#i feel bad for pointing out the silvered hand thing but it was just too funny

[gothgoblinbabe]

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x afab!/fem reader

divider credit

Warnings: MDNI/18+, mostly porn w little plot, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), afab!reader, being referred to as a girl, use of pet names, very light choking, filming sex/making a sex tape, swearing, I believe that is it but if i missed any pls lmk <3 I also didn’t proofread this one as much as I usually do so forgive me for any mistakes or inconsistencies!

Summary: [based on this ask] I don’t know what to really say for this one cause I feel like the ask explains it perfectly lol, but part 1 is here if you want to read it but this also works as a stand alone thing. I did tweak a couple of things from the ask but nothing major!

Word count: 5.5K

Since you and Logan had gotten to know each other a little better, you were over his and Wade’s apartment sometimes more than your own. He’d begun to make himself comfortable in yours too, finding himself waking up in your decorative sheets with the morning sun shining onto the pictures taped to your wall. It was a comfortable routine you’d started; waking up in each other's beds, going out to eat at some 24 hour diner when neither of you could sleep, talking with each other till the sun came up. Weekends with Wade even turned to weekends with Wade and Logan, your legs slung over your boyfriend's lap with his arm around your shoulder.

Unfortunately for him, though, you and Wade would not budge on Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

“I still don’t get it,” he grumbled next to you on the couch, quirking an eyebrow at you and his roommate, “what the hell are they famous for, anyway?”

“Well,” you began to explain, raising the remote to mute the TV, “their dad was a really famous lawyer, he defended O-”

“Nope,” Wade piped up from beside you through a mouthful of chips, “you know that’s not the real reason they’re famous, cupcake.”

You turned to narrow your eyes at him, “C’mon, you don’t mean -”

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes flickering from you to the muted TV so he could read the subtitles without missing a beat.

“What?” Logan finally asked, clearly frustrated that neither of you would clue him in.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and laughing a bit to yourself, “Okay, so, Kim? The main sister?”

He nodded, “the one with the huge -”

“Yes, her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, she used to date this singer Ray J and in the early two thousands, they made a sex tape. It got leaked somehow and she kinda shot into fame and I guess her family followed,” you explained simply.

“You should show him the tape,” Wade chimed in again, taking the remote from your lap and unmuting the TV.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna do that,” you shook your head, “I don’t think he’d wanna see it.”

“You’d be right,” Logan agreed, cringing a little.

“You two should make your own, then. You can finally be famous for somethin’ else, peanut!” Wade suggested, poking at his roommate's shoulder, “plus, with a pretty girl? Man, that would blow up.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. That was seemingly the end of the discussion, except Logan couldn’t get Wade’s words to leave his brain.

You two should make your own, then.

It stuck with him to the point that he was staring at his ceiling that night, listening to your steady breathing as you slept beside him, still unable to think of anything else. It was a bad idea, wasn’t it? He couldn’t ask you to do that with him. Could he?

He couldn’t shake the image of you on the screen of some camera, your back to his chest as he fucked you from behind and you batted your pretty eyes at the lens. He’d never let another soul see it, it would be something just between the two of you - something he’d definitely keep to watch a million times over. He looked around his apartment the next day after you'd gone to work to see if maybe Wade had an old camera somewhere - one he wouldn’t miss if he never saw it again. He dug out a silver camcorder from the junk drawer in the kitchen, turning it over in his hands. It looked like one you’d find on a shelf in a radioshack - when they were still around - something you’d use to film a kid’s high school graduation in the mid two thousands. As long as it worked, it would do. He fumbled the thing open, pressing a couple buttons before the screen finally lit up and gave him the option to look through the album. There were only three things on there - a blurry picture of Wade’s shoes, an even blurrier picture of half of his face and a twelve second video of him trying to film Logan while he swatted the camera out of his hands and onto the floor.

He found a charger and hooked it up to the wall, already thinking over how exactly he was going to approach the subject with you. If he was going to be able to do what he’d been thinking about, that camera had to be charged to last for at least a couple of hours. He’d planned to stay the night at your place and figured he’d try to work up the nerve to ask then.

He found himself on your couch later that night, his thighs spread while you sat in his lap and played with his hair. He was leaving kisses down your throat, his hands on the sides of your thighs.

“Can I ask you somethin’, sweetheart?” he mumbled into your skin. He pulled his face away to look into your eyes.

“Hm?” you raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

He almost felt dirty for what he was about to ask of you - like he was perverted for even considering it when you looked at him so sweetly.

His eyes moved from your face to his jacket laying beside him and he reached into the pocket, pulling out the small camera.

“I kinda wanted to try somethin’ a little different.”

Your lips parted when you realized what he was holding, eyes flickering from the device to his face. He watched your lips curl up into a smile. You knew instantly what he was about to ask when you remembered your conversation from the night before.

“You wanna film a sex tape?”

He swallowed hard, fearful that you were about to scoff and lift yourself off him. Instead, you rested your hand over his that held the camera, “I wonder where you got that idea.”

You took it from his hand, flipping it open and turning it on. You held it up and hit record, smirking when he rolled his eyes at you.

“I didn’t say I wanted my face all in it,” he scoffed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What, you think I’m gonna let you only film me?” you pulled the camera from your face, quirking an eyebrow at him, “uh-uh, babe. If this is gonna be our sex tape, I want you in it.”

He huffed, glaring at you through the lens.

“Besides,” you continued, “you’re acting like you're the only one who's gonna like it.”

“So, you’re not upset that I asked?”

You shook your head, “Upset that a hot guy asked to film himself screwing my brains out? Hell no.”

He gnawed at his bottom lip and watched you fiddle with the camera, clicking through settings and trying out filters. Screw your brains out, huh? He could do that. He wouldn't admit it even if you asked, but he was turned on beyond belief from the idea that you’d watch it when he wasn’t with you - he liked the idea of putting on a performance for you, giving you what you want so you’d stuff the little vibrator you kept in the drawer of your nightstand inside your aching pussy when you watched it back, your eyes trained on his face and remembering how good he’d made you feel.

“It’s kind of an older camera,” Logan began, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs, “maybe we should test it out, see if it works?”

“Oh, should we?”

He stood up in seconds, his strong arms holding you up by your thighs as he carried you to your room. You giggled, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. You held the camera up to film yourself. Your face was in frame, Logan only visible by the back of his head as you stretched your arm out.

“This is my very sexy boyfriend, taking me to bed,” you narrated, kissing the side of his face.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck as he nudged your door open with his foot. He dropped you onto the bed and you kept the camera trained on him as he crawled over you.

“You’re gonna keep that damn thing on my face the whole time?” 

He leaned over you with his hands on either side of your head, his bulging muscles even more prominent from your angle underneath him. His tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, licking over his lips. You wouldn’t mind if the whole video was just from this angle.

“You look fucking hot.”

He was a little taken back by your compliment. Even after months of sleeping together, he still wasn’t used to the praise, dismissing you with a scoff or simply hiding his red face.

“Look who’s talkin’.”

Logan snatched the camera from your hands in one quick swipe, sitting back on his heels so he could get all of you in frame. You sat up, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere off the bed, leaving you in your bra and jeans. You looked angelic underneath him with your hair spread around your head like a halo, your chest heaving in excitement. You bit your lip and grabbed the end of his shirt to pull him closer to you, lidded eyes staring up at him.

“Fuck.”

He groaned, letting you pull him down and slip your tongue into his mouth. He haphazardly placed the camera on your bedside table, glancing at it momentarily to make sure it was on before diving back onto you.

His hands slid up your back and under the band of your bra. He unhooked the clasp and pushed the straps down your shoulders, pulling the garment from your chest and licking his lips in awe. It didn’t matter how often he saw you naked; each time was like the first.

His mouth latched onto your chest almost immediately, swirling his tongue and sucking in a way that elicited a moan from your lips. Your back arched and he hooked his arm around your waist to pull you as close as possible. He was sucking dark marks into your soft skin, leaving each one shiny with his saliva. If there was one thing you were sure of with Logan, it was that he really loved being messy when he toyed with you.

He dragged his lips from your chest down your waistband, leaving tender kisses on your stomach and sides. Over time, he’d slowly gotten more affectionate - more loving and emotional - during sex. He always showed it the best he could, but he was clearly becoming more comfortable being vulnerable with you. He still had his animalistic and rough ways about him, but now it was combined with soft kisses to your nose and forehead, mumbled praises into your mouth and declarations of love while you panted from the pace of his thrusts. 

Logan stopped at the waistband of your jeans, his fingers popping the metal button with little hesitation. You wordlessly lifted your hips for him to drag them down your thighs, leaving you only in your panties. He leaned over to grab the camera from the table, leaning back a bit to get you in frame.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he huffed, his free hand immediately sliding between your thighs to graze his fingers against the damp fabric, “all for me?”

You nodded, hooded eyes and parted lips posing for the camera, “yours, all yours.”

Logan was chewing on his bottom lip while he admired you from behind the camera. He knew without a doubt that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever been with; none of those dirty magazines or tapes he’d seen over the years could even compare to what was in front of him now. You were positively heavenly, a type of beauty so alluring that it bordered being otherworldly. 

He finally used his free hand to remove your panties when you lifted your hips, set on recording as much as he could from the perspective he had because fuck, it was a good one.

Laying in front of him - completely bare - with the camera focused on you made you feel vulnerable and a little shy and Logan was always able to read you.

He wanted to focus on you even more, but he instead handed the device over to you when he sensed your mild discomfort, the lens facing him.

“Here,” was all he said, letting you bring the camera up to your eye before he tugged his t-shirt over his head. He knew you clearly enjoyed filming him and even if he didn’t love the idea of being the object of attention, he wanted you to be comfortable and he’d sacrifice his own comfort for you any day. So, once he was shirtless, he stood off the bed in front of you to strip himself of his jeans and boxers, letting his hard cock spring up to hit his stomach when he took off the latter.

You had - fortunately for you - figured out the zoom option on the camera and used it to perfectly frame his leaking cock as the only thing in the shot, bobbing when he moved towards you to take the device back. When he did, he set it on the table next to the bed, messing with the same zoom option so that the shot was of you sitting up with your legs spread and your cunt aching to be touched.

Settling himself on his stomach between your legs, he hiked your thighs onto his shoulder, his mouth inches from your heat.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” he began and you nodded, ready to agree to anything he asked of you, “be as loud as you can, yeah? Wanna be able to hear ya’ on tape.”

He instantly delved his tongue into you, making you gasp. You tenderly rested your hands on his arms that were hooked around your thighs as if you were encouraging him to stay there.

He ate you every time like he was starving, his cheeks and chin always slick with saliva and sap from between your legs when he finally pulled himself off you.

You did as he instructed - though, you were probably going to do it anyway - moaning openly as he licked stripes up your dripping cunt so he could circle his tongue around your clit. 

“Oh my god,” you whined, your thighs clamping around his head out of instinct. He let you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at the dark strands to help angle his head and making him growl with his mouth still suctioned to you.

You felt around beside you for the camera, fumbling with it till you had the lens angled at him in between your legs.

“Fuck, L-Logan,” you panted, lovingly caressing his temple with your free hand.

“Mhm,” he hummed into you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat, “you like holding that thing, huh?”

Your eyes were glued to his through the small screen.

“You’re so fucking hot, of course I do,” you sighed, your lips parted and chest heaving.

He scoffed in amusement, continuing to slip his tongue between your folds and prod at your entrance. With his face still buried in you and his eyes closed in concentration, he took the camera from you and set it back on the table. He used his arms around your thighs to yank you further down the bed so you were flat on your back. You watched in awe as he spat a mouthful of saliva right onto your already soaked pussy, using his fingers to swipe his spit all over you. Latching his lips back onto your clit, he easily slipped two of his digits into you, feverishly pumping in and out. Your moans grew louder with each thrust of his fingers, echoing off your walls along with the wet noises that came from your soaked cunt. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, lettin’ me eat your pretty pussy,” he rambled, voice muffled by your thighs, “always so fuckin’ good.”

You inhaled sharply when he gently rolled your clit between his teeth, licking after like a balm to soothe the searing sensation. You thought you couldn’t moan any louder until he replaced his fingers inside you with his tongue, angling his mouth in a way that made his nose nudge your bundle of nerves.

“Only good for you,” you managed to choke out, turning your head to the side to bury it in your pillow, “only for you.”

His hand slid up to grope your chest, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He slid it up even further to grab your chin and turn your head so you were forced to look at him. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he grumbled.

“Ah - uh-huh,” you tried to make some noise of agreement but were overwhelmed with how he was expertly tracing your cunt with his tongue.

Until he detached his mouth from you completely.

You groaned in frustration and knitted your eyebrows, silently asking why he stopped.

“Use your words or I’ll stop. Ya’ got it?”

His stern voice sent shivers down your spine. 

“Yes, baby, please -“

His tongue was already back in between your folds by the time you said yes. He kept his vice like grip around your thighs, deciding he’d be content if he died right there with his head between your legs.

“Love when you - when you - fuck - eat me out,” you panted, “you make me feel so good.”

You knew how much he secretly loved the praise, catching the way he ground his hips into the mattress to find some sort of relief whenever you told him he was doing a good job, that he was so handsome, that you loved what he was doing to you. He was usually the dominant one in the relationship, whispering praises in your ear while you were underneath him, but you knew him well enough by now to have figured out that he loved when you did it back.

“You’re perfect, Logan, I - ah - I love you,” you gasped when his fingers pumped back into you.

It wasn’t all about sex with you two - though it was a wonderful part of your relationship - and yet he’d discovered that he’d never felt more loved than he had when he was with you, declaring your love for him while he completely devoted himself to you with his face in your pussy. 

“I love you, too, pretty girl,” he grunted, “love fuckin’ you with my mouth.”

His filthy words fueled the fire building in your lower stomach and you tugged at his hair in an attempt to warn him.

“ ‘m gonna come,” you slurred, ankles locked on Logan’s back to keep him in place.

“Come for me, beautiful, c’mon,” he coaxed while his fingers abused the spot inside of you that made you whimper to encourage him to keep going, “want it all, want you to come on my face.”

That was definitely what sent you over the edge, mumbling unintelligible praises as he lapped up anything that had spilled out of you and onto his tongue. 

“Tastes so damn good,” he heaved, his fingers still working at a consistent pace, “I think I can pull another one outta you.”

You felt tears beginning to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, crying out when he grazed your swollen clit with his teeth.

“ ‘s too - too much,” you tried to pull his head away by tugging his hair, to no avail. 

He’d let you go, but not without one more taste of you.

It only took a couple more flicks of his tongue to have you arching your back, tears rolling down the sides of your face as you gushed around his fingers for a second time.

When he finally slipped his fingers out of you and he’d left the comfortable spot between your warm thighs, you could see that his entire lower face was almost completely slick with a mix of his spit and your cum. He was licking his lips, trying to savor the taste of you but making no attempt to wipe anything off his chin or cheeks. He was in love with you but he was also in love with the reality that he got to do this to you, that he got to taste every bit, that you wanted him to. You sat up to give him a desperate kiss - a clash of tongues and teeth that tasted entirely of you. You finally pulled away to admire his face.

Seeing him with his hair disheveled from your repeated tugging, his lips near swollen and raw and his cheeks still shining made you crave the idea of returning the favor. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed, baby.”

Though he was usually the one giving orders instead of following them, he obliged anyway. His cock was still leaking in anticipation, hard against his stomach. When you got down on your knees in front of him, he couldn’t hide the excited smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never expected you to return the favor when he used his mouth on you - content with that being a reward itself - but when you did? You usually left him shaking.

You took the camera from the table and handed it up to Logan, eager eyes following the lens.

“Can I suck your cock? Please?”

You knew he loved it when you begged and you always used it to get him exactly where you wanted him, especially when you looked up at him with those pleading eyes.

“Go ahead, baby,” he used his free hand to loosely hold your hair back in his fist, “I know you like havin’ it in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded eagerly, your hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. You hovered your mouth over his tip, letting a glob of spit drip from your lips so you could coat his cock in it before you tried to take him in your throat. You’d done it before, but he was huge and every time you tried to prep to make it easier. Your jaw even became sore sometimes from how wide you’d have to keep your mouth open. You never complained, though, because the mere idea of having the weight of Logan’s heavy cock in your mouth was enough to make you drool.

You spread your saliva up and down, leaning forward and dragging his tip across your parted lips while staring up at the lens of the camera.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, focused on you through the small screen, “such a fucking tease.”

You grinned, placing a light kiss on his tip before engulfing him into your mouth, tongue sliding along his slit to taste the small amount of precum that’d dripped from him when he first sat up. You suctioned and began to work up a pace, taking him as far as you could into your mouth while your hand stroked the rest of him.

“I love giving you head,” you admitted in the most sultry way possible when you popped your lips off his tip, long lashes batting up at him. It wasn’t a lie, either, and that was clear by how sloppy you loved to be whenever it was your turn to be on your knees. If you had at least one thing in common, it was that you wanted to worship each other as much as possible. You wanted to leave him in a state of euphoria the same way he did you, just as messily dedicated to making sure he came.

“Yeah? I can tell, sweetheart,” he still held the camera but his eyes were trained on your face, “such a good girl, sucking my cock like you were made for it.”

You tried to push him further into your throat, eager to see his thighs shake and hear him groan your name. You gagged on his tip and he inadvertently rolled his hips. You hummed, eyes starting to water every time you choked on his dick. You used your free hand to cup his balls and smeared your saliva down from the base of his cock to coat them. You pulled yourself off his mouth momentarily to spit on him again, licking your lips in excitement.

“Fuck’s sake,” he grunted, camera abandoned on the side of the bed so he could place both his hands on the back of your head, “doin’ so fucking good, princess.”

You continued to stroke him with one hand and massage his balls in the other, your tongue still swirling and sucking around him. You popped off him with a smile, spit covering your lips and chin while your hands continued their motion.

Logan leaned back on his elbows and held the camera up again with one hand. When you wrapped your lips around his cock again, he started to roll his hips at a steady pace so he could fuck your throat, grunting every time you gagged around him. 

You picked up your pace, stroking his base while your head bobbed up and down in synch with your hand.

“Atta girl,” he panted, “jus’ like that.”

You could tell he was already close because he was sloppily rocking his hips up into your mouth, his thighs beginning to shake every time he hit the back of your throat. He sat up suddenly, grabbing your hair again to slowly pull you off his cock.

“On the bed, hands and knees,” he instructed simply, letting you scramble onto the mattress as he set up the camera on the end of your bed. You understood almost instantly what he wanted, biting back a smile as you laid your chest flat on the mattress, back arched with your ass in the air. 

He climbed behind you and placed his knees on the inside of yours to push your legs apart even further. His large hands gripped your hips and he pulled you against him, his hard cock prodding your entrance. He leaned his body over yours so that your back was flush with his chest.

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty pussy like you deserve,” he muttered into your ear, intoxicating you with the feeling of his hot breath fanning the side of your face, “think you can take it, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly and gasped when he dragged the tip of his cock along the folds of your dripping cunt.

“Can take it - I want it so bad, Logan,” you pleaded, pushing back into him. Your eyes bore into the camera, lips parted. It was his idea for a sex tape after all, you might as well be sure to give him a show.

He sheathed himself into you completely in one thrust with an iron grip on your hips, the weight of him pushing into you almost knocking the wind out of your lungs. He began to slowly inch himself out and slam back in again, pulling out a little further each time. He was grunting into the back of your neck while he rocked his hips. 

“Takin’ it so good, baby,” he panted, one of his hands moving to your neck and barely applying pressure while the other held his upper body above yours. His lips came to the side of your face and left a kiss so sweet that it could’ve rotted your teeth.

You whimpered when he worked up to a steady pace and reveled in the sensation of him filling you completely. Your fingers gripped the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto so you could stable yourself when his hard thrusts nearly knocked you over completely.

“S-so fucking - ah - so good,” you slurred your words with your eyes squeezed shut. You were slack jawed, nearly drooling.

“Yeah? Can tell you like it,” he huffed, “you’re so pretty, takin’ all of me like a good girl.”

You nodded frantically, whimpering every time he slammed into you.

“You like bein’ on camera, don’t you?” he continued, “you’re really fucking wet.”

You could only moan in response. You were soaking around him, drenching the base of his cock and the happy trail that went up to his stomach. He leaned back on his knees and his pace never faltered. 

Your hands outstretched in front of you and you grabbed the camera. You angled it over your shoulder and focused the lens on his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He scoffed when he noticed the camera over your shoulder, keeping his rhythm while his eyes were glued to the lens. If he thought too hard about what you might do with the video later, he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Feels good, baby?” you panted, an amused smile creeping onto your face.

He was always the one to talk to you like that - pet names and filthy encouragement - but you wanted to get his face on film when you teased him back - or, at least tried to. 

His expression mirrored yours and he grabbed the camera while his other hand kept an iron grip on your hip.

“I think you like holdin’ that thing a little too much,” he brought it up to his face and squinted at you through the screen.

“Mm,” you hummed, your face flushed and body sticky with sweat, “can’t help it.”

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, you know that? God,” he sighed, “can’t get enough of you.”

You would’ve found his words endearing if you could even process them. The intoxicating feeling every time he pushed back into you was enough to render you speechless.

Logan angled the camera down to film the repeated motion, gaping at the mess you left around the base of him every time he pulled back.

“My dirty girl,” he cooed, “you like makin’ a mess on my cock?”

“F-Fuck - yes, yes,” you sobbed before he even finished his sentence. You could feel the pressure building in your stomach, bringing you closer to finishing.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I can feel you gettin’ tighter. Come for me, baby,” he grunted, his hand sliding from your hip to grip your ass.

It only took a few more strokes for you to do exactly that with your legs shaking underneath you. 

“ ‘Atta girl,” he growled. He watched you gush around him, zooming in on your dripping pussy as he stretched you out over and over again. You were chanting his name, muttering unintelligible praises against your sheets.

It wasn’t long before he followed suit, his pace becoming sloppy as he spilled into you and let it drip down your thighs. He clicked off the camera and tossed it somewhere else onto the bed. 

“C’mere,” he huffed, pulling you up to lean back against him, “love you so much.” He was leaving saccharine kisses from your ear down to your shoulder, still panting.

“I love you, too,” you managed to say with your eyes already half closed. He pulled out and laid you on your side, grabbing some t-shirt that had been next to the bed to clean you up. He wrapped you in his arms from behind and pulled up the comforter to cover you both.

“Can’t wait to watch that back,” he mumbled into your neck.

“Mhm,” you were already drifting off to sleep while he stroked your hair, “me neither.”

Logan fell asleep right after you with his arms still around you and his legs tangled in yours.

—-----------------------------------

Later that same week, you sat on the couch beside Logan in his apartment, flipping through TV channels on a lazy day off. Wade emerged from his bedroom and began frantically tearing apart the kitchen.

“What are you looking for?” you called, turning in your seat.

“My old camera. Have you seen it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You thought you hadn’t, at least. You had know idea the camera Logan brought over was Wade’s.

He was pretending to be uninterested in the conversation, hoping his apathy towards the question would absolve him of any suspicion.

You shrugged and returned your attention to the TV. You heard a couple doors open and close before Wade’s voice echoed through the apartment.

“Found it!”

Logan went wide eyed and immediately stood up from the couch. 

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and looked between him and Wade when he came back into the living room.

And then you recognized the camera in his hands.

“Don’t open it, I’ll buy you a new one,” Logan insisted simply, holding out his hand.

“Oh, my god,” you muttered.

Wade's eyes flickered between you both.

“There’s something on here I’m not supposed to see, isn’t there?”

Logan immediately lunged for the camera and Wade sprinted into his bedroom, slamming his door shut and locking it. Logan pounded his fist on the door and tugged the doorknob.

“Open the door, you son of a bitch!”

You buried your face into the fabric of the couch cushion, anticipating the embarrassment of Wade seeing what was still on that camera.

He opened the door after a minute, giant smile plastered on his face.

“Here you go,” he said in a sing song voice as he handed it over.

You sighed in relief, assuming he’d decided to actually abide by your requests. He closed his bedroom door, only speaking again after you heard the lock click.

“Hey, by the way - can i get a copy?”

A/N: I struggled a lil bit w this one just bc of writers block but I hope it lived up to expectations <3 pls interact if you enjoyed!

[chuuyascumsock]

Bury Beneath this Filth they Call Skin and Turn it into a Garden || MINORS DNI

Summary: I made a hurt/comfort fic for Chuuya, I might as well make a comfort fic for Dazai too cause he’s my soft spot.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, GN reader, Angst, Comfort, No One Is Safe, Mentions Of Self Sabotaging, Self-deprecating Thoughts, Mentions Of Dehumanization, Mentions Of Suicide Attempt, Dazai Highkey Has Bad Hygiene Because I Know He Canonically Reeks Of Liquid Ass (I Still Love Him But Honey—), Brief Description Of Self Harm Scars, He Takes Off His Bandages, Non-Sexual Nudity For A Bit.

Dazai doesn’t remember when you started to keep an extra pair of clothes in your bottom drawer just for him.

He doesn’t remember when you bought an extra toothbrush for him either, the item sitting in a small cup on your bathroom counter so intimately close to yours. He doesn’t remember when you started to stock your cabinets with canned crab or an occasional snack he had stolen from you before and said it tasted good. He doesn’t remember when you began preparing meals big enough for two. And he doesn’t remember when you started to look at him the way you do.

Those eyes that so fondly trace over every inch of his frame like he’s capable of being loved— like he’s not a silver-tongued beast of a man, his words filled with more teeth than his bite ever could. He doesn’t deserve it— he knows he doesn’t— so why does he find himself at your doorstep every time he fails his attempts in ending his miserable existence?

“You’re going to get sick if you keep this up,” You sigh out, stripping away Dazai’s soaked clothes until he’s shivering in his sopping wet bandages and boxers. “And you smell horrible every time…” Your nose slightly scrunches at the lingering smell of hydrogen sulfide and mucky water from the Yokohama canal.

“Whatever do you mean, dear? That’s just my natural musk,” Dazai gives a lopsided grin, attempting to lighten the mood. His grin falls into an uneasy look when he notices the brief side eye you give him as you toss his clothes into the washer.

“My water bills spike every month you do this, you know,” You point out blamelessly.

“Sorry,” Dazai mumbles with a weak smile. He always made a promise to try his hardest not to inconvenience anyone while making his attempts— making it up to those who he had done so with such as Atsushi. But he’s burdened you countless times, not realizing until now. Before he mentally promises himself to never return to you like a pathetic, mangy stray dog— you come into his view again.

“Don’t be sorry, but please come to me when you feel the urge to do these things, ‘Samu. I worry about you.” And Dazai can’t help but to immediately let his previous thoughts fly away. Who was he kidding? He’d never be able to stay away from you.

Your hands carefully reach to begin unwrapping the bandages sliding off Dazai’s body. Flinching, Dazai subconsciously moves a hand to stop you from taking his bandages off. There’s a momentary standstill between both of your movements as you look into his eyes with a reassuring gaze before his hand relaxes and falls to his side. It’s not the first time this has happened, but Dazai doesn’t think he’d ever get used to the feeling of having his protective cloth shed to reveal the myriad of scars that are engraved on this once blank canvas that humans call skin.

And when all is removed, you still look at him as you always had with an unwavering fondness that leaves him subconsciously leaning into you, yearning to be swallowed and drowned in your gentle affections. He doesn’t understand why you do the things that you do, such as loving him no matter how many times he tells you how much he doesn’t need you because it’s always been like that— lonely— or why you even put up with any of his shit for that matter. But you do. And he thinks he’ll never know why, because he’s terrible and doesn’t deserve what you do in return to his horrid behavior.

He slips into the tub without needing guidance, face tilting up to look at you without his usual charming grin, expression replaced with a quiet pleading, begging for any sliver of attention you can offer. And you give into his pleads, sitting by the tub while running a hand through his dark tangled hair before reaching for a washcloth to bathe him. There’s a lack of cheeky comments and flirting from Dazai as you rinse away the grime sticking to his tainted skin, his eyes flickering from distant to focused in a matter of minutes before glancing back over to you and melting further into your reverent touch.

Even after exiting the tub, he says nothing, allowing you to wrap a towel around his shoulders and place a tender kiss to his forehead. If this had been any other day, he would’ve teased you to no end about how you had to stand on your toes just to reach his face, but he merely softly smiles in mild amusement and lets you lead him into your room to get dressed.

He wears the extra pair of clothes you keep for him at the bottom of your drawer, shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders and pajama pants dragging along the floor each time he takes a step forward to follow you to your bed. He was used to sleeping on his futon, but he much preferred your bed and the comfort your body brought when he tangled his limbs in yours.

You don’t scold him either when he buries his face into your neck like you used to the first few times he had done so— complaining about his hot breath on your neck. Now, you reach a hand back to scratch your fingers through his damp hair in an affectionate manner, sighing out softly in what he can tell is contentment.

Even as Dazai drifts off, he can’t help but think about the irony of hating dogs as much as he does, yet he can’t help but love you like one.

[elizzsush]

Fae Courting Rituals | TWST

Diasomnia Dorm X Reader

Lilia X Reader, Sebek X Reader, Malleus X Reader, Silver X Reader

---- Fae are typically taught from a young age certain courting rituals. (Non-Human courting rituals part 3/3)

Note: Was going To add silver to this list. (I know he isn't a fae, but he was raised by one) but was too tired to write for him)

Savanaclaw Ver. | Octavinelle Ver

Sebek:

He starts following you around for some reason.

Seriously, one day he just woke up and decided to not leave you alone. It helped that you guys shared a bundle of classes together.

You had no clue how you befriended the green hair boy. You weren't complaining though, in this school, where everyone is so set in their ways, you liked having the extra layer of protection that was the loud half fae: Sebek.

He was loud and denies it however, whenever you point out he follows you. He claims to not having even realized he was doing such a thing. "I would never follow around a mere human!" He shouted out his claims with a red face.

It could be true. He did get somewhat spacy sometimes if you'd believe it.

He had a packed schedule, or so he claimed, yet he always found time to be around you. It made a warm feeling blossom in your chest, well, of course before he used this time to rant about Malleus. "Wakasama is the most kind and fit ruler of-" He'd ramble, you'd sigh; put your face in your hand and lean a bit closer to him. You enjoyed hearing him so passionate, even if it was... constant.

He didn't have an off switch, that didn't have to be a bad thing.

Plush, you didn't hate his voice. Not that you'd be as loud about your likes as he was for his.

Though you were pretty positive your friends... and most of the students at NRC were in fact sick of his voice. People have also noticed he is more vocal around you.

Which is… a good thing?

The oddest thing happened once. At one point when the two of you were relaxing in ramshackle. A bag of popcorn and a shitty TV you got on sale at Sam's shop. He wasn't being loud for once in his life, instead his attention was focused on the screen.

You two were sitting pretty close together when, he had grabbed your hand and laid his head on yours. Was he... cuddling you?

You couldn't help but smile and continue to watch the movie. You didn't want to comment on it, you knew if you did, he'd probably get up, make a huge deal out of it (with a red face), and leave.

He started rubbing his forehead against yours before he finally pulled away like it never happened. It was oddly affectionate.

You didn't even think he knew that he was doing it.

He began to do these affectionate things while he was focused on something else. Either it be a show at the movie nights you organized with him, or if he was studying a bit to hard with you.

Your friends wondered how you even managed a movie night with the loud boy but you just shrugged.

Eventually, you had to face it: You really like Sebek.

You really liked this brash boy with a thick skull.

You knew however, even if he did like you back. He'd never admit it, let alone go out with you.

It left you with this odd feeling. A dull pain that ranged from a small ache to feeling like Throns were wrapping around your heart, piercing the organ in your chest.

You tried not to let that get you too down. Instead, you watched him across the lunchroom as subconsciously he blew bubbles into his drink, his green eyes finding yours...

So yes, you'd listen to his rants. You'd go out of your way to hang out with him, you'd enjoy his company while you could.

Because you knew, sooner or later, he'd realize it too. The same reality you had to face. And...

well...

He wouldn't face it.

He'd probably turn you away and never speak to you again. And you'd be fine with that. Even if you didn't want to be because you...

Well, let's save that for another day.. "Hey Sebek, lets hang out!"

"I suppose I can make time for you, Human!"

Lilia:

He was out to get you.

You noticed it. Almost everybody noticed it. You just didn't know what you did to him! He'd pop up everywhere and scare you! Right before disappearing away.

This counted as bullying, right?

You were starting to get... slightly paranoid.

You enjoyed Lilia's company, you really did. But you were tired of constantly looking over your shoulder. So, you started to avoid him, just a bit.

Your own personal revenge for the paranoia.

Now, Lilia has lived a long life. He knows what he's doing and is just having fun. He liked you, he did, but he probably isn't going to be that serious about this. He's in it for the vibes.

So when he see's you avoiding him... he well... He serenades you from outside ramshackle.

He makes his intentions very clear with a love song!

A boombox in Sebek's hand, and a tired Silver who followed along because... well Lilia was making Sebek hold a bomb box and traveling in your direction.

Lilia song his heart out for you. "Everybody loves somebody sometime!~ And although my dream was-"

"It is 2am!! The perfect will go out with you tomorrow!" Grim shouted out the window with a grogy done with it tone. After you threw a pillow at them.

NOTE: Sorry this one is short but I have a hard time writing for Lilia

Malleus:

What do you mean? You started courting him first. Very brave of you indeed child of man. He had even commented on it while you handed a piece of treasure!

That was... well, it was a cheap polished rock. It was well... shiny...?

It started very small. He accepted your gift and was expecting a bit more to be honest. Not even he was exactly sure how this courting would work out; he was prepared to be the one to pursue you!

Initially, he sat back and relaxed. Enjoyed the small sense of harmony you two already had and assumed you guys were dating.

Why would he not? He accepted your courting gift, he assumed their were more to come, the next step up to this would be marriage and he wasn’t sure you were ready for that.

However, you noticed this. You were so confused. He’d began to call you “beloved.” Which was a 180.

When did you two…? Huh??

He’s also been more clingy. Not on the sense he’d follow you around but in the sense of a mountain of handwritten letters and the actual sense that he’s in your personal space when you two do hang out.

So… the two of you are just dating now? “Beloved, you haven’t been responding to my letters. Did I do something?”

“Oh, sorry I just haven’t… quite finished all of them.” You glanced at a room that was empty at one time. Now it held a pile of letters.

This was an exaggeration, they’re were a lot but not a whole room full… yet.

Extra??? Silver:

It started like most seedlings of love, with a dream. A simple one, you were sat beside him, the two of you quiet and happy in each others company. The birds sang as you hummed beside him. The boy was content, more so then he had been in his life.

Then, like it was second nature to both of you. You two shared a kiss, and then he woke up.

Usually, he tried not to lose himself to sleep. But tonight all he wanted was to go back to the dream world and hold you. As soon as the realization crossed his mind however, he woke up even more. Had he ever been this awake? “Am I in love…?”

He, not knowing what to do. Went to Lilia, whom was enthusiastic with this news.

You know when parents find out their four year old has a crush? That’s Lilia, except Silver isn’t four. Every time they see you Lilia shoos Silver off too hang out with you. Sadly, with no prior love life to speak of, silver goes along with it.

Though he is embarrassed about it, he hides it well enough.

“Does Lilia think you like me?” You asked all to happily once, hiding your own happiness behind a giggle at the absurd situation he found himself in.

“Uh, yeah…” he’d just smile at you, his head laying on the lunch table as he was about to go to sleep. he loved to see you laugh even if it was somewhat at his expense. However, Sleep tends to escape him when he was near you. Not that he didn’t feel tired, but he didn’t feel as tired. He couldn’t feel angry about it, in fact he was happy about this. It was like you were some temporary cures for his illness.

Lilia would also insist that Silver gift you things. To show he can provide for you, the Silver hair male couldn’t disagree. So, he’d find things that might fancy you.

His bird and squirrel friends also helped him in his venture to gain your affection. Often leaving flowers at your doorstep and small shiny things.

One day you saw the birds and Squirrels run up to your doorstep, one flower at a time, make a gorgeous bouquet.

You made sure to thank him and his animal friends after that.

In return you'd try and make things for him, find things around he or the animals would like. Nuts for squirrels, seeds for the birds, and a deep red rose you plucked from Heartslabyul during the end of an unbirthday party.

He stayed awake for longer than he ever had that night, staring up at the rose in the dark while his dormmate slept. A smile on his lips as he examined every detail of it.

Ace would call it cheesy. The relationship between the two of you was something out of a romance movie he'd say in a more teasing way. Something like, "Is it Tuesday or Wednesday he's going to chase after you to an airport?" and then roll his eyes. You tell Ace to shut up while looking away with a face as red as riddle's hair.

It was after a test, you pulled your test paper out of your bag ready to check your score after preparing for disappointment when a blue bird swopped down and took it!

You cursed and chased after the bird, rushing past students and looking crazy, eventually you ended up in the forest next to the school.

You were sure you looked ever crazier than you had been running in the school halls, because now you had leaves in your hair, and your shoes were all muddy now...

Eventually, the birds placed the test paper, face down on a certain boy's chest. "Silver... Are you asleep?" You smiled and knelt beside him, a small smile on your face. Rolling your eyes at the perpetually sleeping boy. You sat beside him for a moment taking a deep breath before you grabbed your test.

You almost preferred it this way, to have him here, even if he wasn't fully here. It helped your nerves somewhat. An even bigger smile graced your face as you turned the paper, and a large B was printed at the top.

Standing up, you gifted your friend a small kiss on his forehead and wandered off back to school.

Well, you were stopped by a small, sleepy voice. "Y/N...?"

___________________________

Note: It was this or clean my depression room... Anyway, I want to expand on Sebek's small scenario because I know if it was its own imagine I could make it really good.

Would ya'll enjoy that...?

ANYWAY, these small series is competed! (Unless...?) Thank you for reading them and thanks for reading the note. Not a lot of people do that. Myself included.

I have a hard time writing for Diasomnia...

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[luveline]

I NEEEEEED MORE STRIPPER!READER X SPENCER

fem, 1.2k

You and Spencer aren't dating, but he thinks you might be in the before. 

"You're home!" you say, clambering at the door to slip out of your shoes. You throw yourself at him as soon as you're close enough, the salted caramel and sandalwood of your new perfume washing over him. "You're here! I missed you." 

Spencer tries not to blush. He wishes you weren't so close —his hair is lank from two days unwashed, his five o'clock shadow obvious and embarrassing. If you notice anything unappealing about him you don't give the slightest inclination, your arms crossing over his back as you drive your face into his neck. 

"I can't believe how much I missed you, Dr. Reid," you say warmly. 

"I missed you too." Morgan would laugh at him for being this earnest, maybe comment on his lack of charisma, but Spencer doesn't know how else to show that he's interested beyond sincerity. 

You step back but work your hands up his neck and into his hair, raking it away from his cheeks. "That's better. I can see you better now." 

Spencer thought he remembered only horrible things from being a teenager, but he remembers this feeling, sweaty-palmed, heart-racing want. You tilt his head gently one way and then the other like you're following the motion of a wave, fingertips scratching in his hair, the sensation stirring the very pit of his stomach. No trace of tiredness remains on your face, only spritely joy to see him. 

"That feels nice," he confesses. He's not weird about it, more friendly. 

Your aswering grin tells him he nailed the casualness he was aiming for. 

"You've been working hard," you say, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting down his shoulders, "I can tell. You look tired." 

"You don't. Short shift?" 

"Is it weird that bad weather genuinely keeps people home? I guess they prefer their wives when it's cold." 

"No, really? Who could ever pick the woman they married over you and those silver shorts?" he teases, peeling out of his sweater.

The shirt underneath is rumpled, but he doesn't care about that. Anything to be seen between you has been seen. Spencer has, unquestionably, seen you half naked. You've seen him in his boxers, so you're just about square. "Idiots, all of them." 

You're staying with him again while a security company fits your apartment with the appropriate trappings. Or, that was the initial reason. Spencer went with you to assess after it was done, discovering black mould in the corner of your bedroom and spreading its evil way across the bathroom ceiling. 

What is that? he asked, knowing what it was, hoping you'd at least pretend to be concerned. 

That's fifty bucks off a month, Spence. Don't look so horrified. 

"I missed you," you say for the third time in as many minutes. "And I hoped you'd be home, so I brought Chinese food for two."

You and Spencer change into pyjamas, and it's cliche but whatever, you look beautiful undone —he's not stupid enough to lie to himself about how he feels when you're wearing your little outfits, but he prefers this side of you a thousand times over because you like it better. You wear your prized baseball tee, white with blue sleeves, and a pair of sweatpants pushed up high on one leg while you ice your sore knee. He sits cross legged opposite, jabbing his chopsticks into one of your crispy spring rolls just to watch you gasp. 

"Can I ask you something too personal?" 

You rub down the length of your naked calf, sighing as some of the tension releases. You're more bruise than girl lately, splodges of tender skin patterning the inside. "What don't you know about me, at this point?" you ask. 

Like it's a good thing. Like you're glad for it. 

"Are you making enough money?" he asks. 

You steal back your spring roll, answering him through rice paper and greens, "Kind of. Not tonight, but enough for dinner. I'll be okay." 

"Did you think about it?" 

You shovel through your waxy box of rice, shrugging. "I thought about it, but… it's not realistic. What office would take me? What drug store?" 

"I could loan you the money while you apprentice, and get some experience, you could go back to school–" He says it all in a rush and you still knock him down. 

"It's real sweet of you, Spence, it is, but I couldn't let you do that. That makes me your charity case, and not your friend." 

"What else do you do for the people you care about?" he asks. Let them stay at a job they don't like, even if they're good at it, one that puts them statistically at higher risk for femicide or assault? 

"I wouldn't need a loan, Spencer, I'd need more than you have," you say gently. "I'd have to start my life from scratch. How would I pay rent? You couldn't afford to keep us both." 

"You could stay with me again." 

You shake your head. "You're the best friend I've ever had, which is why I'm saying no." 

He doesn't get what you mean, but you finish your dinner and help him clean up. He more than trusts you to stay here alone while he's on a case, you've honestly left it in better condition than you found it, and he insists you sleep in his bed again while you're here. 

"Don't be silly," you say, throwing a sheet out over the couch. "This is your place. You need to sleep in your own bed." 

The disaster is that it smells like you. Spencer says goodnight to you reluctantly and leaves you on the couch with every throw blanket he owns, climbing into his own bed and pulling the comforter up to his nose. He imagines you here at night, your body wash still clinging to your skin from a late night shower, your hand tucked under his pillow. There are so many things he'd like to give you, if you'd just let him. 

He spends a quiet thirty minutes like that, missing the warmth of your skin and your casual touching, wishing he could offer you the fresh start you desire, even if it meant he wasn't involved. 

The couch springs creak as you toss and turn, the sound finding it's way down the short hall from the living room slash kitchen to his bedroom. Hesitant, Spencer shifts in bed, hitting that one coil in his mattress just right, the twang resounding.  

You appear in his doorway with your borrowed pillows crushed to your chest not long after that. You don't need to ask, Spencer doesn't need to answer. He can't give you everything that you want, but he can give you a quiet, comfortable night next to someone who loves you. 

Ever well-tempered, you slip into the sheets beside him and curl up toward him, your fingertips brushing his side. You don't look at him in the dark, but you mumble sleepily, fingers twitching, "Night, Spence." 

You're out like a light. 

[vxnuslogy]

— retail therapy. ft sunday

— warnings: slight angst if you squint hard enough

— author's note: self-indulgent stellaron hunter sunday after playing the new tb quest. ~2.4k words.

“is this…” sunday gestures with his hands, “also part of our script?”

you let out a laugh. balancing firefly and kafka’s shopping bags in your hands, you only shook your head at the angel-like man with an amused smile on your lips. 

“no, it is not.” kafka was browsing the dress sections with keen interest, blade was peering over silver wolf’s shoulder watching her as she played yet another video game, and firefly was looking over the rack of new hats. “but it’s a good change of pace. you all deserve to relax after such a hard mission.”

“i don’t think this really fits my criteria of relaxation, [name].” you only laugh at sunday’s sigh. offering him a small pat on the back and dragging him by his sleeve to where kafka was beckoning you over. “you’ll get used to it eventually. next time, we’ll do something that fits your criteria of relaxation.”

the silver haired man only shook his head. but deep down you knew he was enjoying himself – the wings behind his ears often betrayed him by openly showing what he actually felt. every now and then, they would flutter and puff up whenever silver wolf drags him to another section with new games or when he tries to deny kafka’s attempt at getting him a new shirt or coat (after his wings fluttered a bit too hard at this one coat kafka bought it immediately).

“what do you think?” you ask as you put down the bags that've been weighing down on your arms. “about us, i mean, are you adjusting well?”

you notice sunday’s hesitation, you always have when it comes to him – he often wonders how wise and knowledgeable you are to know how he felt. a hum left your lips as you sat down on one of the offered chairs at the shoe section while blade reached to the top shelf to get what firefly was pointing at. 

“i…” he starts, voice just above whisper. “don’t know.”

another hum escapes your lips. scooting over to make space for him and patting the space, urging him to sit besides you. sunday does, though reluctantly, sit beside you as you watch silver wolf giggle at firefly’s struggle to walk in heels. blade’s hands hover over her figure as she stomps her way over to the shorter girl to pinch her cheeks to which she protested.

“they’re nice people.” you say, gaze never leaving them. “the galaxies may say otherwise, but they're truly the kindest people i have ever met.”

“i… apologize.”

you raise a brow at him. “what’s with the apology?” 

“i have only ever thought of the five of you as bad people.” sunday admits with a heavy heart. eyes finding much entertainment on his gloves that you had gifted. “i… do not know how to act around you all, when i’ve only ever heard bad things about you. it feels wrong to suddenly be thrusted into your already tight knit group.”

you only hum in understanding. hand coming to caress the top of his head when you stood up when blade called you over.

“we understand, mr. sunday.” you gave him a small smile as you picked up the many shopping bags you had. “these sorts of things take time, just take it one step at a time.”

he only nods. and like the gentleman that he is, steals away the heavier bags in your hands with an awkward smile.

—

“do you miss the person you were before you joined?”

you wonder if blade has ever mentioned to sunday how you loved thought evoking questions like the one he had just asked. recently, the two have been paired up a lot for missions - you’re still on the fence on whether it's a good or bad thing, but you’re leaning more towards the former. you only gave a thoughtful hum as you spooned another scoop of ice cream into your mouth.

kafka had grown bored of the dresses and shoes and wanted to get something to eat. now here you were, outside a quaint little ice cream shop as blade orders for everyone - silver wolf and firefly hiding behind the man like two kids. 

sunday was sitting in front of you, laughing silently after catching a glimpse of the two tables across from you being filled with your shopping bags. you laughed as well and when your eyes met his, sunday quickly averted his gaze towards his own cold treat.

“do i ever miss the person i was before i joined…” you echo his question. “sometimes, in the middle of the night whenever i’m feeling a bit too sentimental, i do.” a fond expression was probably present on your face as sunday hummed in acknowledgement. “i miss the comfort of my bed as i scrolled endlessly on my phone. or how a certain little creature in red would bring me tea and biscuits when i let time pass in my little workshop. i miss them every chance i get.”

yes, every chance you get, you reminisce over your past life. missing your father’s quick temper, your brother’s indifference, your mother’s absence; you missed them all, despite all their flaws and the bitterness that swam in your heart. and of course, how could you ever forget your little escapades in different planets with a seasoned adventurer and his vast knowledge of animation and travel or the little waddling of a conductor as they scold you nearly not making it back. you missed them all very dearly.

“what about you, mr. sunday? do you miss penacony?”

“would it be wrong of me… if i said no…?”

admittedly, that was the exact opposite of what you thought his answer would be.

the six of you were now in the car with you and blade driving (firefly suggested you all take two cars so you won’t have to be squeezed together in one). silver wolf was fast asleep at the back seat, using the many shopping bags as her makeshift pillows. you and sunday sat at the front, keeping a close eye on blade’s red car in front of you as you pondered what you would say next.

“i don’t think that’s the whole truth, but it’s not an entire lie either.” was your only response. from the corner of your eye, you see sunday take off his gloves and lay them on his lap. “would you like to talk about it, mr. sunday? i’m quite the exceptional listener you know.”

sunday laughed at your jesting and that made the breath you were unconsciously holding escape you. 

“penacony, as beautiful as it was,” he fiddles with his fingers as his wings came to cover half his face - a habit you picked up on whenever he started to open up. “it was simply too much for me.”

staying silent and when sunday looked at you, you simply nod. urging him to continue.

“the flashy city lights, the ever echoing of upbeat music, to many, penacony is a paradise where nothing could go wrong,” sunday sags in his seat, “but i often wonder if it ever gets too much for them. even though i have lived my entire life in the land of festivities, i could not bring myself to enjoy the thrill and joy it offered.”

“no matter how many times i bury these feelings of guilt, they always resurface whenever…”

“whenever?” you slowly try to coax it out of him. like how a parent would to their child.

“they always resurface whenever… i find myself enjoying your company too much.” you try to hide your shock when you take a right turn. “is it truly alright for me to just leave all of penacony behind? as overwhelming it was, it offered a roof over my head. food on my table. a family.”

soft patters of rain as small droplets of water cascaded down the now slightly fogged up windows of your car. “would you like my personal opinion on this matter, mr. sunday?” the car skids to a stop as the traffic light glows red. sunday only nodded solemnly. “you have every right to not miss penacony.”

his gold eyes were furrowed in distraught. gaze boring into the side of your head as the car started moving again. “yes, penacony offered a roof over your head and food on your table, but everyone has that right. even us, stellaron hunters, the most wanted criminals across star systems, have the right to have a home. did penacony ever feel like home to you, mr. sunday?”

“no. not it has not.” sunday replies after a few moments of silence.

“just because a roof is over your head and food is served on your table doesn’t automatically make it a home.” your eyes hardened, grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. “a home is supposed to make you feel safe, not obligated to repay their so-called “kindness”. you don’t have to feel guilty for not wanting to come back to the place that had caused you pain.”

“and what of my sister, robin?” he suddenly counters. you knew from little snippets from kafka that robin was a bit of a sensitive topic with him. “am i really allowed to enjoy this new life of mine knowing that she’s still in the family’s clutches?” his voice hardened, but at the same time it quivered and broke. “what right do i have to this newfound happiness when she could be struggling? for aeon’s sake,” he messily pushes his hair away from his face. you try not to focus on the stray tears that fell from his eyes, “i’m her older brother, her protector. she should be the one here, spending time with you and enjoying the life she’s always wanted.”

“miss robin is destined for greatness and a happy life,” stopping at another traffic light, you look over to sunday, “but so are you. i do not know the pain and turmoil your adoptive father has made you go through, but you will never be free if you keep holding on to the past.”

“i don’t think being a stellaron hunter and a wanted criminal is what you call greatness.” sunday jokes with a low chuckle making you roll your eyes.

you trained your sight on the road again. “it’s not easy to break out of whatever gopher wood has taught you,” the way you spat his adoptive father’s name with such venom made sunday wonder if you had personally met him. “but if, theoretically, we had offered you to join us earlier and to sneak you out of penacony, miss robin would be the first person to urge you to take that chance. you are her older brother yes, and it's often the oldest’s job to protect the younger,” you pull up your car in the parking lot as blade, kafka, and firefly started taking the shopping bags out of the car. “but she is still your sister that wants what’s best for you, even if it means leaving penacony behind.”

the sight of blade, a man with a harsh exterior and few words, silently carry silver wolf with such care will always stir something inside of sunday. or how kafka would happily chat with firefly over the new clothes they got on today’s shopping list, promising to do a haul tomorrow morning after the older woman cooks everyone breakfast. but if there was something that pulled at his heart the most, it would be you. 

you who kindly respected his space and unwillingness to talk or socialize with the other hunters when he had been first recruited. the same you who had made him the metal wings that was now attached to his lower back - created with so much care and attentiveness sunday felt unworthy of it. you who would always be the first one to look for him whenever you were going out and extending a hand for him to take.

“everyone deserves to be happy,” you say beside him as you drop him off at the door to his room. “and that includes you, mr. sunday.”

sunday had always been treated as someone who was above everything else, that was the first thing he was taught after all. he was destined for greatness, the key to the revival of his dead aeon. so he never truly knew how to act when someone treated him as an equal. someone neither above or below anyone.

“i’m not very good with words,” sunday scoffs, thinking otherwise. “so i often convey my sincerity and comfort through actions.”

sunday feels your hand slither to the back of his neck as you slowly pull him down to your height. forcing his beating heart to still when he looks into your eyes that swam with understanding and fondness when you press both of your foreheads together.

“you can enjoy your time here, with us. you’re allowed to let go of the past and miss your sister.” your thumb rubs soothing circles on his nape, sunday feels the hairs on his arms rise. “and if you still think otherwise, then that’s also fine. breaking free from the shackles of your past isn’t easy, but you shouldn’t give up.” sunday feels the way your words leave a warm ticklish feeling on his lips, he had to fight the urge to lean into your space even more. “we want you to be happy, we want you to be here with us. so we’ll teach you how to let go. until you can do it yourself.”

sunday has seen you do this to others; after you patch up blade after a nasty fight, when you welcome kafka home, when silver wolf comes to you after a nightmare and when firefly bares her heart out to you. he finally understands why the others stuck to you closely, they showed their appreciation for you in forms of physical affections. 

involuntarily, his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer he feels you may decipher the way his heart beats your name. “may we stay like this for a while?” you only hum slowly when he lays his head on your shoulder. letting your comfort wash away all the guilt and frustration, even if it was just for a moment.

you catch a glimpse of kafka leaning at one of the dark walls with a knowing smile on her lips. rolling your eyes at the older woman, you bid sunday a good night with a small smile. knuckles brushing right under his eyes where phantom tears had fallen. in your mind, you can’t help but feel that your little idea of taking him shopping to brighten up his mood was a success.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[goldsainz]

# F1 GRID — OOPS, WRONG PERSON !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ you decide to pull a prank by “butt-dialing” your boyfriend.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ tiny tiniest bit of angst, barely proofread.

003. NOTE !

✯ i loveddd this request, so much fun to write! hope you all enjoy it because i don’t know if it’s quite as good as i intended. also, this is LONGGG so please let me know if you liked it 🫶

word count : 5,6k

★ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos is genuinely surprised when he sees your name pop up on his phone, a facetime call incoming. Still, he doesn’t hesitate in answering. Whatever it is you might have to say must be important given the fact that you usually avoid making calls. Texts or face-to-face conversation being more your style.

What he doesn’t know, is you’re trying to keep your giggles to yourself. You have your back-up phone in hand, recording a TikTok trend you saw and decided to attempt with your boyfriend.

When Carlos answers, you pull yourself together and start speaking as if you were in the middle of a conversation. You wonder if the wall can see the idiocy of what you’re doing, if it’s judging you as you sit alone in your room whilst pranking your boyfriend.

“Amor?” Carlos asks, greeting you still slightly confused as to the reason for your call. You grin at his voice, your camera pointing to the ceiling so it seems like an accident.

“Honestly, I think I would tell him no,” you say to nobody in particular, making up a conversation.

“Hello? What’s going on?” He asks again, but you pay him no mind.

You continue your prank as best as you can, “I don’t know… I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment,”

Carlos doesn’t respond instantly, but he gets the feeling that you’ve accidentally called him. He doesn’t hung up, no, he’s too nosy to do that. So, he keeps quiet in hopes that you continue whatever conversation you’re having.

“Do you think he would be mad?” You ask to your wall, “He’s really sweet, but that would anger anyone.”

What? He asks in his mind, trying to fill in the blanks to your conversation. Are you talking about him?

“He asked me the other day if I liked silver or gold better, isn’t that a sign?”

Oh, you so are talking about him.

When the realisation hits, he’s kind of sad. He didn’t ask it with the intentions you are insinuating, but you would really say no if he asked you to marry him? He can’t help but have his feelings hurt.

“I just don’t want to rush things.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. You would think he hung up if you weren’t so intently watching the screen on your phone. You feel slightly bad about the kind of conversation you’re having. A fake conversation, but still, you feel bad.

Deciding he’s had enough, Carlos hungs up. He won’t listen in on your conversation any longer, it’s doing him no good. He’s left with a bitter taste in his mouth, a weight crushing onto his chest as he ponder over your words. He didn’t know you felt that way, and truthfully, he could’ve gone on for longer without knowing.

Immediately, you call him back. He’s tempted to ignore the call but twice can’t be a coincidence.

“What?” He asks quickly after answering, when he sees your face his harsh frown softens but his tone doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you say, dragging the y, “It was a prank, mi vida.”

He freezes for a second and then lets out a sigh of relief, “It was?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, showing him your second phone, “Say hello to TikTok.”

“You scared me,” he says with a shake of his head, “I thought you were being serious.”

“Never,” you firmly respond, “Can’t wait to be Mrs. Sainz,”

He smiles at the sudden shyness of your voice, “Well, that’s a relief then,”

You laugh at his words then suddenly stop, “Wait, Carlos, what do you mean?”

He looks at you as best as he can through a camera lens, then laughs and blows you a kiss.

“Carlos! What do you mean?” You ask more desperately, searching for answers but he just laughs and says his goodbyes.

You are left with your mouth agape when he hangs up. The video is certainly funny, and you can’t wait to edit out the more intimate ending and post it. But you’re left with a nervous yet exciting feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Perhaps the prankster ended up being the one pranked. Though you hope it’s not a prank.

★ CHARLES LECLERC

You await Charles’ response to your facetime call, patiently sitting down on your bed and your other phone in hand, ready to record. 

When your incoming call appears on Charles’s screen, he instantly answers. He loves to hear from you, especially when he’s away from you and misses you deeply. 

“Hello, mon chou,” he says, smiling at the camera and then slightly frowning when he notices that your camera is completely black.

“Okay, so I’ll see you at seven, right?” You ask your bear plushie, smiling at the ridiculousness of the prank.

At your words Charles’ mood dips, trying to understand what you;re saying or better yet, who you're speaking to.

“I’m so excited to see you,” Maybe it's cruel to play such games when you're thousands of kilometres apart. 

You know how much Charles misses you, how gruelling being so far away from home is to him. It is to you as well, being separated from your boyfriend tears your heart apart each time, but you decide that maybe spicing things up a little could be just what you need.

"Wait, who are you talking to? Is someone else there?” He asks, fidgeting with his hair and straightening up from where he was sitting. 

You pretend to ignore his voice and continue with the prank, “Yeah, he’s in Canada right now.”

Your boyfriend is now agitated at your words, though he prides himself for his calmness in tense situations he's not sure how to act right now. Should he hang up? Shout so that you perhaps hear him? Or stick around for the call and understand who you're talking to?

“No no, don't even worry about him,” you have to stifle your giggles, looking at the plushy in front of you who has served as your faithful company while Charles is away.

He leans in closer to the camera, tilting his head slightly, trying to understand what’s going on. “Amour, who’s there with you? Is someone else there?” he asks, a little louder this time, but still in that soft, slightly panicked tone.

It takes everything in you not to break character, but you want to see how far you can go. And hey, if you can pull this off maybe an acting career is not so far away. 

“Honestly, it gets so boring around here but you make it better.”

Charles’ lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he hesitates. You can see him wrestling with his emotions. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the confusion and a bit of hurt are written all over his face. He glances away from the screen, clearly feeling awkward. “I mean... if you’re busy, I can call you later?” His voice is soft, polite as always, but there’s a hint of insecurity creeping in.

Finally, you can’t keep up the act anymore, and burst into laughter.

His eyes widen in realisation, and his face immediately softens with relief. “Wait, is this a joke?!” His hand goes to his chest, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Mon dieu, I thought you were serious for a second! I was so confused.” He laughs now, more freely, shaking his head.

You grab your phone, fixing the angle so he can finally see you and just how alone you are in your room. “Yeah, it was just a prank. You should’ve seen your face!”

The giggles you're letting out make Charles smile, finding it endearing how such a simple thing entertained you. 

He groans playfully, clearly relieved but also slightly embarrassed. “You really got me... I didn’t know what to think! I was about to ask if I needed to fly out and speak with you!” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair again, his smile back and wider than ever. “But honestly, don’t do that again, chérie. I was about to lose my mind!”

You laugh, wiping a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist! You were so confused, it was hilarious!”

He shakes his head with a grin, still amused, but now there’s a more serious note in his eyes. He leans a little closer to the camera, his voice softening. “I’m glad it was a joke, but you had me really worried for a second there. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if it was real...” He trails off, his expression turning thoughtful, like he’s truly imagining what it would feel like if you were talking to someone else.

You smile, feeling a bit guilty for messing with him. “I would never do that to you, Charles. It was just a prank.”

He breathes out a little sigh, then flashes you a tender smile that could melt anyone’s heart. “I know, I know. I trust you... but still, you’re so important to me.” His voice drops to a softer tone, his vulnerability shining through. “You don’t know how much I care about you. When I thought you might be talking to someone else... I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

His sincerity catches you off guard, and your heart swells. Before you can say anything, he smiles again, a little sheepish now. “But anyway, good prank. I’ll give you that.” He points a playful finger at the screen. “Just remember, payback’s coming!” His grin is wide, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, pretending to be unbothered. “Oh really? What are you going to do?”

Charles smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll see. You’ll never know when it’s coming, but when it does, you’re going to regret pranking me!” He winks, but it’s clear he’s more than happy to let this prank slide for now.

Then, his voice softens again, and he gives you a look that’s pure affection. “But seriously... don’t scare me like that again. I like knowing I’m the only one you’re FaceTiming.” He smiles, his dimples showing, his face a mix of relief and playful charm.

You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay! I promise, no more pranks like that.”

“Good,” he says with a final grin, looking like he’s truly at ease again. Then, he blows you a quick kiss through the screen. “Now, tell me what you were actually doing before you called me. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

★ LANDO NORRIS

It’s late afternoon, and you’re feeling mischievous. You decide to pull a prank you saw earlier on TikTok on Lando. You know he will be caught off guard, and that’s exactly what you’re going for.

You set your phone on the couch, deliberately calling Lando without actually answering the FaceTime. Then, in a casual voice, you start the prank, pretending to have a conversation with someone else.

“Yeah, it was so fun hanging out last night. You’re hilarious!” you say, just loud enough for Lando to hear through the FaceTime call. “I can’t believe we stayed up talking for so long!”

On the other end of the line, Lando picks up immediately. Your contact name makes him smile, wondering what you’re about tell him. But when the call goes through, he’s confused, staring at your screen which faces the ceiling. “Wait… babe? Hello?” he says, glancing around as if trying to figure out what’s happening. He leans in, his brows furrowing when he hears you talking, but not to him.

“Yeah, it was so fun hanging out last night. You’re hilarious!” you say, just loud enough for Lando to hear through the FaceTime call. “I can’t believe we stayed up talking for so long!”

His eyes go wide as he looks closer at the phone, confusion spreading across his face. He shifts in his chair, trying to process what he’s hearing. “What? What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” he asks, his voice growing more anxious.

You continue the conversation, making it sound even more flirty. “Yeah, I didn’t expect to have that much fun either. You’re really something else.”

Lando's heart rate definitely spikes. He leans forward, the panic starting to creep into his voice. “Wait, wait, who’s there? Who’s she talking to?” He mutters to himself, wondering why the hell you can't hear his panicked voice but what he's more worried about is who you're talking to. 

“I’ll text you later, okay? Maybe we can hang out again soon?” you say, keeping your tone light and playful. “Yeah, it was really great seeing you. I’ll talk to you later!”

By now, Lando’s freaking out. He’s still staring at the phone screen, but you can see the uncertainty and jealousy building. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this can’t be real. Am I being punked or something? Who the hell are you talking to?” He leans in closer, almost yelling now. “Babe! Hello! Can you hear me?!”

You pretend not to hear him and keep talking to the imaginary guy. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Can’t wait.”

He finally breaks, face twisting into disbelief, and he throws his hands in the air. “Are you serious right now? Who the hell is this guy?!” His voice cracks, and he’s clearly spiralling at this point. “Babe! BABE! Who are you talking to?! Are you with someone else?!” He’s practically on the edge of his seat, completely panicking.

You can’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing, picking up the phone.

Lando’s eyes are wild as he sees you finally holding the phone properly. “Wait… what? What’s going on? Who are you—” He stops mid-sentence as he realises you’re laughing, and it slowly dawns on him. “Oh my god.” He slumps back in his chair, groaning dramatically. “Noooo, don’t tell me this was a prank!”

Still laughing, you nod. “Yep! You got butt-dialed, babe.”

His face is still frozen in disbelief. “Are you joking right now?” he asks, his voice going up an octave. His hand is over his chest like he’s trying to calm his racing heart. “You seriously just made me think you were talking to another guy?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, barely holding back more laughter.

He leans closer to the screen, his eyes wide. “I’m literally sweating! My heart was in my throat, and you were over here just… casually chatting with some ‘guy.’” His voice cracks a little as he says “guy,” and his dramatic reaction makes you laugh harder.

“Oh, come on, it was just a little prank,” you tease.

Lando shakes his head, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Little prank? I was literally about to start a fight with the air! I’ve never been so confused in my life!” He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back in his chair. “I’m in shambles right now. I’ve been emotionally attacked.”

You try to stop giggling, but his over-the-top reaction just keeps it going. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack!”

“Too late,” he says with mock seriousness. “The damage is done. I might need to lie down after this.” He pauses, staring at you with narrowed eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips. “You owe me big time.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling. “Oh, really? And what exactly do I owe you?”

Lando crosses his arms, feigning deep thought. “Well, first off, you owe me a massive apology. And then maybe…” His eyes light up as the thought hits him. “You can take me out for a nice dinner, pay for dessert, and— oh! I’m thinking a full day of pampering.”

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Pampering? What do you think this is, a spa?”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and looking more relaxed now. “Hey, I deserve it after what you just put me through. I was about to show up at your place ready to fight some random guy I didn’t even know existed!”

“Alright, alright,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes again. “I’ll pamper you. But just this once!”

Lando’s grin grows wider. “Deal. But I’m definitely getting you back for this, by the way. Just so you know.”

You can’t help but laugh at his scheming. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He tilts his head, his eyes softening slightly. “But seriously, don’t scare me like that again, okay? My poor heart can’t take it.” His voice drops into a teasing whine, but there’s a touch of genuine relief there too.

You smile, feeling a little guilty now. “I promise, no more butt-dial pranks.”

Lando sighs in mock relief, then grins. “Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m expecting that pampering session to start soon. I’m thinking back rubs and snacks. Lots of snacks.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he says cheekily, winking at you.

★ LEWIS HAMILTON

It’s late in the evening, you’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through social media when a mischievous idea pops into your head: prank Lewis. It’s been a long week for him, and you know he’s probably relaxing after a day full of meetings and training. That makes it the perfect time to catch him off guard.

Picking up your phone, you set it on the couch beside you, face down, so it looks like a genuine mistake. Then, with one quick swipe, you FaceTime him. The phone rings a few times before Lewis picks up. You can see from the tiny preview screen that he’s in the hotel, leaning back in his chair, probably unwinding after the busy day he's had.

At first, he looks confused when he sees the camera pointing at your ceiling. “Babe?” he calls out, his voice soft and curious. “Did you call me?”

You ignore his soft voice, pretending you don’t realise you’ve called him. Instead, you start the staged conversation with your "friend” who really just is an unbothered Roscoe, who's resting by your feet and not paying much attention to anything.

“I don’t know, I just feel like things with Lewis aren’t working anymore,” you say with a sigh, making your voice sound hesitant, like you’re deep in thought.

On the other end, you can hear Lewis pause, his confusion evident as he watches the ceiling of your living room on the screen. “Wait, what? Did I just hear that right?” he mumbles, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You continue, not responding to him, staying in character, “It’s just been really hard lately. Like, I know he cares about me, but it feels like we’re growing apart, you know?” You make your voice sound vulnerable, as if you’re spilling your deepest thoughts to this imaginary friend.

Lewis sits up straighter, his face showing a mix of confusion and worry now. He leans toward the screen, trying to get your attention. “Babe? What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” His voice is still calm, but there’s a note of urgency creeping in.

You keep the fake conversation going, pushing it a little further. “I mean, I love him, but sometimes love isn’t enough. We’re just in different places, and I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen and he rubs a hand over his face, his composure starting to slip as the weight of your words sinks in. “Wait, hold on, what are you talking about? You don’t think we’re gonna make it? Babe, what’s happening?” His voice is louder now, more strained, and you can see the confusion and hurt beginning to cloud his expression.

You almost put a stop to your prank right there, but you decide to push through. So, you ignore him, still talking to your imaginary friend, “I’ve been thinking about ending things for a while, but it’s just so hard. He’s so sweet, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Lewis blinks, and you can see him processing your words, his heart clearly sinking. His mouth opens slightly, but he’s struggling to find the right thing to say. “No, no, this can’t be real,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head. 

You glance at the screen briefly, seeing the growing panic in his eyes, but you push the prank a bit further. “Yeah, I’m going to talk to him soon. I just hope he understands.” You add a small, fake sigh. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his calm exterior cracking even more. “Babe, talk to me. What’s going on? Is this how you really feel?” He’s practically pleading now, his voice full of emotion. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes as he tries to make sense of everything.

Finally, unable to hold it together any longer, you burst out laughing and grab the phone. “Oh my god, Lewis, it’s a prank!”

For a moment, Lewis just stares at you, blinking in complete disbelief. Then, slowly, realisation dawns, and he lets out a long, exasperated sigh, slumping back in his chair. “No way… are you serious? You were just messing with me?”

You nod, still laughing. “Yeah, there’s no friend. I wasn’t talking about breaking up with you. I’m so sorry, my love!”

He rubs his face with both hands, trying to process everything. “Wow… okay, you really got me.” He exhales sharply, clearly relieved but still a bit shaken. “I thought I was about to lose you here. My heart was racing.”

“I’m sorry!” you say, giggling. “I didn’t mean to freak you out that much, I swear.”

He chuckles softly, though you can see the relief still lingering on his face. “You really had me going, babe. I didn’t know what to think.” He pauses, then looks at you with a mix of amusement and reproach. “I was ready to drop everything and come find you.”

You grin, feeling a little bad now that you can see how worried he really was. “I didn’t mean to push it that far! It was just supposed to be a little prank.”

Lewis shakes his head with a smile, the tension starting to fade. “Alright, alright. It’s all good. You got me. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook so easily.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s my punishment?”

He leans back, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m definitely getting you back for this. And trust me, when I do, you’ll never see it coming.” His eyes glint with mischief, though there’s still that hint of vulnerability lingering in his expression.

You laugh, still feeling a bit guilty for putting him through that emotional rollercoaster. “Fair enough, I’ll be ready for whatever you’ve got planned.”

He chuckles, his smile softening. “Just… no more pranks like that, alright? You really freaked me out.” His voice lowers, and you can tell he means it.

You nod, giving him an apologetic smile. “I promise, no more fake breakups.”

Lewis grins, though his eyes are still warm with lingering emotion. “Good. Because if we’re going to have a serious conversation, I’d rather it be in person.” He winks, his usual calm confidence starting to return.

“Deal,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, relieved that he’s taking it so well.

He sighs dramatically, then chuckles. “You’re lucky I love you, babe. Because if anyone else tried that on me…” He trails off with a smirk, but you know he means it.

“I know, I know. You’re the best,” you tease, still smiling.

“Yeah, don’t forget it,” he says, his voice light, but you can tell he’s glad the whole thing was just a joke.

★ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max’s phone buzzes with a FaceTime call, and he glances at the screen, seeing your name pop up. It’s unusual for you to call directly; you typically prefer texting or face-to-face conversations. So, he’s immediately curious about what might be urgent enough to warrant a call.

You place your phone face down on the couch and dial Max’s number. The phone rings a few times before he picks up, his face appearing on the screen. He’s clearly winding down after a long day, his hair slightly tousled and a relaxed look on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks casually. You can see he’s expecting a normal call.

Instead of responding, you start chatting as if you’re talking to someone else. “Yeah, it was great seeing you tonight. I didn’t expect to have such a good time.” You add a flirty tone to your voice, trying to sound casual.

At first, Max stays silent, his expression shifting from relaxed to puzzled. After a moment, his eyes narrow, and he leans closer to the screen. “Who are you talking to?” His voice is direct, with a calm demeanour that contrasts the intensity in his eyes.

You continue with the prank, keeping up the pretence. “I know, right? It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to hang out like this.” You give a small, playful laugh.

Max’s face tightens slightly, and he sits up straight, clearly not pleased. “Seriously, who is that? Who are you talking to?” His tone is calm but authoritative.

“I’m glad we could hang out,” you say softly, using the same voice you use when you want to sweeten Max. It’s a tone reserved only for him, and that only makes him more frustrated.

He watches you intently, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not playing games. Are you going to tell me who this is or not?” 

You can see his frustration building as he waits for a response. When you don’t immediately answer, he makes a decisive move. “You know what? I’m ending this call.” He starts to hang up, but then pauses, his eyes narrowing even more. “Actually, I’m coming over. I want to see who you’re talking to.”

Before you can react, he’s already starting to disconnect. Realising the prank might be escalating, you quickly grab the phone and try to calm him down. “Wait, Max, it’s a joke! I was just messing with you!”

Max freezes mid-disconnect, his eyes widening with a mix of relief and disbelief. He straightens up, a sarcastic grin spreading across his face. “Oh, a joke? Perfect timing. I was just about to come over and give your ‘mystery guy’ a piece of my mind. You know, because clearly, he needed a crash course on what it means to mess with my girlfriend.”

You burst out laughing, trying to explain yourself. “I’m really sorry, Max. I didn’t think it would get this intense.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, still grinning. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘I’m just kidding’ like a full-blown emotional crisis. I’m sure your ‘mystery guy’ would’ve been thrilled to meet the real Max Verstappen, all dressed up for a confrontation.”

You giggle, feeling a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just thought it would be a harmless prank.”

Max raises an eyebrow, his sarcasm in full swing. “Oh, of course, harmless. I mean, who needs peace of mind when you’ve got surprise pranks, right?”

You laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll make sure to keep my pranks a bit less intense next time.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Unless you want me to come over and give you a live demonstration of what happens when you prank a racing driver. Spoiler alert: It involves a lot of very fast revenge.”

“Noted,” you say with a grin. “I promise, no more surprise drama.”

Max chuckles, his sarcasm giving way to genuine amusement. “Good. Because I was about to start practising my ‘disappointed boyfriend’ speech. And trust me, it’s a work of art.”

You laugh again, feeling relieved that he’s taking it well. “I’ll avoid any more pranks that might warrant a speech.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s talk about something less dramatic— like how you’re going to make it up to me. And I don’t mean another prank.”

You laugh, ready to move on from the prank. “I’ve got just the thing. No more surprises, I promise.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Good. And remember, I’m always keeping an eye out for any more ‘mysterious’ calls.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say with a laugh. 

★ OSCAR PIASTRI

You’re feeling cheeky and decide to pull a prank on your boyfriend by pretending to butt dial him. You carefully set up your phone, ensuring it calls Oscar automatically. You place the phone on a table and begin your act, speaking loudly enough for him to hear clearly through the call. 

You make sure to put on a show, talking loudly enough that Oscar will definitely hear it. As soon as he picks up, you begin your “conversation.”

“Oh hey! So glad you called,” you start, making your voice bright and cheerful as if you’ve been waiting for this call. “I just have to tell you, last night was absolutely amazing!”

Oscar, on the other end of the call, answers with his usual calm demeanour. He sees your name on the screen and answers with a mix of curiosity and amusement. His face remains composed, but you can sense him starting to analyse the situation. He listens intently, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“I’m so glad we got to hang out. It’s not every day you meet someone who can keep me laughing like that,” you say, your tone warm and engaging. You emphasise the casual nature of the conversation, hoping to make your boyfriend think it’s a genuine chat.

Oscar’s gaze is fixed on the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listens. He remains eerily quiet, giving you the sense that he’s deep in thought, piecing together the details of your conversation. His face is a mask of calm curiosity, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Absolutely, we need to do it again soon. How about dinner tomorrow? I’ll text you the details,” you continue, maintaining the pretence. You keep your tone light and breezy, almost as if the conversation is too engaging for you to notice his reaction.

Oscar’s smirk starts to form, his mind piecing together the clues. He leans back slightly in his chair, his composure unshaken. He’s clearly caught on to the prank, but he maintains his cool, waiting for the right moment to reveal his awareness.

“I hope you’re done with your other conversation,” he finally says, his voice smooth and collected. “We can talk later when you’re free from your… other commitments.” His calm tone and subtle smirk indicate he’s caught on, but he’s letting you have your fun for now.

You immediatly start laughing, realising that Oscar has seen right through your prank. “I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly!”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying the reveal. “I had a feeling something was off, your conversation was a bit too perfect.” He gives you a playful wink. “Nice try, though. I have to admit, you had me intrigued for a moment there.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you say, still grinning. “I was hoping to give you a little challenge.”

He leans back in his chair, his smile broadening. “Challenge accepted. You managed to get a rise out of me, which is no easy feat. But now that I’m in on the joke, I’m planning my own comeback.” His tone is light-hearted but filled with a hint of mischief.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you say, still grinning. “I was hoping to give you a little challenge.”

His smirk widens into a charming grin. “Challenge accepted,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “But since you managed to prank me, I think it’s only fair that I get to return the favour.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his confident tone. “Oh, really? And what do you have in mind for your comeback?”

Oscar leans in a bit closer, his gaze softening. “Let’s just say that next time we talk, I might have a surprise of my own for you. Something that’ll make your heart race in a way that’s far more thrilling than any prank.” He gives you a knowing look, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper. “I’m all about keeping things exciting.”

Your heart flutters at the flirtatious undertone in his voice. “Is that so? I’ll have to be extra vigilant then. I wouldn’t want you to catch me off guard again.”

His eyes sparkle with affection. “Oh, don’t worry. I love a good challenge, especially when it means I get to see that beautiful smile of yours when you’re surprised.” 

You blush a little at his words, “I might have to prank you every day if I get you this sweet after.”

“I’m alway sweet,” he teases, laughing at your flusteredness.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Anyway, are you getting home later today?” You ask, hoping to see your boyfriend after weeks of him being away.

“Yes, I’m aching to see you,” he confesses, smiling at you.

“Me too.” 

“See you then, my little prankster,” Oscar says with a laugh.

You roll your eyes at the nickname but you’re endeared by it all the same. “See you soon.”

[charliemwrites]

Woof, grrr, woof

No content warnings

Your trip to the vet turns up nothing. No microchips, and none of the staff recognize the wolf-dog. They’re the only vet in town too, and he looks too pristine to have come from another…

“You’re a weird little guy, huh?” you muse on the car ride to the pet store.

The vet office was kind enough to make a file for him, standing name “Buddy”. If you get to keep him, you’re definitely changing it. They also gave you a spare leash so that you wouldn’t have to leave him in the car while you shop.

It’s a pitifully flimsy thing, but the dog seems leashed trained and does tug. Could probably let him off it and he’d stay glued to your side.

The shopping is even weirder. He doesn’t seem very distracted by treats or food, only snaps at other dogs when they get into his personal space. Otherwise, he just stays right next to you, tongue occasionally lapping at your hanging fingers.

“Beautiful dog,” a man says to you. An older guy, rugged, looking at toys.

You shift. “Thank you.”

“Should really be feeding a beast like that a raw diet.”

“Raw diet?”

“What they get in the wild. All that processed shite ain’t good for ‘em.”

You thank him for the advice over the dog’s grumbling. A quick internet search on your phone reveals it’s not a bad idea, actually. Not too expensive either.

“Raw it is,” you muse.

He tilts his head, make a low “woof”. You scratch absently at his ears as you continue shopping. Let him pick toys - his favorite a squeaky grenade of all things that he refuses to put down. You get a big matching set of food and water bowls, a cushy dog bed, a parasite repellent. Even some dog pads in case he’s not house trained.

You stall in the leash aisle, a bit overwhelmed by the choices of leashes and collars and harnesses.

“How do you feel about pink…?”

Snort.

“Yeah didn’t think so. I didn’t like the rhinestones anyway. You’d probably end up eating one and shitting glitter.”

A long whine.

“Oh, sorry, is that embarrassing? Poor love.”

The gentlest scrape of big teeth at your knuckles. You chuckle and tap two fingers on his sandpaper tongue. His head jerks back, tongue flicking in offense.

“S’what you get, dummy.”

Shaking your head, turn back to the selection. The pup huffs, shakes his head, and noses at something lower. It’s a deep green - army, you think the shade is called - collar with a silver buckle instead of a snap clip.

“Not bad,” you muse. “Matches the whole woodsy vibe we’ve got going.”

You find the matching leash and harness set, dropping it in your cart. You receive several more compliments on your big gorgeous dog, though he refuses to let anyone pet him. You awkwardly make excuses that he’s a recent rescue and try to avoid further conversation.

The last stop is at the kiosk for a tag. You can’t just let him go without one, but you despise officially naming him “Buddy.”

You end up just putting your name, number, and address on there. A matte black heart engraved with silver.

“What do you think?” you ask, offering it for a sniff.

The dog doesn’t even pretend to be interested, just takes the opportunity to drag his tongue over your wrist again. You huff and wipe off on your pants.

“Gonna have to take another bath at this rate.”

You ignore his grumble - it’s uncanny at this point, how quick he is to respond - and guide him out to the car. He hops into the passenger seat, flops over into your lap first chance he gets. You have to nudge his snout away from your crotch again, but he seems satisfied with a hand smoothing over his head.

Home is warm when you arrive. You set up your new dog’s things, buckle him into his new collar, tag and all.

“There,” you coo, dropping smooches all over his head. “Look at how handsome you are, sweet boy! Can I have a kiss?”

You yelp as he barrels you over onto your back, well over 100 pounds of wolf-dog stretching over you. You turn your face away as he licks at your mouth, trying to get inside. You remember reading somewhere that that’s a wolf thing; just another tick in the “hybrid” box.

“Gross, gross! Nooooo,” you laugh, covering his snout. You squeal as his tongue flickers between two fingers. “Nasty boy! You’re so rude!!”

He finally lets you up with much coaxing, looking far too pleased with himself.

You make yourself dinner, providing your dog with scraps of chicken and unseasoned veggies based on your online reading. He seems happy with the offering, eats it all up with gusto.

As the evening comes, you stretch out on the couch. Finally feel brave enough to put on a scary movie now that you’ve got a big-ass deterrent.

Your dog even climbs up to cuddle, head on your chest while you hug him through scary parts. The really interesting part comes at the end, during the climax.

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny!”

Your new companion perks up, eyes on the screen.

“Oh? Is… is that your name? Is your name Johnny?”

His head snaps around to you, ears straight up and eyes bright.

“Johnny…” you croon, trying it out.

He makes a little “boof” noise and wriggles closer.

“Johnny baby,” you continue, grinning. “Johnny boy. John John the bon bon.”

It’s utter nonsense, but it makes his tail thump against the cushions, leaving slobbery kisses of excitement all over your neck and jaw.

“Alright alright!” you laugh, dropping a kiss on the top of his nose. “Johnny it is. Thank fuck I don’t have to come up with a name. Was thinking of calling you Philip or Simon or something.”

You yelp as he starts to make gagging sounds, nearly kicking him off the couch before it seems to subside.

“Good lord, bud,” you breathe as he grumbles and settles his head on your thigh, puffing out a big breath through his nose. “You’re gonna be a handful.”

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Masterlist

[rebelfell]

linecook!eddie x reader

cw: cigarette smoking/shotgun. IRL 🤢 In fic? 🫠

I saw one photo and now this exists…enjoy 😏 I told y’all to stop me and everything, but no one did. Tsk, tsk.

As if it wasn't hard enough working the late shift alone with your crush, he seemed to be going out of his way to push the limits of your self-control.

With his long curls twisted up in a bun, scraped off the back of his neck that was slick with sweat after the dinner rush, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his apron pocket with his teeth.

His lips pursed to hold his smoke in place, brow knit in concentration, he hunched low over the gas range and craned his neck sideways. The bright orange flame of the burner flickered, mimicking the flicker of excitement in you.

He puffed a few times as the flames licked the end until it glowed and clouds of smoke obscured his features. Soft during this rare stretch of quiet where they were normally steely and rigid during service, his fists clenched as tight as his jaw and threatening to snap whatever cooking utensil he held in his hand right in half.

And while that certainly did something for you, it was much nicer seeing him like this. Looser, more at ease. More interested in shooting you flirty glances than in shouting out orders.

You sat at the end of the prep line watching his every move, side work long since abandoned. It was honestly absurd of them to expect you to roll silverware when Eddie was torturing you like this.

When he looked more delectable than anything on the menu. And likely twice as bad for you.

His head popped up suddenly, dark eyes landing on yours as he took a long drag, plucking the cig from between his lips to exhale.

"You're not gonna tell on me are you, sweet girl?" he asked, brow lifting as a sly smile curled his lips.

The pet name made your chest as hot as if you'd been stuck under the broiler, but you didn't dare let it show on your face. Much too early for that.

Besides, similar to Eddie's homemade ice cream, it would be so much sweeter if you made yourself wait just a little bit to indulge…

You shrugged your shoulders and pretended to weigh your options as you went back to rolling, making that thinking face Eddie thought might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

“I can let it slide, I guess,” you teased him lightly.“Besides…if you get fired, who would make me my midnight pancakes?”

Eddie smirked. “Excellent point,” he hummed as he took a few slow strides towards you, bringing the cig to his lips for another drag.

With every step closer he got, you felt your heart pound twice as hard. By the time he was standing in front of you, it was liable to burst straight out of your chest cavity Alien-style.

His long fingers in a V, missing the chunky silver rings he wore any time besides during service, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and tipped his head juuuuust slightly to the side.

It’s a move you’ve come to know well, responding with a tilt of your own head the other way.

He leans in slow, letting his chest hover in front of yours so you can feel the heat still coming off his skin from where he leaned over the flames.

It’s tough (read: impossible) to keep your breath steady when he gets close to you like this—so close you can nearly taste the spices he’s been using tonight, the ones that his skin must be imbued with by now after years at this job.

And yet, when he parts his lips slightly for you to inhale his breath as he releases it, you manage to do so. The taste is actually revolting, even when taken in secondhand, but something about having Eddie’s air in your chest…

It makes it worth it.

[star-sim]

espresso ☆ sunoo kim

☆ super mega down bad!sunoo x fem! reader ☆ summary: that one time sunoo had a not-so innocent dream about you, and suddenly you're the only thing that consumed all of his senses. the problem? you're the most popular girl at the academy, and he's just a nerd. driven mad by his feelings for you, it felt like his chances with you were next to zero. it's actually much higher than he thought! ☆ genre: dark academia! au, classic popular girl x nerd, a looooot of romantic and sexual frustration LOL, a bit of nerdy lingo , loser and desperate sunoo!! ☆ warning(s)? slightly suggestive, but mostly just pure silliness and fluff :3 ☆ word count: 9.5k ☆ happy belated birthday to sunoo! the sunoo fic disparity is criminal. this is for you @ashtxrie. inspired "espresso" by sabrina carpenter. i hope i did mintchoco king justice. enjoy!

Ugh.

Popular kids.

Sunoo narrowed his eyes, clutching his textbooks even closer to his chest as he walked past the hoard of snobby rich kids. Their expensive pearl necklaces and diamond rings gleamed under the warm hallway lights, but no golden jewelry would take away how downright obnoxious they were.

"How could anyone be so loud right now?" Sunoo grumbled under his breath, pushing up his thin golden-framed glasses. Seriously though, he had a point. There was no reason for anyone at all to be screaming at the top of their lungs at 10 in the morning. But alas, here he was, rolling his eyes at the stuck-up rich kids.

The Academy had a pretty simple admissions system. Either you pay to get in, or you apply and get evaluated based on your application. Most of the students at the Academy were from wealthy families, so they obviously paid to be admitted. Sunoo, on the other hand, had more humbler origins. 

To say that he worked his utmost ass off to even be able to apply was an understatement. It was almost patronizing to see all of these kids born with a silver spoon in their mouth act so carelessly.

They all acted so condescendingly, as if they didn't get admitted because of their father's paycheck.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" A new voice interrupted Sunoo's thoughts. It was his younger friend Riki, who threw an arm around his shoulder. 

"Nothing," Sunoo murmured, tearing his eyes away from the group of popular kids. 

All of them were the same. All arrogant, all pompous, all vain, all—

"Are you sure?" his other friend, Jungwon, joined. "You look a little bit—err— disturbed."

"I'm not."

Riki and Jungwon shared a look.

Okay, maybe not all rich kids were the same. 

Because there were a few exceptions, such as—

"Are you still mad about that one time that snobby little Sanghyeok threw a ball at you?" Riki asked, blinking owlishly.

"No, what are you—"

"He's a rugby player, isn't he?" Jungwon thought aloud. "Geez, all the rugby players love tossing that goddamn football around, don't they?"

"Erm, actually, it's called a rugby ball," Riki corrected in a nasally voice.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter. Why would anyone throw those around? It's like a ball of concrete!"

Sunoo tuned his younger friends' bickering out. He'll admit it, he's just a little bit of a hater. 

Among the snobby rich kids, there's definitely a few exceptions. Jay Park was a pretty cool guy, and so was Jake Sim. Sunoo could've sworn that there's one more person that he didn't mind too much... He just couldn't remember who....

"Watch out!"

It happened so quickly, because one moment Sunoo was lost in thought. And the next, a rugby ball was hurling at him, pummeling him square in the head.

Not again, was the last thing he thought of before he fell to the ground, blacking out.

"Aw man, you hit the nerd again?!"

"Hey, I didn't mean to— Ack!"

Sunoo stirred. It was weird. He could feel himself gain consciousness, but his head and body were pounding. Excruciatingly.

He could hear a little bit of arguing and a few masculine voices, all muffled yet somehow also painful to his ears.

"Quiet down," a new voice entered. It was a voice that Sunoo recognized, a voice that was much kinder and softer on his ears, almost healing. "If you keep yelling, you'll overwhelm him."

Whose voice was this? Sunoo knows that he knows this voice, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.

Then, Sunoo felt a few gentle fingers run through his hair, and then a cold, ice compress pressed on his forehead.

"Just leave," the voice told the others. "Get to class. I'll take care of him."

There's some murmuring, and then some shuffling, and finally, the door slammed shut.

And the moment that it did, Sunoo's eyes shot open.

The first thing that he's met with as full consciousness pervades his body is a sharp pain everywhere, much more amplified and extreme this time.

The second thing that Sunoo sees is... you.

Of course, that makes sense now. You were the voice, and you were the person he was thinking about earlier. You were one of the exceptions to his "all rich kids are annoying" gag.

Of course you were.

Everyone knew you, and everyone loved you. Who wouldn't?

You were incredibly sweet, had a knack for calling everyone with affectionate nicknames, and every reason why Sunoo couldn't bring himself to hate everyone in the popular crowd. He's had a few classes with you in the past few years. You weren't the top student or academically driven by any means, but he could sense your effort. 

Not to mention, you were really pretty. It was no secret that every single guy in school wanted a chance with you. Sunoo wasn't like that, but he wasn't going to sit there and deny that your face was nice to look at. Truthfully, it was difficult to not like you, one way or another.

In total, Sunoo's spoken to you a total of probably four times. Nevertheless, you were a lot more than just tolerable, compared to the rest of your peers.

Now Sunoo was in the infirmary, after that rugby ball smacked him right in the head and knocked him out. He was lying down on the gurney, a cold compress to his head. And you were taking care of him.

"You're up, sweetheart," you said softly, jumping to your feet once you realized that Sunoo was awake. You handed him his glasses that were folded neatly on the table, and then you went to the shelves. Sunoo attempted to raise himself up to sit, but almost immediately he was met with that horrible, aching pain again.

"Aghh!" he groaned, dropping himself instantly and clutching onto the ice pack on his head. 

You hissed, scurrying over to his side. 

"Don't move," you instructed him. Sunoo got a good look at your face now. Pretty, as always, but you had a pinched expression. You looked frustrated, and as you unfurled the bundle of bandages that you fetched from the shelf, your eyes traveled to him and almost looked apologetic. "Let's get you fixed up, sweetie."

Very gently, almost as if you were dealing with glass, you lifted Sunoo's head just enough so that you could wrap bandages around his forehead.

"Is that okay?" you asked him quietly, your nimble fingers brushing against his skin gently. 

"Mmm—" Sunoo was cut off by a guttural sound in his throat— "Mhm."

You pushed his dark locks out of the way, humming.

While you worked on him, Sunoo couldn't help but notice how.... concerned you looked. As a matter of fact, where were the rest of your friends? Where was that bastard Sanghyeok that threw the damn rugby ball at him in the first place? 

It wasn't like you were a student nurse or anything. Aside from just being a nice person, what reason did you have to go out of your way to fix Sunoo up? It wasn't like you were the one that threw the ball.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows furrowing together. Something was on your mind. 

"I'm sorry," you finally blurted, your eyes wide and nearly glassy.

???

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry that Sanghyeok threw that ball at you," you continued, words spilling from your glossy lips like a waterfall, your eyes trained onto the floor and your head hung low. As words tumbled out, you stopped your ministrations on him, your hands taking solace on the hem of your uniform skirt. "I-It was very wrong of him, and it's even worse that you're now injured, and—"

"Why are you apologizing?" Sunoo interrupted you, though with labored breaths between his words, as he didn't want to hurt himself.

You frowned even harder, your fingers wringing each other. "B-But—"

Sunoo's face scrunched. "You didn't throw the ball at me. Sanghyeok did, so there's no reason for you to say sorry to me."

You shook your head. 

"Still!" you huffed, your cheeks filling with air as you tapped your foot. You let out an exasperated breath. It smelled of coffee. "I know that it's not my fault, but— but that doesn't make what happened right."

Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, beginning your ministrations once again. "I'm just doing what's right."

By the end of the school day, Sunoo got out of the nurse's office, just slightly stumbling. His head still hurt, but thanks to you, who missed a few classes, it hurt a lot less than it should have. Once again, you proved that you weren't as bad as the rest. 

If it was any other day, Sunoo would go to the library to fit in a few hours of studying, but after today's events, he just wanted to go back to his dorm.

It's been a long, stressful, and painful day. 

The moment that Sunoo's dorm door shut, he made a bee-line for his bed, completely ignoring his roommate Sunghoon. He threw off his uniform shirt and tie, peeling them off like they were some nuisance. 

And just like that, the second that Sunoo's head hit the pillow, he knocked out.

Sunoo opened his eyes and he was in a bed. Not his own bed, but a softer, much more comfortable bed. 

He felt a warm—really warm— almost fuzzy, feeling in his chest. Sunoo's hands feel around the bed. The sheets are smooth and clean, and under his fingertips they wrinkle ever-so slightly. Now that he was looking around, it seemed to be early morning, with rays of sunlight peeking through the windows. In fact, this dorm room wasn't his. It smelled of espresso coffee, and was so pristine and neat.

Sunoo didn't notice it now, but all the pain he was supposed to be feeling disappeared. And just as he was about to get up to his feet to inspect, someone appeared at the doorway.

You.

"You're up, sleepyhead?" you said, leaning on the doorway as a sly smile spread across your face. 

Why was he in your room? 

And more importantly, why were you in only a bathrobe? 

Sunoo looked down, and that's when he realized that he, too, was shirtless.

Instead of responding how he'd want to— confused out of his mind— words tumbled out of his lips, almost like he had no control over them. "I was waiting for you."

You giggled, pretty sounds falling from your pretty lips. You slowly sauntered over to the foot of your bed, your gentle hands coming down to brush against Sunoo's leg.

"You look so handsome, sweetheart," you rasped. The warmth and fuzziness that he felt earlier began to spread from his chest to his entire body.

And the next thing that Sunoo knew, you were on top of him. Your lips pressed wet kisses all over his bare chest. Sticky gloss clung to his flushed skin, leaving pretty lipstick marks across his skin. 

"God, I want you so bad," you groaned, before taking his skin between your teeth. You sucked on it gently, earning a gasp from the boy. You giggled into his ear.

By now, Sunoo was burning up completely. Each graze of your lips was like a scorching hot iron piercing his skin, but it burned so good. If it weren't for his fingers that dug into the crisp bed sheets, or the way that you gripped his chin, Sunoo would have fainted already. Each gasp for air as you marked his soft skin was ripped from his throat, hot lines of electricity running through his veins. 

"Please..." Sunoo pleaded through a strangled whimper, letting out a soft moan when you bit onto his ear, your warm breath brushing up against his skin in a way that made him shudder. "Please, [Name]."

Everything before had a haze over it, a blurry screentone cast over Sunoo's eyes.

But as you looked up at him through your pretty eyelashes, lips swollen from abusing his skin, Sunoo swore that he could see everything so clearly. Every line on your face, every shadow and every highlight, every blemish and every perfection— he could see all of it.

"Please, what?" you murmured, your lips spreading into a grin. "What are you begging for, sweetheart?"

And it drove him crazy.

Sunoo threw his head back, an airy moan tumbling from his lips, giving you better access to his neck. 

"I need you," he whined, his chest heaving up and down as he failed to catch his breath. "Please, I need you so bad."

You giggled again, pressing a hand against his chest.

"Anything you want you get—"

Beep beep! That was an eerily familiar alarm sound, one that was familiar enough to make Sunoo's head whip around.

You looked unfazed, only giggling again before leaning in to press soft kisses on his chest. 

Beep beep!

There it was again! This time, Sunoo's body jerked at the sound, his face scrunching. Why weren't you reacting?

"Focus on me, sweetie," you whispered in his ear. 

Sunoo complied (because of course he did), closing his eyes as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. And just as he was beginning to forget that godforsaken sound, sinking into the sweet taste of your lips...

Beep beep!

Sunoo couldn't help the way that he jerked away from you.

And as he did, Sunoo jerked awake.

His eyes shot open.

Dark room, completely drenched in sweat, burning up, and unfortunately alone.

"I swear, you always look like someone pissed you off."

"Right? He always looks so... constipated?"

On most days, Sunoo could endure his friends' teasing. Not this morning though.

He woke up from that dream completely disoriented. With his hair disheveled and face flushed, Sunoo arose from his slumber with beads of sweat running down his temple. It took him four more rings of his alarm clock and his roommate yelling at him to truly regain his consciousness— for while he was physically awake, he wasn't truly awake. Not after a dream like that.

Sunoo told everyone so far that he woke up with a fever, which was true. His cheeks were bright red, and his skin was hot to the touch, as he was bundled up in a few layers of coats. 

Truthfully, his physical condition wasn't what was causing him to be so disoriented.

It was you.

What the fuck was that dream? 

Usually, Sunoo couldn't remember his dreams, even if they were fever dreams. But now sitting in the dining hall, nibbling on his breakfast, Sunoo could remember every little thing so clearly in his mind. 

He could remember how your room looked, how your bathrobe made your skin look so beautiful, how your plump lips felt against his chest, how fucking gorgeous you look—

Clank!

Sunoo dropped his fork onto the table, the metal cutlery clanking with the porcelain plates around him.

"What's up with him?" Jungwon not-so-quietly whispered to Riki. The two watched, perplexed, as Sunoo's cheeks turned even more red, the older boy's tired eyes squeezing shut as he hid his face in his palms. 

Sunoo groaned, looking through his palms to look at his friends' confused expressions.

He felt hot. Maybe it was the fever. 

He looked down at his palms, the reddy patches sticky with a thin sheen of sweat. 

Definitely not just the fever.

He couldn't get your voice out of his head.

It was well-known that you liked to call everyone a nickname of sorts. It seemed like his nickname was "sweetheart."

Sunoo knew it was innocent, especially when you were fixing him up yesterday. But now with a new context—the context of his not-so innocent dream where you rasped "sweetheart" into his ear— he couldn't help but feel shy.

Sunoo's chest heaved. His tweed coat felt too thick now. His fingertips were held together by threads, and if he wasn't careful, he'd burst with blazing plasma. 

Tuning out his friends, Sunoo couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to last night's dream. 

He'd absolutely combust if he saw you again. Sunoo had no idea how he'd even look you in the eye, after doing unthinkable things with you in his dream.

God, there was no way that he'd ever let anyone, let alone you, find out about this. He felt like some pervert, some sick creep using you to fuel his nasty fantasies. He was not, but he sure felt like it.

Sunoo didn't dare look anywhere except down at his plate. If he did, he feared that he would catch sight of you, and completely die. As a matter of fact, even hearing the names of your friends in passing made his stomach do flips. 

The school bell rang, and now Sunoo had to drag himself to class. Murmuring a small good-bye to his friends, his heavy footsteps took him where his first period morning class would be.

Gosh, he fell asleep almost immediately last night! Quick, was there homework that he was supposed to complete? His morning class started with his elective, botany. 

Botany, botany, botany, he repeated in his head, jotting his memory. There weren't any notes due until the end of the week, and the closest test from today is two weeks. So why did he feel like he was missing something? Was there a presentation that he didn't remember? Maybe they were having a lab today and he forgot to bring his gloves. Or maybe—

Sunoo stopped in his tracks.

Just as he was cooling down, he felt his skin erupt with goosebumps, warmth overtaking his entire body.

If it weren't for his acute awareness of his surroundings, Sunoo would have tripped over his feet.

Because you decided to appear.

Oh fuck, why were you right there? Standing across the hall from him, all prettied up and completely oblivious to the hell that you were putting Sunoo through.

Had you always looked so pretty? 

Of course, Sunoo recalled how perfect your face looked at all times, how jaw-dropping you managed to look even when you didn't try. The way that the light reflected off your skin made you look like you were glowing. Like a halo.

Sunoo's face burned. You definitely looked prettier in real life than in his dream. Not even the intricate workings of his brain could capture your beauty.

A strangled noise escaped Sunoo's throat, his face turning as white as a ghost, eyes big as saucers. 

No, no, no! Sunoo squeezed his eyes shut. Of course. He had morning Botany with you! How could he forget!

"Move, you nerd!" someone grumbled as they shoved past him. Usually, on any other day, Sunoo would cuss back at them, maybe shove past them even harder. But all he could do now was stand back dazed.

He forced himself to pick up his feet again. After all, class was starting, and the bell would ring in a matter of minutes. 

What was harder than pulling himself out of his daze was walking into that Botany lecture hall. Sunoo didn't dare look anywhere that wasn't his shoes, in fear that if he even caught a glimpse of you, he'd evaporate.

With quick, hasty steps, Sunoo scurried along the sides of the hall, ignoring the little hi's and good morning's from his classmates. 

And just as he thought he successfully made it to his seat...

"Good morning, Kim!"

To say that Sunoo nearly jumped out of his skin would be an understatement. 

As you appeared before his seat, seemingly out of thin air, Sunoo felt every inch of his body flare up with warmth. 

You looked even better up-close.

"Oh— Uh—" Sunoo couldn't help the way he stared at you with wide eyes, his lips agape. 

"Good— Um, Good morning, [N-Name]," was all he could manage out.

You stared at him for a few moments, blinking a few times, before a wide smile broke out on your lips. 

You reached out, your hand resting gently on the crown of his head, completely oblivious to the way that the boy tensed under your touch. "How does your head feel, sweetheart?"

Sunoo completely forgot that he'd sustained a head injury earlier. How could he remember when something (or someone) else was making his head hurt?

"I-It's good!" he stammered quickly, words tripping over themselves. "I'm good!"

You cocked your head, your brows furrowing. 

"No one picked on you, right?" you looked around, leaning closer to him— close enough that he could feel your breath on his neck. "Did any of my friends try bothering you again?"

Sunoo flushed at the proximity. This was feeling a little too familiar.

"No!" Sunoo nearly shouted. When everyone turned to look at him weirdly, the room falling silent for a mere second, he muttered a quick sorry. "I mean— No, n-no one bothered me again."

You nodded slowly, before you brought your hand to his forehead. "You're feeling a little warm, sweetie. You aren't sick, aren't you?"

If he had less self-awareness, Sunoo would have run around that lecture hall a few times, dunked his face in a bucket of iced water, and maybe even screamed a few times before answering your question. But he couldn't, so all he could do was shake his head no.

"Good," you said with a smile. "I'll see you around."

With that, you turned on your heel, and went back to your seat. 

Class started, but Sunoo couldn't quite focus.

Sunoo felt like this had to be some joke. It felt like Jungwon or Riki were about to come out behind the curtains and scream "Gotcha!" in his face.

Because why on earth were you and him on the same path to the boys' dormitory?

After his daily study session in the library, Sunoo figured that the chances of him running into you again would be low.

But lo and behold, as Sunoo was on his way back to his dorm, you materialized from thin air and started walking with him. In silence, of course, but you greeted him with a smile.

Even after 10 hours of being out and about, you still managed to look so perfect.

In all the years that he'd attended this Academy, Sunoo's never seen you take this route, let alone go to the boys' dormitory.

Did you have a boyfriend? Or a special relationship with a boy? Sunoo's stomach dropped. What if he's been thinking about you all this time when you were taken already?

Sunoo opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

"Sooo, Sunoo," you said in a dreamy, sing-songy voice. "How's your day been?"

Torture, because of you. "I-It's been okay."

You hummed. "That's good to hear."

.

.

.

Silence.

It wasn't like he was in love with you. But for some reason, it bothered Sunoo that you could be heading to the boys' dorm for a possible boyfriend. He just needed to know.

"Where are you— Where are you headed?" Sunoo winced at his question. You probably thought he was weird now. He felt hot all over.

You smiled, clicking your tongue with a playful eye roll. "Just to my cousin's dorm. He just transferred here so my parents want me to help him move in."

Sunoo blinked.

Oh.

"Th-That's nice," Sunoo quipped. "I'm just going back to my— uh— dorm."

Of course he'd be going back to his own dorm! Sunoo chided in his head. You definitely thought he was an idiot by now.

The trip up the stairs and down the hall was quiet, awfully silent— only the distant sound of students and footsteps filling the air.

Eventually, the two of you met a stop.

"I should be turning at this corner now; his room is just down that hall," you said to him, earning a nod. "Thanks for walking with me, Sunoo."

"Of course," Sunoo said back shyly, a small smile on his lips. " 'It's my pleasure."

"No seriously," you continued, a bashful smile on your lips. "The halls during this time of year are a little sketchy. Sometimes, I can't even trust my own guy friends to walk me."

Sunoo cocked his head.

"The point is," you said, your eyes unwavering as they met with Sunoo's eyes, "You make me feel safe."

Before Sunoo could respond, you shot him a kind smile, before turning on your heel. "Good night, sweetheart!"

Sunoo was rendered speechless, staring at your retreating back.

"Good night," he muttered under his breath, not audible even to himself. "Sweetheart."

(He definitely thought about this interaction later into the night, and burned up severely.)

Although no one would guess it, the next few weeks were hell for Sunoo. It was almost terrifying.

How did you manage to show up everywhere?

Truly, it felt like everywhere Sunoo went, you just happened to show up. 

It started with little things. In the middle of class you would come in to give back a sweater you borrowed from your friend. Sometimes you would come in and sit at the back of class to make up a test that you missed, or to ask the professor any question you had about the upcoming assignment. Each time, you'd wave at Sunoo, sometimes even before you waved at your friends.

All normal, of course. Every time he'd see you, he'd immediately straighten his back to make sure his posture was perfect— maybe even brush his hair out of his eyes and adjust his glasses, all in the hopes that if you looked at him, he wouldn't be a pain to view.

All as if he wasn't screaming on the inside. There was just something about how you always had that dreamy look in your eye, like a princess. How could he possibly look you in the eye? 

Sunoo wanted to look perfect and pristine for you, but at the same time, he wanted to disappear under your gaze. Sometimes, he wanted to disappear because he simply couldn't handle the power that your eyes had. Other times he wanted to disappear so that he could look at you— observe every line, perfection, and imperfection of your face— without the existence of others around him.

No matter the time, one thing was common: Sunoo always turned four shades redder whenever you walked into the room. And it was frustrating.

"Why are you red?"

"You look embarrassed. Did you fart or something?"

"Tomato boy."

It was embarrassing, especially because his seatmates always ended up being the biggest assholes anyway.

Then, you began waving to him in the hallway. It started with small waves, sometimes with you mouthing hi or hello. But then you'd sometimes run up to him with a wide smile just to say hi.

Maybe you were just really nice, Sunoo thought, though he'd be lying if he said that he didn't wish you were giving him special treatment. In fact, it made him feel sick just thinking about how you called your friends cute pet names like darling, too. He almost had to excuse himself to the washroom when thinking about you calling other people sweetheart. You were bound to, of course, but that didn't mean that Sunoo particularly liked that idea.

All of these were small little things, pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially considering that you were the most popular girl in school.

But then it started getting bad.

And it wasn't your fault.

Why— just why— did you have to be in every single one of his dreams?

The first dream he had about you was already enough. Why did he need a bajillion more?

The dreams ranged from extremely mundane to scary to a bit... raunchy. And yet, you still managed to be in every single one of them.

In the mundane ones, you'd be the person that mutters a remark to him before disappearing. 

In the scary ones, you'd be the person that Sun threw over his shoulder as he ran away from the undead. 

In the raunchy ones, you'd be under him, your arms thrown around his neck as he lays wet kisses on your skin, basking in the pretty sounds that you make— Too much!

He couldn't help it. He really couldn't.

There were times where Sunoo was afraid to go to sleep. Not because seeing you was a bad thing, but because the aftermath was always bad.

Sunoo always woke up sweaty and burning up. He'd trudge to the shared bathroom and splash water on his face. No matter how cold the water was, whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was your face. Your pretty, pretty, face. You seemed to get prettier with every dream, yet dream-you couldn't ever compare to real life-you.

Seeing your face wasn't the problem. He loved to see it. The problem was that every time he saw your face Sunoo would get all clammy and mushy and warm on the inside. His cheeks would burn, and he'd feel warm all over. 

And the hardest part was that every single time, all he could hear was your voice calling him "sweetheart" — over and over, in a hypnotizing cadence that only made him want to fall into your essence even more.

It was weird.

So, so, weird.

And Sunoo thought that he was going to die.

It seemed like Sunoo was always in for a surprise.

By the end of the month, Sunoo managed to convince himself to forget about his dreams completely. 

After all, after a few days of doing his best to avoid you, he was able to assure himself that all of these feelings would disappear with time, since his attraction to you was random anyway.

Sure, you're pretty, Sunoo told himself. And very kind and sweet, but it wasn't like you and him were best buds. So whatever delusion that was going on in his head was bound to go nowhere. He was just being a teenager, probably.

He'd never felt this way towards anyone before. It was best to just ignore it.

Sunoo clenched his fists. Yeah, he'd do his damn best to ignore it.

But as he was in line in the Academy's library, preparing to check out a new book about whatever topic he wanted to read up on, Sunoo felt a pair of hands clutch his shoulders.

"Hi, Sunoo!"

Sunoo whipped his head around and jolted, a small "Ah!" leaving his lips. Startled, he nearly dropped his massive hunk of a book, earning a glare from the snobby student-librarians. 

It was you.

The moment that he laid eyes on you and your silly little grin, Sunoo's resolve weakened. Like walls of a fortified castle crumbling under the force of a cannon, if Sunoo didn't look away now he'd be absolutely beat. 

"H— Hey there, [Name]," he said quietly, tearing his eyes away from you and turning back to the front, holding his book close to his chest.

"Whatcha got there?" you asked him curiously. He could still feel your hands on his shoulders squeezing him playfully.

Sunoo looked down at his book.

Thematic Cartography and Geovisualization?

Oh god, you were definitely going to think he was a nerd.

"Nothing..." he murmured, clutching the book even closer to him.

You shook him by his shoulders playfully, a little chuckle coming from your lips. "Oh, c'mon! I know that massive book isn't just 'nothing.' What're you reading?"

"It's..." Sunoo winced. "It's embarrassing."

You pouted, a little hmph! coming from you.

"Next!" the librarian called, and Sunoo moved forward in the line to check out his book, though he was distracted by the way that you still continued to cling to him.

"You didn't— You didn't get a book?" Sunoo asked as you followed him to a library table, your hands empty.

"Nope," you said smoothly. "I'm just here to study!"

"Oh." Sunoo blinked, pushing up his glasses. It was quiet and he didn't know what to say. "What are you studying?"

"I'll tell you," you smiled, "Only if you tell me what your book is about."

He sighed. Sunoo sat down, and naturally, you followed suit, sitting across from him. He plopped his massive book down onto the table, and slowly slid it over to you.

Your brows furrowed together as you read its title.

Sunoo's cheeks burned. You definitely think he's some nerd. How embarrassing.

You finally looked up at him. Only, instead of looking at him with condescension or ridicule, you looked embarrassed.

"Um," your brows knitted together further. "What's cartography?"

Sunoo stared at you. You don't think he's weird?"

"I-I'm sorry," you continued, letting out a deep breath. You looked perplexed. "I'm not very smart. I don't know what cartography is. Or what geo-something-something is. Can you explain it to me?"

He stared at you again.

After what you just said, there was no way that he'd possibly let his feelings for you fade away. There were a lot of things that Sunoo couldn't agree with when it came to the popular kids at his school. But here he understood why hoards of boys would be at your feet, begging for just one chance.

The corners of his lips lifted. The bashful look on your face was... cute.

"It's okay," he began. "Cartography is just the science of making maps."

You looked even more confused, but also relieved. Relieved that he wasn't going to make fun of you for not knowing. "There's a science behind making maps?"

"Hm," Sunoo paused to think, "Not exactly. But there's a lot of thought that goes behind making maps."

"Why?"

Sunoo thought he was going to fall in love. He loved his friends, of course, but none of them were ever as curious about his interests as you were.

"Well," Sunoo's hands joined to make a circular shape. "The Earth is a three-dimensional globe." You nodded to show that you were listening, staring at him with curious eyes. "Imagine even trying to transfer a 3D globe onto a flat, two-dimensional surface. It's pretty difficult to do without intense distortion."

You nodded slowly, your eyes narrowing.

"Was I rambling?" Sunoo asked quietly, so quietly that he didn't even think you could hear him.

"No!" you jumped to answer, earning a glare from the librarian. "I'm just trying to process it."

After a few moments of silence, you sucked in a deep breath. "I get it now, sweetie. You're so smart."

"Th-Thank you..." Sunoo stuttered out. Did he really just ramble to you about maps? And did you actually just listen to him with interest? "What are you studying?"

"Oh, me?" you looked down, embarrassed again. "It's just history. I can't wrap my head around it and I have an exam next Wednesday."

"Oh...." Sunoo blinked. "I can help you."

And that's how he got invited to your dorm.

(And to hell with forgetting his feelings!)

Truth be told, you weren't the person that everyone thought you were.

It seemed like, to the rest of the school, you were just a perfect little angel. And the fact that you rejected every guy that made advances toward you only helped that image grow.

Everyone thought you were perfect, beautiful, and most of all, untouchable.

And that couldn't be any further than the truth.

The truth was simply that no one was good enough for you. 

Everyone had an essence of snobbery to them, something that you just couldn't get past. You wanted someone raw and genuine, someone that had more substance to them than just their daddy's money.

Which was why you wanted Sunoo Kim.

And you wanted him bad.

There was something so fucking attractive amount the way he'd push up his glasses, eyes squinting to get a better look of the board as he messily jotted down notes.

There was something so charming about the way he clenched his jaw when he was concentrated, his brows furrowing.

There was something that made your stomach flip whenever he rolled up his sleeves to do some math problem that you probably couldn't understand.

There was something that made you so obsessed whenever he swiped his tongue over his plush lips, his eyes brightening as he explained his favorite topic.

God, you didn't just want him. You needed him.

All these years, you did everything with him at the back of your mind. Would Sunoo Kim look up from his massive textbook if you wore this skirt? Maybe he'd even breathe in your direction if you got a better grade on this exam. 

You didn't get it. Everyone looked at you, yet the only person that you wanted to look at you did not.

You wanted Sunoo Kim, and you wanted him bad.

You and Sunoo agreed to meet on Monday and Tuesday to help you study for your history exam on Wednesday.

On Monday, the two of you met in the library right after school. It was a quiet, focused session, covering all the necessary sections in a short amount of time. For the first time ever, you actually understood the concepts!

On Tuesday, the two of you agreed to meet in your dorm at 7PM, because that was when you knew your roommates would be gone.

You glanced at the analogue clock pinned high on the wall near the entrance of your dormitory. Every dorm room had one, as mandated by the school to promote punctuality— all the exact same model with a red-brown base, serif lettering, and a gold trim. Yet, the clock in your dorm felt slower, much slower than it should.

6:47PM, it read, the slow ticks pushing off the walls as if to tease you.

Couldn't 7PM come any faster?

Your eyes fell over to your roommate's mirror in the corner of her desk. 

The Academy's uniform was strict. Collared button-up, the school blazer with its crest crisply embroidered on, for girls the skirt at a reasonable length: it was all very stringent. All students were required to wear the uniform during school hours.

This study session with Sunoo would not be during school hours. You picked out your best top— a pretty, white top with a delicate lace trim. You always got the most stares when you wore this one (and hopefully, Sunoo would stare at you).

You never thought that you had to put any more effort into your appearance than you usually did, but as the clock ticked on the wall, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious.

You knew you were pretty, but what if Sunoo didn't think the same? Did you look weird today? You swore your face was feeling puffy earlier— should you do something? What if you suddenly woke up today and you morphed into a frog-like creature, and everybody knew except you?

You picked at your fingernails as you waited (im)patiently for 7PM to come. Your palms felt a little clammy, and your heart pounded in your chest with each passing minute.

And finally, just when all of your self-confidence was beginning to slip from your grasp, you heard a knock at your door.

If it was anybody else, you would've taken your time to get to the door, maybe even shout a little "Just a minute!"

But because it was the Sunoo Kim, you couldn't help but eagerly scurry to the door. You would've been embarrassed because Sunoo could 100% hear your loud footsteps as you rushed to the door, but you were too engulfed by your nerves to even think of it.

"Hi, sweetheart!" you blurted the second you opened your door, a bright smile on your face. There Sunoo stood, with his delicate face and thin gold-rim glasses, looking composed and focused as ever. And god did that make you want him.

"Oh, hi," Sunoo said coolly, pushing up the glasses on his nose. Though, you missed the way his eyes twitched, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he sucked in a sharp breath.

The two of you stood at the door for a few moments, just staring at each other. Your smile never faltered. If anyone were to see you, they'd see hearts in your eyes and a sparkly, pink lovey-dovey aura radiating off of you.

"Come in!" you said cheerfully, letting the boy into your dorm.

The two of you got to work pretty quickly. If there was one thing about Sunoo that you could appreciate, it was his sheer willpower and concentration when it came to academics.

It wasn't like you didn't try in school. That couldn't be further from the truth; you always tried your best, even when your best didn't earn you the best marks. 

Sunoo was just another level. You couldn't understand how he did it. He was so focused and intelligent, it made your chest feel warm and fuzzy.

The moment that he stepped inside, he had your textbook and notes cracked open immediately, asking you questions that were just a little too difficult for your mind to wrap around.

"What?!" you cried, your face scrunching as jumbled words that you couldn't understand fell from his lips. You looked at Sunoo incredulously. "We did not study that!"

You could have sworn Sunoo chuckled at your confusion, his eyes squeezing into thin crescents as the corner of his lips lifted. Usually, you'd feel embarrassed for not quite being the brightest, but Sunoo never made you feel that way.

"Lee is your professor," Sunoo pushed up his glasses, unable to hold back airy chuckles at your outrage. You nodded. "Well, he's notorious for his ridiculous trick questions, right? As your study-buddy, it's my duty to prepare you as best as I can."

That's when you got up from your desk chair and flopped over onto your bed, groaning into your pillows. 

"Why do you have to be so thoroughhhh?" you whined, kicking your feet.

Your heart fluttered when Sunoo laughed. 

Yes, laughed. 

It was high-pitched and breathy, like he was sucking in breaths of air only to push it out with a pretty giggle.

You whipped your head around, picking it up from the pillow. You stared at the boy with wide eyes. 

God, how could anyone be so beautiful?

You watched the boy laugh, completely and utterly infatuated with him. He was so cute. You needed him now.

You threw your head back into the pillow, continuing to groan and whine, in the hopes that it would make him laugh.

"You hate meeeeeee," you whined, "You hate meeeee!"

"I don't!" Sunoo laughed, his hands slapping his knees, "I don't hate you."

You whined again, kicking your feet. "You doooo."

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, filled with quiet giggles. From your desk, Sunoo nudged you with his foot, earning another cute whine from you.

You were cute. And hardworking and enthusiastic. But that wasn't a surprise to Sunoo. 

Sunoo watched as you shouted at your roommate who came back to the dorm to fetch something she left behind.

"Hurry up, Yujin!" you chided quietly, trying to get Yujin out of the dorm as quickly as possible... before your momentum with Sunoo was lost. "Move it, move it!"

"Geez, sorry!" Yujin rummaged through her things, trying to look for whatever she forgot. 

When Yujin finally left, you never closed the door any fast, eagerly turning back to Sunoo and plopping down on your bed.

"Sorry, sweetie" you murmured, a frown on your face. "My friends are having a party tonight and Yujin forgot her lipstick, or something. Her stupid crush is there so she needs to look 'perfect' or whatever."

"Party?" Sunoo cocked a brow.

"Yeah," you rolled your eyes. "It's for someone's birthday."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. 

Did you skip your friends' birthday party just to study for your history exam? 

.

.

.

Pause.

Did you just ditch your friends just to study with him?

A strange noise came out of Sunoo's lips as his cheeks felt warm.

Relax, he thought. It wasn't like it was a date or anything. Surely, you were just trying to get a good grade. That's why you chose to study instead of party.

"I was gonna go," you said smoothly, looking at your nails, "But how could I miss out on time with you?"

Sunoo's ears burned. 

"Oh— Well—" Just as words were becoming coherent in his head, you just had to drop that on him. He spluttered. "Thank you...? I-I— I mean—"

You chuckled. You got off the bed and joined Sunoo again at your desk. "Let's study, sweetheart."

For the next hour or so, the two of you were in a deep study session. Every word that you read and every word that fell from Sunoo's mouth, you soaked up like a sponge. You needed to pass this exam, and even more, you needed to make Sunoo's efforts worth it. He already spent yesterday and today helping you; you did not want to waste his time and fail.

Your dorm room was quiet now. Other than the sound of pages turning, pencils on parchment, and the distant sound of partying down the halls, the room was silent. From time to time, someone would run down the halls, probably running after their friend. You and Sunoo would look up at each other and share a chuckle.

You had just finished a practice test a few minutes ago, and now Sunoo was grading it for you. Meanwhile, you read up on your notes once again. Holding the notebook up, you hid behind it, creating a wall between you and Sunoo. 

You feared that if you could see Sunoo, you wouldn't be able to concentrate.

Well, just him being in the same room as you was already enough to make your mind drift. How could you not?

His concentrated expression made you feel weak to your knees, his fox-like eyes drilling into your practice test. His skin looked so perfect and airbrushed, you just wanted to pounce on him and mark it up and—

Okay, too far.

But still.

You've been studying for a good hour now. It wouldn't hurt to take a break, right?

You peeked over the side of your notebook to catch a glimpse of Sunoo. He was minding his own business and doing it quietly, but he looked so good that you couldn't tear your eyes away.

Yep, this was the break that your eyes needed, from those hunking paragraphs of text and difficult-to-read stimuli.

"Do you need something?" Sunoo asked, not moving his eyes from the practice test that he was currently grading. 

You felt your cheeks heat up. How did he notice your staring so quickly? This must mean that he could always notice you staring at him! Fuck, fuck, fuck, were you weird? He definitely thought you were weird now, and—

"N-Nothing," you stammered out, immediately burying yourself back into your notebook. In fact, you even went as far as turning your entire back from him out of embarrassment.

.

.

.

So embarrassing!

"I don't mind..." Sunoo murmured.

You snapped your head over to him. "W-What?"

Did you hear him correctly?

"I said..." This time, it was Sunoo's turn to hide his head behind the paper, making it impossible for you to see face. "I said I don't mind if you stare at me."

You felt light-headed.

Everything— from the deep espresso scent in the air to Sunoo's soft cologne to the way his moles littered his skin to the way he was sat so attractively at your desk, spouting intelligent nonsense at you to the very way that his glasses sat on his nose— everything about Sunoo was driving you mad.

Insane.

You didn't feel like yourself. You didn't feel like the perfect angel that everyone wanted you to be.

You felt like a selfish animal about to pounce on another. You felt like you were going to sink your teeth into his neck and ravage him.

Your head was spinning. Everything was spinning. Your skin felt hot, your mouth dry, as if it needed something to satiate it now. You were thirsty, thirsty for Sunoo, and nothing would be able to satisfy you but him.

And before you could even control yourself, you threw aside your notebook, grabbed Sunoo's face, and smashed your lips against his.

In that moment, it felt like all time stopped.

You couldn't feel anything, other than your hands that delicately clutched Sunoo's face, and your lips that were pressed against his. Your heart pounded in your ears. You felt like you were tied to a pyre, burnt like a sinner at the stake, yet it felt good.

But the moment that you heard Sunoo's breath hitch in his throat, a guttural sound tumbling out, you regained your senses.

Immediately, you pulled away, stumbling back as you caught your breath.

Sunoo's face was bright red as he stared at you. He took heavy breaths, almost like he wasn't breathing before.

"I-I'm—" you blurted, your mind not quite thinking straight. When your eyes met with Sunoo's you nearly bursted. "I-I'm so sorry— I don't know what came over me."

Sunoo only stared at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. What on earth did you just do? Suddenly, you were hit with regret and embarrassment.

You spluttered, apologies and jumbled words spilling out of your lips. Yet, Sunoo wasn't listening.

Your words fell upon deaf ears. 

Sunoo was too busy staring at your lips.

And if you weren't too busy apologizing, you would notice the way Sunoo's teeth dug into his bottom lip, his fists clenching as his nails prodded into his palms. You would notice the way Sunoo stared at you with glazed over eyes, how his pupils were blown out.

You would notice Sunoo's own self-control slipping out of his grasp.

After all the torment that he's been through— all your light touches, appearances in his dreams, and goddamn pretty smiles— Sunoo could feel his resolve being torn from his hands. He did his best; he dug his claws into what determination and control he had, but alas, it wasn't enough.

And as fast as you could blink, Sunoo grabbed your wrist and pulled you in against his chest.

Holding you by the waist, Sunoo gripped your chin. 

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was desperate. "Please, can I kiss you?"

"Yes," you whispered, your hands sliding up his chest to hold his broad shoulders. "Yes, please kiss me."

As the last syllable left your lips, Sunoo wasted no time crashing his lips against yours. 

Unlike his usual quiet and calm self, his lips were the complete opposite. They were rough and hungry, eating you like a starved man. You whined against his lips, gripping Sunoo's hair with weak fingers. 

It was a messy kiss. An inexperienced, messy kiss that any of your friends would jeer about. No rhythm, no ebb or flow, just feeling.

But to you, this was what you needed. 

You could taste the desperation on Sunoo's tongue; the taste of someone pushed to the edge and now finally tipping over. It sent electric waves of warmth down your skin, your stomach doing flips as his hands roamed.

Then, Sunoo gently pushed you onto the bed, his lips swollen as he peered down at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, making sure that he didn't push too hard.

You only smiled. "Mhm."

Sunoo got on top of you, being careful to not crush you under him.

It looked just like his dream.

The smell of espresso coffee in the air, the two of you in bed, and did you think he wouldn't notice the white lace top that you chose to wear? Just for him.

Sunoo leaned on his elbows for support as he was on top of you, leaning in to kiss you.

Except, before his lips could meet yours, you giggled, placing your hands on his shoulders to stop him.

Sunoo looked at you concerned, like a deer in headlights. Had he done something wrong?

But you only smiled. 

Gently, you put your hands on his glasses, straightening them out. They had gotten crooked earlier when the two of you first kissed. 

"Can I take these off, sweetie?" you asked.

Shivers ran down his spine at the nickname. Sunoo hummed, too eager to kiss you to even care if he'd be half-blind without them. You took his glasses off, putting it on your bedside table.

Sunoo took your face in his hands, his fox-like eyes staring into your eyes. 

"You look so beautiful," he breathed. Sunoo's head dived for your neck. His breath tickled your skin, making you let out a whimper. "So, so, so beautiful."

With that, Sunoo began pressing open-mouthed kisses on your neck. With each kiss you let out a moan, your arms tightly wrapped around his neck and pulling at his hair. Your legs wrapped around him, your head falling back into the pillows to give Sunoo better access.

"Su— Sunoo— ahh," you struggled out, especially when Sunoo sucked on your skin. Although he was only kissing your neck, your entire body felt like jelly, including your brain. "Sunoo— I-I'm sensi— sensitive there."

"Sensitive where?" Sunoo asked simply, ignoring the way that you squirmed under him.

When you could only moan in response, you could feel Sunoo grin against you.

His lips nipped at your collarbone. "Sensitive here?"

"A-Ah—" you moaned, your arm jerking out to grip the bed sheets below you.

Sunoo kissed a wet line to your jugular, right at the center of your neck. "What about here?"

When all you could do was whimper, he grinned again. His lips traveled to the very side of your neck, just under your ear.

"What about here?" he asked again.

But instead of a moan or whimper, you laughed. You threw your head back again, pulling Sunoo's head into your chest in an embrace as soft giggles left your lips.

"I'm ticklish there," you giggled out. You bring a hand up to brush up against that spot on your neck. You grinned softly. "Sorry, I'm ticklish there I guess."

Sunoo nodded into your shoulder. He took in your scent, the feeling of you pressed up against him. He didn't mind that your little session was interrupted by something light-hearted. After all, he got to learn something about you, no matter how small.

And just as Sunoo was listening to your heartbeat, you pulled him back. 

"Turn over," you instructed. He did just that. You were now on top of him. "My turn."

Just like in his dream. 

He was in for a long night.

"Sunoo!" you shouted, your legs moving faster than you could think. The moment that you spotted his familiar back, you pounced on him, throwing your arms around him. "Sunoo, guess what?!"

Sunoo looked over his shoulder, swallowing back any embarrassment and shyness as you hugged him. Everyone in the hallway was staring at you by now, but it seemed like you didn't care. And if you didn't care, then he didn't care either. "What?"

You turned the boy over. It was now that he noticed the papers in your hands. You shoved it in his face, big red numbers at the forefront.

"One hundred percent!" you exclaimed. It was your history exam. "I got one hundred percent!"

The two of you celebrated (i.e. you hugged Sunoo) in the hallway, completely ignoring anyone that was staring. After all, it was Wednesday afternoon and the dining period was ending soon.

"Good job," Sunoo smiled. He was happy. "You did great."

"I couldn't have done it without you!" Your smile was so bright that it could light up the entire academy. You threw your arms around him again, this time pushing your face into his neck. You squeezed him. "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

You pulled back, looking at him with big, glimmering eyes. You took his hands in yours, squeezing them excitedly.

Feeling bold, Sunoo pushed up his glasses before leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Your neck," he rasped, "I can see the hickeys."

Your eyes widened into saucers at that, immediately fixing your shirt's collar. Your face was painted with shyness, squeezing your eyes shut. Your panic was so evident that anyone could probably tell. So cute.

"Just kidding," Sunoo chuckled, before he turned on his heel and began walking away from you, ignoring your cute shouting as you followed after him.

Yeah, he'd regret that later. After all, you had him on a leash, and there was no way in hell that he could escape you. 

He wasn't going to sleep tonight, one way or another. Not if it's you.

[wlntrsldler]

bad for business | luke castellan

warnings: loser!luke agenda is strong with this one, insecure!luke because of reader's judgmental siblings but they get over it later on, suggestive content but nothing explicit, luke being happy and in love (we need more of this; i'm pointing the finger at myself, i need to write happy luke fics) aphrodite!reader x luke, in an alternate universe where the betrayal didn't happen

based on bad for business by sabrina carpenter

i. he's good for my heart, but he's bad for business.

"she's probably going to dump him soon, anyway."

"she's just doing it for the tradition, obviously."

"she's too good for him."

sometimes luke just wanted to tell them to shut up, but he's already on thin ice with-- well, everyone at camp. they weren't a fan of the smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, or the ugly scar on his face (this, wasn't his fault though. if anything, they should hate his fucking dad for giving him the quest in the first place), or the fact that he's somehow dating the most popular, gorgeous, and brilliant girl at camp.

you, y/n y/l/n, the favorite daughter of aphrodite. at first luke thought that you'd be just like the rest of the aphrodite girls (he's not one to perpetuate stereotypes, being the victim of it all his life, but the aphrodite kids always turned their noses up at him so he didn't feel too bad dishing it out), but then you smiled at him with your pretty, pink lips and luke knew he was a goner. he didn't stand a chance (not like he fought it too hard anyway)

you made an effort to remember his name, say hello to him when you passed by him, and you even went as far as asking him for his opinion on things.

"what do you think of this strategy, luke?" you asked, staring at him directly. the entire blue team was arguing loudly (luke thought their strategy fucking sucked and was a sure way for the ares cabin to, once again, demolish all of you, but he was going to keep that to himself) before your soft voice broke the noise. everyone stopped in their tracks because why the hell were you talking to him? asking him for his opinion?

he blinked, even looking behind him in case there was some other kid named luke that he didn't know about. when he finally realized that you were talking to him, he managed to stutter out that the plan was fine. you looked at him skeptically, penetrating the persona he put up with everyone, but decided not to push him anymore and simply nodded.

when the red team, led by the ares cabin, of course, handed your asses to you on a silver platter, you found luke at dinner and sat directly in front of him. chris, who was just as starstruck as luke that you were sitting with them, immediately scrambled off his seat and mumbled some half-hearted excuse to leave the two of you alone.

"so, spill," you said, planting your tray of food on the table. "what did you really think of the strategy?"

your conversation went from strategy to your life to his life to everything and anything until you two were the last two people left. he was glad when people finally got tired of gawking at you and him. (many in disbelief, all in jealousy that you decided to sit with him) you didn't seem to mind the stares, though, luke figured it was because you were used to it. it was hard not to stare at you.

luke thought that dinner was just a glitch in the matrix, that it was just some weird anomaly that would never happen again. he was just thankful that it happened; but then the next day, your perfectly manicured hand knocked on the hermes cabin door and you stood in front of luke with a timid smile on your face to ask him to train you in sword fighting.

luke got dressed at record speed. chris woke up after the third time luke hit his head under his bed when he was trying to find a semi-decent shirt to wear to your sparring session (maybe one that didn't smell too much like cigarettes). chris sat up on his bed, eyebrow quirked, with a teasing smile on his face.

as luke was racing out the door, he looked at chris, "don't start.''

chris threw his head back laughing, "i didn't say anything."

luke threw a pillow at chris with an oomph before rushing out to meet you.

the training sessions slowly morphed into sitting next to each other daily during meals, then into hanging out at campfires, until it got to the point when there wouldn't be a second of free time where the two of you wouldn't be together. luke could feel your siblings shooting daggers at him whenever he was alone, like a warning to stay away from you, but it's not like he was the one initiating things.

sure, he would follow you around the ends of the world if you asked (or even if you didn't, let's be honest here) but luke didn't want to test his luck so he just went with the flow. sometimes, he just wanted to talk to your siblings to set the record straight.

"look, i'm just as fucking confused as you are," he would say, "i don't know why she's hanging out with me either."

as much as he enjoyed your moments together, a piece of him still worried that you were just being nice. maybe you were this way with everyone. maybe he just likes you so much that he's making up these scenarios in his head.

he tried to talk to chris about it, but that proved to be the wrong decision because it's not like the boy had any experience either; he was pining over clarisse. the blind leading the blind, truly.

and then one day, while you and luke were sitting beside the water, after a long day of training, you looked over at him with an unreadable expression.

panicked, luke immediately straightened his back and twisted his body to face you. he wanted to reach for your hand to comfort you, but decided against it. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable. he cleared his throat, "what's wrong?"

"why haven't you asked me out?"

you would've thought percy summoned a cold wave to crash into luke with the way he was sitting there frozen. luke was looking at you blankly, like his brain was short-circuiting. it was a habit of his to blink and tilt his head to the side whenever he was shocked.

"huh?"

you were frowning now, "do you not like me? i'm sorry, i guess i was just reading the situation wrong."

"woah, pause," luke leaned in closer, inspecting your face to see if there was a punchline about to drop like it was a gotcha! moment and all of your siblings would come out from behind the trees to laugh at him. he found no sign of such a thing. "do you like me?"

"luke, i've been so obvious," there was a hint of embarrassment in your voice and luke wanted to kiss it away. your cheeks were dusted with the lightest shade of red as you chewed on your bottom lip. "i thought maybe you liked me too, but i guess it was all in my head. i'm sorry-- forget i even said anything."

"yeah, i don't want to forget it," luke shook his head, now stumbling over his words. his brain was working again, sort of. "i like you, too. like really like you. sorry, you just caught me off guard for a sec."

"you do?"

"gods, i really really do."

you beamed at him and luke was so thankful that he was sitting because his knees would've buckled at your reaction and humiliated himself by falling face-first in the water if he was standing. he was especially thankful that he was sitting when you climbed onto his lap to make out with him until both of your lips were bruised.

ii. i'm mad for you, it's sad but true, and you know it. you're on my mind, you stole my life and it's showing.

word traveled fast after that. when you walked into breakfast with luke's arm around your waist, the whispers started. luke thought the staring before was bad, but this was on a new level. he felt the other aphrodite kids following his every move, poison in their eyes.

when you sat next to luke, impossibly close to him, chris' eyebrows rose in glee. he motioned to the both of you with his spoon, flicking drops of milk with the motion, "what's going on here?"

"i'm luke's girlfriend now."

luke nearly choked on the apple he was eating when he heard the words leave your lips. yes, he knew that you were dating now (his pathetically hoarse voice saying, "will you be my girlfriend?" after the hours-long makeout session the night before haunted his dreams last night; he wanted to keep his cool so bad, but it just wasn't possible when you were sitting on his lap, all pretty with your thighs on either side of his, lips glossy with his saliva instead of your typical lipgloss), but it was the first time he heard you refer to yourself as his girlfriend. his girlfriend.

"nice," chris raised his hand up for a high-five, which luke was about to complete, but chris pulled his hand away, "not for you, dude."

you giggled and high-fived chris, making luke look between the two of you in bewilderment.

"what the fuck was that?" luke asked. when did you and chris get close?

"this is embarrassing," you started, looking down at your plate of food. you were dragging your spoon across the blob of oatmeal, "but i talked to chris about you last week because i was so sad that you haven't made a move yet. i just wanted to hear his opinion on things in case i was just being stupid."

"why didn't you tell me this?"

"i tried!" chris argued, laughing a bit when luke's face turned red, "plus, i didn't want to tell you that me and y/n had a conversation because i had faith that you'd make a move! i obviously bet on the wrong horse, though, because y/n made the move."

"oh my gods, i'm a loser." luke groaned, tossing the apple on his tray. he lost his appetite. "you mean we could've been together this entire time?"

you placed a hand on his thigh, making him turn his attention to you. you gave him a comforting smile that he quickly reciprocated. you gave his thigh a soft squeeze, "it's okay, luke. we can make up for lost time."

luke smirked at you, "tonight?"

"dude, i'm trying to fucking eat."

luke threw up the middle finger to chris' face before connecting your lips.

to luke's surprise, your relationship didn't really change much after putting a label on it. (the changes that did occur were that now he can kiss you freely, which he was thankful for, and that you were even more touchy with him, which he was extremely thankful for because he loved having you next to him at all times. he was so smitten with you.) he realized then how blind he'd been the entire time because you were so very obvious about your feelings for him, he was just too stuck in his own head to notice it.

he started being outwardly affectionate with you, gaining more confidence while he was on your arm. his favorite thing to do was to wrap his arms around your torso and bury his face into the crook of your neck. he loved hearing you erupt in giggles when his curls tickled your skin. he was drunk on you and you didn't mind one bit.

you even said that you were more attached to him than he was to you (he looked at you like you had three heads because it couldn't have been further from the truth.)

he took you on little picnic dates and made you jewelry that you wore proudly, and you wore his clothes (he would be lying if he said that his heart didn't skip a beat when you walked out of the aphrodite cabin sporting his hermes sweater) but above all, luke loved the way he could talk to you about everything. he told you about his mom, his dad, his doubts and his insecurities, and you listened. you would sit there, hands in his hair, while he laid on your chest. he didn't know the last time he felt safe, but with you, he always did.

iii. all of my friends think i've gone crazy, but they don't know me like my baby.

luke tried to ignore the fact that there were running bets from campers about how long you two would last, but it was getting to him. he'd heard it all; a week, two weeks, three months. he fought the urge to roll his eyes when he heard the jingling of drachmas being passed around when you and him were seen together after someone lost their bet.

it's been two months but people still believed that you two were going to break up soon. the idea of it made luke feel sick. he couldn't imagine a life without being yours anymore. truth be told, he was wholly yours the minute he met you, but after every kiss, every hug, every second with you, he was just falling deeper in love with you.

it was a little scary.

"hiya, baby," you greeted him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

you started calling him the pet name a few days into dating and luke actually whimpered when you did it the first time. you loved getting these reactions from luke and his little sounds (both innocent and not-so-innocent) only spurred you on. when he's with you, luke turned into this mush, always wanting to be held by you or touching you in some way.

"hi," he mumbled, leaning up to place a quick kiss on your lips.

you hummed happily before resting your hands on his back, "baby, you're tense. are you okay?"

"yeah," luke replied, but his furrowed eyebrows said differently.

"no you're not," you walked in front of him, wrapping your arms around his torso, "what's going on?"

luke sighed, "everyone thinks we're gonna break up-- or more specifically, everyone thinks you're gonna break up with me."

"do you believe that i'll break up with you?" you frowned, loosening your hold on him. "did i do something that made you think that?"

"no, no," he said, quickly. he pulled you closer to him, not wanting you to let go of him. "i just-- i dunno. everyone says i'm not good enough for you, and i know i'm not, and it's getting to my head a little bit."

you looked up at him, removing your hands from around him to reach for his face. you brought his face down closer to yours to pepper kisses all over it; his cheeks, his lips, his scar, his jaw. "i think you're perfect."

"you have to say that 'cause you're my girlfriend," he playfully rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop a goofy smile from forming on his face due to your kisses.

"yeah, i am your girlfriend," you reminded him, placing a longer kiss on his lips now. your lips moved together, making luke's hands wander to your lower back to push you closer to him. you pulled away, breathless, "listen to your girlfriend, baby. i'm not going anywhere so don't worry your pretty little head about it."

there were still moments when the voices of the other campers bounced around in luke's head, but you were always there to quiet them with your reassurance and your love for him.

eventually, people stopped talking about you and luke and accepted that you two weren't breaking up anytime soon (they were about six months too late, in luke's opinion). he even managed to win over your siblings later on (kind of; they still don't talk to him unless they have to but they smile at him now, but luke isn't picky; a win is a win)

luke was happy and in love and it was all thanks to you.

[ladyshrike]

The Four Times You Say His Full Name

Am I any good at writing? Not really. It's all over the place in my opinion, but I had to get this thought out one way or another.

The four times you called him by his full name.

This first time you called him "Kenji" instead of a nickname, was back in LA. You were working a wedding up in Griffith Park, a beautiful little affair under the strawberry moon. It's all the witchy vibes you adore, a little wedding mixed with a baby shower, good vibes, blessings and tides. They'd offered you some food, which you wouldn't turn down as a known foodie, and that was when you got the call.

Ken had been riding home from the party in the hills and crashed his bike. He wasn't too far from Griffith, that had been the good part of taking this job, and he's been taken to Silver lake, a quick drive from the park. The couple is understanding, eventually becoming good friends with her later on, but that's a story for another time. She's racing through the streets, down the hills and to the hospital. They hadn't given you much information, just that he'd crashed and where he was. And when you get there, you ask the charge nurse for him, only to feel his arms throw themselves around your shoulders, a slightly pointed chin resting atop your head. You immediately smell the alcohol, and it's almost instant that a rage fills your chest.

"Babe! Baby! Sweetcakes~"

It takes everything, and you mean everything, not to implode then and there. You look at the nurse in front of you and take small controlled breaths.

"Is he free to go home?"

He was, having been checked over and kept under observation for two hours before they called her. According to her it's just some bad scrapes and bruises, no contusions or anything super bad, he had actually been wearing his helmet at least, just not his jacket. His bike is totaled, helmet cracked, it really is surprising that he didn't have a concussion at the very least, but through even your anger and worry, you're glad he's ok.

You drive him home, and the way there is silent. He'd sensed something was up the way you were being so cold with him, pushing his hand off your thigh, turning your head when he tried to kiss your lips, avoiding eye contact with you. And when you guys get to your shared home, and you help him in, is it the only time since the hospital that you look him in the eyes.

He sees it immediately. That rage that's practically sobering for him. The hurt. Disappointment.

It's not the only time he's ever done this, and he's not particularly tempted to tell you those two words he just knows would just set you off even if it were true.

"Mina, emergency vital check."

The floating AI robot scans him as she stands there for a moment, looking over him herself. The tension so palpable, if she chose to raise a hand at him in her frustration, she could very well slap him with it. But that wasn't her. She was the sweetest thing, practically a Disney princess, so the anger in her eyes is surprising, and new.

"He has two deep road rash injuries, and a large scrape down his side that isn't as bad as the other two. No fractures and no concussion. I suggest monitoring for any latent signs."

"Get him hooked up to a banana bag, then look up flights to Japan."

He shouldn't try to joke, or anything, but the soft scoff leaves his lips before he could stop it.

"Japan? We goin-"

"We, are not going anywhere. I'm going home to see my dad. Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't."

His small smile falls, a slight wince given when the IV is put in.

"Is something...is he ok?"

You shoot him a look because you know he's smart enough to understand what you were saying. You didn't want to say it, but you were done. With the empty promises, the lies, the hospital visits. You were done with it.

"Sabine-"

"Kenji, I'm done, ok? I've had it."

And there it is. He thought his parents splitting up was the worst pain, but seeing you stand at the doorway, teary eyed in anger and barely breathing steady, it shatters his heart because he can see it. You are done.

"I only ever asked you for two things. Two. And I am grateful you can at least follow one. I'll give you that, you have never cheated on me and I thank you for that. But if you constantly break this one? Constantly do this shit? How do I know that'll last?"

"H-hey, hold on-"

"No, I am done. I love you. I love your mom. You two are...the only people I consider myself close to here, but I cannot deal with this anymore. I can't deal with thinking one day I'm gonna get a call and have to identify your corpse instead of picking you up from an ER."

"It's just a couple scratches, I'm fine-"

He's done it now. He's said it.

"Forget it."

She grabs her wallet, and just her wallet. It's the only thing in her bag that she's bought herself as her bag had been a gift from him. She heads out and he tries to follow her, not able to get to her before she's speeding out of the driveway. She feels like a hypocrite, because while she isn't drunk, she is speeding like she's a NASCAR driver, and in a residential no less. She doesn't care to look at the time when she arrives at the airport, hoping to find at least one flight outbound to Japan soon. The car can stay in the parking structure for all she cares at this point, he would get a call to pick it up at the end of the month, if she decides not to come back. Her phone vibrates incessantly in her pocket for a bit, even as she's paying for the ticket she's managed to snag so last minute. Her passport is always in her wallet, so she doesn't particularly worry about how she'd get there without it. She turns her phone off, and soon enough, she's on the plane, watching LAX turn into a massive black splotch with dozens of tiny lights speckled across it in almost neat lines, as the plane departs. She's glad for the little privacy her seat offers her in first class. It's a long flight, the seats recline into a bed and everyone has their headphones on, so she isn't particularly worried that they'll hear her already quiet broken sobs.

By the end of the month, your mind is made up. You'd started accepting his calls sometime in the middle of his season. You know you shouldn't have been watching the games, it would only make the hurt worse, but it was better than ignoring him completely. And that wasn't really possible when you get notifications about him on all your social media, all which say he's in a slump and you are nowhere to be seen at his games. Everyday since you'd left, there had been a voicemail. Apologies, checking in messages, more apologies, declarations of love, and to your utmost surprise, a recording of his introduction at an AA meeting. That one particularly stuck with her. Everyday, roughly at 8 pm, a call and a voicemail with his introduction.

Maybe that was why you started taking his calls. Maybe that was why his game was getting better, back to what he usually is at. His averages get better and you, for the most part, find your anger having dissipated. By the end of the month, you're hesitantly standing in his living room as he tries to clean up the bit of clutter he had around. His shirt rides up a little and you see it. The slight scarring from the massive scrape down his side. Your lips quivers and he stops completely, dead in his tracks. He's startled by the sight of those huge wet tears that build in your eyes and his arms are around you instantly, tightly wound to prove he was ok. That he was still there. He was safe.

You cry again that night, held in his arms. He misses the game the next day. He has his thirty day chip to show you after all, and he doesn't want to leave your side to make up for lost time. He swears a promise not to do it ever again. Drink and ride he means. He isn't an alcoholic, and the AA meetings were necessary to get his license back, but he wanted her to see he regretted his decisions wholeheartedly.

The second time you said his full name was at your wedding. A year from the date he proposed to you, rather clichely you'd admit, at your monthly trip to Disneyland. The team had won a game, they were given a PR trip to Disneyland and she was an annual pass holder. She met them there, and during the cavalcade with them, he stepped off as they got to the castle, where she stood watching, and he popped the question, on one knee with a simple little ring she had spotted in a jewelry store. The team, having been in on it, cheering them on when she tearfully said yes.

Now she stands at the alter, in a gorgeous dress that fits her like a glove, his mother as her maid of Honor, and her dad as his best man because let's be honest, he thought of him as a son at this point, the way his mom thought of her as her own daughter in the time they'd all known each other, and the ceremony is relatively small, less than fifty guests, very intimate.

It's during her vows, her promises to him and vice versa that she says it. Beautifully charming smile on those lovely glossy lips of hers.

"I, Sabine Baji, take you, Kenji Sato, as my husband. Through sickness and in health, through the good times and the bad, till death do us part."

It's the sweet and short of her vows, tearfully said as her emotions run rampant. The rest of the night spent energetically celebrating.

The third time is a little more...non PG.

It's off season, he's been training here and there, enjoying some time off in their big house up in the hills. She's spending the weekend babysitting between gigs and she's been...quiet. Maybe it was the fact that she was around them so often. Maybe, it was the fact that her friends just had a little one she was watching currently, that clung to her so jealously when Kenji came around for a cuddle too. Maybe she was ovulating. The exact cause of this scenario was a blur to her really. She just recalled, well, he recalled and told her it was how it went down. Swears by it that she, as the family was driving away with the baby, fast asleep curled up in a hoodie it wouldn't let go or give back, that she looked up at him and said it.

"Kenji." It's the first time in a long time that she says his name, so he worries maybe he did something wrong again without noticing, but the look in your eyes in determined, is heated...pleading. "I want a baby."

The night didn't end for you two there. You both lost count somewhere after three, overstimulated and yet continuing like bunnies in heat. You blame the baby fever, and maybe the wine during lunch, but the venture is fruitful two months later, when four pink lines, two on each stick, and the word 'Pregnant' in bold on the digital test are laid before you two on the bathroom counter.

The same counter he would quickly have you laying against as he spread your thighs open wider, held you closer, got a little rougher with his thrusts, aiming to make the baby in you twins, according to him. Something not fruitful, unfortunately for him, but enjoyable at least.

And that takes us to the fourth and perhaps not final time you ever say his name.

Seven months later, you feel like a ship. The little peanut, you two so kindly nicknamed the baby while looking for a name, kicking around, shifting about, giving you some of the most ravenous cravings you'd ever had. Braxton Hicks, you came to be brutally informed of when waking in the middle of the night in a labor scare, had finally died off.

Or so you had thought.

When the first stab of pain shot through your side, you'd simply grimaced and sighed, shifting on the couch during the somewhat humid autumn day. You had decided to stay the Halloween weekend in, instead of going to a party while you felt like a boat. Kenji immediately notes the discomfort and tries to help.

"You want your little heart ice pack?"

You shake your head, yawning softly because yeah, it hurt, but you were too tired. You just wanted to go to sleep already.

"Ngh...no...just wanna go sleep already...come with me?"

How could he say no? He takes your hand when you ask for help getting up, and you both feel it. The sudden rush of water on your legs, his slippers. Your face is beet red and he's confused for all of two seconds before he's scrambling for the "go" bag. A Dodger duffle bag that the team's wives/significant others had decorated for them. He'd filled it with extra clothes for them, babies first outfits, washed in baby detergent, and a picture of his mom and her dad, both who couldn't be there today. You groan in annoyance because that was your favorite rug now covered in amniotic fluid, and now you would probably stain the carseats because you were not about to try and change your pants in active labor.

(Kenji had that covered, gingerly pulling your panties and pants off and helping you out new ones on, after cleaning you up with a damp towel after all. Kiss to your belly and all.)

You say it, however, sixteen hours into active labor. Minutes before midnight, almost Halloween day, like your baby wanted to share a birthday with you, which you would never mind as long as you get to hold her. It's when a particularly sharp labor pain hits that you yell it, gripping his hand so tightly you swear you hear his hand crack.

It's angry, and pained, and you swear, just after saying his full government name, that you would make him feel how this felt. No amount of epidural helped this pain, no amount of Lamaze Breathing or doulas helped prepare her or take this pain any better. She'd find a way for him to carry and birth the next one even if she'd have to become a mad scientist. She isn't good with pain already and this isn't helping.

"Kenji Sato! You are having the next one, got I-ngh!!!GOT IT?!"

He just about passed out when they announce you're crowning, because for some gods forsaken reason, he decides to look beyond the blue sheet. It's a horror he will never forget, and he swears he won't put you through another round of whatever your anatomy was doing to push yours and his little princess out of you.

And then she's there.

She's in your arms first, he's busy gathering his emotions as they cut the umbilical cord for him, and you need the first few minutes of skin to skin with her before she has to get cleaned up and given her first dose of vaccines. He holds her after, eyes bleary with tears as he does so so gingerly. He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to accidentally harm her tiny little fragile body. She's a perfect amalgamation of you two. His eyes, a grayish blue, but the rest, he will happily and readily proudly admit, is all your looks. Tousled full head of soft pinky fuschia hair, eyebrows to match, rosy cheeks and little pouty lips. He swears, on everything he loves, she smiles when he is told to do skin to skin with her as well. When she curls into his warmth while you are cleaned up by the nurses. And when you two are able to take her home, when you are given the all clear and she passes her car seat test, and you three are finally back in your house, settling her down in her side sleeper by your bed, it's clear that the few times you use his full name can be bad, but most of them?

They're worth it.

[totheblood]

can you write about spencer getting flustered around confident!reader please thanks<33

spencer reid x confident!reader | fluff | cursing, banter

spencer was completely enamored. 

that was the only word for it, he decided. it was a weird moment to come to this realization, seeing as he spilled his glass of red wine all over your dress and was helping you clean it up frantically, but that's when he realized he was completely and utterly enamored with you. 

you were always this way, so unapologetically yourself even when anyone else in the situation would be embarrassed. it's half of the reason spencer had decided to drink tonight. he didn't usually drink but he decided that tonight was the night he'd work up the courage to ask you out, and since he didn't have half as much confidence as you, he found himself relying on the liquid to give him that push. 

but he just found his hands shaky as he approached you. he didn't expect you to look so good tonight, not that you aren't usually stunning, but tonight you were adorned in a short white mini dress that puffed at the end, white heels making your legs look longer than they were, and a simple silver chain wrapped around your neck, the one you always wore. you were tightly hugging garcia, almost squeezing the air out of her as you handed her a gift, wrapped in a cheetah print gift wrap that screamed 'garcia'.

spencer spent too long getting ready tonight, choosing to show up in a grey suit, loose button up and tie. spencer would never admit this out loud but he began wearing his ties looser so that when you saw him, you would adjust it. he liked the contact and being close enough to you to smell your perfume, but it didn't make him feel any better for tricking you. 

he approached, one hand shoved in his pants pocket, the other one holding his glass of wine. he sauntered over to you, grinning ear to ear with his cheeks tinged pink. 

"hey spence," you smiled, turning to him. he liked when you did that, gave him all your attention, your body, mind, and eyes solely focused on him, "you clean up nice."

he practically choked at your comment, words coming out in a jumbled mess but the smile leaving his eyes, "w-well, ye- yeah, you clean up nice... as- as well!" he managed out embarrassingly, but in true you fashion you didn't make him feel bad, you didn't pity him or tease him, you just did a spin in your dress making his throat go dry. 

"thank you!" you giggled smoothing down your dress with your hand, "i got this dress on sale and was so relieved when it fit me like a glove," you beamed at him, pulling up the straps, "it was the last one left,"

"well, you look," he blinked for a moment, "stunning," he surprised himself with how effortless that came out and for a moment had stunned you too. you blinked back, a smile creeping back onto your face. 

"thanks spence," you replied quieter, but still with all the quiet confidence you carried everywhere. spencer liked being friends with you, but more than that he liked being around you. he always assumed that people who liked themselves would be stuck up, vain almost, but it was never like that with you. you made it a point to make sure everyone in your life saw themselves how you saw them. you'd do small things like give compliments to nearly everyone you met, to bigger things like creating an entire book of your 'favorite things about penelope' when she made an offhand comment that merely suggested she didn't like herself. it was clear you were content with who you are by how you viewed the world. there was no competition, there was no need to put anyone down, just the kindness of your heart. 

your compliments usually made spencer fluster, trip over his words (and his feet) but he always assumed you were being nice. you complimented everyone and he fell in line with everyone. but when you stepped towards him, lifting your hands to adjust his tie, he felt himself faltering again. your manicured fingers adjusted his tie just as he planned but you didn't move when you were done. you stared up at him with big doe eyes that made spencer melt immediately. 

"you smell really good, spence," you said, no, you whispered and it made him nervous. the way you were looking at him made him think that you wanted this, that you wanted him. in that moment he decided now was a better time than ever to finally ask you out, but the thought alone of you rejecting him made him nervous. it made his hands shake as they got clammy and as he went to speak he forgot his glass of red wine was still in his hands. before he knew it he was spilling red wine all over the pretty dress that was the last one left. the one you just told him had fit you like a glove and that you had been excited to find. it spilled and he felt his chances with you trickle to the floor as everyone looked over. 

"shit," he cursed, "i'm so sorry," he looked up at you nervously, putting his now empty glass on the table beside them. he was ready for you to yell, to cry, to shove him, but instead you just laughed, giggling as you wiped at your dress. 

"well, there goes two dollars down the drain," you shrugged, looking up at him to see his nervous face, eyes almost glossed over, "oh, spence," you cooed, "it's fine, i'm fine. mistakes happen."

"but you just bought it, and it does fit like a glove and i'm so sorry, i'll buy you a new one," he rambled out walking over to the kitchen to get some paper towels, you hot on his trail as he took the whole roll and starting dabbing at the stains on your dress. you wanted to push him off, tell him it was okay and to not worry, that there was no way he would be getting the stain off. but you liked the contact so you just watched. you knew it gave his hands something to do while he anxiously patted at it and apologized over and over again like an incantation. 

"spence," you said, voice sweet and saccharine, "stop, it's okay. it's just a dress and the dress was literally two dollars," you stilled his hands by placing yours over his, he stopped breathing for a moment as he looked at you anxiously.

"i just got so nervous, you were so close-" he started.

"oh, shit, i'm sorry. i know how much you like your personal space, i should have-" you rushed out immediately feeling guilty but he cut you off as well. 

"no, i liked it, i like you being close, i just got nervous because-" he stammered out, the confession getting lost in the dual apologies. 

"because germs, i know. i'm so sorry, spe-" you were cut off by him squeezing your hand. 

"because i like you," he cut you off, his hand now shaking, "and i know that sounds childish but i just want-"

"it doesn't sound childish," you whispered gently, "it sounds sweet,"

"it does?" he asked, voice dripping with worried as he looked in between your eyes. 

"yeah," you stood taller, "i like you a lot, spencer. why do you think i'm always fixing your tie?" 

"why do you think my tie is always loose?" he quipped back, small smirk forming on his face, causing you to playfully hit him. 

"you little player," you giggled, your tone teasing as you beamed up at him, "well, are you gonna ask me out?" you asked, removing your hands from his to cross it across your chest. 

"w-well, yeah, i was getting to it," he breathed out nervously, "would you like to get dinner with me sometime?"

"with the guy who just ruined my dress?" you replied, eyebrows raised but instantly feeling bad when you watched the color drain from his face, "spence, that's a joke, of course i want to get dinner with you."

"cool," he breathed out, face returning to its full color and a deep shade of red, "cool, cool, cool," 

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 2: He's not yours to keep

genre: more angst than fluff, but I swear fluff is coming up next!

word count: 5562

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you are trying to make sense of all this mess, but it's time to learn that, sometimes, things are just messy and chaotic and you have to learn to look for the silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: I am absolutely over the moon with the response I've gotten on this series and I'm really thankful for all the love and support <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

You don’t usually dream. 

Well, actually, if you tell Spencer that, he will say that you’re wrong– you do dream, you just don’t remember it. It’s common, not really recalling the scenes your brain conjure, Spencer would say; it can be due to a series of factors including high levels of stress and poor sleep. He would then tell you to stay home for a day, read a good book, and drink one of his fancy teas Penelope got for him a long time ago. 

But the thing is, Spencer can’t really tell you any of it. 

Not when you seem to be avoiding him even inside his own home. 

It starts after you wake up still in his armchair, feeling exhausted and disgustingly sticky, you finally have a couple of moments to yourself. Spencer is still sleeping, and you’re actually surprised to see him stretched out on the couch– his tie is throw on his coffee table, the purple colour suddenly too bright in the dim apartment, but otherwise, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. You don’t understand why he didn’t change into pyjamas, but then again, you don’t understand much of anything right now. 

So you go through the facts. 

One by one, you list them in your mind– and little by little it dawns on you just how bad this really is. It’s hard, conceptualising that this is reality; that you really do have a psychopath targeting you. It’s the kind of thing that you only saw in those TV shows you loved to binge on late night, the kind of thing you read on the newspaper, happening to other people, but never really you. Except, it is happening to you, and you are not sure what to do next. Do you just sit and wait for her to make a move? Do you continue to live your life normally? How? How are you supposed to ignore the fact that a, as Agent Hotchner had described her, ‘prolific serial killer’ might know who are?

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, head falling in your hands. The watch on your wrist, an old, analogue thing your mom had given you before you left New York, is pointing to a time you would never have been awake before. 5:23 in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and you have hours before you have to open the store, but then again, you have to clean the mess that was left behind due to your rushed departure from it. You wince, disgusted at the thought of having to clean old vomit from the floor, and disgusted with the bitter taste it left behind. Right now, you are a shell of a human being and you need to get yourself back together. 

You follow a familiar routine of recovery. It’s something you’ve done before and something you will surely have to do again, and it all starts with a simple list. 

Firstly, you need to get up. You need to stretch your legs, throw them to the side, and stand. You need to walk, remind your self that you can still make your own path even if it’s only to the bathroom down the hall. 

Then, you need to brush your teeth. The bitter taste stuck to your mouth makes you wince with memories that you want to bury. 

Showering would be your third step, but this is not your home. This is not your space, and these are not your things. 

A pettier side of you, one that is bothered and angry and irritated in a superficial level, wants to march back out to the living room, as loudly as you can, and shake Spencer away. You want to wake him up at the crack of dawn and make him share your torment, because in some level, even if you try to push against it, you blame him. Deep inside, you know that there is a big difference between the two– between blaming him and it being his fault. One is purposeful, conscious; it’s a decision you take and lay on his head. If you blame him, you commit yourself to hate him. The latter, however, is a fact. It’s irrefutable and immutable as the fact that you need air to live. It is his fault, but it was not his goal. 

“He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault,” You whisper to yourself, pushing yourself off the sink to try and figure out his shower. It is his house, that’s a fact. But you also deserve a nice, warm shower, and that is another fact. He pushed you to come stay with him, so you need to also push yourself to feel comfortable in this space that feels so foreign to your senses. “He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault.”

The words become your mantra. He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault. Somewhere in you, you know you have what it takes to forgive, but you just don’t have what it’s needed to forget. By repeating those words, you allow your brain to slowly process this situation as what it is– something that happened because of him, but not by him. As much as you want someone to blame, someone to scream at, Spencer Reid just isn’t that person. 

It takes you a moment to realise you don’t really have a towel or any of your products here, and using Spencer’s shampoo just feels… odd. Like an invasion of his space almost. “Oh thank god for you, Spencer,” You sighed, happy to see the pairing of shampoo and conditioner sitting perfectly on the corner. His hair had been one of the first things you noticed about him, all chestnut and shaggy and longish, but you are aware that not every man knows the basic of self-care. There is something about the way his smell takes over the bathroom, floating with the evaporation of the warm water hitting your skin, makes you smile. You feel closer to Spencer than you’ve ever been, and that is when your sense of danger hits. Your heart starts speeding, and your breathing is suddenly really shallow, and you’re trying to come out of the shower, to breathe in cold air, but all you get is humid mist and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe at all, you can’t–

“Spencer!” You gasp, eyes wide in desperation once your legs feel like they might just give out. Scrambling to hold yourself up, your hands knock over some things in the counter, making more noise on top of the running shower. “SPENCER!” 

“What? What? What– oh my god,” The door slams against the wall and back, almost hitting him on the side when he crouched down next to your naked, curled up body. It’s quite unnatural for you to witness, him jumping into action so fast, like he is trained to make these decisions in a split second. But then you remember that he actually is trained to make these quick choices– like grabbing the towel before anything else, covering you without a single quip about your nakedness; like sitting you up and putting your back against the wall; like turning off the shower and sitting back down right next to you, breathing deeply and loudly. It’s unconscious, how you let your breathing fall in line with his, and it takes a moment to realise he’s doing this on purpose. “Y/N, are you okay?” 

“No,” You whisper, shaking from either the cold or the nerves or both. There are goosebumps all over your legs, the towel not covering you much from the top of your thighs down. “Spencer, I’m not okay. I’m… Until yesterday, you were just the adorable guy who shared my love for books. Y-You’d come into the store smiling and we’d talk and talk and– and now I have a serial killer possibly tracking me. How am I supposed to be okay? I’m so scared… oh god, I’m so scared, Spencer…” The one thing you are proud, amidst your utter embarrassment, is that you are not crying anymore. You still sound a bit rough, throat tired and hurting, and there is no energy left in you and he can hear that, you know he can, because when your voice echoes in the silent bathroom, kicking from wall to wall, you hear it too– the exhaustion and the numbness and the emptiness left behind. 

“I-I’m still that guy,” He stutters, head falling down in shame but voice still twinged with something resembling hope. “I love books. I love talking to you about books, I love going to your store first thing in the morning. I’m still this guy, I just… I just happen to work for the FBI.”

“Yeah, but I… I think that after having my life turned upside down because of a serial killer who has a crush on you, I’m just not that same girl.”

That is the last time you talk to him that day.

—————————————

Actually, that was the last time you talked to him that entire week. 

After he dropped you at the store that day and you were forced to face the embarrassing remnants of your lowest moment in life, moping old vomit from the floor, that feeling of turmoil in your chest died down. It settled. And it hardened. 

He tried making conversation on the walk back to his, but you’re clearly not up for it, so his voice slowed down, getting lower and lower, until it stopped altogether. This time, you shower before bed and make a beeline to the armchair again, letting Spencer’s begs and pleas for you to sleep on the bed fall in deft ears.

For five days, you two don’t talk. 

It’s a dance of chaos, how you step around each other at the apartment, and seeing him biting his words back or catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes makes you feel guilty; of course it does. But you know that you can’t help him right now. Even if you were to forgive him, to force your mercy onto the situation, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would give him a false sense of relief while you’d forever be uncomfortable next to him, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to feel on edge next to Spencer, you don’t want to feel nauseous and scared when you’re with him. You want to talk about books and coffee and favourite places to order take out from. Instead, all you get to do is talk about her.

It would be a lie to say you don’t feel slightly jealous with the way that his mind seems to be so wrapped around Cat Adams. The imposed talking ban is hard on you both, that much you know, but the more Spencer let it happen, the more he let it stretch out and continue, the more you feel like maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe what is hard for him is the awkward tension trapped in his own apartment, rather than the pain of seeing each other so close yet not being able to laugh like you used to. And you know– you know how ridiculous your thought are, how childish you’re acting, but you can’t really blame yourself for being so on edge lately, not when your emotions are so zip and zapping through your body like thunder and lightening. 

There are exceptions, though. In this case three exceptions, three moments in a day in which he brakes the ban, and you, for once, allow yourself some weakness. 

“Good morning,” Is moment one. He says that every day, when he blinks himself awake on the couch. Ever since you’ve been there, a total of six days now, Spencer has slept on the couch, right next to the armchair you’ve claimed as your own. For these, you meet his eyes and nod, as if saying same to you.

Breakfast is quiet. He makes coffee and you make eggs, because despite you being there under forced circumstances, you are not going to be ungrateful and so you pay him back by getting groceries and cooking most meals. Which leads you to exception number two– the moment when he drops you at the bookstore.

You two walk there at 8 and he’s gone by 8:07, giving you enough time to mumble a “Be safe,” and give him his lunch for the day. He tried telling you that you didn’t have to cook for him, but you don’t really listen. As pathetic as it seems, this is the one way you’ve found to keep what you two had before, alive. 

The third exception is the one that truly breaks your heart, again and again. It’s when he gets home, and he looks exhausted, and his hands fidget with the files he holds close to his chest. You are the first thing he looks for, and you almost melt at the way his shoulders visibly relax when he spots you– always ready for bed, always in the armchair. He stopped trying to come get you at the bookstore at night once you’ve agreed to let the officers walk you home. The spare key he added to your keychain should hold a bigger meaning than it does, though it feels like it does hold a bigger weight. A means to an end, you tell yourself every time you unlock his front door. This is just a means to an end. “Thank you,” he will then say, before he even moves to the kitchen to see whatever it was on the plate you had made and set in the microwave for him. “And good night.” By then, you’re already semi-asleep and you don’t really say anything. 

You never thought you would miss these forbidden exceptions when they’re gone. 

You know that travel is a big part of Spencer’s job, but with all that is going on, you never really considered the fact that he might need to leave for a few days. At least not until he calls you, right before you lock the store. The irregularity of it all has you scrambling to pick it up. “Spencer?” You barely whisper, voice cracking in half as little by little, you freeze up. The sensation is like ice running through your veins, burning it’s way to your heart until it makes it stop. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” He quickly answers, voice rushed in a way that makes you relax. He always talks fast and you find it incredibly endearing, even during these times apart. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m calling because we got a case.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Y/N, that means they need us in Ohio. Today.” He seems almost hesitant to tell you he needs to leave the state. 

And you are as hesitant to accept it. “Oh,” You mumble, suddenly needing to making sure the officer assigned to you is still outside and ready to go. “Okay. Do… Do you need clothes or something?” 

Spencer’s chuckle almost makes it all okay. Almost. “No, thank you. I just– I want you to be comfortable, okay? Feel free to sleep in my bed and do anything you want to do, I don’t mind! Feel at home! Just… be comfortable.” 

For a second you nod, forgetting he can’t see you right now. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You started biting your nails when you were twelve and middle school was kicking your ass. To this day, right now, you still bite them when you’re nervous. 

“It’s good hearing your voice.” 

Going home and knowing he won’t be there is not as comforting as you thought it could be. The two of you are not speaking and the constant walking on egg shells does get tiring, so you try to rationalise this as something that is just not that bad. Maybe Spencer going on his mysterious trips is not that bad anymore. Before, your curiosity was your downfall– you worried he had gotten sick or worse. However, you don’t think knowing the truth is much better. The nature of his job is incredibly dangerous, and you don’t even know much about it. Now, you still worry, that much hasn’t changed. What has changed, though, is that getting sick would be considered lucky. Right now, you worried about the ‘or worse’. 

Your mom’s voice fills the empty space for a while. She texted you a couple of days ago and you just now got around to calling. “Sweetheart, how do we switch to video again? I want to see your face.” Alarm bells sound off in your mind and you immediately shut down the idea. “Sorry mom, I can’t right now. I’ll video call you tomorrow, okay? I’m cooking dinner right now.” Her worry is that of a mother, comforting like a blanket and familiar like a home. It is not, though, the worry you want. 

For obvious reasons, you don’t tell her what’s going on, much rather preferring to tell her about the mundane things that keep you going. “And I sold out of the book!” You say, a short-lived excitement running through you. “It’s quite exciting, mom– since I opened the shop I have never sold out of anything! This is a first!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She says, and you can’t help but wonder how Spencer would’ve reacted to the news if he was there. It’s only then that you realise you’re halfway through making him a plate for when he comes home, except he won’t be back until the case is complete and you gulp, too aware of the common noises you hear around you. 

This is when you realise how much you miss you Spencer. And how much, even if unconsciously, he makes you feel comfortable and safe. You thought it was the apartment, but now, by yourself, laying on the armchair yet again, you feel vulnerable and exposed. Footsteps can be heard from time to time, neighbours getting home or leaving for the night, and every time, without a fault, you hold your breath and wait. Maybe the door will open and she will be there, or maybe it will be another delivery. God, it could be anything– a letter, flowers, another box. Knowing that Cat Adams had such easy access to Spencer’s apartment is enough to get you up and running to his room. 

Green. The walls are green, muted and cozy, and you smile even when your eyes sting with tears. There is a hole in your heart right now and it’s Spencer shaped. “God,” You groan, rubbing your tears clean so aggressively that it hurts. “When did things get so fucked up?” 

There’s no real answer to that, and you if you think any longer about this, your brain might just implode. For now, all you need is to sleep, but that won’t happen for a while; not with the way your heart speeds up at every crackle coming from his old, metal heather. Still, the chill air of Autumn seeps in through the walls, and you shiver. I want you to be comfortable, Spencer had said before leaving, and you might be crossing some boundaries right now, but you need him close to feel comfortable. You might not be able to get him, but the next best thing you have right now is one of his sweaters, and you have no qualms about opening his wardrobe and grabbing the first thing you find. Ironically enough, it’s an FBI Academy hoodie, though you can’t really imagine Spencer and all his formal glory in a hoodie. You put it on, nonetheless, shutting the door with your foot and just as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of something. Something big, and beige, and bone chilling. 

The box. 

In the heat of the moment, you simply thought he had throw it away. Hell, it would’ve made sense to throw it away! What the fuck was that box doing there…? With a shaky breath, you open the wardrobe door again, hoping, praying, that you were actually hallucinating and that what you saw was nothing but a shoe box or a bag. “God, please, be a bag, be a bag…” Safe to say, your words are in vain. “Fuck, Spencer, what is wrong with you?”

You’re shaking when you pull the box out of its hiding place, breathing shallow and fast. Reason escapes you as you quickly open it, not worried about how it was or even about putting it back in place; if it was up to you, this box would’ve been gone a long time ago. Clearly, it had not been up to you. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” 

Expectations are a tricky thing to deal with. When it comes to your life, you never expected anything big. You know your limitation better than anyone and the largest you’ve dreamt before was the store. You didn’t expect an FBI agent. You didn’t expect a serial killer. And you certainly didn’t expect a box full of sex toys. “What the…” You don’t want to touch them, not with your bare hands, but it looks like there are tens of toys in there, varying in shapes and sizes and colours. It makes you wonder… last he told you, her games are psychological and manipulative. From what you are seeing, though, this is incredibly physical. This is about touch and intimacy and… fuck. This is about connection. You don’t have to be a profiler to know that, not when you are so secretive about your own toys, hidden in the back of your besides drawer away from unwanted eyes. It’s a private thing, and only people you trusted, people you let into your life, knew about them. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush to find your phone. It’s somewhere in the house, and you need to find it, you need to call him. “Pick up,” You whisper when you finally find it in the living room, under your favourite blanket on the chair. Even your fingers are shaking, vision a bit blurred from the adrenaline rushing through you– you feel like you’re in danger, and you don’t know what to do. “Spence, pick up, pick up, please pick up–“

“Hello?” You almost cry when you hear his raspy voice on the other side. It doesn’t make you feel any better to think that you might just have woken him up.

“Spencer,” You whine, embarrass with how needy you sound. The nice officer that brought you home is standing outside the door, and you could’ve gone to him– could’ve opened the door, asked him to stay inside, talk to him a little. Or you could’ve called Penelope. She had given you her number with promises that more often then not, she stayed behind to work from the BAU office. There is no place safer than my office, she had promised you, but how do you tell her that the problem is not your environment, it’s not where you are or what you’re doing… how do you tell her that the problem is you? She might not understand it so you don’t even dare try to explain it. You don’t dare to give her and the team this part of yourself too and you shut your mouth with a firm hand over your lips. 

Memories of a life you left behind flash behind your eyes, and you whimper, hugging your knees to your chest while you hear him desperately calling for you. As far as you can, you kick that godforsaken box away from you. “Y/N?! Y/N, say something, please! Are you okay? Y/N!”

“I’m here,” You whisper, pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.’ 

“What’s going on?” 

“Spencer, I–” A moment of regret and hesitation makes you pause. What can he even do all the way from Ohio? “I want to go home.” 

You’re not his priority. 

You’ll never be his priority. 

There is no point to this.

“…did something happen?” This is the Spencer you know– voice soft and guarded– and for a second it feels like you two are getting to know each other all over again. “Did officer Kaper make you uncomfortable? I’ll ask for a change of guard, I’ll–“

“N-No,” You cut him off with a shaky exhale. Your head falls on your free hand, finger tangled with your messy hair, and you tug on it. Sharply, the tingly pain on your scalp grounds you for a second, brings you back to this situation you created. “No, Spence, no no no, I just want to go home, I need to go home, I–“ 

“Y/N, breathe,” He coaches you as gently as he can, voice stable and strong, everything you seem to be lacking. “You’re going to set yourself off in a panic again if you don’t breathe. You’re safe in my apartment, okay? I know it’s not the same as being home, I know, but you’re safe there!”

“You’re not here, Spence!” 

There is a moment of silence for both of you. “You’re not here and you didn’t throw that fucking box away,” You whisper, keeping the moment something in between just the two of you. It’s enough that you are falling apart like this in front of Spencer, you don’t need officer Kaper bursting in the door to witness this too.

“You found the box,” He sighs. This is the first time you notice just how tired he sounds.

“I found the box,” You confirm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to not start crying all over again. 

“It’s evidence. I can’t throw it away, Y/N.”

“Why is it here?”

“I’ve been working on the case on my free time and it just made sense to keep it at home…” 

“Spence, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe,” You admit, shaking your head. “I don’t feel safe here when you’re not here, Spence, I want to go home.” 

“I thought you hated me.”

“Spencer…” He has a point, though, and you know it. This is the first time you two speak in days, the first time you experience this type of comfort again, but it’s still not enough. He’s still not here, next to you, watching over you. He’s still not with you. “Spencer, I’m sorry.” 

“Silly girl, why are you apologising?” He asks, chuckling on the other side and you can picture him– you can see him shaking his head, hair falling around his pretty face like a perfect picture frame when his eyes, pure honey with specks of green, search for yours. Yeah… you can imagine it to perfection, almost like you are the one with eidetic memory. “This is all my fault. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N and I’m trying to protect you, so I need you to stay there, okay? I need you to stay in my apartment, please.” 

You don’t know what to tell him. Your eyes wander around the room, looking at all the details he left behind without even noticing. There is a copy of Dostoevsky on the bed side table. I hate Russian literature, you remember telling him once. He was in the shop, bringing you coffee, when you caught a glimpse of a book you certainly didn’t sell him. And I’m appalled you’ve been buying books somewhere else. The way he laughed then, like his biggest problem in the world was explaining to you that this had been a gift from a friend and that he would never betray your trust like this. What do you hate so much about it?, he had asked, leaning over the counter and into you, eager to debate this topic he loved so much. I hate that it’s all about suffering. Even the moments of realisation and self-improvement, they are all through suffering and misery. And of course he had a retort to that, fingers twitching with his enthusiasm. But it’s contextual, you see! Those were written in time of civil unrest and political chaos, and it makes sense to have characters and plot lines that revolve around suffering when that is all you know from the world around you. To this day, your answer paralyses you. I’m a believer in silver linings and happy endings. And not because I’m naive or ignorant, but because the world around me has made me believe that there must be something better out there. Isn’t that nicer?

“Y/N, please tell me you’ll stay there, I need you to stay there.” 

His words almost escape you, but you catch them in the very last minute. It gives you a glimpse into a side of him he has yet to show you, and it absolutely shatters your heart in bits. I need you to stay there, he had said. Not you need to stay there, but I need you to stay there. Suddenly, you realise that this– all of this, the relocation, the involvement of the FBI, the dropping off and picking up– is not just for you. 

“I’ll stay here,” Whispering with him like this helps. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be. I’m happy you called.” 

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, but Spence?” 

“Yeah?”

“Be safe. I need you back here.”

“I’ll be home in no time.” 

For a second, you trust him. You trust everything will be okay, that you can make everything okay until he gets back, and then you’ll pass the responsibility onto him. For a second, you trust him, but you also trust yourself. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

You fall asleep like this; wearing his hoodie and hugging your phone, nose buried on his pillow in hopes to dream of him. The sun wakes you up, and there are birds chirping at your window. Despite the heaviness you feel in you and dooming headache you know will settle soon, the romantic in you believes that today will be a good day. That today will be an okay day.

“Miss Y/L/N? It’s officer Kaper.” 

The knock doesn’t scare you anymore. On days one through three it had you jumping on air, heart about to stop from how fast it was beating. Days four and five were easier, less scary and more anxious, waiting for the punctual 9AM knock. From day six onwards, it was a welcome start to your day, knowing that someone is looking after you. 

You check the fisheye like Spencer told you to, and then you open the door only when you recognise the face on the other side. “Good morning, Officer,” You smile, nodding at him a bit stiffly. The two of you had been formally introduced by JJ, but it didn’t make this any less awkward for you. “Would you like some coffee?” 

“Sure,” He nods, smiling as he comes inside with his usual stack of mail. Everyday, without fail, someone picks up your mail and brings it to Officer Kaper. “Here’s your mail for the day, ma’am.” 

“How was the night shift?” It’s almost like a scripted conversation, these back and forth questions you throw at each other, and you’re finding that you hate this. You hate the stiff conversations and the self-imposed bans. But this is day two, and in just more two days, Spencer would be home. And you would talk to him, just like you used to before, just like you did over the phone. Nothing will change; you’re not going home any time soon and Cat Adams isn’t going to just magically disappear. It’s time to accept it and learn how to live with it, as hard as that sounds. 

Sifting through your mail has to be your favourite part of the day. It’s normal, slightly boring, and a peek into the routine you used to have and love. No one ever sends you letters, so it’s just bills. “Water, electricity, marketing, marketing,” The coffee is brewing in the background and Officer Kaper is telling you about his daughter. She’s a tiny girl, just two and very, very shy, but apparently, she loves stories. “I might have a book for her,” You get distracted from the letters for a second, smiling at the kind officer. “I’ll bring it to you later tonight!” 

When you look back again, it’s the one on top. 

The envelope is white, like any other letter, and it has no thing in the back but your name and address scribbled in red, a big heart right next to it. “Uh, Officer, this is… this is weird.” You’ve been instructed to let someone know if you received anything unlabelled or unexpected. This letter is certainly unexpected. “It has no return address.” 

“May I open it?” He asks and you nod. He opens it with a knife, pulling a small piece of paper inside. “Okay, it seems like a normal letter. There is no signature of any kind.”

“What does it say?” You’re nervous now, walking around Officer Kaper to read over his shoulder. “Oh my god.” 

“Does this mean anything to you?” 

Nodding, you’re dialling Spencer’s number already. “It means I’m fucked.” 

On the table, laid a message you’d never forget.

He’s not yours to keep. 

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

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[theemporium]

Character B, being someone who likes to hug something in their sleep, ends up using Character A as their makeshift pillow. Character A isn’t too keen on it at first but they end up accepting their fate. (It’s the best night of sleep they’ve probably ever had since they were a kid.) 

I need this as fluff with max because there was one interview where he said he wasn’t big on spooning/cuddling and I as this and immediately thought about it

this is so🥹thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

As much as the Dutchman tried to deny his feelings for you, it was clear to everyone else in the world that he was head over heels.

He was blunt with his words and how he felt, never shying away from them when questioned. Though, that being said, he wasn’t always the most aware of his own feelings. And when he was, it wasn’t instinctive for him to yell them from every rooftop so everyone in the world knew how he felt. 

Max bottled his feelings. He let them linger and fester until he was ready to confront them. And despite every single sign in the universe pointing out that he was in love with you, he was nowhere near saying the words aloud to anyone, or even himself.

But that didn’t stop him from showing you he loved you in simple gestures that felt like an instinct rather than a chore.

It was a surprise to most of the paddock that the two of you even became friends, let alone anything more. 

You were opposites in every sense of the word. Max was blunt and direct, you were calmer and more patient with people. Max was seen as a villain to a large majority of the Formula One world, whilst you were a walking, talking ray of sunshine. Max was the golden boy of Red Bull racing, and you were a hardworking member of the Mercedes team. 

And despite it all, you two were a bonded pair known throughout the paddock. 

There would be countless little things Max would do for you that would confuse the people of the paddock. The way he would seek you out the second he was relieved from his duties in the garage or the media pen. The way he would bring you snacks and drinks even if it meant venturing into a sea of silver to find you. The way he would always have an extra hoodie or jacket for you in case things got chilly by the track. The way he would always drive you to and from the paddock, even if it meant he had to stay longer after the races on Sunday when he could leave. 

Though your favourite ritual was the movie nights you would have. 

They were sporadic at best, but you were both committed when you had one. It was usually after one of you had a bad day, when you weren’t quite ready to talk it out but wanted the distraction regardless. 

It had been a tiring day for Max in the media pen, but when he saw the look on your face as he approached the Mercedes garage, he knew it was nothing in comparison to the day you had. He was soundless as he took your backpack from you and headed to the car, barely saying a word until you reached the hotel. He told you to change into something comfier and make your way to his hotel room afterwards. 

Dinner had already been ordered by the time you arrived, and he silently handed you the remote so you could choose the movie. 

Max’s lips twitched when he noticed you had picked New Moon, only snorting a little when you rolled your eyes and jabbed his side for judging your choice. But he remained quiet as you two ate, enjoying the movie as though you hadn’t made him watch it a million times. 

However, he failed to realise just how hard the day hit you because it wasn’t even thirty minutes into the movie when he felt your head on his shoulder. You were both lying back on the bed, the pillows fluffed behind you and the duvet covering you both. It was comfy and it made sense.

And yet, in all the movie nights you had together—in the whole time you had been friends—never once had you shared the bed. You would always make your way back to your hotel room by the end of the night. 

But here you were, fast asleep and tucked into his side. 

Max was frigid and tense at first. A part of him knew he could have just slid away from you, guided you towards the other side of the bed. He could have shaken you awake and carried you back to your hotel room. Hell, he could have even taken the couch or the floor if it meant he had his own space. 

But he found he didn’t really want to.

He told himself that it was the dinner and the long day that had tired him out. That he could no longer fight the sleepiness and exhaustion in his body, that it wouldn’t be worth the effort to move you away. He told himself all of that on a loop as he switched the tv off, as he shuffled down on the bed so he was comfy, as he let you wrap yourself around him like a koala. 

He told himself that he didn’t like it and it was a one time thing as he fell asleep. 

When he woke up in the morning, he was almost surprised to find that you were closer than you were before. Your legs were entangled and your arms were wound around his torso, your cheek pressed against his chest as you slept peacefully. 

He was warm, though it wasn’t unbearable. The heat and weight of you pressed up against him wasn’t as irritating as he assumed it would be. It was comforting. In an odd way, it was soothing, assuring even. 

He was almost annoyed when you woke up.

“You’re not as grumpy as you usually are,” his teammate noted when he entered the garage that morning, ready for the first free practice session of the day.

“I guess I had a good night’s sleep,” Max replied simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you get laid or something?”

Max rolled his eyes. “That’s not the only way to have a good night's sleep.”

Daniel just raised his hands in mock defence. “Alright, don’t bite my head off,” he murmured, though there was an amused smile on his face. “Is it a new stuffed bear? Maybe I should put you down for a nap if you’re getting cranky.”

His chest almost tightened at the thought of napping with you, of having you wrapped around him once again, of feeling that sense of calmness wash over him. 

“You’re hilarious, mate.”

“I know.” 

Yet, Max couldn’t help but spend the rest of the day wondering how he could convince you to sleep in his bed again.

.

[seafarersdream]

Scaly Tales | Modern AU! (Aemond Targaryen x Y/N)

Y/N works at her dad’s reptile shop, but only because he’s currently out of town. She, on the other hand, is stuck with snakes, lizards, and things that make her skin crawl. To be clear: she hates reptiles. They terrify her. One day, in strolls Aemond Targaryen — tall, brooding, and way too attractive for someone who’s genuinely interested in a green iguana named Vhagar. Word count: 4,1k

TW // Strong language and profanities, mild innuendos, potentially dangerous animal encounters, alcohol consumption (beer).

“I swear to god, if that thing comes anywhere near me, I'm quitting my own dad's shop.”

Y/N muttered to herself, fingers clutching the edge of the glass counter as if it might somehow protect her from the green menace that stared at her from across the room.

Vhagar, the reptile shop’s resident iguana, was perched regally on her branch like she owned the place. Which, honestly, she probably did. The shop, Scaly Tales, was a low-key nightmare of flicking tongues, beady eyes, and the occasional hiss that sent shivers down her spine. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with an irritating hum, casting a sickly yellow glow over the rows of terrariums lining the walls.

Y/N tapped her foot impatiently, glancing at the clock. Another five hours until closing. Five hours of trying not to look too closely at the boa constrictor named Smaug or the tarantula in the corner that she swore was plotting her demise.

Just as she was contemplating the merits of accidentally leaving the door unlocked and letting all the reptiles escape into the wild, the bell over the door jingled. She looked up, more out of instinct than interest, and nearly choked on her own breath.

In walked a guy who looked like he’d been carved out of marble and decided to slum it on a random Wednesday afternoon. Tall, lean, with silvery-blonde hair that was braided. He had a scar running down his left cheek that made him look like he’d survived a pirate raid or, at the very least, a really bad skateboarding accident. He was dressed in all black and had a single silver earring shaped like a tiny dragon.

Y/N blinked. Twice.

“Uh, can I help you?” she finally managed, voice higher-pitched than she intended.

The guy glanced around, his one visible eye narrowing as if assessing the situation. “Doubt it,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. He had a voice like whiskey over gravel, the kind that made you want to lean in closer just to catch every word.

Y/N scowled. “Right. Well, the exit’s behind you if you’re lost.”

He chuckled, low and throaty. “Nah, not lost. Just… curious.”

“About?” She crossed her arms, feeling the sharp edge of her dad’s old Scaly Tales polo shirt dig into her skin.

He didn’t answer right away, instead, his gaze drifted past her to Vhagar, who was still sitting on her branch, blinking slowly as if she couldn’t give less of a shit about the entire interaction. “That iguana,” the guy finally said, pointing with a finger adorned with silver rings. “What’s its name?”

Y/N’s arched an eyebrow in confusion but answered anyway. “Her name’s Vhagar”

The guy’s smirk grew. “Curious choice.”

“Don’t ask. I wasn’t the one who named her,” she said, drawing out the word.

He took a step closer to the counter, and for a moment, Y/N’s heart did a weird little jump, like it was trying to hop out of her chest. “I was wondering,” he continued, “if you were looking for help around here.”

“Help?” She snorted. “Mate, you do realize this is a reptile shop, right? It’s no Canary Wharf.”

His grin widened, and he leaned against the counter, one hand casually slipping into the pocket of what clearly looks like a bespoke trousers. “Yeah, I got that. I’m not here for the pay. Just… interested.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Interested in what exactly? Because, no offense, you don’t look like the type who’s into snakes and lizards.”

He shrugged, a movement that seemed annoyingly graceful. “You got me there. Not into snakes. But I’ve got a thing for iguanas.”

She let out a laugh before she could stop herself. “Of course, you do. Why?”

He tilted his head slightly, considering her with that one piercing blue eye that looks unnervingly purple-ish from some angles. “I like that they’re a bit… prickly. Takes a certain kind of patience to handle them. To make them trust you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, and she was suddenly very aware of the fact that she hadn’t done her hair this morning and was probably wearing yesterday's eyeliner smudges. “Alright, fine,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You can… I don’t know, volunteer or something. Just don’t get bitten or sue us, yeah?”

He straightened up, looking genuinely pleased for the first time since he walked in. “Deal,” he said, offering his hand.

She eyed his hand like it was a venomous snake. “Name?”

“Aemond,” he replied, his smile turning a little softer, almost boyish. “Aemond Targaryen.”

She stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer poshness of it. “Of course, it is.”

He chuckled again. “And you are?”

“Y/N L/N,” she said, shaking his hand reluctantly. His grip was firm, his skin cool against hers. She quickly pulled away, trying not to feel like a teenager meeting their crush for the first time.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said smoothly. “Now, tell me… how do I win over Vhagar?”

She snorted. “Mate, I’ve been trying to figure that out for weeks. Good luck.”

He glanced back at the iguana, who was still watching them with what could only be described as supreme indifference. “Challenge accepted.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Yeah, alright, Mr. Targaryen. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

As it turns out, Aemond was a bloody animal whisperer.

Y/N watched, slack-jawed and barely breathing, as he casually stuck his hand into Smaug’s terrarium — Smaug, the fifteen-foot boa constrictor with a temper that could put any football hooligan to shame. The snake, instead of latching onto Aemond’s arm and turning him into a human-sized chew toy, just… rested its head in his hand like a sodding pet cat.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N muttered under her breath, feeling a mixture of disbelief and, okay, maybe a bit of annoyance. "Seriously?"

Aemond glanced over his shoulder, that ever-present smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Something wrong?" he asked, and there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, loads,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Starting with the fact that you seem to have some weird Snow White powers over these things.”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that somehow made her stomach flip. “It’s not that hard,” he said, still scratching Smaug’s head with his fingers. “You just have to understand them. Respect them.”

Y/N scoffed. “Respect them? Right. And what, exactly, do I need to respect about the tarantula that tried to jump at my face this morning?”

Aemond straightened up, moving away from the terrarium, and headed toward the tarantula’s glass enclosure. “Arachne?” he asked, his tone teasing. “She’s just misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?” Y/N echoed, incredulous. “Mate, she’s got eight legs and hairy fangs. She’s the stuff of nightmares.”

Aemond turned to face her fully, leaning against the counter with a look that said he was enjoying this far too much. “You don’t really like being here, do you?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly as if studying her.

Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck. She shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not here by choice, alright?” she confessed. “My dad owns the shop, and he’s off gallivanting in Glasgow, so I’m stuck running this freak show until he gets back.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah, so you’re just here to keep the peace?”

“Something like that,” she muttered. “If peace is what you call feeding dead mice to snakes and hoping they don’t escape in the night.”

He laughed again, a real laugh this time, not just a smirk or a chuckle, and Y/N found herself almost… liking the sound of it. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said, a hint of softness in his voice. “They won’t bite unless they’re scared. And they’re only scared if you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s reassuring,” she grumbled, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Aemond pushed off the counter and walked slowly towards her, his steps measured and confident. “Tell you what,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, like he was sharing a secret. “I’ll handle the scary ones. You just… look cute behind the counter.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, and she felt her face go warm. “Oi!” she sputtered. “I am not… cute. I’m the manager here.”

He grinned, clearly delighted with her flustered reaction. “Right, of course. Very professional. Your dad must be proud.”

She gave him a half-hearted glare, but she couldn’t deny that there was something oddly charming about the way he was looking at her, like he found her reaction endlessly entertaining. “You know, I could just kick you out,” she threatened, trying to sound stern.

Aemond leaned in a little closer, a playful glint in his eye. “But then who would deal with Vhagar?” he asked, nodding towards the iguana, who had finally decided to grace them with a slight head tilt.

Y/N sighed, exasperated. “Fine, fine. You can stay,” she grumbled, waving a hand. “But only because Vhagar seems to like you.”

He nodded solemnly. “A wise decision, Ms. Manager.”

She rolled her eyes again but couldn’t help the grin that broke free. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too comfortable, Prince Charming. This isn’t some Disney movie.”

Aemond flashed her a grin that was all trouble. “Don’t worry, love. I think I can handle a bit of drama.”

Y/N snorted. “Trust me, mate, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for.”

He gave her a mock bow, and she couldn’t help but laugh, a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in ages.

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The next morning, right at 10, just as Y/N was flipping the sign on the door from “Closed” to “Open,” the bell above the door jingled. She looked up, expecting to see some bored teenager or one of the usual reptile enthusiasts, but there he was — Aemond Targaryen, in the flesh.

He strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a crisp white button-up under a dark green wool coat, the kind that probably cost more than her rent. His hair was flowing freely in a way that looked both effortless and like it required some absurdly expensive product. He had an aura about him, like he was about to walk into a high-profile board meeting rather than a slightly dingy reptile shop.

“Morning,” he greeted, flashing that infuriatingly charming grin.

Y/N squinted at him, still half-asleep and clutching her cup of coffee like it was a life raft. “You’re back,” she said flatly, as if she was stating the obvious. Which, of course, she was.

Aemond chuckled. “What, did you think I’d scare off after one day?”

She shrugged, turning back to the counter to hide her smile. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did. Not exactly Westminster around here, is it?”

“Maybe not,” he said, moving closer and glancing around, “but it’s got… character.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

He didn’t seem to mind the sarcastic jab. Instead, he started rolling up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt, exposing the tattoos that ran up his forearms — dragons, of course, snaking around his skin in intricate black ink. She found herself staring, just for a second too long, before snapping her eyes back up to his face.

“So,” he said casually, “what’s on the agenda today?”

Y/N shrugged again, taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, first, we’re gonna open up the store, then do all the stuff that involves keeping these creepy crawlies alive. But you—” she pointed a finger at him “—are gonna do the heavy lifting. I’m staying a safe distance away from anything that slithers, hisses, or has more legs than I do.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Sounds fair. I’ll take the snake duty, then.”

And he did. He moved with a surprising ease, lifting crates of feed and handling the cages like he’d been doing it for years. Y/N couldn’t help but be a little impressed. At one point, he was juggling a bag of crickets, a box of frozen mice, and a pail of water all at once.

“How are you not dropping any of that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He flashed her a toothy grin. “Coordination, darling. Comes with practice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small grin. He made everything look so annoyingly easy. And he had this way of making even the most mundane tasks seem… well, not fun, but bearable, at least.

After about an hour of this, she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the curiosity in her voice. “I mean, don’t you have a job or something?”

Aemond paused, wiping his hands on a cloth before turning to face her, his expression relaxed. “Nah,” he said with a casual shrug. “Don’t need one.”

Y/N blinked. “What, like, ever?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. My family’s loaded.”

“Loaded,” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him right. “Like, trust fund kid kind of loaded?”

He gave her a lazy smile, his eye glinting with amusement. “Something like that. My family's got more money than sense, if that gives you a clue.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re here, volunteering at a reptile shop, for free?”

He leaned against the counter next to her, a bit closer than was probably necessary, but she didn’t move away. “Yeah. Thought it might be fun. Plus,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I find your reactions quite entertaining.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck and cursed herself silently. “Oh, do you now?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “Yeah. Watching you flinch every time Arachne moves is becoming quite the highlight for me.”

She huffed, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I’m not flinching. I’m… being cautious. That thing’s got too many legs for comfort.”

He laughed, genuinely amused. “Right, sure. Cautious. Keep telling yourself that, love.”

She glared at him, but there was no real heat in it. “So what do you actually do all day if you’re not… you know, working?”

Aemond shrugged again, as if this was the most normal conversation in the world. “Oh, I read, I go to the gym, I travel… the usual.”

“The usual?” she echoed, incredulous. “Mate, that’s not usual for most people.”

He smiled again, this time with a hint of something softer behind it. “Guess I’m not most people.”

Y/N bit back a laugh. “Clearly.” She turned back to the register, trying to ignore the way her pulse sped up just a bit whenever he looked at her like that. “Alright, posh boy. You want to hang around and be useful, fine by me. But don’t get in my way.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, but she couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her face.

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“Bloody hell, the turtle’s loose!”

Y/N’s shout echoed through the shop just as she was flipping the sign back to “Closed.” She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest, to see Aemond standing a few feet away, holding an empty glass enclosure door in his hand like it was some kind of weird prop.

“And that would be which one?” Aemond asked, his face a mix of concern and — was that amusement?

“Triton!” Y/N hissed, eyes wide as she scanned the floor. “The bloody snapping turtle!”

Aemond blinked, then burst into laughter. “The turtle?” he asked, still laughing. “How fast could it have gotten?”

Y/N shot him a death glare. “Fast enough, apparently! And he bites, remember? Like, really bites!”

As if on cue, a low, angry hiss filled the air. Y/N’s eyes darted toward the sound and spotted Triton, the shop’s resident menace of a snapping turtle, making a surprisingly speedy beeline towards the open door of the shop, his jagged shell scraping against the floor.

“Shit!” Y/N cursed, darting forward instinctively before skidding to a halt. “Okay, no, never mind, I’m not doing this. I’m not getting near that little beast.”

Aemond, still holding the glass door like some absurd shield, grinned. “Come on, it’s just a turtle.”

“Just a turtle?” Y/N shot back, her voice rising. “That thing has jaws like a bloody bear trap! I am not risking my fingers, thank you very much!”

Aemond sighed dramatically, tossing the glass door onto the counter with a loud clatter. “Alright, alright. Step aside, manager. I’ll handle this.”

He moved toward Triton, who was now hissing like a demon freshly unleashed from hell, his beady little eyes locked on Aemond’s every step. “Easy there, mate,” Aemond cooed, crouching down slightly. “We’re all friends here.”

Triton did not seem convinced. He opened his mouth wide, revealing a jagged, prehistoric maw that looked like it could snap through bone without much effort. Aemond’s smirk faltered just a bit.

“Uh, Aemond?” Y/N called out from behind the counter, where she’d taken refuge. “You do realize that thing isn’t gonna just roll over and play fetch, right?”

Aemond shot her a look over his shoulder, his smile somewhere between cocky and slightly terrified. “I’ve got this,” he replied, although he didn’t sound quite as sure as he had a moment ago.

“Famous last words,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Aemond took another step forward, inching closer to Triton, who seemed to be winding up like a spring. “Alright, Triton, just stay calm,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You don’t want to bite me. I’m not very tasty, I promise.”

Suddenly, Triton lunged, jaws snapping with a loud clack that echoed through the shop. Aemond jerked back, nearly losing his balance. “Okay, noted,” he said, his voice tight with adrenaline. “Definitely not friendly.”

Y/N, despite the panic racing through her veins, couldn’t help but laugh. “I told you! He’s like the Hannibal Lecter of turtles!”

Aemond threw her a half-exasperated, half-amused look. “Helpful, thanks.”

Y/N glanced around wildly, spotting the broom leaning against the wall. “Use the broom!” she shouted, pointing.

Aemond grabbed the broom, holding it out like a sword. “Alright, Triton, let’s do this,” he muttered, moving in cautiously. He nudged the turtle gently with the broom’s bristles, trying to coax him away from the door.

Triton hissed again, then clamped down on the broom with a force that made Aemond’s eyes widen. “Bloody hell, he’s got a grip like a vice!”

Y/N is sweating bullets now. “Told you! You’re fighting for your life out there!”

Aemond struggled to wrestle the broom free, Triton thrashing wildly at the end of it. He gave the broom one last, hard tug, finally wrenching it free from Triton’s jaws. The turtle, clearly pissed off, made a beeline straight for him.

“Plan B!” Y/N shouted, scrambling onto a chair. “What’s Plan B?”

“Plan B is… I don’t know!” Aemond shouted back, darting around the counter with surprising agility. “Distract him!”

“How the hell do you distract a turtle?” she yelled, almost hysterical.

Aemond grabbed a bag of lettuce from the shelf and tossed a handful in Triton’s direction. “Here, mate, have a snack!”

Triton paused, sniffing the air with apparent suspicion, but then began to chomp at the leaves like a small, angry lawnmower.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Okay, that… that actually worked?”

Aemond wiped his brow with a dramatic flourish. “See? I told you, I’ve got this.”

Y/N shook her head, half-amused, half-terrified. “Yeah, alright, Targaryen. But next time, you’re wearing armor.”

As the chaos finally settled, Y/N climbed down from her chair. She couldn’t believe they had just survived a snapping turtle attack — and that Aemond had somehow managed to make it look borderline heroic, even with a broom in hand.

She caught her breath and gave him a playful nudge. “You just saved me from a killer turtle. I guess I owe you one.”

Aemond, still holding the broom like some sort of knight who’d vanquished a beast, smirked at her. “What would you even do without me, huh?”

Y/N leaned against the counter, still a little giddy from the adrenaline. “So… do you drink beers? Or are you too posh for that? I was thinking I’d get you a couple as a thank you. Camden’s full of good pubs.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if he’d laugh or roll his eyes at the suggestion. He didn’t seem like the beer-and-pub type — more like the expensive wine in a penthouse kind of guy. But then, to her surprise, his entire face lit up.

“Beers?” he repeated, his tone a mix of intrigue and enthusiasm. “Absolutely. I could use one after that gladiator match remake with Triton.”

Y/N grinned, genuinely surprised by his enthusiasm. “Alright then, it’s settled. First round’s on me.”

Aemond didn’t argue, and together, they locked up the shop. The evening sun was just beginning to dip behind the rows of buildings in Camden, casting a warm, golden light over the bustling streets. The crowds had thinned out slightly as people finished their shopping, but the familiar hum of the city still surrounded them. Street performers were packing up, and the faint smell of food stalls lingered in the air.

They walked side by side, the rhythm of their steps in sync, heading toward one of the pubs just a short walk away. The air was cool, but not cold, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Y/N felt relaxed. Even after a day of dealing with reptiles and rogue turtles.

“You don’t strike me as the type who hangs out in Camden much,” Y/N said, glancing up at Aemond as they walked. “Do you even go to pubs?”

Aemond grinned, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Believe it or not, I’m not a complete hermit. I like going out — just depends on the place. Camden’s… got a vibe.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical but amused. “Oh? And what vibe is that, exactly?”

He smirked, looking around as they passed a tattoo shop, a second-hand record store, and a row of graffiti-covered buildings. “It’s raw,” he said after a moment, as if he were describing a fine wine or a work of art. “I like that. It’s not trying too hard.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You’re a strange one, Targaryen. Loaded, reads like a scholar, hangs out with iguanas, and now you’re telling me you’re into Camden’s ‘raw’ vibe.”

Aemond chuckled, clearly not offended. “I contain multitudes.”

She laughed, turning her gaze forward as they reached the pub. It was a cozy, unpretentious spot with a neon sign that flickered slightly above the door. They stepped inside, greeted by the warm chatter of a few patrons and the clink of glasses behind the bar.

Y/N nudged Aemond toward an empty booth in the corner. “You grab us a spot. I’ll get the drinks.”

As she made her way to the bar, she couldn’t help but glance back at him. He was leaning casually against the booth, his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking completely at ease in a place that seemed the polar opposite of his usual world. There was something oddly magnetic about him — not just his looks, but the way he carried himself, like he belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Two pints, please,” she ordered, handing over the cash before sliding back into the booth with Aemond.

He took his pint, raising it slightly toward her. “To surviving Triton.”

Y/N clinked her glass against his, laughing. “To surviving Triton,” she echoed.

They took long sips of their beers, and for a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, just enjoying the warmth of the pub and the fading light outside. Y/N leaned back, looking at him curiously. “You know,” she said, her voice softer now, “you’re not what I expected.”

Aemond looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? And what did you expect?”

She shrugged, giving him a playful grin. “I don’t know. Something more… serious. Intimidating.”

He smirked. “I can be. But I suppose you’re lucky — I like you.”

Y/N’s heart did that little flip again, but she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too cocky, Targaryen. You’re still not off the hook for tomorrow’s snake feeding.”

Aemond laughed, the sound low and warm between the bustles around them. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”