seeing stars (mostly perspiration). It was hot. I was getting a hot flash/nearly dying of heatstroke.

The dreamy images of Santorini I had envisioned from my cool, comfortable dorm room felt like a distant fantasy now. The picturesque streets, which I had imagined as quaint and inviting, seemed more like a maze of sun-baked stone. My excitement was quickly replaced by a wave of discomfort and disorientation.

“Welcome to paradise,” I muttered sarcastically to myself, feeling like I was melting into the pavement. I glanced over at my mom, who was also looking a little wilted but trying to maintain her usual upbeat demeanor.

“This is just the beginning,” she said, her voice cheerful but slightly strained. “It’ll get better once we get settled in.”

I hoped she was right. For now, though, all I could think about was finding a cool, shaded spot and trying to regain some semblance of composure. The fantasy of a perfect summer seemed to be melting away as quickly as the ice in my now lukewarm drink.

I fumbled with the keys to the front door, my fingers slick with sweat. The lock was stubborn, refusing to cooperate as I struggled to get inside. My mom was at my side, trying to help but also looking equally overheated.

“Maybe I should have warned you about the heat,” she said, her voice strained but still optimistic. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

“I think ‘a bit’ is an understatement,” I managed to reply, finally pushing the door open and stepping into the cooler interior. The contrast was immediate, but the relief was short-lived as I realized the air conditioning wasn’t working properly.

“This is not how I pictured it,” I admitted, feeling my earlier excitement wane. The romanticized version of this trip was crumbling under the harsh reality of the Mediterranean heat and my physical discomfort.

My mom looked around, her face showing a mixture of apology and determination. “We’ll get it sorted,” she said. “Let’s just unpack and try to cool off. Maybe a cold shower will help.”

I nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I just hope the heat doesn’t turn this whole trip into a sweaty ordeal.” To foreshadow, it pretty much was like that the entire trip.

As soon as I stepped inside, the first thing that hit me was the chaotic array of shoes scattered haphazardly across the floor. There were sneakers, sandals, and flip-flops in a disordered spread as if a small army had shed their footwear in a hurry. The once inviting entrance now resembled a makeshift shoe rack, cluttered with mismatched pairs and abandoned shoes.

“Mama, it looks like we’re not the first ones here,” I said, my voice tinged with annoyance as I kicked aside a stray sandal. “It’s a mess.” I could feel my frustration mounting as I took in the scene. The once appealing idea of arriving at a neatly prepared vacation home now seemed overshadowed by the disorder and lack of preparation.

God, I hoped that whoever was here didn't make the whole place look like the dorm room of a stinky, smelly, teenage boy.

Mama quickly scanned the surrounding areas. “Oh, I didn’t realize. They must have arrived before us. They’re probably out exploring the city.”

“That’s just great,” I said, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. “They’re already out having fun while we’re stuck schlepping our luggage.”

With a sigh, I grabbed two huge pieces of luggage and began dragging them up a narrow flight of stairs. Each step felt like a small victory, but the sweat pouring down my back made every movement feel like a monumental effort. I didn’t even know my butt could sweat that much. It was as if my entire body was engaged in a desperate battle against the oppressive heat. My clothes clung to me in a way that made me feel like a walking puddle.

Every few steps, I had to stop and catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead and cursing under my breath. The heat inside the house, combined with the physical exertion, had me feeling utterly drenched. My damp hair stuck to my neck, and I could smell the distinct, unpleasant odor of sweat mingling with the heat.

“Can you believe this?” I called down to my mom, trying to keep my frustration in check while I heaved one suitcase up another step. “I’m already drenched, and we haven’t even started unpacking. I feel like I’m swimming in my sweat!”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it once we get settled,” she said from below, her voice slightly muffled by the distance. “Just hang in there. Take that cold shower, aye? It’ll make you feel better.”

Her optimism was appreciated, but it did little to ease the burning frustration I felt. I finally managed to get both suitcases into our room and collapsed onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated. My legs felt like jelly, and I flopped down with a dramatic groan. The mattress, thankfully cooler than the air, felt like the only respite I’d had all day.

“I’m taking a shower,” I announced, my voice flat with exhaustion. “I need to cool off before I melt into a puddle. This heat is seriously getting to me.”

Grabbing all my toiletries in one hand (which would be moderately regrettable in approximately a minute), my phone and a towel haphazardly slung over my shoulder, I sped-walked to the nearest bathroom. My appearance was nothing short of disastrous: a loose beige bra that clung awkwardly to my sweat-drenched skin, and tightly fitted black spandex shorts that felt like they were melting into my sweaty legs. But, by golly, I was determined to take a shower. I assured myself that no one was there but Mama and me.

That is what I thought.

Clearly, that thought changed when I threw open the bathroom door to be met with a wall of steam and the startling sight of a pasty, pale chest belonging to a random white guy. In a comedy of errors, we collided headfirst into each other. He let out a yelp of surprise as I stumbled backward, dropping my toiletries and towel in the process.

“AHHH!” We both screamed in unison, our voices mingling in a perfect pitch of panic and disbelief. My phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor, the emergency contact screen flashing in alarm and my phone's flashlight being turned on as it bounced. The towel, now airborne, landed atop the guy’s head like a makeshift hat, which only made the situation more absurd. My toiletries, scattered like fallen soldiers, rolled across the tile in every direction.

In the frenzy, the guy’s shampoo bottle, which had been precariously perched on the edge of the sink, took a dive and exploded into a foamy mess, splattering us both with a thick layer of bubbles. I slipped on the slick tile, my foot skidding out from under me and sending me crashing into a pile of wet towels.

In the chaos, I tried to grab onto the nearest thing for support, which ended up being his bicep. My fingers closed around the surprisingly smooth and firm muscle, and I couldn't help but notice how it felt like a warm, solid rock under my touch. The unexpected contact sent a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I found myself blushing furiously as I tried to steady myself.

Never mind the sudden fucking romance, I was flailing and falling, and it was embarrassing as hell.

As I yanked on his arm, he lost his balance and we both went tumbling to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, shampoo, and toilet paper. The sheer force of our combined weight caused the guy to slam into the opposite wall, sending a shower of misplaced toiletries and a small avalanche of cleaning supplies cascading down on us. We landed in an awkward, sprawled mess, my leg draped over his and his arm pinned beneath my back, all while the air was filled with the scent of minty shampoo.

"What the actual fuck," The weird white guy said. I was surprised to hear an Australian accent escape his mouth, quite different than the accents I heard every day.

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed in disbelief, trying to stand up, but wincing because my head and bum hurt very much.

He groaned, trying to sit up and shift me off his chest. "I'm Oscar. From Australia."

"Oscar who?" I asked, still struggling to comprehend the situation while attempting to fix my disheveled hair.

“Oscar from Australia,” he deadpanned, his frustration evident. His wet hair, still dripping from his recent shower, clung to his forehead, adding to his slightly disheveled look. Despite his frown, which was more a mix of irritation and bemusement, there was something oddly cute about him. His features were sharp but softened by his annoyed expression, and his damp hair only added to his rugged charm. The heat of the bathroom made his skin glisten slightly, and the combination of his tousled hair and pouty frown gave him a kind of adorably exasperated vibe. "You know, as in the guy whose bicep you just clung to like a life raft in a storm."

"Well, excuse me, Oscar from Australia," I retorted, finally managing to get to my feet but still wobbly. "I didn’t exactly plan on meeting you in such a—uh—personal way."

Oscar smirked, flicking some shampoo suds off his hand. "Yeah, well, this wasn’t how I planned to greet my new neighbors either. I was expecting someone who could walk without tripping over thin air, but hey, I guess we can’t all be that lucky."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Great. So not only am I dealing with a mess of shampoo and toiletries, but now I have to navigate an awkward introduction with some guy who thinks he’s important enough to be 'Oscar from Australia.'" I honestly did not give a fuck if he was called "Oscar from Bumfuck Nowhere" or "Oscar the Prince of Bahrain", he needed to chill the fuck out.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, still struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, you know, ‘Oscar from Australia’ doesn’t have a very high bar for first impressions apparently. But hey, at least you’ll remember me, right?”

I rolled my eyes, snatching my towel off his head. "Yeah, I’ll definitely remember you as the guy who managed to turn my bathroom break into an episode of slapstick comedy."

Wiping a loose tear that streamed down my face due to shampoo getting in my eyes, I continued. "I just wanted a goddamn shower after that long plane ride and the bloody heat from outside man. What the hell…" I drifted off.

Oscar’s face twitched between amusement and exasperation. Honestly, now that I am thinking about it, his countenance was definitely leaning more toward exasperation and frustration. "I’m sorry my ‘Australian charm’ is such a disaster for you. But you know, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting tackled by a very disheveled girl either."

I huffed, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest, and my posture was a rigid display of frustration. My shoulders were hunched slightly, and I tilted my head to one side, making it clear I was not in the mood for further nonsense. My face was a portrait of annoyance—my brows were furrowed deeply, and my lips were pressed into a thin line. A flush of irritation spread across my cheeks, and my eyes, which had been rimmed with the remnants of shampoo, glared at Oscar with unfiltered exasperation. Every muscle in my expression seemed to scream, "Seriously?" as I struggled to keep my composure amidst the chaotic aftermath of our unintended collision.

"Oh, so now I’m ‘disheveled’? You might have noticed I was in the middle of trying to clean myself up when you decided to become a human wrecking ball."

Oscar chuckled despite himself. "Look, I didn’t mean to turn your bath into a soap opera. It was an accident—just like your epic phone drop and shampoo explosion." The audacity of this guy to even put my "epic phone drop" in air quotes. What a comic. Haha, totally funny.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get tackled by a random guy in the shower. Maybe you could’ve picked a less dramatic way to introduce yourself."

This "Oscar from Australia" guy was really starting to annoy me.

To be fair, I may have been escalating the whole thing because I truly do feel like a different person the moment heat washes over me. And this whole situation—sweaty, disheveled, and now dealing with a ridiculously charming yet infuriating Australian—was the cherry on top of my chaotic day.

Oscar shook his head, a smirk still tugging at his lips. "Well, if you ever need a more dramatic first impression, you know where to find me." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the steamy mess of the bathroom.

The jokes on him, first impressions are first and quite permanent. They don't change.

As I stood in the shower, still reeling from our chaotic confrontation, I finally managed to get my shower running. The cool water cascading down my back felt like a small slice of relief after the sweltering heat and tension of the past few minutes. I glanced at my reflection in the misty mirror, trying to scrub away the remnants of shampoo and irritation. My hair, now a tangled mess of suds and frustration, clung to my face as I attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

It struck me suddenly—amidst the chaos and embarrassment—that something had shifted within me. I had been more assertive and bold than I ever remembered being, and this unexpected encounter had stirred confidence in me I hadn't recognized before. I didn’t just let the situation unfold; I stood my ground, even if it meant facing down a charming yet infuriating Australian.

Blushing slightly, I scolded myself silently. Really? Hurling myself at a guy I just met the moment I get to Santorini? It was like I’d thrown my usual reserved self out the window along with my dignity.

This wasn't Love Island. And he certainly wasn't the steamy-hot Australian guy from Casa who would be able to woo my heart in mere milliseconds.

Sweet lord, Clementine told me to reset myself this vacation. I had singlehandedly managed to reset my personality in three minutes.

As I rinsed the last of the foam from my hair, a sudden pang of regret hit me. I had never actually told Oscar my name. How had I managed to skip such a basic part of an introduction amid our chaotic collision? The thought gnawed at me, adding another layer to my mortification.

To him, I was probably that weird, really sweaty, and kind of stinky vacation girl with a pissy attitude. Now I am not saying that that isn't a spot-on accurate description of me, but it kind of hurts that I didn't behave better.

A lack of decorum on both of our parts, I'll conclude.

I couldn’t help but replay the moment when I’d bumped into him—his rock-solid chest meeting mine with surprising warmth. My eyes had instinctively trailed down from his broad shoulders to the defined abs that quite literally were making eye contact with me. The firm, unexpected contact of his body against mine had sent a jolt through me, making me acutely aware of how close we’d been.

Even now, the memory of that fleeting contact made me blush deeper, and my face felt like it was on fire. The way his chest had felt—solid and warm—seemed to linger, leaving an imprint on my senses. I recalled how his abs had pressed against me, their tautness undeniable from even where I was standing. It was almost embarrassing how my eyes had involuntarily traced those contours, as if they were a new and intriguing landscape I had never seen before.

Ugh, what the fuck. I desperately needed a Facetime to debrief all of this confusing absurdity with dearest Clementine.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[ohnoitsz1m]

HEY. hey. hlvrai airplane furries. okay?

I do plan to make more. Dw. I already know what Tommy is. And I have a pretty good idea for Coomer as well. Bubby,,, I'm conflicted. I only got around to these two because I started at like midnight and it's currently 3 am again

More explanation and rambling below

For those out of the loop Airplane Dragons are an original furry species made by scpkid in like 2015? Idk. They've been around for a while and I really like them.

I've only gotten more interested in airplane dragons in the last 4 years because I'm around planes and jets literally every day,, and while it's not anywhere near MY field of study, being around them every day, you tend to pick up a decent bit of knowledge about them, at least enough to later turn your favorite characters into planes and jets for the hell of it.

For the other characters, if I ever get around to them:

Tommy would be one of those Concorde planes.

Why? Because I think this looks absolutely ridiculous, but the function of the drooped nose is played entirely seriously in a lot of cases and it just felt very Tommy to me. I DID consider making Bubby a Concorde instead but this feels too silly for him. He would never let himself be a Concorde plane...

Coomer, I'm thinking something ww2 era. Why? Old. Military background.

I don't really have any solid ideas for Bubby, maybe it'll come to me later.

[ssa-dado]

4 - Thesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, slow burn

Summary: Gideon urgently pulls Hotch and you into a complex case, leading to a sleepless night of intense work discovering the unsub's fascination with a symbolic, twisted version of a note design. Despite exhaustion, your insights prove invaluable, strengthening your bond with Hotch as partners as something seems to shift. As Rossi and Gideon joke about their own partnership comparing it to your own with Hotch, it’s clear that a deeper connection is unfolding. Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Sapio intoxicating chemistry, Rossi going wild.

Word Count: 6.1k Dado's Corner: Is it fair for me to say that I'm obsessed with the two of them? Like c'mon get together already. Note to self: never study for your history of architecture exam again while being obsessed with a crime show, even if this dream I had inspired this chapter. I am afraid of my own mind. Enjoy these bigger breadcrums while you can

previous part ; masterlist

Thesis - Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that."

•

Gideon appeared in the doorway of his office, his usually calm demeanor slightly more tense, he scanned the room, his eyes settling first on Hotch, who was engrossed in a case file, and then on you. There was a look of deliberation on his face, as if he’d been weighing this decision for some time.

“Hotch, Y/N,” Gideon’s voice cut sharply through the bullpen, laced with urgency that left no room for hesitation. “I need you both at the train station in 30. Grab your go-bag, there’s no time.”

Hotch’s head snapped up, a flash of confusion in his eyes that matched your own. You exchanged a fleeting look, a mix of surprise and adrenaline sparking between you. It was only your second time being directly pulled into one of Gideon’s cases, and you couldn’t deny the rush of nerves mingling with excitement. This was what you had been working so hard for: to be trusted, to be out there on the field.

You didn’t waste a second. Hotch nodded at you, a silent agreement to move quickly, and the two of you scrambled to collect your go-bags, the weight of the situation palpable. Gideon was already halfway out the door, and you barely had time to sling your bag over your shoulder before sprinting after him, Hotch close on your heels.

The ride to the station was a blur, Gideon’s SUV tearing through traffic as if the urgency of the case had seeped into the very engine. The city whirled past in a smear of lights and noise, each stoplight feeling like an eternity as the clock ticked down.

“We’re cutting it close,” Hotch muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the navugator as he calculated every second lost to traffic.

You glanced over at him, his usually calm demeanor strained by the pace. “We’ll make it,” you said, more to convince yourself than him, feeling the SUV lurch forward as Gideon pushed the gas harder.

The station finally loomed into view, the blare of train horns filling your ears, Gideon pulled to an abrupt stop, the SUV barely parked before you and Hotch were out the door, sprinting towards the platform.

“Which track?” you asked, your voice edged with urgency as you scanned the sea of people.

“Track 4,” Gideon called out, his tone clipped as he led the way, dodging through the crowd with a precision that only came from years in the field. Hotch was right behind him, his stride purposeful, and you kept up, adrenaline driving you forward.

Inside, Rossi was already seated scooted newt to the window, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he flipped through a stack of manila folders filled with crime scene photos. He looked up as you, Hotch, and Gideon rushed into the coach, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Another minute later, and you’d have had to wait six hours to catch the next train by sheer coincidence.”

Gideon ignored the jab, his focus entirely on the case as he took the seat beside Rossi. Hotch gave you a quick, knowing glance, Rossi’s dark humor was just his way of dealing with the tension, and you both settled in, bracing for what was about to unfold.

Rossi slid thefolders toward you, each one packed with gruesome crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and detailed maps dotted with red marks. The images were laid out in stark, brutal clarity: victims of varying ages, genders, and backgrounds, each one more unsettling than the last. It was clear from the first glance that this was no ordinary case.

Gideon broke the ice, addressing you all. “We’ve been tracking a series of murders across five states. Each one is escalating in both violence and complexity. The victims seem random: different ages, genders, backgrounds. But there’s a pattern here, one that’s been slipping through the cracks.” He pointed to a topographical map spread across the table, each crime scene marked by a pin as the locations created a road map of horrors that the unsub was crafting.

“We’re missing something,” Gideon continued, his eyes scanning the photos again. “And we need to find it before this turns into something even worse.”

Rossi leaned back, his eyes narrowing at the map as he considered the gruesome puzzle before them. “Hope you two are ready,” he added, his voice losing the sarcasm, now laced with a hint of urgency. “We’re running out of time, and this guy isn’t waiting around for us to catch up.”

Gideon continued: "This unsub is not just killing for the sake of it, he’s making a statement.”

Hotch studied the pictures in his file intently, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the data. “What kind of statement?”

Rossi leaned forward, setting down the photos. “He’s treating these murders like a grand design, but what that is, we haven’t figured out yet. That’s why we need fresh eyes on this, someone who can see what we might be missing.”

Gideon’s gaze shifted between you and Hotch, and you could feel the unspoken pressure settle over you. “That’s why I’m bringing the two of you in on this, we need different perspectives: Hotch, your tactical and organizational expertise and Y/N, your philosophical insight. We believe this unsub’s actions are possibly influenced by a deeper intellectual motive, they are too calculated.”

Your heart quickened at the prospect of tackling a case of this magnitude. You had been itching to prove yourself on something more complex, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hotch, meanwhile, maintained his calm, analytical demeanor, though you could tell by the way he was already flipping through the photos, his fingers on his right hand fidgeting, that his mind was churning with possibilities.

“What do we know about the victims?” Hotch asked, breaking the silence.

Rossi clicked again, bringing up individual profiles of the victims: names, ages, occupations. “They range from college students to retired professionals, all abducted within a few miles of their homes and found in remote locations weeks later. Cause of death varies: strangulation, blunt force trauma, some even poisoned. The one constant is the way they’re buried: each positioned carefully, with their hands folded as if in a state of peace.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes flickering with a hint of something, was it respect, or perhaps curiosity? “What do you think, Y/N?”

You leaned in, your eyes scanning the screen as you absorbed the details. “This isn’t just about control. He’s performing, staging these bodies in a way that reflects some internal logic or belief system, making each victim part of a larger narrative.”

Hotch agreed, his voice firm. “We need to visit these sites. We can start with the most recent site. We need to get ahead of this guy before he escalates again.”

As you arrived to the police station, you immediately gathered your notes and headed out to the SUVs, your mind racing with theories and questions. The drive to the first burial site was tense, each of you lost in your thoughts. Hotch was focused, his eyes fixed on the road, while you sifted through the case file, trying to absorb every detail. When you finally arrived, the scene was breathtaking: a hillside with a clear view of the surrounding landscape, marked by the telltale signs of the unsub’s careful work.

You and Hotch began analyzing the site, marking the locations of the victims and sketching the layout. It was slow, painstaking work, but every detail mattered. The entire time, you felt Hotch’s eyes on you, analyzing your every move, testing your instincts. You overcompensated by diving into every bit of evidence, pushing yourself harder than usual. You wanted to show them that despite your academic background, you could handle the practical side of profiling just as well.

“What do you see?” he asked, crouching beside one of the markers. “Anything that stands out?”

You squinted at the slope, trying to piece together the bigger picture. The way the victims were positioned, the spacing between them: it wasn’t random.

“He’s not just picking random spots,” you said, more to yourself than to Hotch. “The bodies are placed with a purpose, almost like... coordinates on a map.”

Hotch looked up, intrigued. “Coordinates?”

You nodded, pointing to the markers. “Think of it like a blueprint. He’s not just killing; he’s mapping something out. The hill, the elevation, even the orientation of the bodies, they all look like elements of a larger design.”

Hotch studied the scene, his expression intense. “A design that only he understands.”

You stood side by side, feeling the weight of the case settling over you both. And as you exchanged a look with Hotch, you realized that whatever this unsub was building, you were determined to tear it down, together, even if this was only the beginning.

By the time you returned to the accommodation that night, you were beyond exhausted, but rest wasn’t an option. The case had drained not only your energy but also the BAU’s humble budget, most of the funds had gone to buying last-minute train tickets to get the team out there as fast as possible, leaving little room for comfort. Rossi’s expectation of privacy had taken another hit, and at that point you were convinced the Bureau was skimping on accommodations just to see how long it would take for him to snap. At this rate, if they kept pushing, being aware of Rossi’s sassy side, you were sure he’d threaten to leave the BAU over it.

“You’ll be sharing with Hotch,” Gideon had said without much ceremony as you stood in the cramped hallway, barely keeping your eyes open. “Rossi and I have the other room.”

You exchanged a quick, knowing look with Hotch, both of you too worn out to even joke about the fresh material handed to you on a silver platter: Rossi and Gideon sharing a room yet again, practically married at that point. But the urgency of the case weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders, and you didn’t have the energy to tease, not when the job ahead was still so daunting. You both simply nodded, both of you being aware that it wasn’t the best time to make light of the situation. Hopefully there would be time for that later, if you ever got a chance to catch your breath.

When you and Hotch arrived at the room, he carried himself with the same cool composure he always did. "You can take the bed by the window," he said, setting his go-bag down on the other bed. "I don’t mind."

"Thanks," you muttered, grateful for the small gesture. You unpacked your things in silence, acutely aware of every sound, every movement as the daunting images of the day still haunted your mind. Hotch didn’t seem bothered at all, which you found almost impressive. He had this remarkable ability to compartmentalize everything, to keep his personal and professional lives neatly separated, while you were still trying to learn that.

The night stretched on, but sleep remained elusive. You and Hotch sat in the dimly lit hotel room, the hum of the overhead lamp the only sound besides the steady scratching of pen on paper as you pored over the case files. The victims’ faces stared back at you from the photographs, haunting in their stillness, each one a piece of the gruesome puzzle you were trying to solve.

"We need to reconsider the pattern of these burial sites," Hotch said, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the dead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes tired but focused. "There's something deliberate here."

You nodded, flipping through the photos. "It’s too precise to be random."

Hotch spread out the map on the desk, meticulously marking the locations where each body had been found, his movements precise and controlled. “If we can figure out the geographical connection, we’ll be closer to understanding the unsub’s mindset. He’s organized, methodical. This guy sees himself as superior, smarter than everyone else. But it’s not just about the killing. He’s making a statement, flashing his intellect.”

You studied the photos and map intently, feeling a strange pull as you tried to make sense of the unsub’s pattern. “It’s intellectual arrogance,” you said, your voice edged with conviction. “He’s not just trying to get away with it; he’s challenging us to keep up. He wants us to see how clever he is.”

Hotch glanced at you, he could sense you were onto something, something that went beyond the surface details.

Meanwhile, your focus returned to the crime scene photos, and your attention locked onto the contours of the hill where the bodies had been buried. The arrangement was far from random, there was a disturbing intentionality in the layout, as if every placement had been meticulously planned.

“The hill’s shape,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Hotch. “It’s not just any hill. There’s an intentional pattern here. It’s like he’s using the terrain itself to say something.”

Hotch leaned in, catching the shift in your tone. He was intrigued, but he knew better than to interrupt your thought process. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice low, patient, almost coaxing you to continue.

Without responding directly, you grabbed a blank sheet of paper and laid it flat on the desk. Hotch watched as you began sketching an axonometric view of the hill, marking each burial site with quick, deliberate strokes. His brow furrowed as you connected the dots, each line revealing something more intricate.

“You’re mapping it topographically?” Hotch asked, leaning closer, the shift in his body language showing his growing interest. “Like a three-dimensional geographical profile?”

You nodded, the thrill of discovery pushing you forward. “Yes. The placements aren’t just random; they’re about the shape of the land. Look here.” You pointed at the locations marked on your sketch. “If you connect the burial sites, they form a spiral, a descending path down the hill.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened as he traced the spiral with his eyes. “A spiral… That’s deliberate. It’s not a shape we see often in criminal cases. It suggests precision, control, narcissism. He’s not just killing, he’s orchestrating a narrative. He’s not just above everyone but also he’s putting himself on display, like an artist with his masterpiece.”

You nodded, and a familiar philosophical concept began to take shape in your mind. “This isn’t just about his ego—it’s about his worldview. It reminds me of Hegel’s dialectics, which are often geometrically visualized as a spiral. Think of it like climbing a mountain: each step forward, the thesis, faces resistance - the antithesis - and then finds a way forward, the synthesis. The journey isn’t linear. It’s about overcoming obstacles, each one contributing to a higher level of understanding.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, understanding where you were going with this. “But he’s twisting that. Instead of climbing, he’s descending. He’s turning the idea of progress on its head. This isn’t evolution; it’s devolution. He’s rewriting the narrative, making his own rules.”

You paused, something clicking into place as you stared at the drawing. You turned the page slightly, looking at it from a new angle. “But why a spiral? Why this particular hill?” you murmured, almost thinking aloud.

Hotch watched you closely, seeing the wheels turning in your mind. “What do you see?”

You flipped the drawing around, angling it from his perspective. Your pulse quickened as the shape of the spiral took on a new form, one that tugged at your memory. “Look at it upside-down.”

Hotch tilted his head, his eyes following yours as the spiral transformed before him. It wasn’t just a path on a hill—it was something far more deliberate and grandiose.

“This hill…” You traced the lines again, pointing out the specific angles, the calculated precision. “The way the bodies are arranged, the proportions between the hight and the width of each turn, the precise slope that the path follows. The way each of these elements have been designed in a human scale"

"It's architectural, something grand and of cultural importance, like a temple, a church, a museum..." Hotch finally understands.

"Yes, you're right! Wait, what if it resembled the structure of the Guggenheim Museum in New York? Wright designed the volume of the main exhibition hall as an inverted hollow truncated cone, the distribution corresponds to a ramp spiraling upward. But our unsub has flipped that idea on its head.”

Hotch’s brows shot up, surprise flashing across his face. “The Guggenheim? You’re saying he’s mimicking Frank Lloyd Wright’s design?”

“Not exactly,” you replied, your excitement spilling over. “It’s not a copy, but it’s inspired. Think about it: the Guggenheim is all about ascension, showcasing art as you move upward. But here, the unsub’s using the land to create a reverse. The bodies are placed almost like the artworks displayed on the walls of the museum, but instead of ascending, they’re spiraling down, each one a grotesque ‘exhibit’ in his twisted gallery.”

Hotch looked at you, a rare smile tugging at his lips, something warmer than his usual stoic demeanor. “Are you sure you secretaly also don't have an architecture degree?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sudden lightness, you teased him starting an over the top philosophical rant “Nope, just psycology, linguistics and philosophy. Although architecture and philosophy aren’t so different. For Hegel, architecture represents humanity’s attempt to impose order on the natural world, creating structures that embody collective meaning. It’s not just about function, but about revealing the spirit of a specific time, showing how men connect with their environment through design and symbolism.”

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound low and unexpected, and it made you smile wider. “Keep talking like this, and I might have to suggest you take up teaching. You’ve got the lecture style nailed.”

Feigning mock offense, you shot back, “Careful, Hotch, or I’ll end up rewriting your whole syllabus."

Hotch’s eyes softened, a playful glint flashing in them, something uncharacteristic but welcome. “You rewrite my syllabus, and I’ll make sure to audit your classes. Fair trade?”

You shared a brief moment, the light banter cutting through the tension that had weighed on you both throughout the case. It was quick, but it left a lingering warmth, a connection that felt deeper than the job itself, a quiet intimacy that spoke volumes without needing any more words.

You cleared your throat, bringing the focus back. “We need to verify this before we present it. I need to check the actual measurements of the Guggenheim floors, just to be sure we're not reading too much into this.”

Hotch glanced at his watch, calculating the remaining hours of the night. “There’s a library a few miles from here. If we hurry, we can make it before it closes.” He grabbed his jacket, already moving toward the door, pausing only to look back at you with a determined expression. “I’ll drive.”

You smirked, brushing past him as he held the door open. “You always do.”

It was nothing grand, just a small, familiar gesture in the stillness of the night, but it carried a weight that lingered in the air between you, subtle yet undeniable.

Walking side by side, you couldn’t quite pinpoint the shift, but it was there, a quiet, unspoken connection that felt like uncharted territory. This case, and whatever was unfolding between you and Hotch, was leading you somewhere neither of you expected.

The drive to the library was filled with a comfortable silence, Hotch’s expression still carefully composed, but there was a softness in his features now, a slight relaxation in his usually tense posture. It was a small change, almost imperceptible, but you noticed, and though neither of you would acknowledge it, something was shifting.

Arriving at the library, you quickly located a book on modern American architecture and flipped to the section on the Guggenheim. You traced the diagrams and floor heights, your finger running over the details as you compared them to your axonometric drawing of the hill. But as you scanned the measurements, your heart sank, the pieces not fitting the way you’d hoped.

“The measurements don’t match,” you murmured, the weight of disappointment settling in. “We were wrong.”

Hotch stood beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence, grounding you. He didn’t seem fazed by your frustration, instead, he studied the diagrams with calm determination, his brow furrowing slightly. “Wait,” he said, his voice steady. “What if the unsub isn’t using American measurements? What if he’s thinking in meters instead of feet?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his as the realization clicked. There was a spark of something that passed between you, lingering longer than it should. “Of course. If he’s from a country that uses the metric system, he’d think in meters.”

Your fingers moved quickly, recalculating the heights and converting them into meters. As the numbers shifted, everything started to fall into place: the spiral, the Guggenheim, the inverted truncated cone. It all made sense. The measurements lined up perfectly with the victims’ positions on the hill, validating the theory that had seemed so impossible just moments before.

“We were right,” you whispered, relief and amazement flooding through you. “He must have studied or lived in a country that uses the metric system. His entire design is based on that.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, a rare warmth flickering there as he gave a small nod of approval. “Good work,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of pride that sent a flutter through your chest. “We’ve got the final piece.”

As you left the library, the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues, a quiet promise of a new day. You and Hotch exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between you. The night had been long and exhausting, but the shared victory left a sweet spark lingering in the early morning air. Neither of you could put a name to it, not yet, and neither of you seemed ready to let go of whatever was unfolding.

As you and Hotch entered the hotel lobby, Rossi and Gideon were waiting, both looking ready for the day’s briefing despite the early hour. Rossi leaned against the reception desk, watching the two of you with a bemused expression.

Gideon glanced at his watch and then back at you both, his eyebrow lifting in mock surprise. “Did you two even sleep, or are you trying to set a new BAU record for consecutive hours worked?”

Rossi smirked, shaking his head as he took in the sight of you and Hotch, the unspoken exhaustion clear in both of your eyes. “I’m starting to think you two don’t even know what a bed looks like. Or maybe you’re just having too much fun playing detective all night?”

You and Hotch exchanged a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of the sleepless night. The bond between you had been growing steadily, marked by subtle shifts and stolen moments, and while neither of you would admit it, you were becoming more in tune with each other’s rhythms, especially when it came to the job.

“Not exactly,” Hotch replied, his tone dry and laced with just the faintest hint of a smile. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the way he carried himself: focused, determined, and maybe just a touch lighter in your company. “But we cracked the code.”

Rossi chuckled, crossing his arms. “Next time you two decide to pull an all-nighter, let me know. I could use your room and finally get some privacy around here.”

Gideon’s usual sternness softened slightly at Rossi’s jab about the lack of personal space, though his focus remained sharp. “So, what’s the breakthrough? You’ve been at this all night.”

You and Hotch launched into your explanation, laying out the theory behind the inverted spiral, the Guggenheim, and the unsub’s likely academic background. As you spoke, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, noticing the way there was a certain intensity about him when he spoke, an underlying passion that only surfaced when the pieces of a case started to align.

Hotch continued, drawing the connections between the spiral and the unsub’s obsession. “We read at the library that Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs are not just architectural; they’re philosophical. Wright didn’t just build structures, he crafted experiences, integrating his work with nature in a way that transcended the ordinary. Our unsub is attempting something similar, but in a twisted, lethal manner.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “So, he sees himself as an architect of death. He’s not just killing, he’s designing each murder, making it a part of a grand, dark statement.”

“Exactly,” Hotch agreed, his voice steady yet charged with conviction. “He believes he’s creating something monumental. The spiral is his signature, an artistic flourish that he believes sets him apart. And the use of the metric system? That narrows our pool of suspects significantly. He’s likely foreign or has spent a significant amount of time studying abroad, probably in Europe where Wright’s influence still holds sway.”

You nodded, and as your attention drifted to Hotch, you couldn’t help but notice something captivating; Every time his gaze shifted toward Rossi, standing in front of the window with the morning light filtering in, the usual dark intensity of Hotch’s eyes softened, revealing an unexpected depth. What you had always thought of as a near-black now transformed into a rich, warm chestnut, flecks of amber catching the light. It was a subtle shift, but one that unveiled an unexpected beauty you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

As your mind kept wandering, another thought emerged - one that eroded the edges of your consciousness. “There’s one more thing,” you said, your tone laced with urgency. “If the unsub is using the spiral as a symbol of his intellect and superiority, he’s not finished. He’s building toward something, a final project. If we can figure out what that is, we can anticipate his next move.”

Hotch exchanged a look with you, as if you stole the words that still hadn't left his mouth yet, a flicker of shared understanding passing between you both. You had spent enough time working together that night you could read his thoughts before he spoke, and he could anticipate yours.

“We need to revisit the burial site” Hotch said, his tone thoughtful yet precise. “Pay close attention to any symbolic references, especially those linked to architecture. He’s not just mimicking Wright’s designs; he’s embracing Wright’s philosophy. Y/N pointed out that Wright believed architecture was an extension of the self, an embodiment of personal ideals. This unsub sees his work the same way.”

“Wright’s designs were about breaking the mold,” you said, adding to Hotch’s theory. “Wright was a revolutionary who viewed his designs as more than just buildings, they were personal expressions, challenges to traditional norms, and a reflection of his unique vision of the world. He wanted to create spaces that defied conventional expectations. Our unsub has a similar mindset: a desire to be seen as intellectually superior, someone whose ‘work’ can’t be understood by the average person.”

Rossi leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Did he work on residential projects or did some urban planning of his has been realised by any means?"

You understood where Rossi was going “What about the Usonian Houses project?" You turned to Hotch, eager to know if he thought the same thing as well.

He nodded, his focus sharp as he continued explaining to the seasoned profilers. “Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of the future, simple yet sophisticated homes designed to revolutionize American living. Each one was crafted with meticulous attention to detail, they weren’t just houses; they were statements. Wright designed each to be unique, tailored to the landscape and the needs of the homeowner. If our unsub idolizes Wright this deeply, it’s likely he lives in one of these homes himself. To him, it would embody everything he values: elegance, meticulous control, and the feeling of being distinctly set apart from everyone else.”

As Hotch spoke, his voice steady and assured, you couldn’t help but be drawn in, not just by his words but by the way he delivered them. There was a quiet passion in his explanation, Hotch’s understanding of Wright’s philosophy wasn’t just an analytical connection; it was something he seemed to grasp on a deeper level, and as you listened, you couldn’t help but feel captivated by when he hit on something that truly fascinated him.

“He’s not just living in a house,” Hotch continued, his gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before returning to the team. “He’s living in a symbol of his superiority. A Usonian House would be his sanctuary, a place where he can manipulate, control, and perfect every detail, just like he’s doing with his crimes.”

You watched him as he spoke, noting the way his hands gestured slightly when he was particularly engaged. It was easy to get lost in his presence, to feel the pull of his passion for the subject as much as the pull of the case itself.

The realization struck you like a jolt of electricity. “And the Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of perfection. Our unsub is killing according to those values. His admiration for Wright is more than just an interest, it’s a driving force in his crimes.”

Gideon, who had been listening intently, chimed in. “Then that’s where we start. We need to find any Usonian Houses in the area. Let's also focus on finding previous owners, or people curating them.”

The team moved swiftly, sifting through public records and historical registries. It didn’t take long for Hotch to uncover a promising lead: a privately owned Usonian House on the outskirts of a nearby town, linked to a man who fit the unsub’s profile perfectly. He was a reclusive former adjunct professor of architectural history, Victor Langley, with a history of erratic behavior and academic conflicts.

Rossi scanned the details, his eyes narrowing. “Victor Langley. Let go from his teaching position two years ago for increasingly bizarre behavior and clashes with his colleagues. Neighbors say he’s practically a ghost, only seen when he’s making strange modifications to his house.”

Gideon hung up the phone, his expression grave. “He’s barely seen outside. This house isn’t just where he lives, it’s his world, where he feels in total control.”

Hotch glanced at the three of you, his gaze intense, his determination unmistakable. You noticed the set of his jaw, the unwavering focus that drew you in every time he spoke. “This is his base, where he plans everything. Just like Wright used his designs to reshape the world, Langley is using his house to orchestrate his murders, and that’s where we’re going to find him.”

As Hotch turned to you, his eyes locked on yours with a newfound intensity. The nature of the sudden shift you had on him was becoming impossible to ignore, but for now, there was a job to finish before you could tackle it with some healthy dose of introspection.

The team mobilized quickly, setting up a perimeter around the property. As you approached, the Usonian House loomed in the distance, its low-slung roof and natural stone walls blending into the landscape. It was a beautiful, breathtaking reminder of Wright’s genius, but now, a testament to Langley’s horrors.

Rossi led the team as you breached the property, moving swiftly and silently. The house was meticulously kept, with architectural books stacked neatly on shelves, blueprints scattered on a large oak desk, and walls adorned with sketches of spirals and complex designs.

As you watched Langley being taken away, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of finality. The case had been riddled with the unsub’s twisted interpretations, but you had seen through his façade, piecing together the puzzle of his mind in a way that Wright himself might have appreciated, if only for the sheer madness of it all.

Back at the precinct, the team gathered for the debriefing, dissecting every detail of Langley’s motives and the psychological profile that had driven him down such a twisted path. As each member contributed their insights, you found your gaze drifting toward Hotch more than once, catching the subtle way he absorbed every detail, his mind always one step ahead. As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch made his way over to you, his usual stoic expression softening as he nodded in approval.

“You did very well on this one” Hotch said, his voice low but carrying a rare warmth.

You felt a flicker of pride, buoyed by his words, and met his gaze with a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. But honestly, I was amazed at how much you knew about Wright. The way you absorbed everything at the library and explained it with such passion… it was impressive.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, one that made his eyes light up in a way you couldn’t help but notice. “Guess I’m a quick study, or maybe I had a great teacher last night” he replied, the faintest trace of humor in his voice.

Before either of you could linger too long in the moment, Rossi strolled over, wearing a teasing grin. “You two are becoming quite the dynamic duo. But if you keep pulling these all-nighters, it’s gonna be the death of you both. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time.”

Gideon joined in, smirking as he gave you both a knowing look. “You work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”

Hotch glanced at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes as he replied, “Guess we’ll just have to be careful not to wear each other out.”

Rossi walked by, overhearing just enough to join in on the banter. “You two keep up these all-nighters, and one of you is bound to keel over. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time, I don’t think the Bureau’s budget covers whatever happens if you both get too lost in academic theories.”

Gideon, passing by with a knowing grin, chimed in. “Or we’ll have to start charging for private architecture lectures. Next time, just tell us before you decide to pull an impromptu masterclass, you work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”

You laughed, sharing a quick look with Hotch that spoke volumes about the night spent working side by side, both of you pushing the boundaries of professional detachment. “Yeah, I guess we need to make it a rule: no more overnight research sessions unless we’re getting hazard pay.”

Hotch shook his head, a soft laugh escaping as he tucked his hands into his pockets, the moment light but undeniably intimate. "I’m starting to think we’re a bad influence on each other.” You affirmed

Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that.”

The words hung between you, and as the team dispersed, you and Hotch headed to a quiet room to finish filing the last reports. The precinct buzzed with the usual post-case atmosphere, but as you worked side by side, the world seemed a little quieter, the connection between you both impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, back in the main room, Gideon leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on you and Hotch through the glass. A faint smile crossed his lips as he watched the two of you working seamlessly together. “They remind me of us, don’t they?”

Rossi glanced up, following Gideon’s gaze, and let out a low chuckle. “Oh, absolutely. But let’s get one thing straight: I might love you, Jason, but I promise I’m never going to end up jumping your bones. That’s where the similarities end.”

Gideon rolled his eyes, unable to hold back his laughter. “Relax, Dave. I think we’re safe there.”

Rossi clapped him on the back, still grinning. “But hey, they’re young and still full of energy. Let’s hope their late nights together work out better than ours ever did.”

As you and Hotch finished up in the other room, you both instinctively glanced over your shoulders, catching the tail end of Rossi and Gideon’s playful banter. Almost at the same moment, you felt the warmth of Hotch’s chestnut eyes searching for yours, a silent connection sparking between you. Without saying a word, you both knew exactly how the next five minutes would unfold - the lingering of your inside joke used as a comfortable distraction to brush aside the undeniable chemistry that was quietly growing between you.

[ilovescarymen]

talk to me: Spencer Reid

You’d never been one for vulnerability. It probably had something to do with how you grew up, an emotionally unavailable mother and a mentally absent father- you were always berated when you cried or showed you were upset so as you got older , you stopped.

You had a boyfriend who made you think you could be soft and vulnerable infront of him but, he ended up using it against you in an argument, after that you swore to never be vulnerable again.

You became a blank canvas that was impossible to read, a smile always plastered on your face, a fake bubbly personality to cover the pain beneath the surface. You’d only cry in the comfort of a bathroom or your home and then smile around others. It always worked. No one ever questioned it, untill now.

Your boyfriend, Spencer Reid is a profiler for the fbi’s behavioral analysis unit. He study’s human behavior for a living, which means he sees right through your little facade.

He never addressed it because he thought that maybe vulnerability would come with time. Maybe you’d stop crying in the bathroom or the shower and instead cry in his arms.

But when he arrives home from a case and you’re not at the door , bouncing around and ecstatic to see him he knows something’s up, he peeks around the corner to your bedroom and sees his sweet girl, crying and hiccuping.

You notice him and quickly wipe your tears , perking up, your stand up off the bed and run to your boyfriend’s arms.

“Hi Spence! Sorry I’m running a bit late on dinner! I’ll go get it started!” You quickly spew out, as you make an attempt to walk away your pulled back by your boyfriend, he gently places his hands on the side of your face and scans your face, before making eye contact with you.

“Honey, slow down, what’s wrong?” He asks genuine concern in his voice

“Nothing! Why would something be wrong Spence?” You put a smile on your face and look up at your boyfriend, his eyebrows are furrowed together and a frown is all over his face.

“Sweetheart, you do know that I study human behavior every day right? I know you’re lying to me, please just talk to me baby. I love you and I care and I want you to feel better”

You shake your head “nothings wrong I’m okay” you release yourself from his grasp and slip past him to the kitchen, you open the fridge and scan it “I have pasta sauce! I can make you-“ you let out a squeak as Spencer picks you up and carries you over to the couch, he sits you in his lap facing him and holds you in place.

“I have let you do this long enough. I let you isolate yourself and pretend you’re okay when you’re not but no more. I want you to come to me, I want to cheer you up honey, I will never judge you, you know that right? I’ll never make you feel stupid for feeling your feelings. I love you I want you to talk to me”

Your lip starts to tremble and tears start falling down your face “she’s- she’s so mean Spence” you hiccup, he pulls you to his chest and hugs you, his arms wrapping around your waist

“Who is? Honey who’s mean?”

“My mother” you sob out, Spencer doesn’t know the horrors of your childhood. All he knows is you grew up in Texas and you left because you wanted a change in scenery, what he doesn’t know is that you actually left for your own safety. Your mother had lost it and you left to avoid another one of her beatings.

“Oh honey” he coos, he kisses the side of your head and rubs your back gently, whispering little “it’s okay”’s and “let it all out”’s in your ear. When your crying calmed down you sat up, looking Spencer in his eyes.

“M’ sorry, I know you got home from a case and this is probably the last thing you wanted to deal with” you breath out as you wipe your eyes

“Hey hey, Nuh uh. Don’t ever apologize for feeling your feelings, I’m more than happy to do this. To be here for you always. I love you, sweetheart “

“I love you too Spence “

“Now, tell me why we hate your mother”

And you did, you told him everything, and when tears fell Spence gently caressed your back and listened intently, showing you that it was okay.

This is what love is.

[joelsrose]

Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Cw: threats to reader with a knife.

You're out for a walk in the woods, when you come across Alastor of all people, walking along, your eyes widen as he spots you at the exact moment you spot the bloody knife in his hand.

Startled, you step back and look around nervously before focusing on Alastor once more in horror.

You: "A-Alastor? W-What are you doing here?"

You try to keep your voice steady, innocent, heart pounding in your chest.

Alastor: "Why I just wanted some peace and quiet, my Dear, a nice calming walk, just as I'm sure was your purpose for being out at such an hour, hmm?"

Internally he berates himself, he had been courting you gradually and now this?! How... Sloppy.

Your eyes dart to the knife in his hand, fear creeping into your eyes, to Alastor's dismay but also advantage.

You: "W-Why do you have that?"

His smile grew wider as he saw the fear in your eyes.

Alastor: "Oh, this? Just something I carry around for protection."

He chuckles lightly, taking half a step closer to you.

Alastor: "But I must say, I wasn't expecting to see you here. It's quite a surprise, a pleasant one."

Alastor lies, trying to stop you from running, trying to charm his way into relaxing you.

Alastor: "I hope you don't mind if I join you, after all it'll be more safe and fun that way don't you think?"

Alastor's tone is filled with amusement. You feel nothing but terror in his presence right now, a hard contrast to the affable charming man you always felt at ease around before... Maybe even loved.

You take another step back, feeling uneasy about his proximity and the knife.

You: "I-I don't know, Alastor. I-I think I prefer being alone right now."

You swallow hard, trying to hide your anxiety. Despite your efforts to sound confident, your voice trembles slightly, betraying your fear.

You: "P-Please, just leave me alone."

You plead, breaking the pretense and hoping he would listen. Alastor tilted his head to the side, studying you intently, how interesting, you were certainly different than the others... Perhaps he wouldn't kill you... Yet.

Alastor: "Ah, but where's the fun in that?"

He took another step toward you, closing the distance between you two further, to your utter panic.

Alastor: "Besides, I don't think I can let such a rare opportunity slip away. A chance encounter with such a lovely morsel, in the middle of the woods, it's almost too perfect."

Alastor's voice is dripping with sarcasm, knowing exactly how to panic cornered prey into making mistakes.

You feel a chill run down your spine as Alastor steps even closer, your heart beating faster with every passing moment.

You: "P-Please, Alastor. I-I don't want any trouble."

You beg, taking another step back. Your foot hits a tree root, causing you to lose your balance and fall backward onto the damp ground

You: "Ahh!"

Landing on your back with a loud thud. As you fell, Alastor couldn't help but laugh at the sight. You really were making this too easy.

Alastor: "Oh, how clumsy of you."

He walked over to you, laugh echoing in the isolated area, bouncing off trees, no-one would ever find your body here.

Soon Alastor is standing above you knife glinting in the moonlight, you're frozen in fear, heart pounding in your chest, you try to scream for help but not a sound escapes, you're trapped in your own body, paralysed by your own pathetic weakness.

Alastor: "Now, what? Right! I believe I was about to join you."

Alastor smirked, lowering himself to sit on top of you, pinning you to the ground, almost like taking a seat for tea, before leaning over you, knife edge finding its way against your throat as tears well in your eyes.

Alastor: "Don't worry, I won't hurt you too much."

Alastor whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, he even has the audacity to nip at the flesh there, reveling in the shiver that wracks your already shaking form.

Alastor's firm body presses to yours, so warm as you feel frozen, such a parody of how things used to be. You even whimper slightly at the sight of his dilated eyes and the bulge you were sure you felt twitch against your hip.

Alastor: "Now where was I? Ah yes... Threatening you."

[veronicaphoenix]

zutto — chapter seven | wc: 5.7k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Lia and Noah meet everyone again at Noah's house. Lia finds a familiar book in Noah's room and Noah catches her reading it, which leads to an inevitable conversation. Reading time: 22mins. aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: fluff, one or two mentions of Lia's overdose, slight anxiety, alcohol intake, sexual innuendos, talks about bondage, one use of the word blowjob, noah on his knees, implied oral sex (fem. receiving).

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Returning to Noah’s house meant facing not only the people who lived there but also anyone else who might have dropped by that afternoon. Lia’s anxiety intensified during the drive from Santa Monica Place. 

Though she’d been nervous earlier, the time spent hand in hand with Noah at the mall had temporarily eased her tension. Now, however, the reality of confronting her friends and dealing with the consequences of her actions weighed on her. Shame, guilt, weakness… What would they think of her? Would they look at her with different eyes? Whatever it was, she had to push forward and deal with it. 

As they pulled into the driveway, Lia stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, following Noah. He glanced back to check on her.

Inside, they were immediately met by Jesse and Jolly, who bypassed Noah and rushed to hug Lia, bombarding her with the same concerned questions on repeat. Moments later, Matt emerged from the studio at the back of the house, giving Noah a quick brotherly hug before turning to Lia. He pulled her into his arms for a few seconds, then stepped back to study her closely.

“You look good,” he said, genuine relief in his voice.

“Thank Noah,” Lia replied.

Noah smiled, casually tossing his hoodie onto the sofa—one of his familiar habits. He noticed immediately that the living room and kitchen were a bit of a mess: dishes piled up in the sink, blankets on the sofa crumpled and unfolded.

“No one bothered to clean up while I was gone?” He asked, though his tone was lighthearted.

“Dude, we had lunch an hour ago and spent the morning being lazy,” Jolly explained, heading into the kitchen and announcing he was going to make coffee for everyone.

He busied himself at the same time Matt mentioned that the two Nicks were on their way over.

The anxiety Lia had about meeting everyone again after being cooped up in her apartment with Noah for what felt like forever—only leaving for her therapy sessions and exchanging a few scattered phone calls with Emery, Jolly, and Folio—faded surprisingly fast. Within five minutes, all the tension melted away. She wasn’t sure what she had expected—maybe judgment, maybe that she’d somehow lost their love or the bond they shared—but before she knew it, the boys were being boys, and it was like nothing had ever changed.

The Nicks and Mike showed up just in time to join the group for coffee. They all gathered around the wide kitchen island, some sitting, others leaning against counters as they shared stuff about the last few days. Conversations drifted easily—someone mentioned a ridiculous late-night craving, Nicholas recounted a failed attempt at cooking dinner, and Jesse imitated Mike’s dramatic reaction to his favorite sports team losing.

Then, Matt brought up work, and that’s when Lia noticed Noah’s energy shift. His face tightened with focus, and in an instant, the playful, relaxed version of him gave way to something more intense. It was like she could see the gears in his head turning. He didn’t even finish his coffee before he headed to the studio with Matt and Mike, already in work-mode.

Lia stayed behind in the living room with the Nicks, Jolly, and Jesse. An hour later, the air felt lighter, and every once in a while, Folio would nudge her, asking if she was okay. A few moments later, Jolly chimed in, wondering aloud if she needed another coffee, but she didn’t. In fact, she realized she was childhishly missing Noah. They had spent nearly every minute together over the last few days, so much so that now, with him gone—to the studio at the other end of the house—for not even an hour, her fingers tingled with the urge to find him, to touch him. 

She must have zoned out, because when she refocused on the conversation, Folio and Jolly were holding ten-dollar bills that Jesse and Nicholas had taken out from their wallets. 

“What’s going on?” Lia asked, furrowing her brows. “You guys into drug dealing now?”

Jolly chuckled. “Nah. Better than that.”

“We made a bet,” Folio explained with a smirk. “Noah couldn’t convince you to cancel the trip. Jesse and Nick were betting he could.”

“They underestimated the power you have over that man,” Jolly added, folding the bill and keeping it in his pocket.

Lia ducked her head slightly to hide the warmth rising to her cheeks. They still didn’t know the full story, and she couldn’t find the courage to tell them yet. She couldn’t help but wonder if there might be another bet on the table—maybe one that involved how long it would take her and Noah to get together.

“Has he been taking good care of you?” Jolly asked.

It was a joke, for he knew the answer to that. But she understood the deeper question there. They wanted to know if she was really okay, and if Noah had been what she needed during this rough time.

“He’s been great,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, a soft smile on her face. “Really great.”

Jolly and Jesse exchanged a look, trying to read into the way she said it. Lia caught their glance and couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s even done the dishes every single day,” she added. “Can’t complain.”

“Complain about?” Noah’s voice echoed through the hallway. It took him no more than three seconds to appear and enter the living room, smiling brightly at Lia, a sense of calm washing over him as he confirmed she was okay. She looked comfortable and at ease, surrounded by the people they both cared about.

“About your bad habits,” Nicholas muttered, grinning. “Like leaving dirty socks all over the house and all the kitchen drawers open.”

Noah frowned, clearly confused. 

“I don’t do that,” he said, crossing the room and leaning one knee on the armrest of the sofa to reach behind Lia, placing a soft, absentminded kiss on her hair. No one seemed to care or be surprised by the affection; it was just Noah and Lia, the way they’d always been—close, comfortable, unspoken warmth between them.

“I know,” Lia said, tilting her head back to look up at him with a smile. “Don’t listen to them. I told them you’ve been a good boy.”

“I am a good boy. I just finished my part of the work,” he emphasized, his eyes twinkling. “Now it’s your turn, guys. Go catch up on your stuff and stop being lazy—we’re heading out on tour in two weeks, and there’s still a lot to prep.” He looked pointedly at Nick. “We need a full gear check. Make sure the bass rig is solid, and everything’s tuned up. If anything’s busted, handle it now before we’re scrambling last minute. Same goes for you, Folio. We still have to lock in the tempo changes for the setlist. Let’s make sure you’ve got the click tracks lined up and that the drum kit’s in top shape. No last-minute issues like last tour. Matt and Mike are going through the logistics, so whatever you need to check on, guys, do it now. Tighten up your parts because in two weeks, we’re hitting the road hard.”

The group exchanged a mix of playful eye rolls and resigned nods. They knew the drill—work had to get done. Meanwhile, Lia couldn’t help but find his enthusiasm and ordering around extremely hot.  

With a proud “that’s my boy”, Jolly stood up before following the others back to the studio and letting Folio disappear into the garage, where one of his drum kit’s was.  In a matter of minutes, Lia and Jesse were the only ones left in the living room. Noah, true to his perfectionist nature, followed the boys back to the studio. He always had a hard time letting go when it came to work.

Jesse took the chance to show Lia some new ERRA merch ideas on his iPad. He swiped through a series of designs—hoodies, shirts, and hats—that featured bold artwork, some of which Lia immediately recognized as hers. They had used sketches she’d created the previous year, reworking them into something fresh and edgy, but still unmistakably hers.

“Look familiar?” Jesse asked with a grin, tapping the screen to show her a black hoodie with one of her intricate line drawings of a phoenix worked into a line from one of their latest songs. “We decided to tweak it a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lia’s eyes lit up as she examined the designs more closely. 

“Not at all. It looks incredible,” she said, a flush of pride warming her. She’d forgotten just how much she’d missed working on creative projects like this. “It looks so much better than the original.”

“We wanted it to match the vibe of the album a bit more. I thought about asking you, but considering everything that’s been going on, we didn’t want to overwhelm you. We figured we’d give it a shot ourselves. I don’t think it’s better than your original, but if you like it and are okay with it, we’re ready to send it to printing.” 

Lia nodded enthusiastically, agreeing to it. 

As they flipped through more mock-ups, Lia felt that familiar itch at her fingertips. After a few minutes of discussing the tweaks and color palettes, she couldn’t resist pulling out her sketchbook from her backpack. She began sketching new ideas for future possible merch—or perhaps an illustrated book—her pencil moving swiftly across the page.

When Noah finally reappeared, he smiled at the sight of her sketching. He slipped onto the couch between her and Jesse, but before he could say a word to Lia, Jesse roped him into discussing more of the merch designs.

“Check out this lineup,” Jesse said, showing Noah the pictures of the updated items. Noah nodded, half-distracted by the sight of Lia absorbed in her drawing next to him, but he engaged with Jesse, asking questions and giving his thoughts.

A few minutes after, Lia stood up to fix herself a mug of jasmine tea, her head still brimming with ideas. She wandered into the kitchen, completely unaware that Jesse had quietly slipped off to his room, leaving her and Noah alone.

She was just pouring the boiling water into one of her favorite mugs when she felt Noah’s familiar warmth at her back. His lips found her hair, and his nose brushed against her ear, sending a delightful shiver through her body.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

“You were just locked in the studio for an hour,” she replied, though her heart fluttered in her chest. She missed him too, but teasing him felt like the natural response. “That’s nothing compared to your usual routine.”

“I have a new routine now,” he said, his voice low, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh?” She turned around, holding the mug in one hand, bringing it to her lips as she eyed him curiously. “You do?”

She took a slow sip, and Noah’s gaze fixed on her lips as they pressed against the rim of the mug. He watched the way she swallowed, the gentle curve of her throat.

“Yes,” he answered, almost breathless, his hands finding their place on her hips. His eyes darkened, the playful smirk growing more wicked by the second.

Lia swallowed the warm liquid, then deliberately licked her lips. She could feel his pulse quicken as he eyed the little action, and the power she had in that moment made her grin.

Noah’s jaw tightened.  

“What do I have to do to get another blowjob from that pretty mouth of yours?”

Lia raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider his question. 

“Hmm. I don’t know. Last night, you got me to four orgasms in a couple of hours. You set the bar pretty high. Maybe if you can top that...” Her voice dropped, teasing, “I might just get on my knees for you and do that thing with my tongue you seemed to like so much.”

Noah bit down on his lip, hard, his self-control hanging by a thread as he emited a sound similar to a growl. He shook his head slightly, trying to rein in his desire, but it was too much. He reached for the mug, gently taking it from Lia’s hand and setting it behind her on the counter. Then, without another word, he picked her up by the waist, turning them both around and placing her on the kitchen island.

His mouth crashed into hers, the kiss deep and hungry. Lia responded instantly, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the heat of the moment. She was breathless by the time they parted, but her eyes stayed locked on his, craving more.

Just as Noah’s hands slid up Lia’s sides, his lips still feverish against hers, they heard a sound. Startled, they both froze, turning toward the doorway to find Jesse standing there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Oh my… Fucking finally!” he exclaimed, his arms lifting in the air to then drop to his sides.

Noah sprang away from Lia, immediately trying to compose himself, cheeks flushed a deep red. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping as he looked anywhere but directly at Jesse. Lia, equally embarrassed, hopped down from the counter, smoothing her shirt, trying to hide the heat rising to her face.

Jesse, still grinning ear to ear, didn’t waste any time. 

“Hey, guys! Get in here! You won’t believe this!” he shouted toward the studio, his voice carrying through the house.

Lia and Noah exchanged a panicked look as footsteps echoed down the hall. Before they could protest, the rest of the guys piled into the kitchen one by one. Jolly, Nicholas, and Mike were the first to enter, and the moment they saw Noah and Lia standing awkwardly with flushed cheeks next to each other, it clicked.

“Seriously? About damn time!” 

The room erupted in cheers and whoops, and before Lia knew it, she was being swept into a hug from Jolly, then from Folio, and even Nicholas joined in with an exaggerated, “Congrats, you two lovebirds.”

Noah stood to the side, laughing nervously and trying to fend off Mike’s bear hug.

“You guys broke the record,” Mike said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Idiots in love who couldn’t see they were in love with each other. I’m amazed it took you this long.”

Matt entered the room, smirking knowingly. “So now we know what you’ve really been up to, locked in Lia’s apartment all these days, huh?”

The teasing had both Lia and Noah blushing again, though this time, it felt a bit easier. 

Folio clapped his hands together, heading to the fridge. “Well, I guess this calls for a celebration. Who’s in for a beer?”

He stopped mid-reach when his eyes met Lia’s. There was a beat of silence, the group looking at her, suddenly remembering.

Lia, catching his hesitation, smiled softly. “It’s okay,” she reassured. “You don’t have to make it weird because I’m here. Go ahead, drink. It’s fine.”

Folio hesitated for a second, then nodded, relieved, and started passing out beers to the others. When he handed one to Noah, though, Noah declined.

“I’ll stick with tea,” Noah said casually, motioning to the kettle on the counter.

Lia glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. She noticed his quiet decision, wondering for a moment if it had something to do with her. 

Jolly called Emery to come over, and soon after, Bryan and Davis joined them, Bryan arriving with several boxes of pizza in tow.

As the hours passed, it felt like old times again. Lia found herself sitting between Noah’s legs on the carpet, her back resting against his chest, as they indulged in different pizza flavors and shared jokes. Emery sat comfortably in Jolly’s arms on the couch, the two of them whispering to each other and stealing occasional kisses, and Bryan and Folio fought for the last slice of peperoni pizza, keeping the others entertained in their silly wrestling.              

Lia felt a deep sense of gratitude as she cuddled in Noah’s arms and watched her friends. Despite everything she had gone through, here she was, surrounded by people who loved and supported her. It felt like nothing had changed, like the bond between them all was as strong as it’d always been. 

The night wore on.

Lia and Emery eventually retreated to a quieter corner of the living room to talk. It felt comforting to reconnect with her best friend, knowing that despite everything, their friendship hand’t changed. Lia had struggled to be the supportive friend Emery deserved during her new relationship with Jolly; right when it began, she had fucked things up with Noah. When she apologized to Emery, she smiled reassuringly and said it was okay; that what mattered now was that they were all in a good place, and that she got her best friend back. Ah, and on top of that, they could now chat about their hot boyfriends, tease each other, and share bits about how good they were in bed. 

Meanwhile, Jolly, Jesse, Noah, and Matt were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, glancing occasionally toward Emery and Lia. They watched the latter, talking animatedly with her girlfriend, a glow of happiness on her face.

“She looks… different,” Jesse mentioned, his voice low but thoughtful.

“She looks happy,” Jolly corrected. He crossed his arms, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Noah, who had been absently running his hand up and down his mug of tea, couldn’t take his eyes off her, mesmerized by the way she laughed and smiled. That’s how she wanted her, always —aside from in his bed, naked.

Matt, leaning against the counter beside him, nudged his side. 

“You look good too, man. Did you two catch up on sleep, or have you been using your nights for some well-deserved sweet time?” 

Noah wasn’t one to bask in the attention, especially when it came to him and Lia and their private bedroom matters. However, he couldn’t hide the smile that gave him away. 

The night continued, and the city outside turned pitch black. The sounds in the apartment began to mellow, as everyone settled into their own rhythms. The Nicks, Bryan, and Matt had retreated to their video games, completely absorbed in their battle on the screen, while Jolly and Emery shared soft kisses in a quiet corner of the sofa.

Noah, always drawn back to work, had disappeared into the studio again with Mike, Davis, and Jesse, likely refining tour setlists or tweaking final production notes. As the group dispersed into their various corners, Lia found herself alone for the first time all night. She stood up quietly, leaving the lovebirds and the boys playing videogames behind, and made her way to Noah’s room. 

The warmth of the evening was still wrapped around her, but a part of her longed for a moment alone. The air in the hallway was cooler, quieter. Once inside Noah’s room, she let out a long breath. The familiar scent of him filled the room—it smelled like home.

A small pile of her clothes still lay neatly in one of his drawers, and his bed remained perfectly made, just as it had been since they left for the US tour. She smiled at how organized and clean everything was, a reflection of Noah himself. 

Her gaze lingered on the bed, and a flood of memories rushed back. Not long ago, she had slept in that very spot, bruised and heartbroken. The thought twisted her stomach, so she sat down in the armchair in the corner, trying to focus on the quieter, more peaceful moments she’d spent there—reading books or sketching while Noah took care of her.

But her eyes kept drifting back to the bed. She couldn’t help but think of the nights when Noah had held her through her nightmares, his presence always the comfort she needed. 

Curling up in the armchair, she wrapped her arms around herself, sitting in silence for a few minutes.

Eventually, her attention was drawn to the stack of books on top of the drawer beside her. Absentmindedly, she read the titles until one caught her eye: The Seductive Art of Japanese Bondage, the words printed on the spine white and faded yellow.  

She stared at it like it was Pandora’s box—something she shouldn’t open but couldn’t resist. Before she could stop herself, she reached out, picked it up, and flipped it open.

It started as an act of curiosity—the same curiosity that had led her to ask Noah about shibari in the first place—but it quickly became something more. 

As Lia flipped through the pages, her interest on the topic seemed to grow. The book was a deep dive into the history and philosophy behind the practice. She learned about the origins of it, and how, over time, the martial art had evolved into the erotic art of shibari, shifting from control and confinement to an expression of trust, vulnerability, and intimate connection.

Many of the passages mentioned the meditative aspects of it, the idea of releasing control and being fully present in the moment. There was emphasis on the importance of trust between the participants—how the one being tied must surrender to the process, allowing themselves to be vulnerable, while the one tying held the responsibility of creating a safe and secure space. The knots themselves were described as more than just physical restraints; they were symbols of the bond between the partners, a delicate balance of power and intimacy.

The more she read, the more Lia saw how shibari could be about empowerment, not just surrender. The art required both participants to be attuned to each other, heightening their connection through every twist of the rope. It sounded like something she could benefit from, a way to rebuild her trust and connection with Noah—if she could get past her fear.

But as the thrill of trying something new began to bubble up inside her, so did the unease. Her last therapy session had forced her to confront a hard truth—she feared losing control, especially after Mitch had manipulated and controlled her. The idea of someone, even Noah, holding that kind of power over her was terrifying. Could she really trust him enough to let him tie her up?

She hadn’t even realized that she had been thinking about practicing this crazy thing called bondage with Noah until the thought hit her. Heat flooded her face, and a strange ache bloomed between her legs. The mix of fear and excitement left her feeling exposed, as if the very pages of the book had unlocked something she wasn’t ready to confront.

Lia’s mind raced as she lay back on the armchair, her thoughts spiraling deeper. Sex with Noah had already proven to be a release, a way to let go of the fears and insecurities that gnawed at her. He had shown her that she could be vulnerable with him and he would only love her more. He had pleasured her while making her feel safe and loved.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so cared for, so satisfied, so beautiful. Noah had looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, had touched her with reverence, making her body feel alive in a way it hadn’t been in a very long time. 

But as much as she craved that feeling, there were limits. Her trust in him was still fragile—not because she doubted him, but because she doubted herself. She was still easily shaken by the ghosts of her past. The idea of letting him tie her hands, to give him control in that way, sent a ripple of anxiety through her. She couldn’t trust herself not to panic, to be overwhelmed by the memories she tried so hard to bury. 

Lia shook her head, trying to push the deeper thoughts away. She didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now, at least. Instead, she focused on the pages of the book, letting herself get lost in the descriptions of the intricate knots and the philosophy behind the art.

Barely a few minutes later, the door creaked open. 

“Lia?” Noah’s voice cut through her thoughts, soft but filled with concern. “Hey, I got worried for a sec. You okay?”

Lia sat up quickly, her heart racing. She nervously tried to hide the book, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, standing up and keeping the book behind her.

Noah stepped further into the room, his eyes catching the way she held something in her hand. 

“Were you reading?”

“Hum… yeah.” Lia felt her pulse quicken, trying to act casual. 

Noah’s eyes shifted down to her hand, and when he noticed the book, a small smirk played on his lips.

“Is that...?” he began, amusement creeping into his tone. “Are you trying to hide it from me?”

“No,” she said while moving the book behind her to hide it better. 

Noah chuckled, stepping closer, clearly amused. “Lia,” he said, “are you embarrassed?"

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the book. “I was just… I saw it there and I remembered what you read to me. I got curious and—”

“You wanted to learn more?” Noah finished, his smile soft but knowing.

“Yeah. I mean—I was just curious. The book was lying there and…” She stopped when she noticed the way his eyes were boring into her. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Like you want to do these things to me,” she replied, shaking the book in her hand. 

Noah’s playful grin faded when he saw her expression shift.

“I do,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.

“What?” she asked, her throat tight.

“I’d love to tie you up,” Noah admitted, his eyes locking with hers, but his smile quickly fell when he noticed the fear behind her gaze.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, Bryan’s voice rang through the house, calling Noah’s name. The moment shattered.

Lia took the opportunity to escape the intensity of the conversation, leaving the book on the armchair as she crossed the room and brushed past Noah to open the door.

Bryan was standing in the hallway.

“I’m heading out, and so are the others. Just wanted to let you know.”

The house began to empty after that. Slowly, one by one, everyone trickled out, offering their goodbyes with tired but happy smiles.

When the last of them had left and the house had grown quiet, Noah and Lia followed suit, heading back to her apartment. Right before Noah put on his hoodie, Lia suggested staying there, pointing out that the band’s equipment was in the house and it’d be more practical for him to be there instead of at her place, but he refused. 

The ride home was quiet. Noah glanced at Lia several times, concern etching his features, but she seemed… content. Despite the encounter in the room, her expression was soft, pleased even, though her tiredness was evident.

Once they were settled in her bedroom, Lia returned from the bathroom barefoot, wearing only one of Noah’s old t-shirts and her panties. As she adjusted her long hair behind her shoulders, Noah spoke. He had been looking through the window, fear prickling at him. What if he wanted too much from her?

“Did I scare you earlier?” he asked.

She looked up at him, a slight furrow forming between her brows, her hands pausing mid-motion in her hair.

“When I said I wanted to tie you up,” he clarified.

Lia froze briefly, then let her hair fall as she exhaled slowly. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, her hands rested in her lap, fingers nervously twisting, then tracing the hem of the t-shirt. The only light on in the room was the bedside lamp, which casted a warm glow across the space.

“No, you didn’t scare me.”

Noah moved closer until he was in front of her. Then he knelt on the floor, his gaze steady as he looked up at her, his hands gently resting on her knees. The intimacy of the position was grounding, his presence there at her feet a quiet reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“But something was off. I could see it,” he continued. 

Lia hesitated, her mind flashing back to the swirling thoughts that had been spinning through her head. She wanted to be honest, but part of her didn’t want to admit how deeply the idea unsettled her.

“It’s not you,” she finally said, her voice soft. “It’s just… I want to trust you, Noah. And I do. It’s just that… I’m scared of losing control.”

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?”

“No.” Lia shook her head. “But it’s not about that. It’s about me, about what I went through with Mitch. I’m just… not sure if I can handle being that vulnerable again.”

Noah’s expression softened with understanding. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning into him. “But a part of me feels like... maybe this could help me. Help me let go of the fear. At the same time, I’m not sure I’m ready to try all of that just yet,” she admitted, her voice softer than before. “I’m curious… and I want to try it with you, but I don’t think I can handle it now.”

Noah’s fingers traced soft circles on her knee, his touch light and reassuring. 

“Of course,” he said, his voice calm and patient. “It makes total sense, and I told you before—I’m in no rush. This is about us. We have all the time in the world to try new things and explore what we like and what we don’t.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze with a quiet intensity. 

“I just want it to be you. And I want to be the only one to give that to you,” he admited. “And I just know you’d look so pretty tied up and naked.”

Lia felt a flush rise in her cheeks as something twirled in her lower belly. She looked down at Noah, the tenderness in his expression making her heart ache in the best possible way. She reached out, cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing across the stubble on his cheek.

“You say that, and you still manage to look so sweet,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How do you even do that?”

He chuckled softly, leaning into her touch for a moment. 

“It’s my charm.”

Lia smiled, but it quickly faded into a sigh. She felt the gravity of the conversation settle over them again, the air between them thick. There was something about the way Noah was looking at her, the softness in his eyes, that made her feel safe enough to let down her guard a little more.

Noah cupped her cheek this time, his thumb tracing her jaw. 

“We’ll take it slow. And if you’re ever uncomfortable, we stop. I don’t care if it’s mid-knot or mid-anything. You say the word, and it’s over. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We don’t have to do anything tonight. Not because of this talk or anything else. I don’t want you to feel pressured. We can just lie down, watch something, or fall asleep. Whatever feels right for you. Anything.”

Lia’s fingers slid down to rest against his shoulder, her soft breath mingling with the stillness in the room. She gave him a small nod. 

“Anything?”

Noah nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, she hesitated, then slowly stood up from the bed, her legs brushing against his as she moved. Noah stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor, looking up at her with a quiet mix of curiosity. She stood before him, wearing nothing but his t-shirt that fell just shy of her thighs and a pair of panties.

She could feel the heat of his attention—desire simmering but held back by his endless patience. It made her feel both exposed and empowered.

With a steadying breath, she reached down and slowly peeled off the t-shirt. The fabric slipped past her bare skin, falling softly to the floor. Noah’s breath hitched as her breasts came into view, but he didn’t move. His eyes followed the movements of her body like every shift she made was sacred.

Lia stood there, wearing just her panties, feeling the warmth emanating from his brown almond-shaped eyes. There was no rush, no pressure, just the weight of his eyes on her, heavy with desire but still so respectful. It was his restraint, his quiet reverence that made her feel powerful in a way she was learning to love. 

Slowly, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of her panties, pushing them down until they joined the shirt on the floor.

She stood completely exposed now, and yet somehow it didn’t feel like vulnerability. Not with him. His eyes traveled the length of her body, not with hunger, but with something deeper. Like he was seeing her for the first time, all over again.

“Anything,” Noah whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Lia stepped closer, her body so near that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His hands instinctively found her hips, pulling her just a little closer as he pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her stomach, just below her navel. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move. She trusted him to take his time, just as he had trusted her.

Noah kissed his way along the soft plane of her abdomen, his nose brushing lightly against her skin, while one of his hands slid to the back of her thigh. Gently, he lifted her leg, guiding it over his shoulder. Lia’s fingers threaded through his hair, her breath coming in slow, steady waves as she guided her core toward his eager mouth.

Her heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t from fear or hesitation. She wasn’t giving up control; she was choosing to share it with him. And that made all the difference.

She let herself sink into the warmth of his touch, into the safety of his presence, her anxiety fading as she surrendered—not to him, but with him.

— prev. chapter | chapter eight

Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[realmsalot]

I've been obsessed with Relativity Falls au for some reason lately so of course I've been turning around my own version in my head lately. And with Fiddleford I keep flip flopping on who I would switch him because there are many good options. Like

Fiddleford <> Pacifica:

This seems to be the most popular option, I've seen many old woman Pacifica designs, but I personally cannot see McGucket be the snotty rich kid that Pacifica was at the start. I CAN see how he could be rich (Tate McGucket probably invented something and got a lot of money for it) but CAN'T see him be anyway snotty about it. I think the best way to make Fiddleford fit this role is through a series of misunderstandings. He is trying SO HARD to be nice to these twin brothers who are spending their summer in Gravity Falls and he just keeps messing up. He tries to make a robot to help them out but it end up turning evil and they assume that it was ment to sabotage them from the start. He tries to have a nice conversation with them but because he's rich he's just out touch enough to come off rude and show offy. FIDDS IS TRYING TO BE NICE FROM THE START!

Fiddleford <> Candy

It is easily the second most popular option here. There really isn't much to say with this one it's probably the one that makes the most sense. I can easily see Candy going to Backupsmore and telling Dipper/Mabel about the weird things shes seen in Gravity Falls. The idea that Stanley and Fidds became friends first before Ford and Fidds is interesting. My main grip with it is that if we're going with the version where Dipper is swapped with Ford, it implies that Mable and Candy never really became friends in this universe, which I find really sad. Honestly I think that the main reason this swap exists in that context is because of that one episode were they go on a road trip and Candy got crush on Dipper mixed with fact that many people ship FiddleAuthor.

Fiddleford <> Soos

Hear me out, hear me OUT! I've seen a few versions where even when Soos' Grandma is swapped with Soos, they also add Fidds as a handyman at the Shack anyways. But why not go the whole way, ya'know? Soos was a friend that Dipper met and shared a dorm with in Backupsmore. Soos was still older than Dipper. Soos and Melody were already married with a kid on the way, and Soos was also Gravity Falls' local handyman. He decided to get college and get like a mechanical engineering degree or maybe a trade in something there because even in the small town of Gravity Falls technology was only getting more and more complicated and Soos wanted to be able to keep up so he can keep making money for his family by fixing things. During their time at Backupsmore, Soos would tell Dipper about some of the crazy things he's seen living in Gravity Falls, and that inspires Dipper to go study it after college. And then the rest of that rolls out predictably. I can easily (and sadly) see Soos becoming the local kook. I imagine that it will also be much sadder for the locals to see Soos acting up because many of them have memories of him coming to fix their microwaves and stuff. And as for Fidds, he's the Mystery Shack's handyman. You can make him around the same age as the Stan twins, we know that in cannon that Soos started working there around that age, so he doesn't have to be Soos' cannon age. I think this works best with Dipper and Ford switching places because in cannon Dipper and Soos were friends, so it kinda easily transfers, ya'know. I've put a lot in this one.

And uh yeah that's my incoherent ramblings...

[bigfatbimbo]

Hey there! @hazbinhotelmollykisser here yet again, with the promised bill rambles :)

Forgive me if the following words sound like nonsense, I'm trying lol

SO. I'll be covering the bill with a more powerful reader and sub bill because your works have changed my brain chemistry, masochist bill because I'M GOING INSANE AN I NEED TO BE SEDATED, and bill with a reader that likes to tease him (with a more powerful reader version and a just a human version) because I need to study his reactions to teasing like I'm Stanford studying like... Science + math = triangles or something.

・Bill x More powerful reader

So I actually made an entire oc for this literally as soon as I finished reading the og post, which I will refrain on ranting abt, but the idea of a reader that's more powerful than bill is fascinating to me.

Because like, he's bill so he's obviously gonna try to get under your skin, but imagine a reader that sees his attempts to annoy them and just... Like laughs? A reader that finds his attempts almost endearing? Reverting whatever bill did back to before with just a snap and maybe a passing comment about his mischief.

It would drive him mad I think, he'd be rlly annoyed and pissy about it.

Or alternatively, a reader that does get angry when he tries to annoy them, (a loud and aggressive angry or a quiet festering angry both yielding different reactions from bill) and Bill takes it as motivation to keep annoying you (and it's definitely only because he thinks it's funny and totally definitely no other reason).

(Holy shit this is already getting long)

・Sub!Bill

So obviously a brat right? Like very obviously? We all agree on that.

And this next bit will probably just be regurgitating your points because I can't stop having the same opinions as you,

I personally need to see any + every version of bill cipher getting taken down a peg. Like I need to just. Ruin his life a little. Like I need to cause him mental peril and make it up to him (but actually it's only for me) by making him beg for what he wants and not giving him anything unless he asks out loud because "well I'm not a mind reader" (more powerful reader probably IS but shhhh..)

I want him to cry and beg (as do most people who read your blog honestly)

・masochist bill

Thinking about the way that bill literally talks about going out of his way to inflict pain onto the bodies he "possesses" (? Idk if that's the word I should use) made me think. Like too much thinking too many thoughts, to the point that I at multiple points almost wrote a small drabble in my notes app about it. (I would've if I could think of any words to write down when I need them 😭)

But like he's definitely some kind masochist right?

I can't think of any scenarios for human reader he made a deal with and bill for this category but imagine with me pls, a HUMAN reader, that he made a deal with (is actively trying to manipulate), causing him PAIN somehow (directly or indirectly), and he... DOSENT MIND? because 1. He's gonna have a mental breakdown because of it probably, and 2. He dosent JUST not mind. It's like EXCITING but not normal exciting.

So basically he'd be freaking out.

And with a reader that's more powerful than him? I think it'd be clear as day. Going hand in hand with the angry reader that's more powerful than him thing above, he would absolutely get off on annoying them until they snap at him (specifically the snap at him part). And when reader notices, they're obviously gonna make fun of him because hes being pathetic lol.

I think I have run out of masochist bill words now so onto the next topic.

・tease reader (human) x bill

My main reason for bringing this up is I love the idea of the powerful bill cipher being.. Well, flustered.

Like maybe when it's triangle form bill its easier to hide for him but if it were human bill reader would be able to tell almost instantly probably.

And more opportunities to make fun of bill for being a pathetic little creature are always good :)

・tease reader (more powerful) x bill

OOWOWHEOEJEIEBSJBSISNDH I love this idea so so SO SO SOSOSOSO MUCH!!!3&:28&:9.

SO MANY MORE OPPORTUNITIES TO TEASE AND NOT GET KILLED :)

Like imagine with me, your teasing bill and he gets all "upset" and probably threatens you, you don't gotta back off, you infact can tease him even more for thinking that he can threaten you. Shheheheheheheh.

I think that's all my words, I seem to have run out.

I hope that big lump of nothing text (800-ish words 😰) was enough to make up for my sudden dissapearence after promising to talk about bill TWO WEEKS AGO

Forgive my probably dogshit spelling and grammar pls

and hope you have a good day/night/whatever!

IUAHAHSHSHSHSHHSHDHSHAHS I LOVE THINGS LIKE THIS IN MY INBOX!!!!! Because it’s like wow, you did all the work for me! 😊

Ugh, this is so good tho. I always love to hear your thoughts, you are one of my FAV anons!!!!!