#i think i have more letters in this one than my previous one

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[wanderingandfound]

Second time in about 48 hours that I have gone into the search mines to bring out a specific pride flag for my blog only to be met with either long or thoughtless posts about how x flag is the most inferior or y flag is the most superior while shitting on other flag designs. Like, I am all for making as many flags as you want — the more the merrier no monopolies here. I would just like for people to keep in mind:

Which communities (including geographical and cultural!!!) specific flags come from and why they were created.

You do not need to be represented by every single stripe for the flag to be applicable to you.

If a flag is featuring a specific identity there's probably a reason for that, I don't care if it's ugly.

Please cite sources and inspiration! Flags represent communities and usually come from community involvement and influence.

Seriously unless a flag was made purposefully to demean or alienate others it's probably fine. You don't have to use it or prefer it and you can be annoyed with it but it doesn't mean it's the end of the world.

[reiderwriter]

💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong. 

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot. 

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him. 

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.” 

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there. 

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-” 

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.” 

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him. 

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.” 

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight. 

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell. 

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation. 

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at. 

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0. 

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type. 

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2. 

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged. 

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground. 

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group. 

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you. 

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?” 

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.” 

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions. 

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended. 

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you. 

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship. 

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him. 

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well. 

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours. 

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind. 

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.” 

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.” 

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who. 

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit. 

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning. 

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was. 

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance. 

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything. 

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table. 

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up. 

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.” 

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table. 

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight. 

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up. 

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in. 

Probably to remove you from the room. 

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around. 

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.” 

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you. 

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you. 

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher. 

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room. 

“What? How is this my fault?” 

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.” 

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it. 

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?” 

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward. 

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops. 

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you. 

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet. 

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced. 

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.” 

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath. 

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear. 

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth. 

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting. 

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.” 

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds. 

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go. 

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more. 

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered. 

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further. 

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you. 

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again. 

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other. 

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan. 

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened. 

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you. 

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave. 

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you. 

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office. 

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands. 

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him. 

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you. 

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood. 

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on. 

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other. 

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise. 

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad. 

You'd given him the cold shoulder  but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't. 

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation. 

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space. 

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry. 

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you. 

“That's my seat.” 

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder. 

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.” 

“But that is my seat-” 

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument.  Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been. 

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly. 

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs. 

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight. 

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face. 

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep. 

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything. 

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement. 

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner. 

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed. 

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane. 

“You're being slow today.” 

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone. 

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass. 

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.” 

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him. 

Two could play at that game. 

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you. 

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder. 

He didn't wither. 

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass. 

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition. 

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace. 

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there. 

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye. 

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.” 

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear. 

“That was my gun.” 

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid. 

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself. 

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie. 

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples. 

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him. 

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong? 

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk. 

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you. 

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer. 

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer. 

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case. 

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in. 

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels.. 

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang. 

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves. 

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait. 

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore. 

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide. 

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss. 

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question. 

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again. 

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall. 

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.” 

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.” 

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees. 

“What? Sp-” 

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat. 

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly. 

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat. 

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth. 

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him. 

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you. 

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave. 

“Open,” he demanded. 

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom. 

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you. 

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.” 

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you. 

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard. 

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?” 

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock. 

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him. 

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in. 

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts. 

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex. 

You screamed your pleasure. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours. 

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you. 

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder. 

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way. 

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy. 

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore. 

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another. 

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still. 

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.” 

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you. 

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion. 

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough. 

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least. 

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling. 

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.” 

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body. 

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?” 

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said. 

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to. 

[noxtivagus]

yh the sorrow of werlyt's one of my favs fr :^)

[myfairstarlight]

I need to ramble about the wedding breakfast dance.

That is Colin and Penelope's "Stare into my eyes. (s1) / Just keep looking at me, no one else matters. (s2) / Keep your eyes on me. There is no one here but us (QC)" iconic couple dance scene except no word is exchanged the whole time.

Instead, we get a visual representation of that feeling as the room empties, and only them remain. Albeit the editing did not let us savour that long enough, where's the full footage in HD Netflix???

And I think it's a core aspect of a friends to lovers story and Polin's that is so under-appreciated, this silent understanding between the characters. They've known each other for years, they've always been comfortable when together, so in that moment, no word of reassurance is needed because they already know! They have always been each other's safe space, even before friendship turned into romantic love. After all, they just need one look and a nod, just like at their wedding, to be secure in the other's love. No one else matters indeed.

Furthermore, unlike the other couples who were scrutinised by the Ton at some point or another because of their match, with the unfortunate pressure that comes with it, Penelope and Colin were always more of the outcasts, gossiping on the side of balls and no one truly paid them any attention until very recently as they both forced themselves to take part in society (Penelope to seek a husband, Colin to be taken seriously). Their season is the first time the Queen (or Lady Danbury) does not meddle with the main couple! (I would add Violet to the list who was more withdrawn than in previous seasons and mostly focused on Francesca this season, but she did nudge Colin a little.)

As soon as they get together, they stopped caring about others' judgement, because why should they? The Ton did not care before, after all. Colin and Penelope dancing in broad daylight at their wedding breakfast was breaking some unspoken society rule, but even before that, dancing at the church (also in broad daylight), at the Mondrich ball as they break the dance routine to add a twirl. They simply do not care. In fact, they never truly respected propriety rules, have they? Calling each other by their given names (even a nickname on Colin's part), the letters, the many unchaperoned encounters (one of which they got caught by Portia and Jack and yet nothing happened), Colin refusing a dance with Cressida to dance with Penelope instead... it just never brought a scandal because, well, the Ton constantly overlooked them, so now Penelope and Colin return the favour by overlooking the Ton.

And it is so significant that despite the Whistledown issue still hanging over their head, it does not change the fact they have chosen each other, that they will keep being their most authentic selves with each other and act like the whole world around them does not exist because they have each other, and as long as they do, everything will be alright.

After all, it is Colin loving and supporting Penelope that will give her the courage to step into the light and face the Queen as Whistledown, and it is Penelope loving and supporting Colin that will inspire him to write and publish, and make him feel like he finally belongs.

Oh also shout out to Albion Finch, best brother-in-law, always delighted to see Penelope thriving <3

And credit to this post I saw on twitter that prompted me to write this.

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: who would have thought that a small piece of paper could be the very thing that would crush your dreams with Arthur ? part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors srryy

wc: 2k

a/n: hear me out, I thought about writing a jealous!reader oneshot with Arthur but,, I got a bit carried away and so many ideas came into my mind so I was thinking about making this a mini series with a pt.2. Let me know if you’d be interested in a pt.2 <33 (gif from pinterest)

Nothing was more relaxing to you than fixing some of Arthur’s shirts and pants while sitting outside your shared tent.

Seated on a small cushion placed on the ground with your back against one of Arthur’s chests your hands worked delicate but precise movements mending the cotton of his favorite black shirt. The rays of light sparkling from the east coast of the flat iron lake at Clemens Point casting a golden halo around you and the usual buzzing of camp making you feel at ease, letting you loose yourself in your thoughts.

During these moments your mind often drifted to thoughts about you and Arthur, the way he would make you feel all warm inside like a young naive teenager with just his soft glances and loving touches, how he would make you dream some of the craziest things for a couple of outlaws like yourselves like having a proper family with him, getting proper married before god and maybe even owning your very own ranch at some point.

Your dreamy stream of thoughts was soon interrupted as Mary Beth’s light footsteps on the dry grass could be heard coming towards your direction, with a strange expression you couldn’t quite decipher on her face and a small letter in her hands. As she saw you sitting down near yours and Arthur’s tent her fair features twisted into an anxious manner, her expression resembling the one of someone who just ate a whole lemon in one go, her steps faltering almost imperceptibly before continuing her path towards your shared tent.

“Hiya Miss,” she said in a chirpy tone, her voice higher than usual as she stopped in front of you, her eyes looking around avoiding your confused gaze as she played with the paper edge of the letter in her delicate hands.

“Arthur hasn’t come back yet ?” Strange. Her voice cracked a little at the end. She quickly cleared her throat with a small smile. Mary Beth's usual cordial and friendly façade cracked the more she was near you, letting you see her unusual unease.

“‘M afraid not, he said he was going into town for some ‘deputy thing’ with the Grays, why ? Did something happen ?” you replied imitating Arthur’s low voice and accent as you put down his shirt which was now fixed and your sewing kit. At your failed attempt at imitating his accent Mary Beth let out a small laugh, covering her smile with her free hand, relaxing just a tiny bit before regaining her previous composure.

Smoothing out the white envelope in her hands she handed it over to you, as you took it you couldn’t help but notice the sender’s name written in what you called a ‘fancy cursive’. You weren’t exactly good at reading or writing but the fancy ink swirls made out a familiar name.

The sender was Mary Linton.

“It’s for Arthur, it arrived this morning,” she told you looking at you with something in her eyes you couldn’t quite make out. Was it a shared distaste for the woman in question or was it perhaps pity toward you what you could see reflected in her eyes ?

You weren’t a stranger to who Mary Linton was, having joined the gang when you were eighteen and Arthur fresh of twenty-six you knew who Mary was, how she was Arthur’s first love, the woman he almost married if it wasn’t for her strict father not approving his lifestyle. The woman who completely shattered his heart.

You knew that after his breakup with Mary he was distraught, drinking and sleeping around almost every night before eventually getting one of the girls he slept with pregnant with his son Isaac. How he, from time to time, went to Eliza’s cabin and visited them, never failing to bring sweets and shiny toys for his Isaac who met him with a toothy little smile every time Arthur visited them until one day the only thing Arthur was met was an empty robbed cabin and Eliza’s lifeless body hugging Isaac’s one.

For almost a year you helplessly witnessed Arthur, the gang’s main enforcer, spiraling more and more into a toxic lifestyle. He began to drink more, often found sitting near the campfire drunk every night, his actions during jobs sloppy and reckless not sparing a single ounce of mercy for whoever dared to wrong him. His mood around camp bringing everyone down until one day you decided you had enough.

He had just come back from a job went wrong with Hosea, the older man's sour mood perceptible from miles away as he hitched his horse and quickly walked away to his tent, leaving Arthur behind talking pretty much to himself how it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t do anything wrong, the pungent scent of alcohol surrounding the space around him. Seeing the scene in front of you you quickly put down your cleaning rag and marched towards him giving him a loud earful in front of everyone in camp not caring that he was a 6’1 massive killing machine of an outlaw and eight years older than you and that you were the last addition to camp making you a nobody in the eyes of what was basically Dutch’s golden child. You simply had enough.

From that moment onwards Arthur started to get better, letting go of his usual whisky bottle and surprisingly starting to pay attention to you rather than avoiding or despising you, eyeing you with respect each time you expressed your opinion around camp, coming to your tent almost every night for advice or just to talk about life opening up to you about his family and past love building day by day an unexpected friendship which blossomed years later into your current relationship.

Seeing her name now again after so many years left you with a sour taste in your mouth.

You took the letter and placed it on Arthur’s nightstand as you thanked Mary Beth and began to tidy up your things.

The sky was beginning to lose its rosy color making space for a deep blue when Arthur came back, the gallop of his and Dutch horses announcing their arrival into camp.

You were chatting with Karen and Javier at the round table near the fire when you felt his hand on your shoulder, the scent of wood and gunpowder filling your nose letting you relax under his soft touch. He bent down to quickly kiss your cheek, a small show of pda which left you all warm inside, almost letting you forget about the letter. Almost.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said in his usual low tone near your ear, a shiver traveling down your spine at his vicinity a soft blush making its way into your cheeks.

“Miss Jones, Javier” he greeted your company before taking your hand in his calloused one letting you up from your seat and guiding you towards his tent leaving Karen and Javier sharing knowing glances between them.

As soon as you walked into your shared tent he made quick work of closing the flap before taking your face in his hands and kissing you. His soft kisses soon turned into hungry ones as his right hand left your soft cheek to trace down your neck then your collarbones before settling on your hips using your hips to guide you to lay on the bed.

“missed ya a lot today sweetheart,” he breathed on your neck as he positioned himself on top of you before kissing your sensitive spot, your eyes closed as your soft hands traveled onto his hair, tugging at his dirty blonde strands.

“got you in my mind the whole day, damn near made Dutch real name slip in front of them Grays. Jus’ couldn’t help but think ‘bout your pretty face.” he continued to kiss your sensitive skin, his words and his lips working like magic on you. His hands exploring your body inch by inch toying with the buttons of your white shirt.

As you open your eyes to look at Arthur you couldn’t help but remember the envelope sitting on his bedside table.

“Arthur,” you sighed trying to keep your voice stable but failing miserably as his teeth playfully bit your neck. The pleasure and the warmth of his body on top of yours was heavenly making you melt like butter under his touch but you were too curious to see what was in that letter to continue, your hands came on his shoulders to try and get the man off of you. “darling you, fuck, you’ve got a letter.”

As soon as you finished your sentence Arthur stopped his actions at once, his hands dropping on the soft mattress before getting up into a seated position beside you. He sighed as he ran his hands into his hair before taking the letter, his eyes quickly scanning the sender’s name before opening the envelope.

As his eyes read the elegant handwritten letter of Mary you couldn’t help but feel your heart beat out of your chest with anticipation, you knew it was stupid to feel this way but you couldn’t help but worry. Why is she mailing him after all these years of radio silence ? What did she want from him and how exactly did she know how to contact him ?

Deciding it was best to feign ignorance than to straight up get defensive and be viewed as possessive with Arthur you scooted closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder as you asked, trying your best to keep your façade, from who was the letter.

“Mh, nobody jus’ a sorry fellow I met.”

Your heart sank.

He lied to you. He lied to you without even an ounce of hesitation. A small ‘Oh’ left your lips as you didn’t know exactly how to respond, mind racing with many thoughts, the knowledge of his lie felt like an iced bucket of water was thrown at you, freezing you in your spot unable to move. A sense of nausea overtaking your body.

With a swift movement, he folded the letter and put it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand where other papers filled the small space. Turning back to face you he put one of his large hands on your cheeks caressing you with a delicacy that in that moment only made you further nauseous about the situation. His lips met your forehead, then your nose descending further down to your lips, too caught up in your thoughts you sat there unmoving. Arthur sensed your unusual attitude.

“y’alright sweetheart ?” he asked, you internally scoffed at his seemingly concerned expression. The nerve he had to be asking you that after he blatantly lied to your face.

“yeah just tired that’s all.” you dismissed him shifting on the bed and laying down on your side of the bed. You needed space to think, your mind going haywire. Was this the first time she mailed him ? Why was that as soon as you mentioned a letter he seemed to already know it was from her ? Why did Mary Beth act so strange when giving you the letter ? Why did he lie ? Why.

You wished you could let this go, forget about everything and melt back into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t. You had to find out what was going on.

Later that night when the outlaw was fast asleep beside you and the only sounds that could be heard were his soft snores that filled the space in your tent you found out that the other papers in the drawer were not random papers.

The drawer was full of Mary’s letters.

[brynn-lear]

When Cuckoos Throw Ores [Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader]

Questionable Overview: After transmigrating to Teyvat, you and Jing Yuan had lived like family on your shared apartment as getting-by descenders. But, you made an error too grave. You hid the anonymous love letters you received from the person you should’ve trusted the most— and now you’ve got yourself a broken mind. [Fic written for May June]

CWs/tags: yandere themes, isekai, moments where you wish Jing Yuan just committed murder instead so it would hurt less, mentions of failed childbirth, nadia & vlad are adorable, implied hysteria, cute n' wholesome beginning w/ found family to "man... man.", gaslighting gatekeep is JY's passion.

"I'm an adult, Jing Yuan! I think I have the right to leave as I please."

Have you ever been so incredibly fascinated by such a mundane object that all worldly noise drowns?

"The right to trample on my heart? To leave me to drown in my despair while you obsess over a single ore without a single thought for me? I must say, it doesn’t seem very sound. Stay put while I call for Doctor Baizhu."

Have you ever had your hand reach out ever so slightly without you realizing such? For your fingers to curl— for you to seize a trinket as though you were compelled by an existence— an idea higher than any mortal comprehension? As though it was fate? As though it was a fruit you weren't meant to take a bite off?

But the most mundane of all…

"There’s no need! Because great General and Emanator of the Hunt Jing Yuan—"

Have you ever lamented a life that "never" happened?

"— I have the right to mourn the happy ending you took from me!"

Though those uninitiated will rehash the root of events in your arrival to the chasm, the most knowledgeable would start the accounts from your arrival to Teyvat.

You did not step foot alone.

When your worldline was destroyed, so, too, was Jing Yuan's. 

Lady Ningguang greeted you both with a good measure of skepticism. You were both "descenders.", though it was soon made evident that your origins are different. He was from "Xianzhou Loufu," and you were from "Earth."  Course, despite your shared tragic circumstances, not everything shall be handed on a silver platter for unfortunate souls. Ningguang was kind enough to provide you both with a shared apartment complex near the fishing port and since then, you and Jing Yuan had a bond not so dissimilar from siblings. He got a job as a general, and your current position is a little more flexible than your previous one.

Whatever principles and studies were available in the previous realms you lived in, they were carried over in Teyvat. Each word circulating about Jing Yuan’s undefeated sword and lance techniques makes you smile; he, in turn, would enthusiastically applaud your sold artworks and STEM innovations. It makes you wholly embarrassed every time he makes what is supposed to be a celebration of his mission’s success into a congratulatory speech for what you’ve done in the same timeframe. Didn’t matter how minute it was. His comrades had already considered the long-standing tradition as a not-so-private joke.

His lack of personal praise worries you sometimes…

There’s a stark difference in your approach to this new life. You mourned for yours being gone; while he doesn’t speak much about his.

“No rush,” he'd say. “All truths shall reveal itself in due time.”

You know about his world, though vaguely. He has a striking resemblance to the character from Honkai: Star Rail. Course, that implies he had gone through similar ordeals as the character. 

“I am an old man, there is nothing for me to grieve.” He told you once. “I have… already witnessed comrades pass, and then some. Have you encountered the phrase: there are fates worse than death?”

Jing Yuan closed his eyes.

“I… find it easier to assume that it might be the only way to put old conflicts to rest.” He shook his head and downed his final shot of baijiu. Yuan sighed, tasting the aftermath in his breath.

“It’s better to put a permanence in death than another forced rebirth.”

He poured you a shot.

"Some memories are better left forgotten. And that applies to you, too."

Whatever he said felt untranslatable to you, hence, you gave up on making more inquiries. If the day comes and he wishes to open up, you'll be there for him anyway.

Or so you thought.

“Heard you’re planning to add another medal to your jacket.” 

Jing Yuan nearly halted from tying his long hair up. You watched his shoulders tremble, likely from trying to compose himself.

“Ha! You've heard a half-truth, I wasn't scheming on anything, it was merely handed to me.” His tone was calm, but you heard the well-hidden smugness.

You shrugged and sipped your coffee nonchalantly. 

… You seriously wish his uniform didn't hug his form that good. Just staring at him makes the room feel degrees hotter. 

You cleared your throat.

“I didn't say anything about schemes, Jing Yuan. Suspicious.”

“Oh?” He hummed, almost sultry for your ears.

…Curse him and his damn beatific smiles.

This playful banter is as natural as the dawn of day. Rather than spending the early morning getting ready for the day, you've both grown accustomed to teasing the other person. He, in his finely ironed uniform, and you, in your comfy pajamas. 

“Since when have I besmirched my name by squandering time? Rude of you to imply that slothfulness rules over my life.” Jing Yuan joked before he moved another piece. “You wound me, dear (Y/n).”

Due to the nature of the conversation, you hadn't thought of your next move much as you continued to probe him. “And what exactly are you doing right now instead of reporting to the Qixing, General?”

He smirked. “I am on-duty, am I not?”

“By talking to me?”

“I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.”

You paused. 

Person of Interest…?

Might as well curse him and his fancy cursive way of implying something too. 

Your nose scrunched. “Are you saying I'M on the Qixing’s watchlist?!—”

“Not in a bad light; don’t worry your pretty head over such menial matters,” he ruffled your hair as he craned over, gazing at your disgruntled morning expression with a loving vigor. “They have an eye for your talent. No Ministry would ever obsess over a clean criminal record.”

You grumbled as you attempted to fix your hair, despite lacking any energy. “Thanks, that calms me down. Especially with the talks about criminal activity on the rise and all.”

He laughed at your snarkiness.

“Is this your best attempt at prying information? I must say, your current occupation suits you. I can now place a finger as to why the thought of Lady Ningguang hiring you as a profiler put me in tremendous unease.”

“Oh don’t be a prick, Yuan.” You chuckled heartily as you gave him a playful slap— which he no doubt avoided. “But seriously, can’t you tell me more about what’s happening?”

There were no further words needed. Such rumors had been on the forefront of the people’s minds: a group of rogue “mercenaries” had found new temptations in banditry— and had the nerve to stew misfortunes on the main harbor itself. As a newly enforced general, Jing Yuan had, of course, been subjected to handling this situation under the ever-watchful gaze of the Qixing. A challenge, as he likes to label it. Whatever helps him sleep at night, you’d reply.

Although, it would certainly soothe YOUR insomnia better if he were to divulge even a hair-sliver of detail in regards to how “safe” this mission truly was.

“(Y/n), there is no cause for concern.” He pulled back, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know my repertoire— else I wouldn’t consider you a close friend.”

Your heart ached for a second.

In small snippets from the multiple conversations you’ve had with him, you knew he kept his list of close friends few. There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he talks about those named Baiheng, Jingliu, Yingxing, and Dan Feng in passing. 

“And I’m just worrying over you,” you lightheartedly glared and waved your hand dismissively. “You know, like a real close friend.”

You both grinned in unison as if telling each other that neither would back down from this “argument” any time soon. He snorted and messed your hair up more. Over the time you’ve spent in each other’s company, your near-telepathic way of conversing has become quite an eerie issue for other mutual friendships. 

Not that either of you minded this. It’s always nice to be understood. 

“I know that look in your eye. Don’t add a part two from last night’s horror stories, please.”

“Then, I’ll take my leave,” he buttoned his jacket. “Last reminder before I go: you have arranged a meeting with Nadia this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” you huffed. “But unlike you, I don’t sleep in and forget my schedule.”

You swore that even after the door was closed, you heard him chuckle yet again. After that, he was gone.

Honestly, with someone with a “life-loving” temperament like him, you’re unsure if he’s easy to please— or too damn good at faking it for his good.

You heard soft knocks against your window.

Slowly, a grin forms on your lips.

“Hello, little man…” You cooed as you stood up and opened for not only the fresh Liyue morning breeze to enter…

But for a diligent little cuckoo bird to deliver its very special package as well.

You’ve always had a soft spot for animals…

“Hmm?”

Your eyes softened as it dropped its parcel and leaned its body against you, warming itself by sitting cozily on your window ledge. This little bird is quite the skilled messenger— always dropping by as soon as Jing Yuan takes his leave. As to why it suspiciously arrives as soon as he is gone, you’re unsure. Such a sneaky creature; you can’t help but adore it.

That’s not to say its deliveries are not as equally charming.

You chuckled as you elegantly unwrapped the ribbon. The letter was elegantly written in a scrawl you’ve familiarized even with eyes closed for the past months, yet it still holds an intensity that makes your heart flutter. 

There it was. The two words that keep you going better than any coffee brew.

“My dearest, (Y/n),….”

“Another letter from Vlad, I’d hope?” You sneaked from behind.

Nadia yelped, hitting you almost immediately. The delay was surely from being on a lovelorn cloud-nine, but her Fatui training that earned her last name definitely should’ve made you double-think.

You shriveled at the pain and she awkwardly cradled you.

“Oh shucks— I’m so sorry, (Y/n)! I-I didn’t realize it was y-y— Don’t scare me like that!” 

“Sorry! Sorry!” You hissed, blaming only yourself for the stinging aftermath. “I-I’ll get over it.”

Nadia guided you to the empty seat beside her. As soon as you were seated, she wasted no time to spill.

“The contents were far too adorable for my heart, oh, dear Tsaritsa, you NEED to read this.” 

An eyebrow was raised. Saying you had a suspicion that something like this would happen would be an understatement— when it came to Nadia, it was more like routine. It had been regular for you and her to get together at least once a month to chat over letters that you both received. Nothing about the time you spent with her was dull. She's the reason you adapted to the Liyue way of life so well. As you were both foreign to the culture— you and Jing Yuan are admittedly the extreme cases— you and her were eager to recount experiences in times of distress. And times of pure unbridled lovesick joy, such as this.

“C’mon, pass it.” You tried to say cooly, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed your high school-like excitement.

“Same time.” Nadia huffed. "Can't have you gatekeeping your own letter!"

You pulled out yours from your purse.

Nadia wasn’t the only one with something to present to the class. This is just like a teacher forcing students to read their discreetly passed notes out loud. 

Nadia has her Vlad.

You have your Nay Jung I.

Instantly, you both suppressed a giggle in the abrupt exchange.

Nay Jung I. You know little about him, and that intrigue keeps the fire going. When you see a white cuckoo passing by the window, you immediately know it means well. A sight that makes your heart skip a beat. Instead of pushing eggs, it slips a love letter whenever Jing Yuan isn’t around. All coming from a man you can’t track down.

That’s right.

You have a secret admirer.

As you read through the middle of Vlad’s letter for Nadia, you heard your very-much-an-adult friend bite back a squeal in front of you. Nay Jung I may sound like a feminine name, but he was a man. You could’ve sworn you saw Xiangling laugh from the corner of your eye as Nadia tugged your sleeve around like a fool.

“Oh my God?! He wrote that?!” Her lips were akin to wobbly lines toddlers would draw when mimicking the sun’s rays. 

“I find myself constantly catching glimpses of you in my daydreams, my mind flooded with what could be— what should be. Forgive me for my selfishness, but I fear it won’t take long before I can no longer bear the thought of being without you… What?! That’s so SWEET?!” Nadia clutched your love letter tightly, eyes wide as though she was the recipient.

Xiangling, bless her soul, had to peek behind her.

“I wish I could have the courage to reveal myself to you. When I doubt myself, my thoughts turn to you… Aww… I wonder who Mister Nay is and what did you do to get him this in love?” Xiangling playfully pouted, which made Nadia grin wider, almost teasing her. “Geez. When will I get a boy to send me letters?”

“I’m sure you’re going to get one or two someday. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” Nadia shrugged as she folded the paper and hid it. “Plus, I fear you’re too young for this.”

“Careful, Dia, she’s the one preparing our food.” You joked.

Nadia has grown more friendly to locals for the better since you started sharing meals here. Everyone knows the feelings between her and Vlad were mutual— but neither of them was willing to confess. With Nadia hoping he initiates, and him densely hesitant on whether she reciprocates. One of them can end this phase should they abandon pride or cowardice.

But Nay Jung I?

You can’t find his records anywhere… And he had told you that it is a fake name by your fourth letter, much to your chagrin.

So, you’ve settled with this arrangement. For now, you are both friends, despite knowing he has feelings for you from the start.

“Mister Nay definitely has it bad for you, Mx. (Y/n).” She gave you a closed-eyed smile. “You need to write back immediately! The man’s probably starving for it!— Oh, right, the pot!!!”

As the chef rushed back after being distracted, you gave Nadia’s letter back to her.

“Any chance of rain?” You asked.

“Cloudy with negative one percent chance that I’ll run to Northland Bank and confess to Vlad.” Nadia spoke sheepish;y.

“That’s at least five percent higher than yesterday.”

“Well, this last letter was adorable.” She swooned.

“Mx. (Y/n), you seem incredibly free at the moment, care to have a chat?”

You turned to look at the new person who joined in.

Fur coat, a distinct mole placement, a sharp haircut, and eyes self-assured enough to conceal their need for urgent assistance, it has to be none other than—

“Miss Yelan,” you gave her a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Nadia sat up straight, shifting to her work mode. “Is there some business you require from the Northland Bank?”

“I have no quarry with you, Madam Nadia, what I do want—” Yelan tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Is to speak to (Y/n) in private.”

You paused, recalling the conversation you had this morning.

‘I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.’

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan was warning you about this morning.

“Fine, I concede.” You sighed, swiftly snatching your letter from Nadia’s hands and tucking it inside the pockets of your inner jacket.

“Lead me to where you most need me.”

Over the years you’ve spent on Liyue, you’ve had another habit you’ve been nursing on the sidelines.

Epigraphy.

Better yet, it’s for the sole purpose of decoding ancient artifacts. Before you were transmigrated into Teyvat, you found that inspecting artifact descriptions and reading through lore strewn in notes and dialogues were a great part of what made playing Genshin Impact enjoyable. You devoured theories whether they were from YouTubers like Ashikai or other CCs who were eager to unravel and analyze myths from different civilizations. To be inside THE sandbox was the greatest treat. If your friends were here, you have no doubt you’d have plenty who’d look and try to pick apart Mister Zhongli’s brain.

Unfortunately, you never managed to catch his eye.

And the biggest misfortune of all, you caught Miss Yelan’s instead.

“It’ll take me a few weeks to decipher and solve this puzzle…” You told her hesitantly. “And I can’t guarantee anything either.”

Yelan only tilted her head. Strands of her hair hid her expression, and the only body language to be read was the way she played with the die on her fingers. You wondered if she was deciding your fate by giving it a roll…

You looked at the inscribed walls.

A man with horns… and his partner wearing a long hanfu… His partner… Reminds you of a beautiful cuckoo bird.

You sighed.

When she bargained for a chat in “private”, the Chasm was the last location you had in mind. Even more, it did not occur to you that she aimed to use you as a translator. For a language you only learned a few years ago.

You knew you couldn’t exactly deny a member of the Qixing, especially with how much you carried a moral debt for Lady Ningguang, so you agreed under the condition that Yelan wouldn’t snitch to Jing Yuan.

He might just give you the silent treatment if he found out you were here.

But back on the walls and the puzzle mechanism in the middle of the room…

Both were seated under the shade of a tree… 

Each holding a cup of tea…

“Damn it, why me?” You cussed out loud.

You seriously want to tell her that she should’ve chosen Zhongli. 

Not that you’d know that Yanfei begged Yelan to hire you for the job.

Yelan made her dice vanish. “If you need further assistance, and by that I meant necessities such as food and water, call for Wenyuan or Shanghua. They’ll materialize right in front of you.”

On the next wall, the horned man tightly held his partner, with tears falling from his eyes… His tail was more apparent in this depiction, but there were crystallized ambers and statues all around…

Like they were running…

Away from him…

You faced Yelan.

“Yelan, can’t you call for someone else—”

You blinked.

She was gone.

You don’t like being here.

You don’t like this cave.

You’re not sure whether you liked the fact Yelan invited you here. On one hand, you were grateful for the opportunity, but at the same time, you thought yourself unqualified for whatever piece of ancient Liyuean history was waiting to bite you in the ass. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that whoever the drawn man was, he was a force to be reckoned with. You played enough Genshin to know that yakshas are not to be trifled. If this ended up as an Azhdaha scenario, you wouldn’t want to be the nameless NPC who died along the way.

Should’ve commissioned the traveler.

As you progressed in your decoding, the texts were beginning to gnaw you. 

“Have you heard the tale of Lady ███ ███?”

You trembled at the thought.

Curse Jing Yuan and his ghost stories.

The story wasn’t even that frightening.

What got you was how Jing Yuan sold them. He had preached it as though he had been a witness. It’s just a typical unnerving tale to keep children alert, but he had always been far more persuasive than you.

“When she and her husband were out exploring, her husband left her while she sired his heir. He left her there to die.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. You quietly applauded his commitment to the bit. Should you not know any better, you would’ve thought he hated that man more than anything.

Like he was seething with jealousy.

“Some claim he hid her there to fight for a war, some say it was out of love… In my eyes, it was an unforgivable neglect.”

Jing Yuan claims sharing ghost stories was a common occurrence from when he used to teach his disciple. But you’re not an idiot. You can sniff out a reason why he loves to bring these stupid tales.

“Days felt like a prison tally. She had forgotten what it felt to live in the sun.”

“She lived only by fulfilling basic needs. No matter how thick the mud was, no matter what was within the soil— all she could do was bitterly swallow what was to come. She bit her tongue on the ever-growing famine— and wished that her child would survive.”

Jing Yuan does not want you anywhere near the chasm.

“So when it was time to give birth, she had no assistance. She pushed her child out as hard as she could, and laid an empty egg.”

Before you could even ask why a human would lay an egg, Jing Yuan continued.

“But they both passed away.” 

“Legends say, that’s the reason why the lumenstone ore glows. It contains the watchful gaze of a scorned mother and unborn child…”

“And if you aren’t careful, you too—”

“Could be trapped inside it.” 

You scoffed.

Was the tale stupid? Depends on who you ask. Was it sad? Sorta. Was the thought of two ghosts— possibly more— watching you as you were forcibly dispatched to read through The Chasm’s secrets terrifying? Given the dark and brooding atmosphere, it was a quiet yes.

“Hmm? I— I solved it…?”

You blinked.

Maybe you still retained your skills as a Genshin player. Anything for a luxurious chest is what you would’ve said. And yet, it still baffled you that one did appear.

When you unlocked it, you saw no “primogem” like you quietly hoped (it would be funny if you unlocked a wish function, but that’s unlikely…)

Instead, you found a dusty ore.

“Great.” You muttered dryly. “Just what I needed.”

It was amber in color, same as the clothes the man wore in the wall paintings. You’re at a loss on how you should report this to Yelan.

“Better than nothing.” You spoke, laughing slightly. That sounded like something Diluc would say. You should buy a dandelion wine after this hard work.

Quickly, you fished out the gloves in your pockets. It was made of nitrile, which should protect the ore from possible oil and moisture from your hands. Yelan was very insistent you wear it.

But as soon as you touched the ore…

Your consciousness slipped away.

There was a man in front of you.

But you couldn’t see his face. 

“Dearest ███ ███…” The horned man smiled delicately as he sipped his tea. “It has been centuries since our first wedding ceremony. Do be honest with me, do you still hold the same passion as before.”

These memories appear to you in a blur.

“No, I do not.” You heard your voice say as the man’s shoulders slowly deflated. His amber eyes looked down, and his smile began to strain.

With two fingers, you lifted his chin.

“If anything, my love for you has grown stronger,” you spoke. “For you and I shall never let our draconic instincts dull, and our union will be the greatest treasure we shall hoard in this never-ending flow of time.”

“…/n…!”

One hand took his scaley hand and the other held his cheek, caressing softly.

“Promise you shall return?” You heard yourself mutter, this time weak and hopeless.

He leaned against your palm, purring as though it might be the last time he’ll savor your warmth.

“You know I do not make promises, ███ ███.” He spoke firmly. “What I keep are contracts. And I have vowed to make you happy, for as long as I live.”

“…(Y… (Y/n…. snap… out…!”

“Contracts normally sound so cold, but your honeyed voice makes it sound so romantic.”

“You know well, my love, in all my years, I’ve witnessed endless contracts and agreements. Whether it was tangible or verbal— each one was a significant chapter to someone’s life.”

The horned man softly detangled your fingers from his long brown hair and kissed your hand.

“But only one brought forth complete change. Our matrimonial agreement. The contract we signed gave me the most happiness. I’ve never signed a happier contract than this one.”

“And I share the same sentiment.” You cooed, almost cheeky. “And I hope our future child shall feel our love as well.”

He rested his head on your shoulder and sighed.

“The day shall come, my love.” He spoke. “Just wait for me, until I fulfilled what the Heavenly Principles desires.”

“Of course,” you hugged him back. 

“I shall wait for you, my dearest…

“(Y/N)!!!”

You flinched.

Suddenly, you’re not in the mountains. You’re not hiding under the shade of a tree with warm-hued leaves. You were…

You were sitting on a patch of grass, just outside the chasm.

And Jing Yuan is mad.

He had a cold unmerciful glare. His built frame towered above you, casting a large shadow. It was already nighttime. Normally, only the moonlight and the lamps from afar should be the only source of light here, but his golden eyes seemed to glow. As though it was ready to call forth an entity you were not prepared to face.

You know the depths of his anger. Years of living inseparable from him has made every communication almost telepathic and that hadn’t changed. You can read it in his breaths, in his stiff and tall posture, in his unnerving gaze.

He is threatening you to spill. Saying without words that:

There are fates worse than death.

But your pulse was steady. But your breathing was calm. But your expression was blank.

You weren’t terrified.

And you can read that deep down, that scared the General more.

“Nay Jung I…”

For a moment, Jing Yuan’s eyes widened— as though there was something he was the only one privy to knowing. His face had a mix of surprise and disbelief before he steeled himself.

“Nay Jung I?” He scoffed. 

“What of him?” Jing Yuan asked.

“He’s my soulmate.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, brief incoherent syllables sputtered out of his mouth. You evoked more emotions in him this time around. You saw flashes of shock, what seemed to be happiness, hope, and then utter confusion.

“...What?”

“I saw him.” You said, calm. “I saw him as soon as I touched that rock. My soulmate— he had long hair and eyes like a dragon— I think he was a dragon, and so was I. I think my soulmate is in Liyue and he’s hiding behind the name Nay Jung I.”

Jing Yuan opened his mouth, before thinning his lips.

This time, you were certain.

He was not only mad. Jing Yuan was sorely disappointed.

“I understand…” 

You know the expression on his face. You read him like a discipline you mastered in epigraphy. He thinks that… 

You have gone “cuckoo.”

He turned around, no longer facing you.

“I’m sorry then, (Y/n).” 

Jing Yuan does not sound sorry to you.

“What for?”

There was silence for a moment, before he spoke again, voice bitter and vile.

He was not sorry.

He was furious.

He was hurt.

He was jealous.

“Nay Jung I is the leader behind the past terrorist attacks.” He paused. “And I killed him.”

You haven’t recovered ever since.

Every medical “professional” you’ve encountered told you that you were hysterical. That you just hallucinated what you saw. It isn’t possible that the visions you saw were Nay Jung I anyway. 

Maybe they were right about the last part, you don’t want to believe it. 

It was in your instincts. That man had to be your husband in the past. Who cares if you came from another world? Maybe you were an Expy. You had to be. That person— the one who reminded you of a cuckoo bird in those walls— had to be you in another universe. 

It had to be.

Your real soulmate is out there.

And Nay Jung I isn’t dead.

But you’ve never been good at persuading others.

Soyourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveit—

“General Jing Yuan, is (Y/n)…?”

Outside the apartment, Mister Zhongli and Jing Yuan stood by the window, peaking at your form. You were so engrossed by your inner conflicts that you couldn’t hear them.

“They’ll… move on from you, eventually.” Jing Yuan spat back coldly. “I’m not the God of Contracts, but I keep promises that do not fail.”

Zhongli’s face crumpled in anguish.

“May I ask a question? Just to sate a bit of curiosity, of course.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. Zhongli took that as a yes.

“Are you Nay Jung I?” He asked. “I did not see his name on the list of the deceased criminals—”

“Yes, he and I are the same,” Jing Yuan silenced him. “Nay Jung I is an anagram of Jing Yuan. You can reorder the letters and confirm it for yourself.”

Originally, Jing Yuan had hoped to woo you with a romantic tale of an anonymous admirer. But, in your delirium, you had mistakenly believed that Nay Jung I was the same man in your visions. 

It was repulsive.

Never before had he wished to scream so loudly. He had not felt this much anger when he discovered the crimes his old friends had done. He had not felt as betrayed as when you claimed love for Nay Jung I, but it was not him.

He wanted to summon the Lightning Lord to destroy Liyue right then and there.

It was a frustration he had never felt before. Not when he was training with Jingliu. Not when he was scolding Yanqing. Not ever.

But Jing Yuan was not an impulsive man.

He prides his patience.

He prefers to scheme quietly rather than flashing bold moves.

Jing Yuan sucked in a breath between his teeth. 

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask.”

He shut the windows and Zhongli’s heart ached as he could no longer see you.

But then he turned to look at Jing Yuan.

And he knew…

Jing Yuan is much older and wiser than he looks.

“Tell me, Rex Lapis,” he spoke sharply. “Did you wed this world’s version of (Y/n) (L/n) and leave her and her child to die?”

…

…

…

That silence was enough.

Jing Yuan’s private investigations behind your back were right.

In the vast “multi-verse”, there is a version of you that married this dragon who descended from his Archon status.

“I... have wrought upon them great suffering. I am unworthy of their affections. Should a day come where (Y/n) enacts the fury of my wife and child on their behalf, it will be justly deserved.”

Zhongli did not further elaborate.

Whatever happened in the past, it still haunted him to this day. Lingering in the back of his mind, dulling his self-confidence and wits. Maybe it’s why Yanfei thought you should investigate the cave. Maybe she wanted the alternate version of ███ ███ to come back.

But she's gone.

Jing Yuan took a step closer.

“Your wife is dead, Rex Lapis. They are my (Y/n), not yours.”

“I-… I know.” Zhongli— no— Morax spoke, voice laced with grief. “I know she and (Y/n) are not the same, however, I…”

Another step.

“If you wish for their happiness, you will continue to not speak to them. You have done enough damage.”

Morax closed his eyes mournfully. “I am well aware of this”

Another step.

“Let me take care of (Y/n). Let me make them happy.”

And another.

Jing Yuan stared deep into Morax’s soul.

In all his years of living, it didn’t occur to Morax that he’d find another familiar cuckoo again.

But it wasn’t his wife.

Jing Yuan took another step.

This man in front of him was pushing and pushing…

“Let this conversation be a verbal contract,” he said. “That I, Jing Yuan, vow to make (Y/n) happy, and that you, Rex Lapis, shall step down as a final way to atone your sins of uxoricide and filicide. Do you accept?”

Like a cuckoo throwing an egg off the nest.

Forgive me, dearest ███ ███.

I am unworthy of you, let alone this alternate incarnation of yourself.

Morax inhaled deeply. He remains in his head, yet he can't escape the present. The more time he spent searching inside himself for solutions over his approximately 6000 years in Teyvat, the more evident it became what the sensible path of action was. With open eyes, Morax welcomed the return of the present. He observed the vivid hues of existence. In the vicinity, he heard Jing Yuan's pet cuckoo bird. But most of all, he felt his age.

Whatever time was appropriate to dream of a family— it had long passed him.

I am but an old man who deserves to fade away quietly.

And he…

Has the same vigor Morax once had.

That obsessed look.

That tight, suffocating hold.

Just like staring at a reflection of himself, centuries passed.

Jing Yuan, too, was a man depraved. Worse, he is a man who lost everything, clinging only to (Y/n) as his only solace in Teyvat.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan took a walk with you, with one arm draping around your shoulder to ward off those he deemed unwanted.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan brags about you with his men in each available opportunity, socially claiming you his.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan glares at someone who got too close when he thought you weren’t looking, pushing suitors away.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan rarely talks about his story and would rather talk about something you had done, making you a large part of himself.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan only cares about you, and not even a sliver for himself.

He would rather not see him destroy himself the way he had done long ago.

And just like that, the General got rid of his greatest rival— Liyue’s archon and your husband from another life.

He is out of the nest.

“I accept.”

May June can now message Jing Yuan

[michelle-is-writing]

Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

[leclsrc]

it’s never over ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to friends with benefits to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, several references to 70’s music, 

word count: 12.9k  

You must have lost the plot along the way, because pretending to date your childhood best friend was not on your 2023 bingo card. (Neither was the fact that things are looking a lot more real as time passes.)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... handjob (f receiving), penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink

auds here… hi hi hi!!! you’ve no idea how much i missed writing posting and interacting w u guys. thank u for all the love & follows i’ve gotten in my periods of mia. more things soon i promise ty for ur patience love love love u allll 🌟🤎🤠💋 this is my love letter to fic tropes. i feared if it was too long i’d lose the plot somehow so i had to condense it. i truly hope u all like it :) will try & reopen reqs sometime soon to get inspo kicking

It’s later than late. The lights are strobing purple and blue, the “let’s get you even drunker than you are” headache inducing kind. The floor is crowded, swelling with teenagers who are probably too young to get in, drunk off cheap aperol and watered-down tequila shots. You’re balancing yourself on a barstool, one hand busy wrapped around a slim glass, the other clawing your miniskirt lower because the air bites at your legs.

“Another voddy Red Bull!” You’re slurring, mind spinning almost as fast as your vision. You almost drop your empty glass in your rush to look for another one—but right as it slips clumsily out of your fingers, it’s caught. 

Charles, your cocktail’s knight in armor and yours just as well, is eighteen. His hair is  light brown and long, but not draping over his eyes like before. You know before because you’ve never not known before—Charles has been your best friend since you were five.

Snoopy, he says, voice steady and calm in your ear. His frame is still lanky but he’s tall and his grip on your shoulders is enough to quell the yelling. You pout. Get me another voddy red, you plead. Charlie, it’s my birthday. He smiles to himself, knowing your vision’s too cloudy to see him and your mind’s too bogged to remember any of this. You’d already slipped up and told two bouncers you were seventeen and not eighteen, like your poorly-Photoshopped ID suggested; Charles had to keep you in check, lest you or your friends end up kicked out of the club.

A song booms in through the speakers and your eyes widen with recognition. Charles doesn’t anticipate your reaction fast enough, affording only a stumble backwards when you attempt to leave the barstool to dance. He swears under his breath, mind recounting the five previous dance sessions that left you exhausted and out of breath earlier.

I’ll get you a vodka Red Bull if you sit down, he tells you. He enunciates because, twelve years later, you still can’t wrap your mind around his thick European accent. Sit down.

Alriiiight! You hoot, throwing two fists up in the air. Customary for many bartenders on nights as busy as this one, a free shot is thrust into your vacant hand and you cheer loudly, much to Charles’ chagrin. With whatever malice the eighteen-year-old can muster, he casts the bartender a dirty look before turning to face you again, worried. He places a hand on your shoulder and watches, half-anxious and half-endeared, you take the shot and visibly grimace at the raw taste. Fuck. It’s gin I think, you sputter. Charles presses: You okay?

More than, you holler, smiling. I am officially seventeeee— 

The bartender’s eyebrows furrow, the thirty-something businessman in the adjacent stool turns to look—so Charles has no choice but to shut you up, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can seal your fate.

Your eyes widen briefly, and when Charles feels the passed seconds are sufficient, he pulls away. You stare, eyes hazy, at the pretty boy you’ve had feelings for since you turned fourteen, and lean in to kiss him again. 

—

Pascale is hosting her weekly Sunday brunch at the Leclerc residence, all French windows and wide kitchens and bowls of fruit. As always, your place is at the kitchen island picking at plates to taste test them. Bonjour, Arthur drawls when he walks in. He turns to Pascale. Mum. Then you. Snoopy.

You halt biting into your forkful of arugula and turn toward the younger Leclerc, eyebrows raised. “What’d you just call me?”

“Snoopy,” he says simply. He’s beside Pascale, one arm wrapped around her affectionately. “Or, Snoops, if you like that. Yes?”

“Who told you about that nickname?”

“Lorenzo.”

“Hasn’t been in use since your voice was cracking every sentence.”

“Tête de noeud.” Pascale swats his arm and he yelps, so you resume your arugula with satisfaction.

Charles is late for reasons he did not disclose, but everyone is used to it. The open kitchen door stretches into the front yard, where the table is set up and Lorenzo is setting the places. You know that although you usually expect a few more relatives, today’s just for the family—and you, but you’re basically family.

“How is Paris?” Arthur asks, licking hummus off a spoon opposite you. Your position is reminiscent of how you spent afternoons after school with Charles before, and the memory strikes a chord in you. Strange nostalgia, fondness.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh really?” He laughs in-between nibbles of carrot.

“I got an offer for a higher position,” you relent. Pascale calls you both, and you get up and walk toward the yard to sit down. “If you must know.”

“Oh? Let me know how that goes.” He follows you, carrot slice in hand, chewing. The conversation is cut short by the smooth noise of Charles’ decidedly un-smooth parking outside.

You’re seated at your usual spot—in-between Charles and Lorenzo, across Arthur—when the former finally walks into the yard. He looks tired, moreso than usual, bags under his eyes deep and hair a bit more disheveled.

He sits beside you. “I need to talk to you.” Then, quieter, “Private.”

You hum confusedly, eyes flitting across the three other people at the table to gauge their reactions. They’re equally aloof. “Wh—now?” He nods.

You end up talking in the kitchen. He’s sighing the whole fifteen steps there, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaling, inhaling. Ever observant, and of someone as close to you as he is, you pick up on the tiny actions, behaviors. Charles is wringing his hands. He’s tried to pop the same knuckle twice. He isn’t frantic—he’s scared. You lean against the counter, waiting, eyes looking him up and down to identify his exact emotions.

“Tell me,” you press. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”

“The—my—the iCloud of my phone has been leaked. The press found out.”

When you were eight and he was nine, you and Charles summered in Villefranche with your mum and dad. The weather then was the kind you could write love letters to and about—blue skies, salty wind, soft sand. The current was calm enough that you could ride the gentle waves without fear of going under or straying far from the shore, where your parents sunbathed blissfully.

Don’t drown, he’d warned you, ever protective. You wore pink floaties over your arms, so it was already difficult to.

You dove under with great effort, fighting against the buoyancy, and poked his bare knee, surfacing to watch his reaction. He grimaced. Slowpoke, you teased, swimming away. You wondered then what it might feel to drown. Maybe not in the blue water of Villefranche, but anywhere else.

You think it hurts to drown? You blubbered, bobbing above the wave. Charles swam in front of you and wiped water off your face gently. I hope you never find out, he said, smiling.

But this is you finding out. This is it now, the drowning. Your fingers flex over the edge of the counter and you gulp, eyes fluttering with nerves. “Shit?” It comes out like a question from how nervous you are. “Um, sorry. What are we—” But your question is cut short by Pascale’s voice, cutting through the tension like it’s wet cardboard. The agreement is silent and mutual: save this discussion for later.

—

Charles can’t wake up fast enough. There are calls, texts, voicemails from every officer on his team, which isn’t that surprising given he’s up two hours late. But the amount—the sheer amount of notifications is dizzying. Overwhelmed, he finds it in himself to pull up his search engine app and let his fingers possess themselves.

All he types is his last name, and then The Sun article is splashed onto his face like a pot of scalding coffee: “F1 DRIVER ICLOUD LEAKED, PERSONAL PHOTOS ALL OVER INTERNET.” Daily Mail is next, of course, watering down the situation to seem more dirty and scandalous: “Naughty Driver? Charles Leclerc’s iCloud Hacked, Reveals Mystery Girl.” And then of course Page Six, who doesn’t miss a beat—

Wait. He blinks and presses the back arrow to return to the previous webpage. He reads over it again, slower this time. Mystery Girl? Shit—no. No way. It’s almost (it should be) silly, the way he’s reading vigorously over the reports like he’s a fan, but he’s anxious. He scrolls, because if any tabloid is daft enough to publish the leaked photos, it’s got to be the Daily Mail.

He pauses his quick swiping when his eyes harden with recognition, and staring back at him, on his phone’s full brightness, is a picture of you on his lap at Christmas. It’s the one Lance took while attempting to guess Charles’ password, one of you wine drunk with his head buried in your neck.

It’s unmistakably him, at his own house in Monaco where the drivers had a holiday get-together. It’s unmistakably you, hair draped over your face, three gold rings on your fingers. You had just given him a Strokes vinyl, he recalls. That’s why you were hugging.

There’s another one of you playing Scrabble in his bed—he’s not in the frame, but he remembers taking it. This, he could deny. He’s not in it, and he’s pretty sure the fans don’t know his house this well. Already his brain’s doing manual damage control, dread filling his veins at the thought of reading through his team’s frantic messages.

Another message stands out, pinned on top of all the others—from his mum, reminding him about brunch. He gets ready half-focused, half-lucid. Fully worried. He worries about the PR crisis this may cause, about his iCloud security, about the reactions online. Above all, though, he worries about you. About what he should tell the press. About how “actually, we’re not dating, we just fuck constantly” might hold up for the fans.

—

You’re twelve and Charles thirteen, both of you seated across Hervé and Pascale. Behind them stand your own parents, and they all look stern. What this is, Pascale says gently, is a family meeting. Okay?

Okay. It leaves your high voices in shaky unison. You both know what you’re doing here—you snuck out of school to catch a movie earlier, the teacher naturally caught wind of the misdeed, and now you’re in a meeting for it.

Snoops, Charles whispers, trying to ease your nerves with lighthearted commentary. This is the worst.

No, you want to tell preteen Charles—this is. You’re older now, yet still subjected to similar questioning, though today it’s Pascale going solo. It’s been three days since the fated day where the press leaked the pictures of you and Charles in compromising positions, and like any boomer, she’s used Facebook to her advantage and gotten ahold of the compromising pictures, too. 

“How long?” Her voice is enunciated in hard syllables.

“Mum—”

“Answer the question.” She looks back and forth, moving into territory of intense questions. “Both of you.”

“Um.”

“Because… I’ve been…”

You notice it immediately, given your observant track record: her shoulders relax and her lips smile just slightly. You sit still, and wait for the next words out of her mouth. “…waiting for this all my life!”

You and Charles watch in mild horror as Pascale’s face goes from firm to absolutely elated. Her eyes soften and a smile spreads over her face, illuminating her with pure joy. Do you even know how many bets I made with your papa, Charles? She claps her hands together several times.

Charles opens his mouth to verbalize dissent, but she doesn’t take it—she’s already droning on and on about how long she’s waited for this to finally happen. Your eyes glide over to the doorway of the dining area, where Lorenzo and Arthur watch with smug looks on their faces. Little shits won’t help you. You don’t even try to protest, and at some point Charles gives up, too. You don’t know how it’ll come across, anyway.

Ninety minutes later, you’re in Arthur’s bedroom rifling through his desk and praying you don’t find anything too gross. He’s on his bed throwing a bouncy ball up in the air, conversing with Charles about your gameplan with their mum.

The sky outside is in limbo between afternoon and night. It’s cloudy, so the sunset is a pale yellow instead of angry orange. “Why not just tell her the truth?”

You’d also thought that was the easiest option, escape route, exit path. But that would involve breaking Pascale’s heart, and that was out of the question for you, let alone Charles, certified mommy’s boy.

“I can’t, Arthur.” Charles’ voice is steady and unwavering.

“You can.”

“No.”

“Fine. Next best thing then.”

You fiddle with a Rubik’s cube, then turn in the seat. “What?”

“Pretend you’re dating.”

“Arthur,” you say seriously. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t join you, and you realize neither does Charles. You stare blankly at both of them, unwilling to believe they’d actually bank on this as an actual plan. 

“You guys realize this kind of thing never works? Zero percent success rate.”

“It’s just paddock appearences. You’re not pretending for millions of people,” Arthur says, shrugging. He catches the ball and throws it to you—you catch it one-handed. “You’re pretending for Mum.”

“Sure. And by extension, millions of people. Are you dense, or do you think the paddock appearances will just breeze by everyone who saw the leaks?”

“Ughhh. You’re acting like it’s impossible.” Arthur holds his breath before he utters the next sentence. “Like you two aren’t fucking every other w—”

“—oh, my God!” Shocked, you get up, and so does Charles. “Wh—I’m—language, Arthur!”

Charles balks. “How did you even—”

“I didn’t. But merci mille fois for confirming my theory,” Arthur quips faux-sweetly, smiling dopily. “I mean, I was going to find out! Your pictures are so… intimate. So just pretend to date and throw Maman off your scent.”

You protest briefly, wrestling with the option, and reconvene on the bed, you cross-legged and leaning on Charles’ shoulder and Arthur in front of the both of you. He’s always had a knack for schemes—he never got caught sneaking out, which destroyed your and Charles’ record of being caught twelve times by either of your parents. It’s a bit childish, but he gets the job done.

“Do it for… let’s say a month. Tell Mum you’ve been dating a while—Christmas isn’t that long ago, and that was the least recent picture. D’accord?”

You both nod, hyperfocused. 

“During race weekends, be all over each other—shouldn’t be hard—especially in front of Mum. People might catch you doing it, but I wouldn’t worry.”

“No, wait—I mean.” You shrug. “People—tifosi—they know I’m Charles’ friend. They’re going to be all over the fact that we’re apparently dating.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll use palatable density,” Charles says, nodding.

You pause. Arthur does, too, sensing something off.

“You mean plausible deniability.” Your deadpan voice is tinged with amusement, muffled into his shoulder. 

“Right, ouais, that.” He smiles, chuckling a bit; his shoulder shakes with it and your head nearly slips off. He brings a hand to cup over your jaw and hold you steady. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” You sigh. “I’m totally okay with this. Just worried it’s going to have unintended consequences.”

Arthur quells you with rushed explanations about how it’ll be over and you two can say something like we decided we’re better off as friends to really sell the thing. At the seven-minute mark of your and Charles’ intense interrogation, he promptly kicks you out to figure out if you’re willing to do it yourselves.

You wedge yourself into Charles’ front seat, knowing you were headed to his place anyway. You massage your temples with one hand and fiddle with the hem of your shorts with the other. Nervous. Antsy. “Did Fred say anything?”

“Got the IT team to fortify my account.” 

“You think this thing’s going to be okay from a professional standpoint?” You look up and toward him; he’s already gazing at you, eyes soft. “I’m worried. Plus, with my job offer thing in London and New Y—”

“Don’t be.” He starts the car and maneuvers out of the driveway, into the dips of Monaco streets and the familiar route back to his place. “Bitter with the sweet. The only thing you need to worry about”—he takes your hand in the centre console, laces your fingers together loosely—“is your acting skills.”

“God, you’re right.” You sigh, looking out the window. “How am I going to pretend I can stand you?” Then, for good measure, you squeeze his hand wrapped in yours.

—

You visit Monaco from uni in London over spring, and for the first time in months, your schedule aligns with Charles’—though you learn this indirectly when you visit the Leclerc home. Pascale, of course, is the one who tells you his new flat’s address before she presses a kiss to your cheek and then leaves to run errands in the city. Alone, and in a burst of excitement, you make the drive there, take the elevator upstairs and shove the door open without knocking. He’s there. Your Charles. You can tell because the music he plays is loud—The Kooks—like his ears are still fourteen and not twenty-one, like he’s still in middle school and not in Formula One.

“Save your eardrums,” you say, before beelining toward the couch and leaping onto him for a hug. He sits up to match your energy, arms wrapping around you, sitting up straighter to keep you from totally falling atop him. 

“How’s uni?”

“Shit,” you say into his hair. It smells like his shampoo and his favorite cologne. Clean, soapy. “Obviously. How’s the Ferrari?” 

“Amazing.” He smiles. “Obviously. How’d you know I was in? Mum told you?”

“Ouais. She’s running errands. Listen, can we drink tonight?” You sigh, parting from the hug and sitting across him.

Yeah, sure. His voice is concerned, thick with worry. You shake your head—it’s not that deep, you tell him. It’s just—I had a bad date before I left and it’s put me in the worst mood.

Oh? He leans back, clasping two hands behind his head as he goes.What happened? He laughs. 

You tense visibly, rolling your eyes despite yourself. “He was just weird. Nothing.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You shy, Snoops?”

Ha-ha. You roll your eyes, but your face is flushed and your gaze avoids him. You reach up to tuck the loose strands of hair by your ears behind them, face warm. You’d never talked with Charles about boys or flings before—maybe several times, but never in full detail. It was always vague umbrella statements, like Ryan is boring or Greg is such a prick, but never anything beyond that. Come to think of it, you don’t know why, either.

“You can tell me.”

“The—when we—I had to fake,” you say cuttingly. “You know.”

He purses his lips and smiles, eyebrows furrowing. I don’t, actually. Something unnamed trills through you—through your stomach and into your fingertips. Your first time talking to your best friend in real life after months of uni and racing and this is the topic? It’s, if anything, a sign of your growing up, you guess.

Charles lets up on the teasing and you end up rejecting the club in lieu of sharing a bottle of vodka, throwing it back raw and without any type of chaser (to really prove nothing at all; you don’t even know why any sane human would do this). You do a Just Dance party on his TV, even try out drunk sim racing and FIFA, but by the end you’re well exhausted and retired to the couch again.

His voice is wavy and tipsy when he speaks. “You really had to fake it?”

“Yeah.” You pout. “Can never—um, finish, I dunno.” Your inhibition’s gone, shame loosened and untied by the vodka. You shift in your position on the couch.

“Maybe because it was too casual.” His voice hardens.

“So you’re saying I should…” You swallow dryly, eyes fluttering. “Sleep with somebody I know?” You’ve dropped the implication and it floats up, hangs above.

His eyes flick over to your legs, folded on the couch. The hem of your shorts. Your fingers playing with your empty shot glass. He didn’t mean anything by that. He’s half-sure you didn’t. 

“I am just saying that a good friend would do that for you.”

“You’re a good friend,” you say, volume low. 

Five minutes later you’ve properly crashed into each other, him pinning you down against the couch, licking fire up your throat. His lips trail across your jaw. 

He dips a hand into your shorts, presses against your clothed core. He’s smiling. So wet for me. He’s got his mouth pressed messily up to your jaw, when he sinks one finger all the way in, slow and stretching; and you’re clenching around him—

Come on, he’s saying. Insisting. You’re trembling, yanking desperately at his hair as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper. 

He slips another one in, and you feel the cold of his ring pressed against your entrance, then he’s fucking them into you and you’re leaking around them. 

Yes, yeah, Charles—you’re gasping, airy breaths tapering into whimpers that sound sinful, desperate. He knows you so well already. Presses his fingers against your sweet spot, watches your eyes flutter.

So needy, and you’re chanting his name under your breath as he quickens his pace, craving the stretch of him desperately. I know you want to cum, baby. He’s calling you baby and you’re closer, so much closer. Come on, for me, yeah? 

You melt, crashing and crumpling into him and shuddering as you release all over his fingers. He presses his forehead to yours and lets you take a beat. You feel giddy and dizzy and warm, which is weird because you don’t feel drunk at all anymore. This dizziness is something different. It’s Charles.

“Are we going to do that again?” You ask meekly, hand still in his hair.

“Only if you want. Whatever you want,” he says. He’d do anything for you. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“I do, I do want.” And Charles, the good friend he is, helps you out.

—

Imola is humid, warm, and the racetrack is absolutely teeming with people. But you’re not there—clad in linen shorts and a fresh tank top, you’re walking around the vicinity of the track, cup of gelato in hand, sunglasses over your eyes. The restaurant near you is playing music out loud. Beside you, singing along and drafting a list of wedding appetizers, is Lorenzo.

“Lamb chops?” You suggest, licking amaretto off the plastic spoon. The weather is pleasant enough that people are crowding the streets without it being too unbearably hot. Stevie Wonder flows from the speakers, permeates the entire block.

“I was thinking more seafood.”  

“Tuna? Make ‘em little tacos.”

“Good idea. Think I’ll go for those. Hey, are you sure you’re on board with fake-dating my brother?”

You turn sharply toward him, taken aback. He hadn’t brought it up in the week and a half this plan had been in the works—he’d been privy to it the entire time, too, which makes it weirder that he’s asking so suddenly.

“I meaaan…” You slow your pace, contemplative. A shy smile plays at your lips, brows knitted together. “It’s only going to be for a month. Ish. So, yeah. Are you—do you—sorry. Is it alright with you? Sorry.”

“It is not not okay.”

“So it’s…” You pause. “Okay.”

“It’s—yes, but I worry, is all. How sure are you that this won’t hurt anyone?”

“I don’t know, it’s… bitter with the sweet. And who’s getting hurt… like the fans?” You laugh a little. “They’ll live, won’t they?”

“Like you.” He pauses. “Like Charles.”

—

Pierre is running a comb through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror; his Narcissus moment is interrupted by a banana to the back of his head. Bonjour, he says, monotone and already knowing the culprit.

“We need to talk.”

“Could this possibly be about the news of your brand new ‘girlfriend’ over last week? Where is she, by the way?”

“With Lorenzo. Listen, here’s the thing. Mum thinks we’re dating, and I don’t know how to tell her we’re not—so I won’t.”

“Lie to your mum, go ahead.” Pierre crosses his arms and hums.

“Tais-toi. It’s for her own good.” 

“So you’re going to pretend to date.”

 “Ouais.” 

“Should be easy. You guys are hooking up and making out or whatever all the time.”

Charles pauses and lets the silence speak for itself. When Pierre makes a noise of confusion, he gives. We don’t kiss, he says finally. She thinks it is too intimate, and we ‘are not dating,’ so sex is the only thing we do. Sex, and if you still have leftover antsy energy, you pull on his shirt and sit up against the headboard to finish a crossword puzzle. Sometimes he helps you, but most of the time he’s just there to press lazy kisses to your hair and temple, cheekbone and jaw—never your lips.

“You don’t kiss?” Pierre’s genuinely shocked. “Putain, you’re a hero. How does that even work?”

“We just do not kiss. We fuck, but no kissing.” He shrugs. “It’s always been that way.”

“So how about her birthday?”

“She doesn’t…” Charlex exhales tightly. “Remember.”

“Charles,” you suddenly say, head appearing into the doorway. “Oh, hey. Fred said you might be here. What are you guys talking about?”

“Sprint racing,” Pierre says, an easy lie.

Charles, though, is never good at the lying bit. “International tariffs.”

—

Your only memories of your seventeenth birthday are applying lip gloss and mascara, wearing your shortest skirt and tightest top, and reciting your supposed date of birth in line like a mantra. Anything after that’s been sprayed off by the ultra-clutch strength of vodka. Which, you’ve been told, was your drink of choice.

“Headache’s better,” you moan over the phone, face squashed onto your pillow. “Mum gave me an Advil but I was so sick all morning.”

“Did you snog anyone?” Charles is always teasing.

“God, I wish.” You shut your eyes and try to remember if your drunken stupor had somehow managed to get you successful in lip-locked matters. Nothing comes up and you wipe a dry hand over your face, heaving a sigh. “I really wanted to kiss Matthew but I think he left before you and I did.”

A pause. Then Charles clears his throat. “You mean you and me and the police car that escorted us home?” He snorts.

“You’re such a prick!” You scream into your pillow, laughing. “I already thanked you for being my literal savior last night.”

He smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.”

“Did you have fun?” You flop onto your back and stare at the stick-on stars on your ceiling. You make a mental note to try and remove them.

“Bit boring because I vowed not to drink at all, but I got to dance. Bitter with the sweet, right?”

—

“Nervous?”

“I mean, fuck, yeah.” You fix the hem of your dress, speaking to Giada through the phone. “Pascale’s waiting for us on the paddock. And so are, like, a hundred photographers.” You wince. “Can you even imagine Charles and me? It’s just—I dunno—it’s weird.”

“It isn’t,” she says, laughing. “Not really. It makes sense. Plus, aren’t you on the whole arrangement?” You envision her air quotes.

“Yeah, but”—you slip your sandals on—“it’s on and off, and that’s not dating. It’s sex. Two different things.”

“Is it really, though? Considering how close you are outside of bed, aren’t y—”

“Okay, input no longer needed,” you laugh. “Bye, Gi. I’ll text you later.”

You reunite with Charles just by the paddock entrance. The throng of fans holding cutouts and posters notice you two before anyone else does, inciting a collective bout of yells around the both of you. He notices your blue silk dress first, eyes unmoving. “You look like the sky.”

“Thanks, man.” A beat, and you squint through your sunglasses. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Sure.”

“Prick.” You peek over them and to the fans, who wave more aggressively when they notice you’re looking. Nervously, you raise a hand and wave back, and the noise heightens. “I think I’m going to be replacing you.”

“Dream on. On y va?”

You turn back to him, smiling, and you both enter at the same time. His hand wraps around your waist, dips a bit lower to rest at the small of your back as you walk—the fans clearly dig it, because everyone’s yelling in a frenzy as you depart. What are you doing, you ask through your smiling teeth.

“Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating?” He maintains an equally pleasant (totally duplicitous) façade, smiling. 

“I didn’t think,” you say, still smiling falsely, “that you’d put your hands on me five minutes into the whole agreement.”

“Smile, honey,” he teases. “I see at least five cameras at us right now.”

“It’s seven,” you beam. “Dumbass.”

“Again with the competitive streak.” memory

“I totally deserved to win last week’s game. You’re just a sore loser.”

“No you’re just a—hi, hi, hello!”

Your walk to the motorhome is interrupted by running into a friend of Charles’—someone from McLaren, one of the executives there. While Lando has been informed of your stunt, nobody else on that team has. 

They handshake and he waves at you politely. “Whole paddock’s buzzing with news of you dating,” he says, smiling. “It’s a tad crazy! I remember seeing you as Charles’ plus one back when he was in Formula Two. And now you two are dating. How did—well, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it all happen?”

“Oh,” you say, laughing. “Yeah, Monaco.”

“Texas,” Charles says at the same time.

Alarm bells go off in your head at the totally random, unwarranted statement out of Charles’ mouth. Texas? Neither of you have even ever been at the same time. “He means”—you say, coughing and nodding—“we went on this, um. Wild West themed, um, restaurant in Monaco, and that’s where he asked me out.” You make a face that you hope conveys you get it, and it seems to work.

“Definitely not what I had in mind, but if it worked, it worked, eh?” He grins. “I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Alright, ciao!”

You’re smiling and waving after him as he leaves, and then you’re (semi) alone again, or at least within your own space on the incredibly crowded paddock. 

You turn to him, unable to hide your confusion. “Um? Texas?! What’s up with the backstories?”

“It slipped out! Sorry. But nice save.”

“You’re so f—” You try to scold him, but can’t, bursting into laughter and leaning forward to laugh into his chest. “Texas, really?”

“Sorry,” he says. You feel the vibration of his own laugh through his chest and it’s warm and nice. You peel yourself off lest you look too clingy, and resume your walk to the motorhome.

Ferrari is crowded, filled with people and strategists and guests. You’re given a bottle of water and then hounded with questions from the team who haven’t been informed of the situation at hand. David, one of the engineers close to Charles who you’d previously spoken to in one of the earlier races, asks to borrow him.

“Ciao, ciao.” They speak in one of the outdoor patio areas. “Is everything okay?”

“The car is fine. I just wanted to ask about the girl.” David punches his arm, playful. “You finally got her!”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… I remember all the times she would show up and you’d tell me about how much you liked her… I don’t know, it’s perfect for things to end up like this, no? Bravo!”

“Oh, si. I’ve just been, you know…” He looks through the glass sliding door and into the hospitality, where you’re talking to Isa and Carlos, sunglasses over your hair. Your hands are moving quickly, and you’re smiling while talking. He wonders what you’re so passionate about. When you’re caught in fits of happiness and passion, you’re extra animated. Your eyes are lively, and your lips can’t stop curling into a slight beaming smile. Now, maybe it’s France, maybe it’s crossword puzzles, slim chance it’s your job—whatever it is, he could watch you talk like this for hours. He thinks it’s beautiful, the way you transform, the way you smile, when you talk of things you absolutely love. 

“… crazy about her forever.”

��

There are banners, Italian flags, and Charles’ face on every other wall. He’s done his first hat-trick of the season (of several more, you’re hoping). You’ve foregone the usual clubbing for dinner with a smaller group of people, but only because you’ve been told the nightlife is bleak and you’d rather save that energy for the next race.

Lando picked out the restaurant—he’s “on a massive Yelp high” trying to get the best restaurants in every city they get to. He’s tried two over the weekend, and is hoping this guns for first place. The restaurant’s name is long and so very Italian, to the point where your semi-fluency fails you. The food is amazing, though, and so is the wine—a whole other level of grape-flavored bliss.

You’re in-between Joris and Charles, nursing your fourth glass while Charles downs a bottle of beer. Light conversation flows through the table, but your sleepiness only allows you to hear some of it. You’re content with the white noise.

Lando is getting a new cat, Lewis bought a new pair of shoes—oh, no, shares in the company that makes the shoes—Joris bought the shoes, Lorenzo will now buy the shoes, why isn’t anyone paying attention to Lando’s cat. It’s funny, entertaining, and the perfect nightcap to your immensely exhausting day of acting.

Wine tipsy makes you loopy and snoozy. By default, your head lolls onto Charles’ body; he immediately wraps a sweater-clad arm around your frame, leans back, pulls you closer. Doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, while doing so, he’s even able to get a dig in against Lando’s affinity for cats.

“No more wine, m’kay?” He whispers quietly, angling his head to yours. 

“Oh, but it was so good, though.” You mope, but nod in agreement. “I could seriously drink wine out of a keg here.”

“Sure did that a lot with beer.” You laugh, punching his bicep with what little space you’re given. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah. But I’m fine,” you respond, smiling. “Now shut up. I need to know what happened to Lando’s cat.”

Lewis leaves first, claiming he’s into this whole “sleeping at 9PM” thing, and Lorenzo follows to get ahead of an early flight tomorrow. It’s you, Joris, Charles, and Lando now, and you’re good as dead, eyes half-shut and fluttering, head slipping off his shoulder.

How was it? Lando asks, lowering his volume to keep from being too jarring. Day 1, fake dating? I actually read something like this in one of those, um, fanfiction stuff the fans do. Joris and Charles cast him a half-weirded out, half-amused pair of looks, but Lando defends himself. They’re actually pretty good, guys. I read one where I ended up with my rival or summat.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lando,” you croak, voice raspy with sleepiness and a day of bubbling laughter, “but Charles and I probably didn’t do your fanfiction kink justice.”

“Ignoring the emasculation.” He says, turning beet red. “What’d you do, then? Wasn’t it hard?”

“It was hard, but it’s like that.” Charles likes to substitute the phrase it is what it is to it’s like that, a result likely stemming from his trilingual childhood. “We just. Pretended. Oi, we held hands in front of the cameras.”

“Yeah, you can get a good wank in if that does it for you,” you joke. Lando hurls a cube of parmigiano at your face; it lands squarely and you flip him off, the table erupting with peals of laughter.

“In all seriousness, though—how are you two okay with this? I know I’d be second guessing my feelings every second.”

You shift, trying to hide your obvious lack of answer. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Charles says, “We’re both comfortable with each other, I think.”

“Yeah, comfortable enough that we can, you know, be honest.” You’re looking at Lando when you say that. You don’t know how well you could repeat the sentence if you were looking straight into Charles’ eyes.

You leave the restaurant with a generous tip, and Charles helps you pull your coat on when you’re out the door, back into the chilly night air. It’s then that all four of you catch news via text, of a club invite somewhere in the city.

“It’ll be fun, guys.” Joris and Lando stand in front of you and Charles, bumbling with excitement. “I heard Lil Tjay is going to be there.”

“It sounds very fun,” you say, smiling, “but I might pass out if I drink anything other than water, and I have zero energy. You three go ahead.”

“Wh—no, I’m not going, either.” You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “Serious! I wasn’t in the mood much, anyway. Joris, take Lando’s car and we’ll take mine.”

“Alright,” Lando whistles. “Suit yourselves, agoraphobes.”

“Joke’s on you”—Charles smiles, smug—“I don’t know what that means.”

“Not the dig you think it is, Charles,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Night, Joris, Lando. See you guys tomorrow. Use protection!”

“Should be saying that to you guys,” quips Joris with an evil grin that he closes the car door on.

The climb into the car feels like a chore in itself with how tipsy and sleepy you’ve become. Charles likes to bring his Ferrari to race weekends, but you convinced him to use a different car for this one, because you honest-to-God can’t stand the low seats anymore. 

“You want dessert?” He asks when he’s rounded the car and settled into his seat. “Gelato, a cone, biscotti…”

“No, no,” you say, voice thin. A palm covers your shutting eyes; blindly, you reach for his hand. It’s easy because he sees you searching and takes your hand to cut it short. “I’m good. So sleepy. Can I sleep at your hotel room?”

“Sure.” He starts the car, waves to the wait staff idle by the entrance, and drives off. “How was the day as my fake girlfriend? Anyone ask about me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, flickering his gaze to your figure beside him. “Wasn’t too tough, I hope.”

Imola whizzes by, trees and city, and a poorly stifled yawn escapes your lips, wine stained. You laugh sleepily. “It was a bit awkward, but bitter with the sweet, right?” He smiles, nodding, and you continue. “Yeah, few strategists, some people who knew you from Prema. I was talking to Isa and Carlos, too, earlier. Even if they know it’s fake.”

He recalls seeing you talk to them through the glass. “About?”

“You.”

—

The sun is merciless on the clay courts, and so are your shoes, shuddering against the surface in your continuing attempt to beat the opposing team. Charles cowers behind you—he’s scored less than half of your points thus far—but you’re on a mission, like your competitive self always is when you’re put in a position to be able to win.

You’re two points down now, and the noontime is becoming increasingly itchy and unforgiving; across you both, Giada and Joris call a mutual time out. “That’s not allowed!” You say, petulant.

“This is a practice session,” Charles says gently, nearing you. “Mate, none of us are actual players.”

You wipe sweat off your forehead. “Right. Désolée. I’m just—I’m in the zone.”

“Ouais, I get it. Relax, m’kay? We got this.”

You shake yourself off and hop a few times, skirt bobbing by your waist as you go. Your braid bounces on your shoulder and you nod, turning your racquet over in your grip. 

Charles pings the ball hard and it soars over to land just shy of the line, seemingly scoring a point for you two and securing your win. Giada and Joris chime in with protests, claiming that the ball’s out. You throw your hands up in question.

“Okay, what? That was clearly a point!”

“Snoops, I think they might be right. The ball looked out to me,” Charles says, wrapping a sweaty arm around your red shoulders.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? That ball was in! I saw it!” You elbow yourself out of his grip, aghast.

“How about…” He suggests quietly. “We let them win? You did win the last”—he pauses to count—“five sets. Come on, Snoops. They need this. Bitter with the—”

You take a deep breath, staring into his eyes. “Fucking sweet, right, okay. Fine, fine.” 

Charles thinks he’s in the clear and he’s managed to extinguish your flames of frustration—that is, until you walk into the Leclerc household for lunch an hour later and, after greeting Pascale and Hervé, you point squarely to the jar on the kitchen counter. “Five euros.”

He splutters. “Five? Wh—non, non! I was trying to calm you down.”

“You were blind and gave Giada and Joris a fake win,” you say playfully.

“Saluuut,” Lorenzo greets, sitting at the stool beside yours. “Quoi de neuf?”

“Charles has five euros for the jar.” The jar, the infamous jar, sometimes dubbed the Dumbass Jar when Pascale’s out of earshot. It was Lorenzo who first made it up after three straight instances of Charles pulling a push door (three different establishments).

Arthur’s joined in at this point, but its biggest indirect donors are definitely Lorenzo and Hervé, who view it as just about the funniest thing in the world. Out of pity, you don’t call dumbass too often, but the tennis loss is bruising enough that you warrant the usage.

“You heard Snoopy. Five euros. We’ll be able to get milkshakes with this money after next week.” You high five. “At this rate, Charles, you could open a restaurant in Paris.”

“He’s going to race,” you correct. You both watch a begrudged Charles junk a bill into the nearly-full jar. “What race driver is going to open a restaurant?”

—

You meet Yuki Tsunoda on a flight to Nice. You’ve seen him several times before, not too frequently but enough that his name and face are familiar on your mind. Also a personality trait that Pierre would bring up in fond conversations with you and/or Charles: he loves food, apparently.

“Yuki’s volunteering AlphaTauri to be your hideout,” Pierre tells you and Charles, across him. 

Turns out, the hardest part (insofar) of this whole schtick: the officially appointed paddock photographers are being extra sneaky with it, finding the best vantage points to snap pictures of an unwitting you and Charles.

They’re like hawks, watching for even the slightest glimpse so they can post the photos on Instagram and get clicks.

So, just a few hours earlier, Charles asked if there was a place you and him could talk if needed where photographers wouldn’t be awaiting you already, and this was the answer.

“If it’s too much trouble, feel no need to… you know.”

“Nonsense.” Pierre smiles goofily and Yuki pokes him to stop, pausing his session of eating a quesadilla (where he’d even acquired it, you’re clueless). “Yukino would be happy to.” 

The flight lands and the drive to Monaco is infected with notoriously slow traffic; you pop an Advil to try and alleviate the motion sickness. Pierre and Yuki, it seems, have joined you even outside of the flight. They’re in the backseat offering bits of conversation.

“Oh, mate, we should totally play tennis while we’re here.” Pierre sighs. “Didn’t you guys play before?”

“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble with a lilt of amusement at the memories from basically a decade ago. “At the country club. Doubles always, otherwise I’d knock Charles out of the park.”

“Hey, I won a couple times!” He protests weakly. “Like… twice.”

You laugh out loud. “Anyway, Pierre, do not bring me into tennis. I get all competitive and develop anger issues.”

“I had to calm her down twice a set,” Charles says; you swat him lightly to silence him. “Still do.”

“You know, if the Dumbass Jar still existed,” you say cuttingly, “I swear I’d be able to buy off Ferrari with that money.”

—

Monaco is swelterinly hot today. You know this because you know the weather here, you know the curves and ups and downs of it—this is your home. And today is hot. Every few minutes a breeze filters through the air and you can hear journalists or PAs sigh a collective breath of relief before they’re all subjected to the inane, high-degree weather again.

It’s also, according to Arthur, a good day to kiss in front of the cameras. He says it easily over a plate of sliced kiwi, with a devious smile, because he assumes your friends-with-benefits arrangement equates to constant kissing. But the truth is you’ve never kissed Charles, and it intimidates you.

“Do we have to kiss?” You play with his bracelets, sitting beside him on the sofa. The talk of kissing entertains the thought of sex and you can’t help but mentally complain at the remembrance that you haven’t gotten laid in weeks.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do.” You splutter, eyes going wide, face warm. “No! I mean I don’t mind. If it sells the thing.”

“D’accord, then we will.” He smiles. “That okay?”

“Sure. First kiss,” you say. Your voice feels as clammy as your hands.

“First.” He looks away.

You take your woes off the kiss by playing a friendly round of tennis with your favourite opponents, Giada and Joris. They bemoan your competitive nature (that, to be fair, allots you and Charles three straight wins), and Giada incites a protest for a girls versus boys round.

You both embarrass Charles and Joris, heckling them as you win another two straight games. Charles runs over to you when you throw up the L sign on your hand, lifting you up and making you squeal.

“Put me down, loser!”

Giada and Joris exchange a look. Amused, knowing. “Charles! You’re such a cunt.” You kick hard, and manage to snag his abdomen, so he gently places you onto the clay again. He laughs and paces back over to his side, and you play with the tail of your braid as you watch.

You play set after set, but the kiss comes anyway. When you know photographers can see you—by the entrance—and it happens faster than your mind can muster. He’s leaning in, you’re reaching up, and your mouths slot together. It’s—and it feels crazy to say it, but—

It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You smile against his lips like they belong there and like they’re familiar and yours and like maybe this is all you’ve ever wanted, and like they deserve the smile, because they do. You feel your need to pull away before you can’t help but keep him tethered to you always. It’s strange and it’s not platonic—you’re mature enough to admit that, but not enough to label exactly what it is.

You spend the day with your fingers pressed to your lips, like you’re sealing the memory. Hours later, Charles wins. There’s massive uproar and you’re in the crowd when it happens, in the sea of strategists going to congratulate him on winning Monaco, which—that’s—it’s winning Monaco. Your ears ring by the end of it and your throat’s dry from your own cheering. Carlos comes in second, and the outlook for their team is going much better than it’d been at the start of the year, so there’s a lot to celebrate.

And celebrate you do. It starts with being pinned up against the door, hungry kisses along your jaw and neck. One kiss, it seems, has broken the dam from the few years you’ve spent abstaining from the kissing. He’s just finished interviews. He’s only just changed into his polo, and now he’s tugging it off again, feverish.

This is rushed and dirty, down low and dark. Only one light’s been switched on and he’s hiking your dress up, panties down with one hand to tug his cock out with the other. He’s kissing you—kissing you stupid, almost. Like he’s waited forever to taste your lips and now he’ll starve if he’s away for just a moment. He needs you. So have me, you want to say, all of me, push me up against the wall again and cover my mouth with your palm. Or don’t, don’t—so everyone knows I’m yours.

He presses your chest against the wall so your back’s turned to him, thrusts in with a breathless, throaty grunt. 

“S’ big,” you’re saying, clawing at words the pleasure bars you from finding.

“Barely even in,” he whispers. “Slow down, baby, come on, take it.”

Your toes curl. You’re high on the win, on the kissing, on Charles, on the slow delicious stretch of his cock. “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” you say, shaky. He thrusts, slow and deep and dirty, until he’s bottomed out and you’re tiptoeing from the overwhelm.

“I feel you,” you’re whimpering, moans and gasps leaving your mouth. You blindly search for his hand, find it against your hip, drag it to your abdomen, under your dress that he hasn’t even fully removed. “I feel you there,” you say, an edge of teasing to your voice.

His cock’s bulging, almost, out of your stomach, and it’s getting you both all lightheaded. He thrusts harder, a devious smile felt against your neck.

I need it, Charles, you plead, please, please fuck me harder. You feel it coming, the familiar pleasure intensifying so quickly—you don’t usually cum so early, he’s always making you wait for it—pussy squeezing around him.

Jesus, already? He’s groaning but a laugh escapes, breathy and amused and taunting. He’s fucking you harder, faster. It’s so good, each hit getting you closer. Taking me so well, you’re bruised all over now, baby. You hate how well he knows what turns you on; memories of mornings post-sex spent inspecting the purple marks on your hips flash through your head and you’re even closer now, shaking, whimpering, begging.

You’re half-sure someone can hear, but it doesn’t even phase you. Harder, deeper— and you’re collapsing, legs spasming uncontrollably, orgasm so intense it’s on the brink of totally hurting. Tears roll down your sweaty face and he kisses them away, cumming onto your back to wipe off in a few minutes.

“I never even”—you pant, tired—“got to say congratulations.”

“That was more than enough.”

—

Charles is elated when you tell him his family has thrown a party for him the day next. He’s boyish in that way, optimistic and kiddy, the kind of person who’s up at five-thirty to announce their own birthday. 

He drives you both to his childhood home, a route so familiar he could drive with his eyes closed. (“I hope you’re not driving closed-eyed,” you’d warned.)

Even if he could, anyway, he’d rather not. The scenery of Monaco is stunning, ever-changing, and he never tires of it—the buildings, the skies, the trees and shrubbery, stores lining the streets, clean entrances. 

And you—in the passenger seat, humming softly to a song of his choosing. Drives are always better when you’re in the passenger seat.

The turnout is generous: extended family, and several friends from school. There’s bowls of fruit, salad, plates of salmon and racks of lamb, knobs of butter with warm bread. Pascale commands the kitchen—visible in how she leaves it cluttered with bowls, ingredients, whisks still dripping with syrup or batter, spoons licked for tasting. The good kind of clutter.

Lorenzo has also taken reign of the AUX, because it’s 70’s music playing, which is what he’s fond of for family gatherings like these. It’s My Cherie Amour now, Stevie Wonder mellowing across the lawn and into the house.

Charles knows you love the kitchen as much as his mum does, so when you get to the house, he’s not surprised to see you leave him in favor of checking out what damage has been done to your favorite marble countertops. He watches Pascale turn from the gas range, her eyes lit when she sees you, inviting you into an embrace. 

You look like the song playing, pretty and lovely, breeze in the summer. He almost loses himself in thought before his great-aunt Eden places two bony hands on his arms and greets him in feeble Italian.

He flits his eyes away from you, if just briefly, and faces the woman with a smile on his face. “Ciao, zia,” he says, voice buoyant, happy. “You came here to see me, no?”

All five-foot-one of her shakes in disagreement. She wags a finger for extra measure. “No,” she says. “Sono venuto a vedere la tua ragazza.”

His eyes widen. “She’s—” He pauses. He debates telling Eden you’re not actually his girlfriend, that this was a setup to appease Pascale and, by extension, tifosi. But he backtracks.

He shouldn’t, but he gives in, lives out his dreams for a bit. “Ah, she’s over there, zia. Con mamma.” He points to the open door, and to you on the far end of the room inside, holding a spoon. “Beautiful, yes?”

“Molto,” she says proudly. “You marry her?”

Fact: his great-aunt has the worst memory. She forgot Charles’ name twenty times, let alone niche facts like this one. Another fact: she rarely shows up to family events. Maybe now, because it’s a racing thing; but baby showers and funerals, she’s at home. So he indulges a bit more.

“Si, we’re engaged. But—it’s a secret, zia.” He grins. “Non dire a nessuno. Okay?”

“Sei fidanzato?!” She claps once, excited. “Ay, Charles. I waited my whole life for this moment, si?” And she’s wobbling away, still muttering under her breath.

—

“How is my son?” Pascale’s voice is teasing. She sighs happily. “For years I wondered if this would happen. And it really is.”

“Oui, sure is,” you sing-song, laughing a bit awkwardly. “We’re—he’s okay. We’re great. In love.”

“Oh, in love,” she swoons. She leaves you, after fifteen more minutes of detailed discussion, with half a spoonful of vinaigrette to taste-test, departing to check on the guests for a few minutes. In her place arrives Lorenzo, already bearing a shit-eating grin. “Saluuut.”

“Mmm, good to see you, too.” You taste the liquid and add lemon to the bowl. “How’s wedding planning?”

“Think we’ll throw a shower. Is that pretentious?”

“No,” you say, mulling over it. “Sure, a bit. But just don’t make it a whole thing, you’re golden.”

“I see.” He sighs fondly. “You know, many a conversation we’ve had right here at this counter. About anything.”

—

You loosen your school tie, slicing an apple like you so often do, waiting for Charles’ karting practice to end. Pascale had fixed you a bowl of something, Hervé a glass of orange juice. And somebody else would always, without fail, steal your food. A hand swipes two slices form your chopping board and your head whips up.

“Lorenzo!” You stomp your foot. “Stop stealing! That is my apple.”

“You mean the Leclercs’ apple.” He laughs, pops another slice into his mouth, smiling. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. The braid beside your head shakes with it as you continue slicing it into perfect quarters. He pipes up again: “How was school?”

“Shit, as usual.” You lower your voice and smile, leaning in. “Pascale scolded me earlier, for saying that word.”

“Did Papa?”

“Obviously not. He fist bumped me.” You share a laugh, both chewing on apple slices now. “Anyway, I aced a math test, had aubergine for lunch… got driven here by Charlotte’s mum.”

“Charlotte?” Lorenzo hums conspiratorially, making a mmmm sound. You look up from the yellow chopping board, furrowing your eyebrows. He persists: “Mmm. Cha-r-lotte.”

“What’s up with Charlotte?” Bit impolitely, you ask, in-between chews.

“I think she likes Charles, a little.” You nod slowly, trying to follow. Charlotte liking Charles. Your Charles. Wait, no. Not your—or nobody’s, really. Just Charles. Yeah.

“What? Bull!” You narrow your eyes. “Says who?”

“Why do you care?”

“Wh—I don’t!” You squeak, caught. “Just… I think I’d know, Lorenzo.” You make a tch noise, crossing your sweater-clad arms. “So—says who?”

“I saw her leering at him during his birthday party.” 

“You’re wrong,” you say, but you don’t really know who you’re convincing. He reaches over for an apple slice, and you move the chopping board out of the way sharply.

“Mon dieu, you’re snappy. Fine, fine. I might be wrong,” he relents, shrugging. He gets up and slides beside you to be able to acquire more slices. “I talked to her during the party, too.”

“Weirdo,” you tease, allowing him to take a few more. “About Charles, yes?

“No, about her brand new dress.”

“You’re the funniest Leclerc brother, I assure you.”

“She told me…” He says, louder this time, shushing you effectively. “She told me she ‘finds Charles cute.’” Air quotes, shrug. “But that they ‘probably won’t’ date.”

“Huh. Did, um. Did she say why?” You play with the tail of your braid, shuffling back and forth on your flats. You don’t know why you’re so fidgety—you aren’t nervous, you don’t think.

“Because…” he says, chewing to allow for a pause. “She said every time she looks for Charles to try and ask for time alone, or on a date, or something, he’s already following you around like some puppy.”

—

You comb your hair into a bun and venture into the patio, having avoided a good chunk of the noon heat. You greet some relatives politely along the way, and receive a hand squeeze from great-aunt Eden. At one of the tables is Charles, beside Joris and another friend, and Giada and Charlotte across them, an empty seat beside the latter.

You seat yourself in it and Giada kisses your cheek. “Hey. Ça va?”

“Fine,” you say, smiling. Then you lower your voice to a whisper. “Do you remember when I told you about my crush on Charlie? For the first time?”

“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Around… 2013.”

“Ouais. And… and it disappeared after that,” you say. “Right?”

“You said it did,” she says. “A year later. When we were sixteen.”

“Right.” You think. Seventeen onwards—you’d never formed a full-fledged crush on Charles. “Okay. It’s nothing. Just a memory. I was just. Yeah, oui.”

“Oui, let’s eat.” The memory fades and so does your running mind. Charles’ eyes meet yours across the table, and suddenly you feel a little less like your thoughts have ripped you open.

—

When you and Charles were younger, you adopted the adage “bitter with the sweet.” Charles will have people believe it was made by the both of you, with philosophical minds stretched so far beyond their years. Well, revisionist history. The truth lay in the Carole King song of the same name you’d heard on the stereo.

Those are the exact words Charles tells Ted when he’s interviewing for the Spain Grand Prix. It’s a hot day and you’re especially doubled down on by the fact that he’s finished ninth. 

You’d been fake-dating for the cameras all weekend. At all costs, you try and avoid interviews, but the damned Drive to Survive producers insist on a soundbite and start following the two of you around everywhere (only to find your conversations sound very weird and niche, and not scandalous or sexy).

Pascale also called—Charles first, and when he didn’t check his phone, you. You spent an hour on the phone just talking about the race. About the penalties and the nasty headlines that followed, and just everything.

“I’m glad you’re there,” she says. “God knows he needs you.”

You end up biking to try and relieve the stress, posing with fans for pictures.

“I’m such a big fan. I stalk Charles’ Insta like, all the time, and it’s crazy how you guys are dating.” A teenaged girl laughs nervously. “Where’d it happen?”

“Texas!” He, again, tries out the bit to appease the fans but you have to extinguish the flames of his blatant lies.

“He’s kidding,” you interject. “It’s just—it just happened, really.”

How does something just happen? Someone told you once, in a Paris bar, that love is like an echo. It’s always there, in the underbelly, underneath it all, and then one day it echoes, like a bass drum or a cymbal. And the echo—the echo is you feeling it. You feel the echo, the all-encompassing echo, even if the love itself’s been there all along.

With Charles, it’s out of the question. You love him. He’s your best friend. You trusted him before you even learned what trust meant, for Chrissake.

How could you not love him? That seemed impossible. The love was there. The love’s always been there and it’ll never go away.

It echoes at half-past-two in Barcelona, when he whips past you on his bike and says on your left. The breeze pulls your hair to the left, covers your face, and when you rake it away he’s stopped to check if he accidentally bumped you in his rush to look cool.

You’re creepily observant; you’ve been told this many times before. What people don’t know is with the observance comes even more questions. Ifs, whys, wheres, whens, hows, God the hows. The questions keep coming because there’s never an answer.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Green eyes glittering like a lake. Smile like the sun. Hair curly at the ends. “Did I hurt you?”

Then you realize. In the matters of love, every question—every single question. Every single one. The answer is Charles.

“Of course not,” you say. And you smile.

—

You almost drop your book in your rush to scurry past the paparazzi. They’re still busy on the two figures (Alex and Lily, you think) on another end of the paddock, which allows you only a few moments to try and evade them.

Others are stationed near the Ferrari hospitality, which means you’re going to need your hideout. Yuki had texted Pierre who had texted Charles who had told you that it was all clear to go there for a few minutes while waiting for the photographers to clear out.

Hurry, Charles is saying. Laughing. His hand’s gentle in yours. You want them there forever. You want to drag the tip of your nail over the barely-perceptible grooves of his fingerprints so he knows how much you need him.

The days post-Spain were spent biking, watching shows, listening to music, eating food. The travel to Canada—long, cold, compression socks. Pascale had called mid-flight to check on her “favorite pair”—you maneuvered yourselves into a much more cuddly position to appease her, and her giddy smile was incentive enough to stay that way for ninety minutes.

You’d been in a weird mental state trying to grapple with your rapidly returning and intensifying feelings for him, which have dawned on you all at once.

But he makes it better. You’re still laughing when you wedge yourselves in, eyes meeting.

And then you’re quiet.

The gaze you share is intense, but almost unsure, like you’re supposed to be looking away anytime now. You step backward shakily, and his hand moves from your waist to the small of your back to keep you from stumbling any further. You’re closer now. But this shouldn’t feel as strange as it does when you two have been in much more scandalous positions before—what’s different?

He’s so close, so so close, his green eyes looking right through you. You lean closer, ready to kiss him like you have before, ready to feel his mouth slot softly over yours, comforting and safe and Charles.

Funnily enough, it’s then that the illusion breaks, his grip loosening and the distance between you increasing. He coughs twice, awkwardly.

“Shit—sorry,” you say profusely, clearly having read the moment wrong. Embarrassment wells up in your system, warming your face. You laugh to diffuse the tension but it barely does anything.

“No, don’t—” He exhales, squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to find words. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do.”

“So kiss me,” you suggest simply, looking around for anything that might stop him. The embarrassment ebbs away, replaced quickly by confusion. 

“I don’t want to kiss you in an AlphaTauri stock room,” he mopes, burying his head in his hands in clear frustration. “An AlphaTauri stock room.” He repeats it in a hushed whisper, disbelief etched all over his pretty face.

“Charles,” you begin, smiling already, the quaint way that makes his knees go weak every time. “You’re acting like you and I haven’t kissed before.” 

“This is different.” He says firmly, looking away lest he lean in involuntarily. He interjects with conviction, not realizing what he’s implying until the implication’s hanging in the air. The longing kills him softly, and he feels if he looks at you a second longer he’ll kiss you anyway.

It’s a wonderfully confusing feeling. You open your mouth to respond but you can’t; your brain tacks itself onto his sentence, the division created between the kisses before now and the kiss that might happen anytime soon.

“H…” you trail off, throat drying. Blinking, you try again, “How different?”

He looks up, eyes conveying all the things his lips never will. This is different. You know it. I love you this time.

The answer is exchanged and accepted wordlessly. You slip out of the room when Pierre tells you it’s okay to, and it’s only then—only then—that Charles’ hand leaves your body. You seem to burn alive with its absence.

It’s a Ferrari 1-2. You snap a thousand pictures with Isa and Carlos holding Carlos’ trophy while Charles is doing interviews, and they invite you to join them for the break. You’re open to it—the win, the good standings, they definitely warrant a celebration for the few weeks’ break. So your original itinerary is Portugal—beaches, coasts, food—but the jet re-charts a route and the flight is cut much shorter because you’re in New York City.

—

Somewhere in Manhattan, a wedding shower is thrown on an outdoor rooftop. “This is one hell of a wedding shower,” you squeal excitedly when you spot him, bringing Lorenzo in for a hug. Your yellow dress flows in the wind. “I thought you guys were going to throw it in Monaco?”

“Yeah, well… why not here, right? It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the skyline, smiling. “Plus, Charles, Arthur, and Mum were already near the country for work, so we got ahead of it. Everyone was happy to fly out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love it.” You beam. “I can’t believe it, either. When’s the final date?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind is knocked out of him by Charles barreling into his arms for a hug. You roll your eyes at the latter’s childish behavior, smiling despite yourself. They part and Charles finds his place beside you, arm snaking around your shoulders. “What a wedding shower!”

“Don’t flatter me, dipshit,” Lorenzo jokes.

“It’s a lovely one.” Lorenzo thanks him. “An amazing shower. You know, it’s a total golden shower!”

You purse your lips. “Charles—”

“A golden shower, mate. Absolutely.”

That garners at least three odd looks and you calmly place a hand on his chest to whisper don’t ever fucking say that again it means something completely different please don’t embarrass me or your brother. 

For all your embarrassment, you make up for it in having the literal time of your life. The food is good, the city view is amazing, the weather is fair and the music—Desafinado now—is amazing. “I could see myself here,” you say offhandedly to Charles, who nods back with a faint smile. He’s half-distracted.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Very.”

You part ways at some point—Pascale whisks him off, no doubt for another long round of questioning about your relationship, and you meander around with a glass of champagne.

You’re halfway through swiping a mini quiche when a hand wraps around your wrist and squeezes to get your attention—Charles’ great-aunt Eden. She speaks only intermittent English, and your Italian fails to carry you through well enough, but you smile and greet her. “Ciao, Eden!”

“Ciao, bella.” She smiles. “Flight was long.”

“Oh, yeah. New York’s far. I might work here someday. I’ll hear results in around two weeks, but I’m hoping for London instead.” You slow your speech.

“When will you two wed?”

“Wed?” Your face warms and you stutter through a giggly mess of a sentence. “Oh, Eden—zia—no, no! We’re just friends.”

“My Charles told me you two are to be married.” You both crane your heads to the right, where Charles is leaning against the terrace railing talking to one of your friends, Matthew, animatedly. He meets your eyes, sees Eden beside you, and seems to connect the dots.

Jokingly, perhaps, he raises his hand and wiggles his empty ring finger. You can’t help but smile as you turn back to the old woman. “Oh, did he, zia?”

“Si, he did.”

“Well, we’re just going to let it happen, then. You’re invited. Front row.” You kiss her cheek and she smiles, wobbling off to drink more wine before any of the adults can stop her.

It’s announced then that the dance floor is open, and many of Pascale’s friends filter through to show off their moves to the 70’s music. You watch, amused, at the display of dexterity to Frankie Valli and Aretha Franklin. You cheer them on, content to watch them against the backdrop of the New York sunset.

When Ain’t No Mountain High Enough plays, the dance floor grows, because nobody can resist the song—not even Charles, apparently, who takes your hand without preamble and takes you, squealing, to the centre.

You sing each of the parts, like you always do when the song comes on. It’s semi-tradition at this point: you take Marvin Gaye’s, Charles takes Tammi Terrell’s. You both exaggerate your dance moves and pretend you’re performing.

His hand’s in yours, winding you around and pulling you close. At some point he starts robot dancing to entertain you. It works—you laugh out loud, your eyes half-shut and faced to the stars above. He could write a poem about this. Or a song.

The song ends and you lean onto his shoulder to take a breather—then the photographer swoops in and takes a picture. “That’s going into the RSVPs!” He says, accent unmistakably American.

“Does he know we’re not the couple here?” You ask.

Do we know we’re not the couple? Charles asks himself.

The night escalates as the “oldies” leave, and Matthew, Joris, and Giada join you both for one last round of drinks again. You’re all standing at the exit making conversation; Lorenzo attends to his friends at the other end of the terrace.

“I feel young again,” Matthew says, liberated by Tito’s vodka. He takes another swig and pulls his coat on.

“You’re twenty-five, calm down,” you joke. “Dodged that bullet.” You’re poking fun at the semi-massive crush you had on Matthew in secondary school, and a laugh passes through the four of you. “Anyway, you three be careful. No driving.”

“Jesus, but really—I haven’t been this drunk since you”—he points at you, laughing—“turned seventeen at that club, Amber? No?”

“Oh, God. Y’know, same.” You fail to notice Charles and Giada share a look. “I remember nothing from that night! Or, like, the first two hours at least.”

“I remember drinking my body weight because of heartbreak,” he jeers. 

“Heartbreak? Were you—were you with anyone?” You ask, confused.

It happens before anyone can stop it. “No, when Charles kissed you. And you kissed him after. Alright, night mates! Lorenzo—merci!”

Oh, fuck, you hear in the back of your now-muddled brain. Giada’s voice.

You open and close your mouth. “Ch—wait, he—what?”

“I—let’s talk here,” Charles flounders, dragging you to a more secluded spot and facing you. The three of your friends exit; Giada waves, apologetic. “When… we were at Amber… and you were absolutely hammered, we kissed. It was twice—just twice. And you didn’t, um. Remember a thing.”

You’re unsure. “In Amber?” You blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We… I don’t—I mean, I understand why you don’t remember. We kissed that night.”

“So that’s… Charles… You didn’t tell me.” Your voice quivers, like a wire flicked. “Why didn’t you say it at the time?”

He doesn’t give you an answer. He just looks at the counter, imagines the way your eyebrows furrow, your lips move, eyes glitter. He can’t give you one. He doesn’t want to hurt, disappoint, sadden you. He wants to get on his knees and root you here, so he’ll have all the time in the world to come up with an answer.

“Charles.” But he loves you, and he can at the very least be honest for you. “Look at me.”

“I was scared.” His eyes gravitate to yours.

“Of?”

“It felt stupid, is all. That you didn’t remember, and maybe you did but you were pretending you weren’t. I didn’t—it didn’t—sorry.” He laughs, stutters. “I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything because we didn’t have feelings for each other.” He pauses. “Then.”

“Well,” you say, slow. Eyes stuck to his. “How about now?”

“Now?”

“I love you, now. I mean, isn’t that all this is? Loving? Even if? De—despite of?” 

And this—God. This is how it feels. He’s looking at you and you’re telling him you love him because you do, and finally he’s been over with reassurance.

You love him, too. That way. He trembles with it. His hands are shaky when they lace into yours, like you’re a shrine, a prayer, and he feels like maybe these are the emotions that swirl through the human body when one wins the lottery and gets struck by angry lightning at the same time.

This is it, he thinks. Profound and lovely and an echo of sweet memories. He’s yours. Here in a city unfamiliar to both of you, yet to be conquered, your fingers lace lightly and you smile, smile, smile at each other, as if you’re the last two people on Earth. He’s yours, so foolishly in love with you.

Even far from home, you’re both filled with warmth, with longing. Extended stares, pits of your stomachs welling up with something lovely in between homesickness and nostalgia. Here again, you again, us again—it’ll always be us again, your heart seems to say, surrounded by the same love the same hurt the same sad the same everything, you and me, all the love in the world, all the confusion, we’re here. It’s never over.

Across the terrace, Lorenzo watches. Two figures, laughing, emanating happiness, gentle unkowing love. You two have finally made it here, after what felt like a thousand trials and dreams and stories.

So even if you’re taller, in high heels and a yellow dress—and Charles is broader, in a suit and tie—Lorenzo thinks he can blink and see the two little kids who hosted a tea party in the backyard. He can blink again and see you hugging, eyes shut, his lips pressed to your forehead to convey the intimacy nothing else will do as well. 

“So what now?” You ask. Again with the questions. In your defense—it begs so many follow-up questions. A love so many years in the making—layer after layer after layer—of course it begs all the questions, almost to the point of overwhelming capacity. What’ll we tell Pascale? The fans? The family? Everyone?! 

But one look and he makes it better. His green eyes, bright against the deep black of the skyline. You’ve grown. You’ve done it. You’re here. “We’ll figure it out.” He smiles. “We deserve this kind of ending, don’t you think?”

—

“He has my name.” A tubby finger points to the boy on the greeting card. “That one.”

“And who’s the dog?” Asks the girl beside him, hair wound into a plait. She likes this boy. He’s cute. She plays with the end of her braid and stares, eyes flickering in-between him and the card they’re staring at.

“The name’s right there. They’re best friends.”

“Okay, that’ll be me.”

“So that’s us.”

“Oui.” She smiles. “Charlie and Snoopy.”

–

read an omitted scene here :)

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite - 14

Surprise!! Plz enjoy this early chapter as my thanks for your patience:)

please read the note at the end!!

Masterlist /Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Chapter Warnings: Afab/fem reader, smut, unprotected p in v, threesome (mxfxm), kissing, grinding, fingering, spanking, oral (m & f receiving), subspace, public(?) sex, Dom!Chan, Sub!reader, SoftDom! Hyunjin, kinda Switch!Felix?, unbalanced power dynamic, biting/claiming, blood, cursing, pet names, crying, begging, fluff, angst

WC: 10.6 k

It was a surprise to you that Seungmin wasn’t in bed with you when you woke up, given how absurdly late you both stayed up last night. In fact he must have gotten up quite earlier than you, given his spot in bed was now cold. He was known to be an early riser but you had assumed he would sleep in at least once. 

You rolled over groggily, barely able to make out the block lettering on the alarm clock beside the bed that read a glaring ‘11:56 am’. 

Holy shit how did you sleep-in that late? 

You shot out of bed in a hurry and clamored out of the room. You didn’t see anybody in the hall as you crept into the bathroom. After doing your business you were washing your hands when you took in your appearance. You attempted to flatten down your bed head after you splashed some water on your face. You were still in Seungmin's shirt, the garment falling to mid thigh and covering the panties you wore underneath.

You still didn’t see anyone when you went down the stairs, though you could hear humming coming from somewhere. Everyone must be partaking in a lazy sunday. You rounded a corner from the hall into the laundry room, and in your hurry ran into something. More like someone. 

“Well good morning, puppy. Or should I say good afternoon.” Seungmin snickered when you ran into him. 

“What are you doing?” You quizzed, steadying yourself by putting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Nothing to worry your little puppy head with.” He tutted, you peaked your head up to look past him into the room and saw there were multiple piles of cleaned, and folded laundry. 

“Minnie! How long have you been up? And why didn’t you wake me?” You demanded, stomping your foot. 

He shrugged, his head leaning back and forth, “A couple hours maybe. And why would I wake you up? You needed your rest after I blew your back out yesterday.” 

You laid a smack to his shoulder, “Don’t say it like that! You’re a heathen!” He only laughed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. “Don’t laugh at me!” 

“Aww but you’re so funny. Yapping at me like this. Lemme handle it, just this once.” His other hand squished your cheeks together making you purse your lips. He gave you teasing kisses all over your face and to your lips. 

“Minnie!” You attempted to protest through your uncontainable giggling, only half trying to push him off. 

He hummed, “That’s right, say my name.” He gave you one more frisky smooch then released you. “Though, I think I preferred when you were screaming it when you were falling apart on my dick.” 

You felt your face heat up and were unable to meet his eyes, so you looked down with a pout. “You shouldn’t say such things aloud.” 

“Hmpf, why? It’s true. No sense in denying a fact, pup.” He pulled the collar of his shirt away, showing you the red imprints left by your teeth from the previous night. “ And from how deep this bite is, I’d say you liked it too.” He wore a proud smirk when you tentatively brought your fingers up to the wound you made on his otherwise perfect flesh. The beta let out a purr when you subconsciously leaned closer, and pressed your lips tenderly to the marred bite.

“I did like it,” you whispered when you pulled away. “What I don’t like is when one of my boys doesn’t let me do my part.” 

“From my perspective you’ve done your part plenty.” he had a smirk

“You know what I mean. I need to help around the house, I need to take care of you boys. It’s literally in my nature. Please, Minnie?” You fluttered your lashes, trying to appeal to his sweet side. 

He thought for a second then sighed, “Fine puppy. You win. You wanna help?” he asked as he backed up into the room. You nodded enthusiastically. “Then you can take this load up for me.” He hands you a basket full of neatly folded clothes. 

You took it from his hands, “To your room?” 

“Nuh uh.” He shook his head. “To Minhos.” 

Seungmin swore he could see your heart literally sink. 

“If it’s too much for you, I can take it to him..” He reached to take the basket back from you but you moved out of his reach. 

“No, I can do it. It’s not a big deal.” You attempted to shrug in nonchalance, though you had a feeling he could see right through you. You gave him a shaky smile when he looked like he wanted to interfere. “It’s ok Minnie. Really. I’ll take it up there now.” You turned on your heel with a quickness. 

He murmured something that you didn’t catch as you left the room, laundry in hand. A quiet be careful on his lips. 

Your feet felt heavy as you trudged up the steps to Minhos room. Neither of you had spoken to each other since the fight you got into the day before. Coming up to his door you felt incredibly nervous, unsure if you should knock or just open it. You didn’t know if he was even in there or if he would be receptive to you if he was. 

“Don’t be such a little bitch, Y/n.” You muttered, steeling your anxiety the best you could, and raising your fist slowly before giving timid knocks to the wood. 

You held your breath as you listened for any sign of life, and it hitched when you heard a quiet “Come in.” 

Fuck, he is in there. 

You held the basket with one arm as you slowly opened the door, a quiet creek was the only thing breaking through the silence. Minho was laying on his bed, leaning against his headboard with a laptop on his lap. He lightly straightened up at seeing it was you who requested entry into his space.  His cat-like eyes narrowed at you, then to the basket you held tightly in your arms. 

“I uh- I have your clothes.” You stuttered lamely. 

Minho gestured to his closet with his head, never taking his eyes off of you. “You can set it by the closet.” You nodded in understanding but didn’t reply. Initially the goal was to move in and out as quickly and efficiently as possible, but now that you're here in his space you found yourself taking timid apprehensive steps. Your body felt ridgid as he watched you. You would later blame it on the overwhelming tannin rich musk that permeated all around you for making you dizzy. 

You were bent over setting down the basket by his wardrobe with shaky hands when he spoke again. 

“Cute panties.”

You shot back up briskly and pulled your shirt down to cover you further. Somehow you had completely forgotten you didn’t have any pants on. You went to spin on your heels to hightail it out of there but you were met with his imposing figure standing directly behind you. You didn’t even sense his movement until suddenly he was right there. You put your hand on your heart in shock, a quiet gasp barely escaping.

“Why’re you so on edge?” His tone was mildly inquisitive, albeit a bit bored sounding. 

You chose to ignore his question, instead asking your own “What are you doing?” You tried to keep your voice firm and you almost did if not for the small quiver in your tone. He didn’t respond, choosing to offer you a shrug before he abruptly grabbed your body and spun you back around. “Minho!” 

The beta lifted his hand up to the collar of the shirt you’re wearing and yanked it down to expose your shoulder, his eyes zeroing in on the newest addition. He traced over the healing wound, feeling its ridges and divots. “This one is pretty deep. Seung has some sharp ass teeth.” He pressed lightly into the skin making you whine. “Careful omega, get enough of these and you may just make me jealous.”  

Minho removed his hands and straightened your shirt out, then he spun you back around. “And why would you be jealous, Minho? You wanna take a bite outta me?” 

He snorted as if amused by your taunt, “ Keep up your attitude and biting won’t be the only thing I do to you.” 

You tilted your face up to try and glare at him, “You can’t scare me.” 

“You wanna bet?” 

There was an involuntary shiver when he repeated the menacing words he had said to you yesterday, causing him to smirk as if he had won some sort of silent battle. 

“Thank you for bringing my clothes up. I think it’s time you scamper back to your rabbit hole like a good little bunny now, hm?” He patted your head and gestured his hand to the door you had previously come through. Everything about his tone was so condescending. 

You just scoffed and stomped to his door, yanking it open and slamming it behind you. His laugh at your rage made you want to scream. You turned back towards his door, sticking your tongue out and flipping it off silently. 

“What are you doin, baby?” 

“AHH” You shrieked, quickly turning around to find Hyunjin behind you, now laughing his ass off. In fact he was laughing so hard he leaned against the wall clutching his stomach as he wheezed. His eyes crinkled and a tear threatened to fall. “Hyunjin!!” 

“I’m- sorry- baby.” He said between his laughter, attempting to contain himself. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Yeah well…” You felt your face heat up as you avoided looking at him. 

“Oh baby, I’m sorry, come er.” He started to feel bad about scaring you, even if it was an accident. He pushed off the wall and gathered you into his embrace. “Lemme make it better.” He nuzzled his face into your neck, his long hair getting in your face and tickling your nose. Then he slathered you in his wet smooches. 

You giggled in his arms, attempting escape. “Ok ok I forgive you Jinnie.” 

He stopped kissing you but didn’t let you go yet, “I was looking for you. Get ready, we’re going on a date.” 

Your eyes widened and shined at the prospect, “A date?” Your voice was filled with excitement. 

“Uh huh, a proper date for my girl. Wear one of those cute sundresses you have.” He kissed your lips tenderly then he let you go. “You have thirty minutes to get ready, starting….. Now!” He smacked your butt to send you into action. 

You wasted no time, sprinting to your room to change your clothes. On the way you passed Chan who was exiting his office. “Woah where are you going, speed racer?” 

“Gotta get ready!” You called as you continued on your path. You heard him start to follow you as you went into your room and trifled through your closet.

“Get ready for what, my love?” He leaned against the door jam as he watched in amusement as you fluttered around the room. 

“Jinnie is gonna take me on a date!” You had a huge grin on your face as you compared dresses. “He said to wear one of my dresses but I have no idea what one would fit the vibe.” 

“Hmmm, I say go with the white one. Makes your eyes sparkle.” He came up to sit on your bed as you held the blue one up to yourself, “Yeah that one suits you.” 

“Mm, yeah you’re right it is very pretty.” You agreed, then began stripping your current pjs off. 

Chans eyes met your bare chest and he let out a low groan, “ gotta warn a man before you go throwing your clothes off, makes me not wanna let you go with Hyunjin and keep you here all to myself.” 

You giggled at him, “You’re cute.” You pulled your panties down and quickly pulled up a new pair. You squealed when his arms shot out and grabbed you, hauling you on top of him so you were straddling him. “Channie, I gotta get ready!” 

“Hmpf, you’re breaking my heart here baby.” He threw his head back dramatically as if you had actually wounded him. “But I guess I could let you go for a while.” He acted like he was toying with the idea, his head moving side to side. “If tonight I get you all to myself, hm?” 

“Promise, you can have me allllll to yourself, alpha.” You stuck your pinky out and he took it with his own, sealing your promise. “Now I seriously have to get ready, Hyunjin only gave me thirty minutes.” 

“You’re six minutes late, baby.” Hyunjin was pouting when you met him outside after getting ready. 

“I had like no time! What do you expect from me, I’m just a girl.” You threw your hands up comically, causing him to chuckle at your antics. It was only then you noticed the large basket and blanket he held in his arms. “Are we going on a picnic?!” 

He laughed once again at your excitement. “Yeah, I thought we could take advantage of the beautiful weather.” He tucked the blanket under his arm so he could hold his hand out for you to take, which you did with no hesitation. “I know a spot not too far from the house.” 

Hyunjin led you into the woods away from the house. As you got further and further away you came upon a clearing. More like a meadow, with pops of color exploding in a wild arrange of flowers that clustered the ground. It looked untouched by man, beautiful and vibrant. Like a secret hideaway. 

“Oh Jinnie, it’s beautiful.” You put your hand to your heart as you admired the meadow. The way the tall grass swayed in the breeze, and the way the birds chirped excitedly was very mesmerizing. 

“Yeah, it really is.” You were too busy staring at the beauty in front of you to notice Hyunjin was staring directly at you. He cleared his throat after a second, and nodded towards the field. “Lets set up around here?” 

“Perfect!” You grinned, taking the blanket from him and you spread it out on the ground. It wasn’t a traditional red and white checkered one you would see in the movies; instead it was green and the print had little yellow bumble bees on it. “This is a really cute blanket, Jin.” 

He blushed, setting down the basket on top of the corner before plopping himself down. “Thanks, it’s uh- it’s my go too when I come out here. It’s good for inspiration.” 

“Inspiration hmm?” You inquired, sitting down beside him. 

“Mhmm, for when I’m painting. This is kinda my go to spot.” He reached into the pack he brought and pulled out two small canvases along with some brushes. “I actually kinda thought we could maybe paint together? If you want to.” 

“I would love to paint with you! Though I’ll warn you, mine won’t look even a fraction as good as what you’ll make.” 

“Baby, don’t you know? Perfection can only make perfection.” You swooned when he leaned in to kiss you, cupping the side of your face in his big hand. You practically melted into him when he let out a purr of satisfaction. All too soon he pulled away, “ And you, my angel, are the definition of flawless.” 

“You can’t say things like that.” You looked down, flustered by his sentiment. There was a distinct fluttering in the pit of your stomach. 

“Why not, baby? Don’t you like it?” He was smirking, pulling paints out of the basket next then a covered platter of strawberries.  

“I’m anything but perfect Hyunjin.” 

“Why would you say that, y/n?” His smile dropped when he saw how serious your statement was. You looked away, trying not to meet his eyes. “Baby, hey, you can talk to me.”  

You sniffled, finally meeting his gaze with a teary expression. “You all keep singing my praises, but I feel like all I’ve caused is drama and pain.” He looked like he was about to interject but you continued, “ Drama with my heat, drama with Minho, drama with Seungmin and… Felix. I know he’s hurting, Jinnie. I can feel it. A perfect person wouldn’t have let any of that happen.” 

“Oh baby.” He pulled you into his arms, tucking you into his chest. “First of all, the situation with your heat was not your fault. It’s those fucking suppressants fault. Second, Min can be a dick sometimes, it’s a complex he has for not being born an alpha.” He began to pet your head. “ Thirdly, Brynn had it coming, she was a bitch and needed to be brought down to earth. And as far as Felix goes, this whole arrangement made by Chan won’t last forever. His power trip will end soon enough, it always does.” 

“I try not to let it get to me, but it’s all piling up inside. There is so much guilt I don’t know what to do with it.” You wiped your eyes of the falling tears. 

“I have a feeling that nothing I say is going to be necessarily helpful, but I hope you listen when I say you really are perfect, especially for our family.” Hyunjin pressed more kisses to your head. “If you have feelings you don’t know what to do with, why not try painting it out baby?” 

You nodded against him, “ Is that what you do, Hyun?” 

“Mmhmm, I find it really helps me get out what I can’t verbally express sometimes.” 

You went to remove yourself from his lap and sat across from him, and he began to set up the painting supplies. “I’m not particularly good at art, so you have to promise not to laugh.” 

“Baby you know if anyone was going to laugh at you it’s not me.” He chuckled and pat your knee. “And it’s ok if you’re not good, it’s all about expressing yourself.” 

He handed you a canvas and you selected your brush, settling the canvas on your knees. You looked around for inspiration. There were a ton of different flowers you could choose from out here in the meadow. You wanted to make something cute, something meaningful. 

“Ready, baby?” 

You nodded with a smile, dipping your brush in the paint and beginning your masterpiece. 

So maybe it wasn’t quite a ‘masterpiece’ but you did your best! It was legible and honestly, that was enough for you. Hyunjin had finished his long before you had, and had opted to admire you while you concentrated. He secretly snapped little photos of you with your eyebrows creased and your tongue poking out just slightly as you worked. It was now his new homescreen on his phone. 

You placed the finishing touches on the art and held it up victoriously. “Done!” You only then noticed him lounging peacefully, done with his own. “Damn I didn’t know you were waiting on me, I’m sorry Jin.” 

“Not a problem, love. I enjoyed watching my girl.” He sat back up, “ You’re cute when you concentrate on something.” 

You looked down shyly, then back at him to see him grinning at how adorable he thought you were. “Just show me what you made.” You mumbled, changing the subject. 

He laughed, “You got it, baby.” He grabbed his now almost dry painting, turning it around for you to see it. He had done a beautiful rendition of the meadow you sat in. It was literally picture perfect. It could have been a carbon copy. 

“Wow Jinnie, that is incredible!” You leaned closer to look at the details. “How did you accomplish this much in such a short amount of time?!” You were bewildered. 

He shrugged, “Eh I come out here a lot. Now show me what you made!” 

“Remember, you promised not to laugh.” You pointed an accusatory finger at him, and he dramatically crossed his heart. “Ok, here it is.” You turned your canvas around to reveal what you had created. 

It was a picture of a Bee, sitting in a bright purple flower. You had attempted to make a tulip but it came out looking more like a generic flower and the bee looked more like a yellow and black blob. 

“Aww baby! It’s so cute!!” He gushed, eyes roaming the picture. “It’s a bee in a flower right?” 

“Yeah,” You beamed, happy he knew what it was. “ I wanted to make something fitting for our time out here.” You gestured down to his bee blanket you both sat upon. 

“You are too precious, love. I’m gonna hang this up in the living room for all to see!” He reached for your art but you pulled away with a giggle. 

“It’s not that good Hyune, not nearly as good as yours. That's the one we should be hanging up, not this silly thing.” 

“The only silly thing is your attitude. I know a masterpiece when I see one and this gem is top notch.” It was cute how he tried to hype you up. “Now give it here.” 

He lunged for you suddenly, and since you weren’t expecting the ambush it caused you to drop your freshly painted canvas… face side down onto your white dress. You gasped when it fell from your hands onto the front of your dress. “Ahh no!” 

“Shit! Baby, I'm sorry!” In his panic he dragged the painting down the front of you when he tried to move himself away, the bright colors smearing across the dress. “Fuck I’m making it worse!” 

You looked down at the damage, seeing an array of shaded mixing onto the fabric. 

“Hyunjin….” You were too calm for his comfort. He was expecting you to cry. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to wear this dress…” He missed the slow creep of your hand and the way it dipped into the blue paint that was still out.

“I know! First thing when we get back home I’ll scrub it out!” He grabbed a napkin and furiously began to wipe at the stain, deepening it instead. 

“Actually, I have a better idea of how you can make it up to me.” You had an evil tone in your voice that made him look up at your face, just as you brought your hand up to smear the blue paint across his cheek. 

He gasped and pulled away briskly, his eyes wide in shock at your actions. 

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his shocked expression. “Now we’re even. You look good in blue, Jinnie.” 

“So that’s the game we’re playing, huh baby?” 

“What?” You asked but were cut off when he flung the still dirty paintbrush at you, yellow paint getting on your arm. “Hyunjin!” 

“Don’t dish it if you can't take it!” His laugh was cut off when you grabbed the bottle of red and squirted him with it, the color getting all over his shirt. He retaliated by wiping his hands through the mess on his shirt and lunging for you again, red hands wiping all over your sides. 

You attempted to dive out of the way with a squeal, but only ended up laying on the other colors causing them to spill and cover yourself in them. Your hands lathered themselves in the offending paints and you rubbed them on as much of Hyunjin as you could reach. 

The whole time both of you were laughing and shrieking as you were both getting covered in the substance. Somehow you got under him completely, and he caged you in. Your thighs were spread and he laid between them. His hair was dripping in purple paint, the color falling into your own hair. You could only imagine how insane you both looked. 

“You are a little menace, aren't you?” Hyunjin was catching his breath from laughing so hard. 

“You started it!” You protested, swiping his nose again. 

He looked down between your bodies, “And now I’m gonna finish it. Looks like we only have one spot left to paint on you, doll.” He giggled and leaned down, capturing your lips with his own. You immediately threw your hands up to his shoulders, pulling him in closer. He let some of his weight fall on you gently, and rolled his hips into your core. 

You whimpered against his mouth, and the sound spurred him on to do it again. Hyunjin's body rolled into you a little harsher, relishing in the sounds of enthusiasm that left you in return. You could feel his bulge growing in his pants as he teased it against your clothed core. “Jinnie. Want you.” 

He nibbled on your bottom lip for a second, then licked the skin. “Oh yeah, Baby? You missed your Jinnie?” 

“Mhm. Missed the way you feel in me.” You couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, the truth in them just spilling out. 

“Fuck, gorgeous. The other boys are corrupting you. Turning you all dirty. You don’t even care we’re out here in the open.” His hands moved down to grip your thighs, his hot palms parting them even further as he ground down. “Turns me on so much.” 

You were getting wetter by the second, your body reacting to him immensely. You let your hips buck into him as you searched for more friction. “Been too long without you, Jinnie.” 

“Mm I know, omega.” He cooed, his fingers sliding up the sides of your thighs and to the hem of your panties. “Been waiting for you too, my love.” He pulled them down your thighs, exposing your glistening center to the outside air. “I can’t use my fingers on you since they are covered in paint. Do you think you could take me without me stretching you out, baby?” 

You nodded rapidly. You were so wet you knew you could take him. “Yes Jinnie, I can take you. Can take all of you.” 

He groaned as he drug his own pants and underwear down, his member slapping at his stomach from the force. He then bucked his hips up, causing his dick to slide through your folds and wetting his tip. 

He went to line himself up to push in when you stopped him, “Wait!” He paused instantly, looking at you with wide eyes and his body rigid like he had done something wrong. “What about umm… protection?” 

He visibly relaxed, “Had me scared for a second baby.” He chuckled. “Did you take your birth control yesterday and today?” 

“Umm yeah, I did.” 

“Then we’re all good. I checked with Channie Hyung earlier and he said since you're on a fast acting prescription I’m allowed to defile you in every way.”  He had a smirk on his face. 

“Oh.” You gulped, clenching around nothing. 

“Though I will admit,” He began as he rubbed himself into you some more, on the precipice of pushing in. “ the idea of cumming on you instead of inside, really does something to me.” You groaned at his words. “Mm you want that, baby? Want me to mark your skin with more than just paint?” 

“Yes Jinnie. I want it so much.” 

“I’ll give it to you, sweet omega.” He rolled his hips at a perfect angle, sending his full length into you. Your back arched at the intrusion, and you pulled him flush against you. “Ngghh so tight, baby. Still so so tight around me.” You clenched at his sentiment. “Fuck, keep clenching like that and your gonna make me cum too soon.” 

Hyunjin set a slow pace as he thrust into you, one of his hands held up one of your thighs and the other was pulling down the top of your dress to expose your bare chest to him. He immediately leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth. He sucked on the bud for a minute then switched to the other one. You hadn’t worn a bra under the dress as it came with cups built in so there was no need. You were mentally high fiving yourself for making that choice.

You let out a loud moan when his dick snapped into you at the perfect angle, hitting the sweet spot within you. When he noticed he found it, he repeated that same motion over and over again. The pleasure was so good you started to shake with the impending orgasm.

Your slick was sloshing out of you with every movement, soaking the paint stained blanket underneath. “Oh my god, baby. I can feel you getting close. Can feel the way your body begs to cum. Let go, baby. Show me that beautiful sight I’ve been craving so much.” 

At his permission, the band in your core snapped. You came with a wail of his name, “Hyyyunnjiinnnnnnn oh my god.” and you dug your fingers into the fabric of the shirt he still wore. 

When he felt you clamp down on him, Hyunjin knew he was a goner. He stalled his hips for only a moment as he pulled out of you a mere second before releasing his essence onto your folds and lower stomach with a shudder. His eyes zeroed in on the bite marks on your shoulder and he lowered his mouth back to your chest where he laid his own devilish bite to your skin, right above your right breast. 

You squirmed from the sensation, his emotions flooding through the bite into you. Though you could feel him break the skin, the pain didn’t come. Hyunjin wore his heart on his sleeve and now you were definitely feeling it. “Jinnie..” He let go of your skin, his breathing hard. “Jinnie, can I bite you now too?” 

His eyes shone at your question, and the animal within him growled in response. With no hesitation he ripped down the collar of his shirt and presented himself to you. “I would never want for anything again, if you claimed me as yours, my sweet omega.” 

You leaned up and first kissed the skin where his neck and shoulder met, running along it with your tongue before you sunk your teeth into him. Hyunjin twitched and moaned when you claimed him. He could feel how much love you had inside of you and he wanted to drown in it. He considered himself lucky to even be around you, but having the girl of his dreams bite him in return? Now he was just blessed. 

You let go of him and licked the wound, stopping it from dripping. He brought himself up to hover above you now as he took in the state of you both. Both of your lips still marred in blood and bodies covered in an array of paint. 

“That was insane.” You breathed out once you stopped panting, running your hands along his back. 

“That’s how you make me feel, baby. Insane.” He pecked your lips with a gentle smile. Then he sat up and let you sit up as well. “I think we should probably get our shit together. We got a big mess to clean.” 

You looked around at the mess you created. “Yeah you’re right. This may not have been our smartest idea.” 

He shrugged, “It was fun though, yeah?” 

You giggled, “So much fun.” You kissed his lips again, then began to clean up. 

It wasn’t until an hour later that you both finally got back to the house. You had hoped to sneak in unnoticed by the rest of the pack, but of course it could never be that easy. 

“What the hell happened to you guys?!” 

And of course it was Jisung who noticed you both, exclaiming his question loudly for all to hear. The beta was sat outside on the porch with a bowl of ice cream in his lap, spoon hanging out of his mouth. 

You cringed when you noticed him sitting there, trying to hide behind Hyunjin- whose face was burning red now. “Nothing, Ji. Pretend this never happened!” Hyunjin tried to shuffle past Jisung but was stopped at the door by Jeongin. 

“Woah what the actual fuck did you guys do?!” The young alpha popped his head out of the door, hearing Jisungs initial inquiry. 

You groaned from your place behind Hyunjin, stepping out to set a hand on your hip. “We had fun, that’s what happened.” You huffed, trying to hide your pure embarrassment. 

Both of the other boys' eyes scoured your figure, taking note of the red hand prints on your upper thighs and the bite mark peeking up from your cleavage, though it was mostly hidden. 

“Yeah, looks like you had a ton of fun, baby.” Jisung snickered, throwing his arm up to block the smack coming from Hyunjin. 

You crossed your arms and stuck your nose in the air snootily, “Hmpf, laugh all you want. I have paint in places where paint should never be, so if you’ll excuse me I need to shower.” You stomped past the laughing boys, Hyunjin coming in behind you. 

“You go on and shower up, love. I’ll take care of this mess.” 

“Are you sure, Jinnie? I really don’t mind cleaning up.” 

He shook his head, “Nah, I got it. You’re more covered than I am anyways. I’ll catch you in a while, ok?” He pecked your lips when you nodded in agreement. “Love you.” 

“Love you Jinnie.” You made your way up the stairs and to your room to get some clothes. 

“Is that my omega I hear?” Chans voice flooded your ears when he rounded the corner into your room. “There you are swee- woah baby what happened?” He paused his movements when he saw you. 

You smacked your palm to your forehead with a sigh, “That’s everyone's big question. Jinnie and I did a little painting today. And we may have gotten carried away.” You gave him a sheepish grin. 

“Uh huh, I can see that.” He approached you and grabbed your hand, spinning you around to see all the damage. “ I always knew you were a work of art, now it’s just been confirmed.” 

“Don’t be corny.” You giggled, pulling him into a kiss. “I need to shower. I can feel all this paint drying on my skin.” 

“Go hop in baby. I’ll grab you some of my clothes for you to wear.” He patted your butt to send you out of the room. 

“Yes sir!” You saluted dramatically and skipped into his room and to his bathroom. 

You missed the way he groaned at the title you called him, and the way he cupped his growing bulge through his black sweats. He couldn’t wait to play with you later. 

You came back downstairs a while later, freshened up like the paint fight never even happened. Though, the light throb of your most recent claiming bite reminded you it was very much real. It was approaching evening, and you hadn't made breakfast so that means you could finally cook dinner for your pack. 

Entering the kitchen you start rifling through the fridge and cabinets looking for what you can make. Luckily you found everything you would need to make pasta and a homemade alfredo sauce. You got to work quickly, feeling in your element as you cooked and prepared. You cut up some chicken as well as some veggies to throw in. 

You couldn’t help but to think about what happened with Hyunjin. How he has said Channie gave him the okay to…Cum in you. How he now had permission to do the thing everyone had been so precautious of since Felix defied. You would have to clarify with your alpha later.

You were almost done with everything when you heard footsteps entering the kitchen. You could tell exactly who it was, since you were getting used to each of the boys you were catching on to how they each moved. 

“Hey babycakes.” You were right, it was Changbin who came in. He must have smelt the food and come to investigate. “What are you cookin in here, gorgeous? It smells amazing, had me drooling since I pulled up the driveway.” 

“Alfredo.” You answered, leaning back into him when he came up behind you. “It was one of my faves growing up. Where did you run off to today?” 

He kissed the top of your head and put his hands on your hips. “I hit the gym with a new friend I met the other day at the diner. Next time you should come, baby. Build some muscle in these little arms.” He pinched your arm lightly in jest. 

“I’ll think about it.” You hummed, squirming away from him. “ Maybe I’ll get swole enough to kick your ass.” You put your first up mock menacingly, shaking it at him. 

Changbin laughed and grabbed your lifted fist, curling his own fingers over it, “Careful there, slugger. These things are already registered weapons.” 

You winked, “Don’t you forget it.” You then turned back to your task. “Hey Binnie, can you please grab some plates for me so I can set the table?” 

“Absolutely baby.” He got the plates from the cabinet and took them into the dining room. “Don’t worry about setting the table, I got it.” He said when he came back to get cutlery. 

“Thank you Bin, that is very helpful.” You smiled at him, making his heart swell and the alpha within him purr. 

“Anything for my omega.” He kissed your lips and took a bowl of pasta from your grasp, taking it to the table.

“Mmmm what is goin on in here?” Jisung was the next to come in to investigate, his boba eyes taking in the meal you had prepared. 

“Just dinner, Ji. Actually it’s great you're here, can you please alert the rest of the pack that dinner is done and to come down to the table, please?” 

“Of course my sweet lover.” He had a sing-songy voice as he skipped away. 

It only took a few minutes before all the boys were gathered around the table and all serving up their food (after they all thanked you for making such a delicious meal, of course).

“So what are we thinkin, movie night?” Seungmin looked around at everyone as he suggested it. 

Chan nodded, swallowing his last bite. “Yeah a nice night in sounds great. What do you think, my love?”

“Good to me! I just wanna chill tonight, I’m a little tired.” You stood to begin clearing empty plates. 

Jeongin snorted, “Yeah I imagine you would be after your messy day with Jinnie.” He had a smirk, and laughed when you tried to pinch him as you picked up his plate. 

“Messy? What happened?” Felix was confused, clearly distraught at being kept out of the loop.

Hyunjin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Ah Baby and I just went on a little picnic date, that's all.” 

“Are you suuuuurrrreeeee that’s all that happened Hyung?” The young alpha pressed teasingly. “Are you sure that you both didn’t come back covered in paint from head to toe, looking like you were mauled by a bear?” 

“More like a ferret.” Jisung murmured, then broke into giggles when the alpha boy high fived him. 

Hyunjin shrugged, though the blush to his cheeks gave away his lack of nonchalance. “What happens in the woods, stays in the woods. Right angel?” 

You nodded, “Right Jin.” 

“Even so, it sounds like Innie and Ji just signed themselves up for clean up duty. Ain't that right boys?” It was Chan now who said it, raising his brow and looking at the two guys expectantly. 

They both sighed and began to clean up the table, knowing it wasn’t worth arguing over. Though it didn’t stop them from mumbling how unjust and unfair it was the whole time.

By the time the sun had completely set you all had gathered in the living room, watching ‘Harry Potter’. You were all starting with the first one and decided to watch at least one out of the series every sunday until all had been watched. 

You were cozied up with Chan on the loveseat, with him holding you securely against his chest while you sat in his lap. Jisung was curled up beside you with your legs thrown over his lap. Hyunjin and Jeongin were in front of the loveseat on the floor, leaning back up against it and giving you perfect reach to play with their hair. Minho, Seungmin and Changbin all sat on the bigger sofa together.

 That just left Felix in the recliner. Sat alone with a perfect view of you being touchy with the other pack mates. The beta tried to focus on the movie, he really did. And he almost made it all the way through- until he saw Chans hand slide up the side of your thigh to your bare hip and the shirt you wore rode up to show off a sliver of your panties. What he has missed though, was the flicker of the alphas eyes over to the younger boy as he touched you. By that point the need to touch you was eating him alive and he could no longer sit there. 

The beta felt himself sniffle subconsciously, then he stood from his place abruptly, drawing attention from everyone else at the sudden movement. “Sorry, I’m not… I gotta go.” Felix apologized and ducked his head, speeding out of the living room.  

You shifted like you were going to go after him, but settled back into submission against your alpha; as much as it pained you to do so, you knew you couldn’t help him right now. Chan was pleased with your choice, tilting your chin up to place a delicate kiss to your pouty lips as a reward for learning the lesson. 

 Everyone's positions in this room did not go unnoticed by the alpha. It seemed like everything fell perfectly into place for Chan when Felix had sat alone on the other side of the room. As he predicted, Hyunjin stood next to Felix to calm him down. Two down. 

By the end credits Jisung was falling asleep next to you, his weight leaned on you. Chan was the one to wake him with a poke. “Hannie, I think you better head off to bed. You’re drooling all over the place.” 

“Mmnm don’t wanna.” He grumbled in return. 

Chan sent a pleading look to Minho on the other couch, the beta sighing then standing and coming over to haul the boy off of you. “Alright, come on Sungie. Let's get you to bed.” Min tried to haul the younger beta up but Jisung defiantly dead weighted himself so he couldn’t be moved. “You are such a child. Bin, can you help me please?” 

The alpha came to help, grabbing Jisung up from the loveseat with ease as the younger protested sleepily. Together they took him up to bed (after Ji and Bin gave you good night kisses). 

Chan laid a couple kisses on your arm, making you giggle. He then shifted his eyes quickly to Seungmin, hoping the beta would take the hint. Luckily he did. Seungmin stood with an exasperated yawn, “Man I am beat. I’m gonna head up to bed. Jeongin, let’s go.” 

The alpha boy looked up confused, “Huh? If you’re tired, why do I have to go to bed?” 

Seungmin huffed with an eye roll, “Dude don’t make me spell it out for you. Let’s go. It’s late anyways.” He grabbed Jeongin by his shirt collar and pulled him up with him. 

“Fine, fine, hands off you ass!” 

Both boys also gave you good night kisses before they went on their way up. 

You had wanted to ask him about what Hyunjin said earlier, and now seemed like the only time. “Channie, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course, my love. What’s on your mind?”

“Well..” You twiddled with your thumbs nervously. “When I was with Jinnie earlier today, he said you had given your permission to.. Umm.. fuck this is embarrasing. Did you say it was ok to cum in me now since I’m on fast acting birth control?” 

He didn’t expect you to come right out with it, his shock making him chuckle. “Yes baby. That was my stipulation to the guys. No filling up my girl until you were on birth control. Luckily we got prescribed a good brand from the Doctor. He gave the okay so I did in return.” 

You let out the breath you were holding. “Ok ok, cool. I’m glad I asked. It was killing me not knowing for sure. I mean not that I don’t trust Jinnie, cuz I do, with my life, but sometimes I can’t help but worry and after what happened last time you can never be too sure, right?” 

“Baby, you're rambling. It’s ok, thank you for making sure. Good omega.” He petted you tenderly to calm you. 

“Should we head to bed too Channie? It is getting late.” You suggested, willfully ignorant to his schemes. 

“Nah, I’m not that tired. Wanna watch another movie?” You nodded in response, and went to move off of him now that there was more space to sit. He grabbed you and held you on him, “Where do you think you're going, baby? Didn’t we agree I would get you all to myself?” 

“Yes alpha.” You suppressed a laugh at how cute he was. “I do recall something like that.” 

“Exactly. Now you're staying right here, where you belong, hm?” He tickled your sides when you didn’t respond this time, making you laugh loudly. “C’m on omega, tell me when you belong.” 

“On.. your.. Lap.” You managed to get out between cackles, his fingers only relenting when you answered. 

“That’s right baby. Now since you were right, I’ll let you pick the next movie.” He grabbed the remote and handed it to you. 

“Can I pick anything I want?” 

“Yep, anything for you my love.” 

You grinned evilly and typed in the movie you had been itching to watch. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me watch ‘Twilight’.” 

“You said I could pick whatever I wanted! This is what I want!” 

Chan groaned in boredom for what had to be the fifth time since starting the movie. “Is this really what girls are into? Old men who stalk them and tell them they’re his ‘personal brand of heroine’ as if that shit isn’t creepy!” 

“Channie, don’t act like what you say isn’t poetic like that too! You are just as bad!” You huffed. 

The alpha checked the time on his phone discreetly, noticing it was nearing ten pm. Perfect. “I’ve never considered myself good with words.” He tilted your head slightly and started to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh of content. “ Kinda always thought my romantic talents were laid in other ways.” You whimpered when he gave a harsh suck to your flesh. “Want me to show you, baby?” 

“Out-out here in the living room?” You stuttered when his hands started to travel back under your shirt. 

“Mmhmm.” He hummed, “It’s my house, I can have you wherever I want.” His rough hands slid up your sides and to your breasts under the shirt. He ran his thumbs across your nipples, toying with the hardened buds. Then an idea popped into his mind. “But you were set on watching this movie… So your gonna watch it.” He suddenly turned your body so you were sitting with your back against his chest, and your front facing the tv. Also facing the entry way into the room. 

You gasped when he grabbed your jaw softly and made you watch the tv. “Channie, what…” 

“Watch your movie, baby. Alphas got you.” He then tugged your shirt up and over your head, so now you sat there almost naked other than your panties. “Mm so pretty. Look at all these pretty marks on you, omega.” He sloppily kissed each one, at the same time he resumed his playing with your nipple with one hand. The other was toying with the hem of your panties. 

You let out a quiet whimper when he tugged on the bud. Trying to focus on the movie was becoming a nearly impossible task. You could vaguely register what was happening, it appeared to be the baseball scene. Then he tugged harder. You couldn’t help the light grind of your hips at the sensation. Having his hands on you made you instantly wet, the slick accumulating quickly from your core. Your body naturally reacted to him this way, he could look at you a certain way and it could get you going. (A fact you would never share with him, less you feed his ego even more)

“Can smell you, ‘mega. You're leaking such a delicious scent.”  He nosed your skin as he was totally engulfed in the aroma. It was so thick and syrupy, he was sure it was starting to drip from the walls.  At his words you ground down again, feeling his thickness under your ass. “Are you getting impatient, baby? “

“Mmhmm” You only hummed in return. 

He cooed, “ok baby, Alpha will play with his baby.” With lithe fingers he slowly pulled your panties down your hips and off your thighs, leaving you now completely naked on his lap. A string of arousal followed the fabric as they fell to the floor, Chan groaning at the sight. “Fuck love, is that all for me?” 

“Uh huh. For you Channie.” You nodded rapidly, moaning when those same fingers ran their tips along your folds. Chan used his knees to separate your legs even further, putting your center on full display. He collected the slick that was dripping out of you, and brought the digits up to slowly circle your clit. You threw your head back onto his shoulder and shut your eyes at the feeling. You both could tell you were quickly falling into subspace, letting Chan take care of you completely. 

In fact you were becoming so out of it, that you missed the sound of footsteps coming down the hall closer to the living room, and stopping before the threshold. Chan, though, did not. 

“Come on out, Lix.” 

Felix was coming back down for his nightly vitamin he takes every night at ten pm. He keeps it in the kitchen so he can also grab some water before bed. It was his daily routine. One he never missed. What he didn’t expect was to be bombarded with the thick scent he would know anywhere by now, and the enticing sounds of your little moans. He halted his movements in the hall, eyes wide and his hands suddenly twitching. He was going to turn back around and hightail it back to his room, but then Chan called to him. 

Fuck. 

Your eyes shot open as Felix slowly, and stiffly shuffled into the living room. “Lix? What-?” You went to cover yourself with your hands but Chan stopped you.

“Aww don’t be shy now, baby. It’s nothing Lixie hasn’t seen before, right Lix?” Chan continued rubbing at the bundle between your legs, now with more vigor and you couldn’t stop the moan. Felix merely nodded, his eyes shadowed in both lust and wanting. The twitching in his fingers got worse as soon as he raked his gaze over your spread pussy. “Doesn’t she look so pretty like this, all spread open and squirming?”  Chans eyes were dark and his tone had a menace to it that was hard to place, it had both you and Felix whimpering. 

“So pretty.. The prettiest girl in the universe.” Felix mumbled out, unable to take his eyes from the way your hole clenched at his words. 

“Nggh Lix…” You whined subconsciously, hips bucking into Chans hand for more friction. Chan never took his eyes off Felix as he nipped on your neck. 

“I can’t take this.” Felix’s statement came out as a pained whisper. 

“Hmm? What was that Felix?” Chan asked, acting uninterested, and inserting a finger inside now making you groan louder.

“I… I can’t take this anymore, Hyung.” Tears sprung to the betas eyes. “This is torture- worse than torture. Not being able to touch the woman I love, while everyone else gets to as much as they please, it’s so painful Chris.”

“You want your punishment to end? You want to touch this beautiful omega?” Chan used his other hand to grab the front of your throat, pulling your body even closer to his chest, not squeezing; just holding. A dangerous reminder that he was in charge.

Felix nodded lively, mouth gaping at the sight “ Yes I’ll do anything.” 

“Beg me.” 

Before Felix even registered the demand, you started wailing “Please alpha please I need him.” 

Chan laid a quick slap to your pussy, relishing in your hiss at the contact. You tried to snap your legs closed but Chan held them open as you shook. “Hush omega, you’ve begged enough. The men are talking. Go on Felix.”  His fingers resumed their thrusting into your hole. 

Felix locked eyes with Chans dark intimidating stare, and he theatrically lowered himself to his knees, clasping his hands together. 

“Chan, Alpha, I am begging you, please, please, don’t keep her from me anymore. I’ve learned not to defy you again. Please Hyung.”  Felix was hiccuping through his tears as he begged. 

“Look at him, Omega. Down on his knees begging for even a taste of you. Begging for the saccharine sweetness that pours from you, the nectar only I can provide. Should I let him? Should alpha be merciful and give him what he needs, baby? 

“Yes Alpha. Please.” you responded right away. 

“You want her? You want her pussy?” Chan asked rhetorically, chuckling when the beta nodded and cried. “Come show her how much you missed her. Your punishment is over.” 

Immediately you were swarmed by Felix, the beta wasting no time at all to latch his mouth over your dripping center, his tongue finding your clit with ease. His hands went to your thighs as he ground his face into you, wanting you as close as he can possibly get. Felix dug his fingers brutally into your skin, as if he was scared you would slip through his hands again. Chan removed his fingers from inside you and put them back onto your breasts, pinching your nipples. 

“Fuck, oh my god, Lixie.” Now it was you who was crying, putting your hands into his hair and gripping the strands tightly. He moaned into you when you grabbed his hair, causing vibrations to travel from his mouth into you. You were already so close to your high at that point, that when he suckled your clit into his mouth with a harsh suck, you absolutely lost it and the band inside of you snapped. “Ngghhhh Lixie, Channie, ohmygoooooooood ‘m cumming, mmmmggghh.” 

The tears never stopped falling from your eyes; the emotions inside of you being so intense it’s like a dam broke. This was the most emotional orgasm you’ve ever had. You were shaking and sobbing against Chan as Felix continued to eat you out, never relenting for even a second. The betas eyes were fluttering at the taste of you, becoming drunk on your slick. You were becoming overstimulated with the constant pleasure so you tried pulling up Felix's head. After a moment he lifted his face from you, gazing at you with intense lust in his blown out eyes and your slick covering his face. 

“Mm good girl, such a good omega for us, huh? Wanna keep being a good little girl for us, baby?” Chan questioned while kissing your shoulders. His voice was getting rougher by the second, as he himself was being overcome with both lust and power.

“Uh huh, wanna be good for you both.” You pet the side of Felix's face affectionately. You had missed being close enough to appreciate his darling freckles. He preened at your touch, nuzzling into your hand. 

Chan removed his hands from your chest, “Go ahead and get on the floor for me, baby. On all fours.” He helped you off his lap and to the floor to join Felix. Luckily the blankets that were laid out from the movie night were still here so you weren’t on the bare ground. You settled yourself as he requested, and he groaned from behind you. The alpha got up from his place on the love seat and onto his knees right behind you. “That’s a good girl, present yourself to your alpha.” He delivered a quick slap to one of your ass cheeks, admiring the slight jiggle of the flesh. 

You yelped at the sting, “Alpha!” 

“You can take it. I bet my spanks aren’t half as bad as Minnies, hmm?” He jeered with a snicker. He peered over at the beta, who by this point was rubbing his dick through his pj pants and biting his lip. “ I think our Lixie is feeling a little neglected, huh baby? He's waited so patiently for you.” Chan asked, leaning over to rub his sweatpants clad crotch against your ass. 

“Yeah, alpha. Wan’ make him feel good too. Wan’ him in my mouth.” You mumbled through your whines, craving to be filled one way or another. 

“Fuck,” Lix cursed, gripping himself tighter when you said that. 

Chan chuckled, “Seems like he wants that too. What do ya say, Lix? Want her mouth?” 

“Fuck, more than anything.” The beta replied hastily. 

“Alright then,” Chan pulled down his bottoms, just enough for his member to be out. The tip was red and leaking pre cum, he had clearly been horned up for a while. He rubbed the tip through your folds, wetting his length easily with the great amount of slick you’ve created. “Go ahead Lixie, give her what she wants.” 

Felix wasted no time in shoving his pjs down his thighs, finally feeling a little relief at no longer being confined. He came to stand in front of you, but before you could take him into your mouth he leaned down and gave you a devastatingly emotional kiss. He groaned low into your mouth, missing the way your lips tasted and felt. It made him start to tear up again. “Missed you so fucking much, baby. ‘M never gonna lose you again.” He whispered against your lips. 

“Missed you too Lix- AH” Your sentiment was cut off by Chan pushing his length into you. You arched your back at the intrusion and dug your fingers into the fabric below you. The stretch of taking your alpha was immeasurable. “Shit, so big alpha.” Chan growled approvingly when you said that.  You tried to refocus on Felix the best you could, though your mind was slipping further and further away with each thrust of Chans hips. “In my mouth, pl-ease, nee’ it.” 

Felix took a small step back and positioned himself in front of your face, holding his tip a few inches from you. “Here you go, lovey. You can have it.” Your mouth fell open and you stuck your tongue out, licking the flushed tip and tasting his precum. You suckled on it for a second, then a particularly hard thrust from Chan caused you to take Felix completely into your mouth and down your throat, making you gag. The beta immediately threw his head back in pleasure, “Ffffucking christ oh shit. God, so warm and wet.” 

Tears sprung to your lash line when Felix hit the back of your throat. Little ‘mmpfs’ sounds were leaving you from the rutting into your core, that quickly turned into gurgly muffled moans when Chan found your sensitive spot inside of you. Your thighs were covered in slick and it was wetting the alphas bottoms. He was letting out deep, raspy grunts each time he bottomed out. His hands gripped harshly onto your hips to keep you in place, as Felix began thrusting gently into you. 

Felix ran his hand down your throat, feeling his length inside through your own skin. He gasped at the pressure he has created. He didn’t want to over stimulate you with double choking though, so he left it at that for now.

The beta held your cheeks with his palms as he wiped your tears, looking into your eyes with his glassy ones as if asking for permission to take you. You answered by sucking intensely on his member. That was what he needed, and he began to shakily fuck your mouth. 

“I wish you could see how magnificent you are right now, omega.” Chans voice was gruff and raspy. “So fucking perfect the way you take us. Fuck, most perfect omega in the world.” 

Perfect. 

There's that word again. That's the second time today you had been called it, but honestly, right now as you float through subspace, you would believe literally anything they told you. You were so far gone and delirious you just moaned in agreement.  

The corners of your lips were leaking drool, both areas of entry being so wet there was a loud sloshing sound that filled the entire room. The only other time you had been this soaked was on your heat. 

Chan brought his fingers around your body and found your clit again. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he began to circle the nub. You were already so sensitive that it only took a few swipes of his fingers before you were orgasming. Your body began to spasm in pleasure and your wails increased, the vibrations shooting straight into Felix's dick. 

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum oh FUCCKK” The beta gripped your face and held you steady while he shot hot ropes of cum down your throat. He let go of your face once his shaking stopped, pulling out of your mouth swiftly. “So good, baby. Your mouth is magical.” He went to wipe the cum and drool that was on your face but he didn’t get the chance. 

As soon as Felix pulled out of your mouth, Chan used one of his hands to push your head down into the blankets below. The change made your hips raise slightly and your back arch even more, letting the Alpha drive into you even further. “There we go, fuck sweet girl your even tighter like this, goddamn.” He was unrelenting in his powerful plunging into you. “Love you so so much, my baby, my omega.” 

“Alpha, love youuuu.” You clenched at the way he said your presentation. He always made it sound so dirty. You loved it. 

Your clenching on him was what he needed, the tightening threw him completely overboard. He growled deeply, the sound was a menacing rumble that emerged from the back of his throat. He shot thick ropes of his cum deep inside you. His knot inflated at the base and locked the two of you together. He rocked his hips a little more as he finished, the last few drops entering you. 

For a second, all of you were silent - except for the collective panting as you all came down. You could feel Felix stroke your hair softly as Chan ran his hands comfortingly up and down your spine. Your face was still buried in the blankets below you, mouth open and breathing hard. 

“Did so, so good for us Omega. Love you so much.” Chan began whispering praises as his knot started to deflate. Felix was now sitting on the ground and pulling your head up to rest in his lap. He wiped your tears and cooed about how much he loves you. 

Chan was ecstatic, the night fell into place exactly as he wanted it too. Well, for the most part… There was one thing he didn’t account for. 

That was a certain youngest Alpha who came down for a late night snack and stumbled upon the scene in the living room…. 

All three of you were so caught up in each other that no one noticed Jeongin walk in mid act. And not a single one of them could predict it accidently sending the alpha boy into an early rut..

Oops. 

A/N: I know, I know it's a little late.... Unfortunately going forward this series will probably be updated bi weekly instead of weekly :'( i will be working a lot more in preparation for festival season! (Anyone going to edclv this year? 👀👀👀💃🏻)

Also, before anyone says it, yes i know thats not how birth control works,,,, it's a made up universe with made up rules :)

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Also if any one wants to chat about the story or share predictions please send me an ask!!

Beta read by my loves @ayejaii and @jehhskz <3

©doitforbangchan

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (5) - Confrontation

Summary: Living under the same roof as Astarion was proving to me more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Nightmare. Hurt/Comfort. Innuendo. Heavy use of sarcasm hahaha.

Word count: 4.4k

Previous chapter. Ao3. Series Masterlist

If anyone had suggested a few days ago that you'd find yourself living under the same roof as Astarion, you would have called them delusional and point them to the nearest infirmary for a mental check.

But the wheels of fate turned in mysterious ways, and a mere glance at the man sitting across from you was proof enough of that.

The flames swirling and crisping in the nearby fireplace cast the most delicate yellow and orange tint on his pale complexion as he flipped the pages of a book you had lent him.

You had tried to focus on your own reading, but you just couldn't help but to occasionally shift your gaze to him.

Gods… it was nigh criminal how handsome this man was.

It was as if he had been hand-carved by someone intended on wreaking havoc in the name of beauty.

And, as far as you were concerned, they had thoroughly succeeded.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and he met your gaze dead-on, unblinkingly.

So handsome…

A cold shiver ran up the back of your neck, but you found herself unable to look away. It was as if, in that moment, you had managed to block out everything around you but him. The longer you stared at him, the more acutely you felt detached from reality.

“May I kiss you?”

You blinked a few times. “What?”

His eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised in sheer perplexity.

“No need to look so offended, darling,” he said with a scoff, rising from his seat and snatching the candle holder from the table to your right. “I was merely asking for this. I apologise if the request is out of the realm of your ‘one hundred good deeds I must perform before I perish’ list.”

You blinked again.

What?

You glanced around, but judging from the lack of reaction from both Gale and Shadowheart, you figured that maybe he hadn't actually asked to kiss you.

Great. Now I'm hallucinating…

He returned to his padded chair with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I've seen more light in the deepest corners of the Shadowlands.”

Maybe sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on you, rendering you delirious.

Regardless, the illusion had been enough to flare your heart, and you hurriedly focused your attention on the book in your hands.

“I had quite forgotten how peacefully silent it can be without having you around, Astarion.” Shadowheart spoke as she tended to a few rolls of parchment and letters.

“Well, you can thank Wyll for that.”

She ignored him. “All you do is complain.”

You felt a storm brewing on the horizon as you lifted your eyes to glance at him.

Astarion let out a cynical laugh. “You're one to speak.”

Shadowheart was now scowling. Deeply.

“Besides, that is a rather disingenuous accusation. Want proof?” he asked, clearing his throat. “So, Gale - what are you reading that has you scribbling about like a mad man?”

The wizard snapped out of his nose-deep dive and brought his quill to a halt with a beaming smile. “Glad you ask, my friend. ‘A Visual Guide to Baldur's Gate's Exquisite Cuisine’. First edition. Hand-signed by the finest chefs in the city. What a marvel, indeed.”

As expected, Astarion looked as unimpressed as ever, but you interjected before he could mouth anything obtuse.

“That sounds rather exciting, Gale.”

He nodded eagerly. “A small guilty pleasure of mine, I must say. I'm taking down some notes, so that I can - hopefully - prepare some delectable dishes for us.”

Shadowheart's eyes remained fixed on Astarion as if awaiting for him to burst at any moment.

He exchanged a quick glance with you before muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“I think it's to be commended that he cares enough to try,” you said sweetly, earning a scornful glare from him. “I can't wait for you to showcase your abilities, Gale.”

“My sentiments exactly, dear friend.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “‘Abilities’ as in setting the kitchen ablaze, or…”

You shot him a death glare.

He shrugged. “You two are a match made in the hells.”

This had you snap your book closed with a loud thud, eyeing him defiantly. “So what constitutes an engaging reading to you, Astarion? Murderous ploys?”

His lips curled into a devious smile. “Something along those lines. Although I do enjoy indulging in some debauchery from time to time.”

You weren't sure Gale would set the kitchen ablaze with his cooking skills, but Astarion's blunt and crass words sure did that to your cheeks.

Shadowheart scoffed.

“There are some interesting books in my collection,” he continued, clearly enjoying your loss of composure. “I will gladly lend you some… or maybe offer a guided tour through my favourite pieces?”

You needed to change the subject.

Fast.

You were most definitely fighting a losing battle.

This was Astarion's playground, and he would always come out victorious.

“Must you always resort to such vulgarity?” Shadowheart sneered, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I'm afraid the city is fresh out of those who know how to properly enjoy themselves, and we can't all be dullards, darling.”

You cleared your throat. “So, Gale… you're leaving for Waterdeep soon enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. If all goes well, we shall have access to the Wish spell soon enough, my vampling friend.”

Astarion crossed his arms. “Finally some progress.”

“Maybe you should be more thankful.” You said with a frown.

“As should you,” he shot back. “No more need to offer your blood to me.”

Fair enough.

“Much to your disappointment, I imagine.” Shadowheart chimed in.

But before he could retort, you heard a rising commotion outside that only came to a halt as the front door burst open.

Lae'zel came through, carrying what appeared to be a very much deceased wild boar across her shoulders as if it was nothing more than a sack of feathers.

She kicked the door shut at once, nostrils flaring. “Tsk'va! What are those two doing outside?”

“House arrest.” Astarion informed.

Bringing the carcass to the kitchen table, Lae'zel locked eyes with you, visibly annoyed.

“I had plans to rescue you from that prison. And I would have had it my way had it not been for Gale and his… morals.”

Gale bolted from his seat, suddenly looking rather distressed. “Lae'zel, we've spoken about this before and agreed not to bring bleeding carcasses into our home.”

She glared at him. “You alone agreed to it - I had no part in it.”

He gave her an exasperated look, picking up a piece of cloth to wipe away the strands of blood that had begun to run along the wooden surface.

“If this falls on the carpet, it will be a nightmare to remove the stains.”

Astarion tutted. “Darling, that carpet is so hideous that being splattered with carrion blood would be a vast improvement.”

You rose to your feet, rushing to join Lae's zel, who quickly placed her hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your lips tugged into a genuine smile.

To her, this was the equivalent of ‘I am glad you're safe and I care for you’ and it warmed your heart beyond measure.

Naturally, Astarion quickly joined your side, earning Lae'zel's disdainful gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, it was a two-for-one type of deal, wasn't it?” Astarion mocked, turning to you. “Free one criminal and get two on house arrest.”

Unfortunately for Astarion, Lae'zel had little patience to entertain his sarcastic remarks and merely scoffed.

“I would have easily rescued from that prison, you know?” She gave your shoulder another squeeze and you nodded. “Those frail guards are no match for a githyanki.”

“On that much we can agree.” He mused.

She gave him a stern look. “I would have left you there.”

“We fought a giant brain, a scheming squid, and a whole parade of lunatics side by side, in case you've forgotten, my dear nest of vipers friend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you ought to show more gratitude.”

You expected her to snap at him, but she merely pressed her lips and gave him a nod.

That would be as far as she'd go, though.

“Well, as much as I enjoy this ‘family’ reunion, I'm off to my room,” Shadowheart said from a distance, already heading towards the staircase. “Please do not maim each other in my absence - there's only so much healing I can provide.”

You chuckled and she smiled warmly at you.

“Say, Lae'zel…” Astarion started, circling the boar with utmost interest. “I would hate for perfectly adequate blood to go to waste.”

The implication in his words wasn't subtle at all, and she groaned. “I thought you feeding on our friend was enough.”

Your stomach lurched violently.

He scoffed. “There is no such thing as ‘enough’ blood for a vampire. Besides, she's the main course… this would be more of an aperitif, if you will.”

Now, you felt positively sick to your core.

A wave of nausea and repulsion gripped you tight.

“It would be a mutually beneficial situation - I save Gale from a mental breakdown, sparing you tue ordeal, and I also get to quench my hunger.”

Gale grumbled something in agreement.

But you felt the sudden wish to be swallowed whole by some magical hole in the ground.

The way he referred to you as nothing more than food prompted a visceral reaction from you, and you feared you might empty the contents of your stomach from it alone.

“Um… I'll go get some sleep… I'm too tired,” you said dismissively, already pacing towards the corridor that led to your room. “Have a good night.”

Astarion called after you, but you didn't bother looking back.

But before you could turn the doorknob, you heard light steps approaching and firm fingers gripping your forearm.

Astarion.

His face was void of any amusement. “You're upset.”

You pulled free from his grasp. “A neat observation. No wonder you're such a skilled rogue.”

His brows furrowed lightly. “What's the matter?”

“It seems that I'm only worthy of your attention when it comes to you treating me as nothing but a meal, to hurl your sarcastic remarks at. Oh - and unless I'm on the verge of death,” you said, counting on each finger.

He seemed quite taken aback, his features twisting into a scowl. “You really adore selling yourself short, don't you?”

“You won't even deny it.”

“Then what sort of attention do you want from me?” He asked, taking a step closer, the sudden proximity catching you off-guard. “Do enlighten me.”

You glared at him in silence for a moment, vaguely wondering how the two of you had gotten to this point in your relationship, where everything seemed so… off.

Astarion was standing in front of you, but it wasn't truly him.

He was there, but not really.

He seemed so detached from the Astarion you had fallen for, and a part of you loathed that you had allowed yourself to get so attached to him in the first place.

Eventually, you heaved a deep sigh as he awaited your reply. “The sort of attention I don't have to beg for.”

His face softened briefly and he parted his lips only to press them close together again as if he had decided against speaking.

Right.

You swallowed hard. “Have a good night.”

The hopeful part of you half-expected him to stop you from walking away as you closed the door behind you, but he did no such thing.

You pressed your back against it, taking a deep breath, feeling as if you had just lost something.

Had you been too dramatic?

Did it even matter at this point?

Maybe it was better off this way.

You moved to scrub your face clean in the washbasin, preparing yourself to get some rest before the morning came.

Whatever was of your relationship with Astarion would have to wait for you to be able to think more clearer.

Slipping into your nightdress, you allowed yourself to fall on your bed and onto your stomach with a muffled thud, wanting to do nothing more than to scream into the covers, but remained still instead.

After what felt like hours of restlessly rolling beneath the sheets, you felt your mind lighten and were able to find solace in the peace and quiet.

That was until you heard a distant voice.

A woman's voice.

Her voice.

“Go on. Bleed her dry for me…”

You felt the mattress dip slightly and your eyes snapped open only to find Astarion baring his fangs.

And then he was on you, pinning you frozen with both hands.

“No - stop! Get off!”

He didn't hold back and you felt a familiar sting tear through your neck, his cold lips sprawling across your skin.

“She's so pathetic. Just kill her. Put her out of her misery.”

“Get off!” You cried out, feeling his weight pinning you down.

He didn't waver and you felt your blood being drained from you alarmingly fast as you tried your best to yank free from his vicious grip.

You were going to die.

He was going to kill you.

“Stop! Please - Astarion!”

Something was squeezing your shoulder and you tried to squirm away from the increasing pressure.

You felt him chuckle in amusement against your skin and that was what killed you first.

“ASTARION!”

The grip on you kept on increasing and you realised someone was shaking you.

“Wake up.”

How was he speaking whilst fiercely feeding on you?

Were you already dead?

Your cries turned into uncontrollable sobs and you felt like breathing was no longer an option.

“Wake up!”

The shove against your shoulder was too fierce this time, and you jolted violently, feeling the pressure on top of you only faintly ease.

“Get the fuck off me!”

You tried to conjure a spell - any spell - that might help you set yourself free.

He called out your name and your eyes snapped open at once, only to see Astarion hovering over you, hand now pressed firmly against your lips, muffling your sobs.

Bergamot.

Rosemary.

Aged brandy.

It was him.

He was there.

The nightmare faded with each passing second, and, for the longest time, all you could hear were your laboured breaths as you struggled to step into reality.

Your eyes were blurred from the tears welling up, and you watched his lips part to utter something, but the pounding in your ears prevented you from understanding a single word.

He eventually dropped the hand from your mouth, staring at you with an understanding look on his face.

“You're safe."

For a split second, you wondered if this was truly your Astarion, and once you asserted that it was truly him sitting beside you, you pushed yourself from the mattress, looping your arms around his neck.

He took you in his arms, gently pressing his lips to your temple.

“You're safe. I'm here and I've got you."

You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down as you pressed your face to his shoulder, seeking any sliver of comfort he could spare you.

The door to your room burst open.

“What happened? What did you do?”

Shadowheart's accusatory tone ground on your already fragile nerves.

“She was having a nightmare.”

His cool hand came to the back of your head, further pressing you into him.

“Oh. Another one…”

You felt your heartbeat soothe and your breathing gradually even out.

But his embrace felt too much like coming home for you to part from him, so you didn't, allowing him to rock you gently in his arms.

“It's become more frequent as of late.” She said with a hint of sadness to her voice.

Astarion kept his lips pressed to your temple, grounding you.

You eventually pulled back from him with a loud sniffle. “I'm fine. I am sorry I worried you…”

Shadowheart approached you, kindness on her face. “Nonsense. I am here for you - we are here for you,” she added, glancing at Astarion. “Always.”

“I'll just try to get some rest… you two may go…” you stammered in between a few sobs.

Shadowheart didn't move and neither did Astarion.

You rubbed your puffy and wet eyes. “I mean it. It will be fine.”

“Very well,” Shadowheart drawled out reluctantly. “But please let me know if there is anything I can help with.”

You gave her a reassuring nod paired with a comforting smile.

She returned the gesture and excused herself, clicking the door shut behind her.

Your gaze shifted to him. “You can leave, too.”?

He scoffed. “No.”

“What?”

“You'll have to stake me.”

You were utterly confused by his perseverance.

“I am fine, Astarion. I am thankful for your help, but… you don't have to stay.”

He nodded. “I don't have to, but I want to.”

Your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

And then your eyes fell to his shoulder.

“Oh, my…” you winced at the sight of the soppy fabric of his shirt. “I'm sorry for that…”

He looked confused at first, but followed your line of sight and smiled. “Was this an excuse to get me out of my shirt?”

His playful jab immediately had you chuckle, rolling your eyes at him.

“Not to mention that I've been covered in all sorts of your bodily fluids,” he went on, earning a surprised glare from you. “This might be my…” he paused brielfy, as if evaluating his options. “Ah - my third favourite, yes.”

You should have known better than to take the evident glare, but you could really use the distraction.

“What are the first two, then?”

You hadn't even realised your nightdress had come undone at the front until he reached out to pull back the sleeve that had slid down your arm.

Glancing down, you couldn't help the rush of heat on your cheeks as your breasts were barely covered at all.

“Blood, naturally,” he said in a low voice, tying each set of strings with unmatched dexterity, keeping your modesty preserved. “And your-”

But before he could reply, you quickly pressed your forefinger to his lips, eyes widening as you felt him smile under your touch and pressing a soft kiss.

You felt as though you might implode.

His hands moved up your chest, tying up the last knots.

“There - all neatly wrapped up like a nice little gift.” He said, amusement coating his words.

He was too good at getting under your skin.

More than you were willing to admit, especially out loud.

“Thank you for making me laugh.” You said truthfully, pushing aside how he had so easily made you feel all heated up.

“I aim to please.”

His words hit you like a thousand knives.

“You're more than that…” You said, wanting to reassure him that he didn't need to resort to honeyed words and calculated moves to create a meaningful connection with someone.

But your statement had the opposite effect, and he frowned slightly.

“Don't. Do not start…”

You swallowed and nodded in understanding. “I didn't mean to offend.”

He shook his head, adjusting the fabric of your nightdress over your shoulders. “You didn't. I merely do not wish to make this about me.”

You were slightly taken aback.

“I know all too well the burden of nightmares,” he explained. “Even if elves don't indulge in conventional sleep, we are still prone to nightmares when we trance.”

Oh.

“And I would hate for you to be plagued like that.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling extremely exposed all of a sudden.

“So tell me, darling, when did these start?” He asked, shifting closer to you. “And why were you screaming my name?”

You felt a lump swell in your throat.

He placed his finger under your chin, and pressed upwards until your eyes met his.

“What haunts you?”

You.

“Can we just… not…” You asked, already feeling tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Reason told you that a heartfelt conversation with Astarion was long overdue, but you didn't feel ready.

You still felt too startled and too vulnerable.

He had hurt you in more ways than one, even if unconsciously done at times.

“We don't have to talk about it.”

You nodded, a few tears rolling down. “Thank you.”

“We can push all of that aside, even if just for tonight.”

Your heart hammered fast inside you.

He then cradled your face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips to each cheek, kissing your tears away.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he trailed down, inching closer to your lips.

A shudder coursed throughout your entire body, barely able to contain the anticipation.

Please kiss me…

His thumbs rubbed slow circles on your flushed cheeks and your lips parted as his ghosted yours.

Astarion…

Almost there.

You could almost taste him.

Your hands came to grip his wrists tightly, silently urging him to take you.

Please… please…

As your heart thudded faster and faster, you gasped when he quickly kissed the tip of your nose before pressing his lips to your forehead.

You couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of disappointment that washed over you, even if, deep down, you realised it was probably the best course of action, considering how vulnerable you still felt from the nightmare.

A few more tears spilled over, which he quickly brushed away before pulling back.

“I can stay until you fall asleep.”

Your heart dropped.

Everything was conditional with him.

It was always meant to come to an end, eventually.

He would stay with you… but only until you drifted off to another nightmare, perhaps.

It was as if he couldn't simply stay with you.

You shook your head with a sniffle, letting go of him. “No. You can go… but thank you for this.”

“I can stay.”

“... until I fall asleep.” You finished his sentence.

He nodded, eyes locking with yours. “Or for as long as you need me.”

You felt ridiculous from the way your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Will you hug me?”

He shifted back against the headboard and sprawled his arms out to you with a sly grin. “Come here, darling.”

For a brief moment, you saw your Astarion again.

Open and caring.

You scooted over to rest your body against his, smiling softly as he placed his arm around you, trailing absent-minded caresses along your arm.

His coldness felt comfortable even in the dead of night, and you wrapped your arm around his torso, enjoying the silence.

“Am I too cold?”

You're perfect.

You shook your head vehemently.

But he still reached out to grab the blanket at your feet, draping over your frame.

“You are shivering, you fool.” He whispered and you could hear the smile in his remark.

You snuggled up against him, wishing you could freeze this moment in time.

Slowly but surely, and lulled by his caresses, you felt exhaustion take over, your eyelids feeling progressively heavier.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe you'd wake up only to find that this had never happened.

That you hadn't felt your Astarion once again.

His chin was resting atop your head and your heart skipped yet another beat.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to us…”

The hand on your arm stilled for a moment and he hushed you. “Just rest.”

Your eyelids did feel heavy, and you could recognise your own brain fighting away your sleep, but you still wanted to know.

You needed to know what had gone so terribly wrong.

Especially when the man holding you in his arms had just provided immeasurable comfort.

“I miss you… us…” You heard yourself mumble under your breath.

He did utter something unintelligible, but you were far too exhausted to ask for a repeat.

Your warm body slumped against his cold one as he lulled you into sleep with the rhythmic caresses on your back.

It seemed that this time, your nightmare had started and ended with him.

Morning came and he was gone.

Of course he was.

Even with your windows barred from the sun, he had still chosen to leave.

He had tucked you under the bedsheets and warm blankets.

You had nearly forgotten what a good night of sleep was ever since the nightmares had taken root in your mind.

His scent lingered all around you and it was impossible to escape it.

You eventually pushed yourself up to sit in silence, going over the events of a couple of hours ago.

Why did he always leave in the end?

Why couldn't you just bring yourself to move on from him?

You could have taken the time to open up to him about how you felt, but you were so afraid to push him away.

He had his own vulnerabilities and he didn't need yours weighing him down, too.

You lazily scrambled out of bed, slipping into your robe, ready for a new day.

As you made your way down the corridor, you began to hear heated voices coming from the kitchen.

“Must we all live in darkness because of you?”

You found Astarion sitting by the table, seemingly unbothered by Lae'zel's snarky remarks, the room plunged in darkness, keeping the scorching sun at bay.

“Oh please, feel free to address your complaints to the Grand Duke.”

Gale saw you first and offered a warm smile. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

You hugged yourself, forcing a smile. “I am well, thank you.”

Astarion turned his head to you, annoyance giving way to a sliver of concern. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

You nodded, your heart immediately reacting to his presence.

“Shall I brew some chamomile tea?” Gale offered eagerly, moving about the kitchen to gather the supplies.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing around. “Where is Shadowheart?”

“She headed out to the apothecary,” Gale said, placing the kettle by the fireplace. “She's keen on helping you out with these nightmares.”

Guilt hit you.

Of course she had.

Shadowheart had held your hand through so many perils, yet you couldn't help but to feel guilty that she was searching for help when the solution to your problem was right in front of you.

And he kept glaring at you, as if studying your every move.

A soft knock on the front door snapped you from your thoughts, and you went to push it open, revealing the visitor.

No.

No fucking way.

You immediately slammed the door shut, feeling rage swirl inside you.

“Who is it?” Gale asked.

“No one.”

Then your gaze met Astarion's whose eyebrow was arched in confusion.

“That is no way to treat a guest.” The woman outside chirped happily.

Ava.

Next chapter: Broken - November 26

Series Masterlist . I don't keep taglists, so feel to follow this story on Ao3 🩷

[xxchumanixx]

Uno pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You're teaching Bucky how to play Uno, but it takes a different turn than expected.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Bucky being sweet and caring, make out session

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello my loves! The idea for this came when I looked at my brand new The Mandalorian Uno, as I was watching Falcon and The Winter Soldier for the second time in two days (whupsi).

I'm definitely going to make a part two, we can't let naked action with Bucky slide, can we?

Enjoy!

It had been a while since you and Bucky started having game nights, playing cards and board games, whilst casually chatting.

Since working with Sam, Bucky was more relaxed, spending more time with you, after he started to work on himself.

You couldn't deny that your weekly game night was the highlight of your week, his presence enough to soothe everything that occurred over the days in between.

Of course, your ever growing feelings for him had a say in the matter, too.

"Let's play Uno!" you suggested, holding up the red box in your hand for him to see, when you returned from the drawer that held all the games you owned.

He cocked a brow, the bottle in his hand stopping mid-air, before he sat it back down.

"What's Uno?" he wanted to know, brows furrowing. "It's a card game." you replied, sitting back down in the chair to his right, placing the box on the table in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll teach you how to play."

"Never heard of it." he mumbled, fingers tracing over the letters on the front of the box. "Well, it's old, but not as old as you." you told him, smirking.

He scoffed at your words, playfully rolling his eyes. "I'm 106." he retorted, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. "And the game is 55." you retorted, cocking a brow at him with a grin on your lips.

"So you're almost twice as old."

He leaned back in the chair again, shaking his head in amusement, as he sipped his beer.

"Don't worry, you don't look like 106, though." you assured him with a wink, the alcohol loosening your tongue and nerves a bit.

He definitely didn't look like 106, more like so smoking hot you're gonna burn yourself.

He chuckled, wiggling his brows once, heart fluttering in your chest.

Taking the cards out of the box you pushed it aside, gathering the cards in your hands to shuffle them.

They were slightly curved and wrinkled from all the previous games played with them.

"First, you shuffle." you told him, starting to shuffle the cards. He huffed, eyes closely watching you, though.

"Never would have guessed."

Rolling your eyes, you tried to concentrate only on the shuffling, some of the cards spilling, though. His intense gaze made your hands tremble, nerves spilling over.

"Let me." he spoke up, carefully taking the cards from your hands, gathering the spilled ones. Shivers ran down your spine at his touch.

"My hand still hurts, I guess that's why I can't shuffle them as good, you know." you tried to cover it up, hinting at the accident you had when you tried to clean your windows this morning, falling from the small ladder, your hand partly taking the brunt.

It didn't hurt anymore, still you used it as a cover, as it came in handy in that moment.

He simply hummed, starting to shuffle the cards. He didn't want to think about what might have happened, if the ladder had been higher.

It took him a second to get back into it, but when he did, you couldn't help but stare. His hands expertly shuffled the cards, moving so swiftly, you thought he was playing some trick on you.

Though his fingers did a whole another trick on you, goosebumps covering your bare arms.

Swallowing, you tried not to think about what his hands could possibly do, too much.

Clearing your throat, you tore your gaze away.

"Everyone gets seven cards, dealt face down." you continued to explain, waiting for him to deal the cards. "The rest of the cards is placed in a draw pile face down."

He nodded, placing the pile in the middle of the table.

"Then you take the card on top, turn it around and place it beside the pile. This way you know which card to play."

He did what he was told, frowning at the sign on the card.

"Oh." you made, huffing. "Well, this card means that the next player has to skip their turn. Which means that, seeing as I'd be the one to start, I have to skip and you begin."

You gathered the cards he had dealt in your hands, trying not to show any signs of what cards you had on your face.

"I recommend to sort them, so you'll find matching ones more easily." you told him, doing exactly that. "You have four colors: red, blue, yellow and green. They all go from one to nine. When, for example, a yellow eight is on top of the discard pile, you can either play a yellow card with any number, or an eight of any color."

He hummed, sorting his cards as well, frowning at ones he couldn't place yet, showing you that he had at least one action card.

"There are action cards, too." you continued, arms resting on the table, as you looked at him again. "There's the skip card, a reverse card with two arrows, indicating that you switch from clockwise to counterclockwise or vice versa, a draw two card in any color, which means you have to draw two cards if you can't stack it with one of your own draw two card, a wild card that can be placed on any other number card, and let's you pick a color, and the wild draw four, which is the same, but the person following has to draw four in addition."

He sighed, overwhelmed.

You sent him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it, old man."

He sent you a pointed look, causing your smile to grow wider. He soon cracked a small smile of his own, though, not able to resist you, with a shake of his head.

Motioning for him to begin, you took a sip of your beer.

He thought for a moment, before he placed a blue one on top of the blue skip card. Humming, you placed a blue seven.

He frowned, sifting through his cards, coming up empty. "I guess I'll have to draw one when I can't play?" he spoke, eyes meeting yours in question.

You nodded, watching as he drew a card.

"Can't." he said, lips pursed. "Then it's my turn again." you returned, playing a red seven. "If you draw one but still can't play, your turn's over. There's a rule that says to draw until you can, but no one really uses that rule."

He nodded, scratching his chin, before playing a red draw two card.

Huffing, you shook your head, drawing two cards. He smirked your way, his dimples deepening.

"Your turn." you told him, after sorting your cards. "Don't you play after drawing the cards?" he asked, confused. Shaking your head, you denied with a smile. "No, the original rules say you don't. Even though most of the time we bend the rules a bit."

He chuckled, placing a red eight.

The game went on for a bit, him having to draw four, taking revenge with a duel of draw two cards, you ending up with six new cards on your hands.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that you have to say Uno! before you play your second to last card." you told him, just as he was about to play said card.

He frowned, but did as he was told, saying Uno!, before he played it.

You didn't have anything to let him draw cards, so when you played a green nine, he topped it with a red one.

Eyes wide, he cheered, grinning at you like a little boy who just received the greatest gift for Christmas.

Chuckling, you collected the cards, sorting them for him to shuffle again.

The game went on for a few rounds, him winning and losing, eager for more.

"I have a suggestion." you spoke up, watching as he shuffled the cards for the fifth time. He hummed, waiting for you to continue. "What about a drinking game?"

He cocked a brow, dealing the cards. "How does it work?"

Clearing your throat, you held up a finger, before getting up to gather two more beers.

When you returned, he had his cards already sorted, patiently waiting for you.

"So, when you are skipped, you have to drink one. When you have to draw cards, you drink the amount of cards you have to draw." you explained, handing him one of the bottles. "Means, if I have to draw four, I drink four as well."

He nodded, opening his bottle and handing it back to you, exchanging it for your unopened one, before he opened it as well.

The thoughtfulness of his actions had you smile to yourself, chest warming.

He was always somehow looking out for you, no matter how small the gesture.

It was one of the aspects that had you falling for him so hard.

You started the round, drinking and laughing.

When he played a draw two card mid-game, you topped it with one of your own, not expecting him to have another one on hand - and especially not to have a third, when you countered it, too.

Mouth agape, you stared at the pile in disbelieve, before your eyes went to his. He sent you a wink, smirking as he slightly leaned forward.

"Drink up, doll."

Swallowing, you did as you were told, drinking ten. Sighing, you drew ten cards afterwards, shaking your head in amusement.

His blue eyes were sparkling, sending shivers down your spine.

As the game continued on, he specified that the loser had to empty his bottle, no matter how much was left inside.

He was the first to do so.

An hour later you were into your sixth bottle, feeling good. The air was getting hotter, though it could have just been Bucky's presence.

Shouting in triumph, you played your last card, winning the current round. He shook his head with a grin, placing down his cards.

Only then did you notice how close he'd gotten during the rounds, legs brushing under the table.

"Drink!" you demanded breathlessly, grinning up at him. His eyes twinkled mischievously, head slightly tilted.

"What if I do this instead?" he asked, voice lowered to almost a whisper, as he leaned closer, breath fanning over your face. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, hands trembling, as your eyes flitted to his lips, when everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow-motion.

His nose brushed yours, as your eyes fluttered closed, before his lips met yours.

They were so soft, not rough.

Soft and sweet.

Your chair scraped over the floor, as he pulled it more towards him, so the table wasn't in the way anymore, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

His hands found your waist, pulling, until you were seated on his lap.

His tongue brushed over your lower lip and you let it in, sighing softly at the sensation. His flesh hand brushed over your back, slipping under your shirt.

Sparks elicited on your skin, wherever his fingers reached.

When you parted, you panted for air, eyes locked with his blue ones. His metal fingers came up to your face, brushing away a few strands of hair, before it cupped your cheek.

Swallowing, you moved on his lap the slightest bit, and he groaned, eyes fluttering closed for a second. His erection was straining his jeans, right between your legs.

Smirking, you did it again, only for his flesh hand to find your waist, stopping you.

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to stop." he warned, breathing shakily, as his eyes met yours again.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered back.

Something rumbled deep in his chest, as his hand tightened its grip, moving you over his erection again.

You whimpered, mouth agape. His pupils were blown wide, eyes shining with lust and desire.

But there was something else, too: deep affection.

"Then I won't." he promised, lips attaching back to yours in a searing kiss. Licking into your mouth, his tongue fought with yours, his flesh hand descending, until it gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You moaned into the kiss, not able to contain it, and he smirked against your lips.

"We should play Uno more often."

[lovelytsunoda]

the way you kiss me works each time // lance stroll

summary: sexual innuendos and a scrabble board make for a flirty and cosy afternoon

pairing: lance stroll x wife! reader

warnings: 18+, no smut but it’s very suggestive and very flirty (while being cosy at the same time!!)

notes: can be read as a part of the ‘welcome to wherever you are’ verse or as a stand-alone, returning to an idea I had in part two (spill the wine). there's something about this whole concept that just makes me weak in the knees.

the sun was low in the sky as it threatened to dip behind the clouds. the breeze was gentle, coming over the balcony of the villa where the newlyweds were staying, overlooking the ocean as they basked in each other's company.

a scrabble board was spread out on the table in front of them, the low hum of the tv from the sitting room playing an italian travel programme. they had spent the day on a walking tour of capri, before spending the afternoon in an authentic italian pasta making class, and were now relaxing their tired bodies with cold drinks and a game of scrabble.

"and i play 'clever' for eleven points." she hummed, laying the tiles down and connecting them to lance's previous word.

"nice one." lance grinned, taking a sip of his mocktail. "but i think my word is better."

the grin on his face was palpable, a giddy sort of excitement radiating off her husband as he shook the wooden tiles in his hand, rearranging the letters on the board, until, lo and behold, lance stroll had played the word 'penis' for seven points.

she giggled, hiding her face behind her hand. the smooth australian lilt to her voice was like a symphony to lance's ears. "you are such a dork."

the board was full of such words. lance had gotten the brilliant idea that cleverly played scrabble tiles could be considered a way to flirt, filling the board with words like 'penis' and 'boobies' as if he was a teenaged boy again.

all in all, y/n actually found it very endearing. it was the kind of thing that had her heart swelling with love, her limbs going all funny. the kind of thing that reminded her just how much she loved her husband, and just how loved she was by the people around her.

"it's your play, my love."

resting her chin on her closed fists, elbows against the patio table, she looked down at the wooden tiles in her possession, brain scrambling to make words with what was pre-existing on the board. next to the table, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a picture from her wedding day, just two weeks ago.

"hang on, it's kirk. i should probably answer. you know how he worries."

having lost her dad when she was very young, it was her connection with kirk, one of her father's closest friends, that got her through some of the lowest points in her life. and naturally, like any good father figure, kirk worried about her more than he needed to.

while she typed back a response, she could hear lance rooting around in the velvet bag that held the remaining letters, before getting fed up and dumping them out in the lid for the box.

"babe, you can't handpick the letters you're switching." she laughed, looking up from her phone, the reflections of her text screen refracted in the lenses of her glasses.

lance put his finger to his lips, jokingly making a shushing sound. "go back to texting, i need a minute. just wait."

rolling her eyes, she sent kirk another message before turning her phone off and leaving it facedown on the patio table. "come on, lance. i'm winning and i've got a really good word to play."

"but i think i've got a string of better ones." lance smiled triumphantly, pleased with himself as he placed the cardboard box lid on top of the board.

inside, a dozen wooden tiles were arranged to spell out (with many abbreviations and mistakes) wil u have sex w me

"oh my god." she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as her body shook with good-natured laughter. "oh my god!"

"i wanted to spell it out on the board during the game, but alas, i am not that smart, or good at scrabble." lance mused, reaching across the table to clasp her free hand in his. "so...will you say yes?"

"of course i'm saying yes." she laughed, uncovering her mouth. "this is the cutest way you have ever tried to get me into bed with you."

lance wasted no time at all in crossing the table and scooping his wife into his arms, twirling her around as they both laughed, before crossing the balcony to venture back into the suite.

"wait! we can't leave our shit outside, what if it rains?" y/n whined, trying to put her feet back on the ground. "let me go back outside, i'll meet you in the bedroom."

"alright, alright." lance rolled his eyes, placing her back on the ground. "but don't take too long, if i get too comfortable i might fall into a pasta-induced coma!"

still laughing to herself, she crossed over to the balcony and haphazardly packed up the scrabble board and her cell phone, taking a large swig of her drink before clearing the table and moving everything inside, closing the double doors behind her.

true to his word, lance was waiting for her in the bedroom, shirtless underneath the cotton sheets, with a rose between his lips, body seductively draped over the bed.

"i love you." y/n laughed, reaching for the rose. "but i'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to put real life flowers in your mouth."

"there's tape over the bit i was biting." lance shrugged, allowing her to take the flower and place it on the bed side table. "i know how you get about these things."

"shut up." she laughed, playfully jabbing him in the shoulder. "i'm serious. i'm glad you're in my life. you make me really happy."

she didn't wait for a response, although she knew lance would return the sentiment tenfold while they were lying together in the half-light, and again when he brought her breakfast in bed in the morning. she pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, yet deeply before she reached up to take her glasses off.

"ah," lance said, grasping her wrist. "glasses stay on. don't you know the sexy librarian look is back in style? they look beautiful on you."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @clemswrld @userlando @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @cartierre @lorarri

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 3: X marks the spot

genre: finally some fluff! still some angst, but some fluff too!

word count: 5804

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you need spencer back home. so spencer comes back home. simple as that.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: you folks are amazing! thank you so much for the support and I know this chapter is a bit duller (aka famous filler chapter) but y/n needs a break from pain and suffering all the time lol <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“She knows who I am.” 

That is the sentence that sets off Plan B. 

Spencer’s instructions are clear: call Penelope and go to the BAU. Office Kaper is to stay with you at all times until you enter the FBI and even then, he will personally deliver you to her caring hands, and for once, you don’t argue. In what has been a very dark past few days, you think that Penelope’s bright colours might do you well. “I have to close the shop,” You tell him on the phone, already changing from your sleeping shorts into some jeans, but keeping his hoodie. Right now, you’re not focused on appearances; you’re focused on getting the hell out of there. 

“That’s fine, but keep Officer Kaper with you. Was the envelope delivered to my place?”

“No,” You breathe out, backpack on and ready to go. Nodding to man that has become your loyal companion, the two of you walk out of the building like any civilian couple. It’s unsettling, watching a man that is not Spencer wear his clothes, but he had to blend in so you two didn’t stand out. 

“And he’s wearing my clothes?” 

You turn to look at Officer Kaper and you snort despite the situation. “As best as he can, though he is considerably shorter than you, Spence.”

“You’re calling me Spence,” He says, and even his voice sounds a bit more at ease. Somehow, in the midst of this craziness, you two find time to ease back into what once was and you manage a small smile despite the anxiety rushing through you. “I missed that.”

“I miss you,” Is what you say back, and you blame it on the adrenaline of being outside, so open and vulnerable to prying eyes. “I… I feel safer when you’re here.”

“I know,” You swear you hear something skin to a smile on his voice. “I’m on my way back.” 

“Yeah, in like three days,” Talking on the phone and closing your shop is no easy feat. You’re no genius and having to split your focus onto two different tasks is quite hard, but you manage. You don’t want to let him go yet, scared that one you can’t hear his voice, he’ll be as good as gone. 

“No, I’m on the jet right now, I should be landing in an hour.”

You shouldn’t feel this happy about having Spencer come back this soon and probably in the middle of an active case, but when a psychotic killer starts sending you handwritten letters, you feel entitled to being a little selfish, even if guilt and anxiety are mixed it like the perfect emotional cocktail. “You didn’t have to,” You say, biting your nails when you finally grab everything you need and lock the door behind you. “Spence, I– thank you.” 

“You need me home,” Is all he says before announcing he has to go.

The silence doesn’t make things easier. Now that you don’t have to split your mind in two to multitask, you can fixated on the fact that this is serious. This is quite serious– Cat Adams has just confirmed she knows you. She has also, however, confirmed she does not know where you are, and just like you told yourself before, you have to believe that there is something better than this out there. There is a moment in time, reserved and crafted by the sisters of fate, in which Cat Adams gets bored with you. You are no longer a struggling rat under the weight of her paws, and she is no longer entranced by how you try to wriggle out of maniacal grasp. In another moment, another sliver of an alternate reality, Cat never even finds out who you are. You like that reality a bit better, because then you also don’t know who she is, and the knowledge of her presence and her impact on Spencer’s life is as weightless as a feather. 

While the city passes by you, the taxi ride to the FBI not as quick as you’d like with the early morning traffic, you allow yourself one more scenario. One more reality. 

In this one, you live in an apartment with muted green walls. Your furniture is that fancy, dark shade of oak and you don’t have to keep your books on the store; instead, you have space to add them to your decoration. You have shelves and shelves of books lining your walls and you think you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than that place. The windows, large and usually covered by cream blinds, are open to allow some sunshine inside. In this reality, you’ve told Spencer all about the benefits of sunlight to your books– none of them true, of course, but he still pretends to believe you, and he still opens the windows before leaving for work. This time around, you dream big– in this alternate life, Spencer never even met Cat Adams. He never even applied to the FBI, in this odd, hallmark version of your story. It doesn’t really matter what he does, but all that matters is that you get to be with him. You get to wake up next to him, to talk to him, to call him… hell, you even get to kiss him! 

This reality, as utopian as it seems, it’s fragile, though. Unrealistic. Spencer loves his job, you know that now. A world where you keep him from it can’t truly be a perfect world, not when he’d be so, so unhappy without his team standing next to him. “Ma’am,” Officer Kaper calls. “We’re here.” 

“Oh!” Grabbing your backpack, you follow him inside, feeling a bit awkward at the way people started at your with puzzled looks on their faces. “Wait! Before you leave, this is for you! You mentioned your daughter likes stories and that she’s about five or so, so these should be fun!” Children’s book is one of your secret passions, and you’re happy to see him smiling as he looks through the titles. 

“You really didn’t have to, Miss Y/L/N.”

“I really wanted to, though,” You smile. You need some light in your life as you walk those beige hallways. “Let me know if she wants more– her dad is a hero, so we have a special deal at the store for you.” 

“I’ll tell little Jane that a very nice lady from work gave her new books then,” He says, nodding as Penelope rushes to your side. “Call me if you need anything else, Miss Y/L/N, I’m happy to help. If it makes you feel better, you’ve been dealing with this exceptionally well. It can’t be easy.”

The validation has you pursing your lips, trying to hold back the need to hug him. In no way, shape, or form are you two close– to be honest, this is the most you’ve spoken with Officer Kaper during the forty-eight hours you spent together; and yet, his opinion seems to mean something to you. Your hands hide behind your back and you exhale sharply, nodding at him, eyes glassing over with emotion. “Thank you,” You whisper, head whipping at the familiar sound of heels waddling down the hall. “I’ll uh, I’ll go… but thank you. For everything.” 

He just nods, leaving with a wave and a smile. 

“Either you joined the FBI since we last saw each other or this sweatshirt belongs to a certain genius man,” Penelope says, looking at you with the ghost of a smile. If you didn’t know any better, 

“What? Oh. Yeah, I borrowed it from Spence,” You mumble, hands nervously fidgeting with your backpack. There isn’t much of anything inside, and you think you got flustered when you had Spencer on the phone telling you to get ready to go. All you remember is packing your toothbrush, a couple of books, and some underwear. “Oh, sweet girl,” Penelope sighs, her arm light on your shoulders, guiding you through those horrid halls. You think you hate the FBI headquarters more than you hate Cat Adams, and that is saying something. “Everything will be okay. Boy genius is on it, and he’ll figure this out in no time.”

“Seven days is quite a lot of time,” It’s not fair, how your words make her frown, but you have no one else. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can control them because this is what you’ve been dying to do since you first left that goddamned office, seven fucking days ago. And that is your regret– not talking to Spencer when you had the chance, not letting him talk to you, not… not letting him be therefor you. “God, seven days is a lot– it’s a whole week! I don’t know what you believe in, but if you’re Catholic, God created the Earth in seven days and– well, six days and Sunday he rested, but honestly, semantics. And it’s a whole week, one-fourth of a month. Seven days, and– and–“

“I am not judging you, because I am the biggest yapper of this team,” Penelope cuts right in, hand up in the air between you two. “But you need to breathe. I know seven days is a lot. And I hate that you’re in a position that you feel like you need to count the days. But there are no better people to have on your corner than this team. I promise you, Y/N, and– look!” She shakes her phone in front of your face. “Lover boy just landed! He’ll be here soon, so for now, please sit down and drink some tea?”

The door in the end of many, many hallways later is her office. You don’t really understand the juxtaposition of Penelope Garcia, and that’s okay– you might not understand her, but at least, with her, it feels like what you see is what you get. She wears her authenticity on her sleeve and you actually feel at ease around her because of it. There is not an ounce of ambiguity, not a shred of secrecy coming from her. She looks at you– really looks at you– and in her eyes you know how she feels. Penelope, unlike the rest of the team, is not a trained profiler, and even though you are quite limited in your knowledge of what exactly a profiler like Morgan and JJ does, the internet provided you with enough general background that you know just how… proficient… they are in hiding their own selves from the world. Apparently it’s a part of the job, but at one point, you have to wonder just how intrinsic is the job and their overall selves, and if when Spencer comes back home, does he leaves the job behind or is he always on the clock?

“Here, it chamomile,” The mug is bright pink and purple, and despite the room being dark and cold, you see how she has made it her own. The figurines and stickers on the screens around you make you smile weakly, sipping on the tea while sitting down next to her. Her screens are locked, and you are thankful for that– it makes you feel like at least someone is trying to separate you and the world you never wanted to know existed. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug a little, finger running around the rim of the cup. “I… I’m scared. And this feels really stupid, you know? It’s not even about me, but I’m the one kicking a fuss about everything,” Shaking your head, you let out a big exhale, like you have been holding it in for the longest time. “All because of a silly crush, oh my god…” 

“Wait… Wha– What…?” 

“I know,” You laugh at yourself, that type of chuckle that is so dry and void that even you worry. Underneath it all, underneath all the anger and the confusion and the disbelief, you think you just feel… dumb. You feel stupid. Like you’ve played yourself, and poor Spencer doesn’t even know. “How stupid am I? Getting a serial killer on my back, all because I liked a boy? And it’s not even like he likes me back, so this is all just… so fucked up. I wish I could go visit her and tell her that I don’t have Spencer, not like how she thinks I do.” 

“You like Reid?” Her smile is so big that her voice comes out all weird and squeaky. “You actually have a crush on little boy genius?”

“I–“ The hesitation in your voice is obvious. “I did. Spence is just so kind. And gentle, and loving, and he has this huge heart, you know? He used to bring me coffee every day he visited, and he would tell me all these really cool facts about the most random things, and I swear, I loved listening to him talk.” Without even realising, you’re smiling, wide and true, for what it felt like the first time in forever. You bring your legs up on the chair, hugging your knees close just to feel that sense of security it brings you, grounding you in the moment. The memories of your time with him, your favourite customer, are precious to you; and much like old time treasure, you hide it in the depths of your mind, away and untouched by prying hands of people around you. 

Except, Cat Adams found your map. 

And X marks the spot. 

It’s just a matter of time until she finds the golden chest and picks at the lock. 

Slowly, your smile slips away. “But now… now things changed, you know?” You gulp, not having the capacity to face the pitiful look she gives you without crying. And you’re tired of crying. 

“You didn’t change. Reid didn’t change, he’s still the same kind and gentle and loving man…!” You’re almost swayed by the desperation behind her voice. Penelope is a great friend and you can’t believe you were once jealous of her, but even then, you grimace. It’s not like you don’t want to let yourself be guided by these feelings– you want to let the butterflies loose, you want to allow yourself the giddiness of being with him, you want to have this quintessential girlhood experience, but the threat looming over your head pushes you down and away. You’re scared and you have all the reason to be. 

“Haven’t I?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. “Anyways, at the risk of sounding like a middle schooler, it’s not like he likes me either.”

“Y/N, he– he’s different,” Penelope whispers, reaching for your hand. “He’s afraid of germs and rambles a lot and he’s been hurt before, but please, if you just give him a shot, I think you could be really good for him.” 

“How would you know?” You’re not trying to be rude, you even smile a little, but the question stood– how would she know? You two had very limited interactions. 

“Because he talks a lot about you, and… well,” She confesses, chuckling like she had just done something naughty. When she points at the screens though, you gasp. “I know more about you thank you think.”

That makes your blood run cold. “You– what– what did you find out?” 

“Not as much as I could’ve!” She quickly promises, turning to the screen and quickly pulling up a file. The first thing you see is your driver’s license, and you wince at the picture. “This is all I managed to get before Reid put a ban on me!”

“He put a ban on you looking me up?” 

“Yes, he said he didn’t want to cheat and that he wanted to wait for you to tell him whatever you wanted to tell him,” Her words come out so fast you barely understand them, but it still tugs at your heart. “He said you didn’t know who he was because you didn’t know he worked for the FBI, and I tried telling him that’s not all he is! I did, but Reid is a stubborn, stubborn genius and wouldn’t listen to me! But he is, Y/N, he is much more than this job and–“

“I know that,” You whisper, eyes running through the documents on the screen. Degrees, past addresses, old jobs, family… and past relationships. Your body tenses up at the small list of names, one in particular making you gulp, glancing quickly at Penelope. “This is all, right? You… you didn’t dig more, right?” 

“Yes, this is all! I promise! To be very honest, I could find anything I wanted, but as I mentioned, I’ve been banished and threatened with a long, long lecture on privacy laws.” 

Her words echo in your mind for a moment, eyes unmoving from the bright screens. “Anything?” 

Penelope looks at your with hesitation. “Anything that has been online, yeah. Why?”

Sitting back down, you take a deep breath and nod. “Show me Cat Adams.”

“Oh… Oh, Y/N, no, no no no, I can’t–“

“Yes, you can! You just said you can find anything and, honestly how hard would it be for me to pick up my phone and Google her? If the FBI made the arrest, I’m sure media has picked it up!” Before you can even reach for the device, Penelope is grabbing it, hiding it behind her. “Penelope, please! This woman wants to kill me, I deserve to know what she looks like!”

Your voice is hushed, the undertone of desperation seeping through every word. “What if she gets out?” 

“Y/N, she has a life sentence, she’ll never get out.”

“You don’t know that!” This is what scares Penelope, the way you screech in panic, hands flying to the neck of the hoodie and tugging it away from you like you need it to breathe. “You don’t know that and I need to know what she looks like! Please, Penelope, I’m begging you!”

The tension in the room is palpable, but you know you got through her when she sighed. “I’m doing this for your protection,” It’s more like she’s talking to herself, so all you do is nod quietly, getting up and walking to the back of her chair. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” You are holding your breath while you squeeze the back of her chair, trying to keep yourself upright for a moment that could easily throw off your balance. 

In all honesty, you are not sure what you’re expecting. The little you know about black widow killers comes from a fictional world of made up characters, a place where the fantastical magic of made up stories meets the trauma ridden lives of turbulent characters. In them, these killers are beautiful. In fact, their beauty is their weapon, right before their grace and intelligence. It’s almost sick, how you remember liking those stories so much you once called it ‘a form of female empowerment’, and just thinking about it has your stomach tied in a bunch of knots, each one pulling and tugging at you in a rhythm that is too chaotic to not have you hunched over, panting next to Penelope like the photo she pulls up on her computer has just punched you in the gut. 

Because despite all your silent prayers, Cat Adams, in her orange jumpsuit and messy prison hair, is gorgeous. It’s something about her eyes, so cold and distant, yet holding an invitation that even you might not be able to resist. Is this how she draws men in? Is this how she drew Spencer? “I–“

“Garcia, what are you doing?!” 

Both of your turn around at the same time, both of you shocked at the sight of Spencer, in all his sweater vest glory and red face anger, marching towards you both. “Take it down.” 

You have never heard him sound so cold. “Spence, I asked her to pull it up. I was curious.”

“She should’ve known better, she’s an FBI agent!” Now he is screaming, and you can’t help but feel overcome with a familiar type of shame. Part of you, a specific part you left back in New York, expects him to to keep screaming. It’s the part of you that unconsciously pushes the tea mug away. It’s the part of you that looks at the door and feels relieved to see it unlocked. It’s the part of you you’ve been hiding from him and everyone else you met since you’ve moved. 

It’s the part of you Spencer just noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, squinting his eyes at your so quickly it’s almost imperceptible. Almost. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed, I’m just–“

“On edge,” You whisper, nodding in agreement. “We all are, Spence. Don’t scream at her, please.”

“I know, I know, I’m really sorry,” This is more like him– shy eyes casted down between glances here and there. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on someone like her. She doesn’t deserve it.” 

No one says anything for a while. Until you notice it. 

“Spence,” You mumble, smiling a little in an attempt to ease the high emotions in the room. “You cut your hair.” It’s shorter now. His shaggy curls still peek out, but it looks more… grown, even if it enhances his boyish charm. 

“I did,” He mumbles, blushing a little. For a second, he looks at Penelope, like he’s asking her what to say and what to do. “It was getting too long.”

“It looks really good.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” God, you love when his voice gets low and airy like that. Garcia is looking between you two with a certain kind of spark in her eyes and it makes you shift on your feet. “Uh, shall we go home?” 

“You’re going back to your apartment?”

“Yeah, Officer Kaper said that the letter came with the batch of mail they got from Y/N’s apartment, so it’s safe to assume she has no knowledge of her current whereabouts,” Spencer picks up your backpack without even asking, smiling at you innocently. “I reviewed the security footage you sent of my apartment entrance and there is no suspicious activity happening during the days I was gone. And, well, you know, I’m here now. She’s safe.” 

No one will ever understand the amount of relief you feel in that exact moment. “Thank you for coming back.”

“You need me home,” Is all he says before guiding you away. When you turn to say bye to Penelope, she is smirking, giving you two thumbs up and a giggle. In the midst of all this mess, you actually feel happy to have someone allowing you to enjoy a moment of silliness. “Are you okay? Do you feel a bit better?”

“Now that you’re back, yeah,” You sigh, sticking close to him as you pass by a group of agents. “Officer Kaper is really sweet, but he’s not you, he’s not–“

“Familiar,” Spencer says, but you shake your head. 

“He’s not my friend.” 

“And I am?” The hope in his eyes crushes your heart. You never meant to make him feel like you had left him behind, but you know you have pushed him away when he tried to stand by you. 

No more. 

“You are, Spence,” You breathe out, hand gently falling on his arm and squeezing it adoringly. “You’re my favourite customer and I guess now you’re my living room-mate. But you should really sleep in your bed tonight, okay?” The joke is just an attempt to make him smile, and you’re happy to see it works.

“Will you sleep next to me?” 

His question is not that unexpected, really, but it still makes you freeze in place. “Uh… What… What do you mean?” 

“Sleep next to me,” His bluntness doesn’t help with the way your cheeks fire up. “I know you’re scared, so if you’re next to me, I’ll be watching over you at all times. I’m a light sleeper, so even if something happens, I’ll wake up. We can put pillows between us, if the thought of me that close to you makes you uncomfortable and–“

“It doesn’t,” You say before you can give up on it. “I just… I know you’re a germaphobe and I don’t know how many germs can be shared when you sleep next to someone and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Actually, when you sleep next to someone, there is an exchange of bacteria and skin microbes when we turn and move around, but your brain compensates by releasing the ‘happy’ hormones because you’re sleeping next to someone you care about, so I wouldn’t mind the former much considering we would wake up pretty content.” 

Someone you care about. You hold your tongue back from asking him if he cares about you– at this point, you should know he does. You shouldn’t need the reassurance, as nice as it would feel to have it, but you really, really want it. In a time where everything is uncertain, you pray so that Spencer can be your constant. “Okay,” You nod, hand slowly slipping down his arm, brushing yours fingers through his, before letting it go altogether. Looking down to the ground, embarrassed with your own courage, you follow him out of the building. “The subway is that way.”

“We’re getting a taxi,” He mumbles, signalling one down as he spoke. “I don’t think public spaces with that much visibility are a good idea for now. I don’t want you paranoid, Y/N, but I need you to be careful, okay? Subways, buses, all of these get crowded and they have a large amount of surveillance. We still can’t figure out how Cat found out where you live or who is her connection that got your name through the UPS delivery, but we’re not stopping until we do, I promise you that. For now, we just ask that you be careful around people.”

“I work with people. I have to talk to them to sell them stuff… I can’t lose my store, it’s all I have!” The two of you turn to face each other on the back of the car. He is shaking his head before you can even continue, and when you feel it, the warmth of his hands covering yours, so much bigger and steadier to the point that is like he’s holding your fists in his palms, you hold your breath. 

“You won’t,” He whispers, shaking his head so gently that wisps of hair fall over his forehead and you have to fight the urge to push it back. “Y/N, you won’t. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Okay,” The trust you have in Spencer is enough to have you nodding along. Until the car stops in front of his apartment, he doesn’t let go of your hand, and you make no effort in letting go of his. 

It’s only when it’s time to pay for the ride that you pull away, faster than him in getting the money to the driver. “Hey!” 

“Be faster next time, boy genius,” You say, smiling tiredly while walking next to him through the hallways of his building until you reach Apartment 23. Using your key in front of him, the one he gave you when he went away, feels weird and oddly intimate. “Do you want this back?”

“Keep it,” Spencer says, giving you his trademark tight-lipped smile. The way his shoulders sag a little as soon as he is inside the familiar apartment has you frowning. He is exhausted, tired from flying and rushing through the city, but he still made the effort to come get you at the BAU. “What do you want for dinner? We can get some pizza.” 

“I have leftovers in the fridge,” You mumble, suddenly too out of place in the apartment you know at the palm of your hand. Standing in the entrance, you just look at him, watching him walk around the apartment so carelessly and you wonder if Spencer knows just how meaningful it is for you to have him back home. “I bought groceries, don’t worry, I didn’t use any of your food or anything like that.”

“I wasn’t worried, but now I am. I told you to be comfortable Y/N.” 

“I am…” You mumble, moving to sit down on the armchair. 

Under his watchful gaze, you’re not sure how much Spencer can get out of your behaviour right now. It’s a bit sad that you’re even thinking about this so consciously, observing him as he observes you right back. You know you will never win a battle of wits against the genius across the room, but no ones knows you better than yourself and that is currently your only leverage in this entire situation. But… why do you even need leverage? What is this war you have started with yourself and pulled poor Spencer in without even letting him know? The blanket you adore so much is right by your feet and you pull it up to cover your whole body, all the way up to your face. At this point, you don’t want him reading you because you’re afraid of what he will find. Specially because you don’t know what he will find. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” When he sits on the corner of the chair, your body dips to the side, rolling closer to him. “Are you hiding?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And why are you hiding?” 

“Because you’re an avid reader,” Even you want to cringe at your own words. “And I’m not really sure what story I’m telling, right now.” 

His laughter takes you by surprise– this has to be the loudest you’ve heard Spencer be. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m not going to read you!”

“Spencer, you can’t help it! It’s what you do– I see the way you look at me, okay? I know what you’re doing, and I have to say I am not a fan!”

With one tug on the blanket, your face is exposed again with hair all over it. But then you see his smile, and it looks so honest and happy, like a version of him you thought you had left behind days ago. “You think I’m reading you?”

“Are you not?” You ask, sitting up to try and look at him with a serious expression. 

“No, Y/N, I’m not looking at you because I’m reading you.” 

There are moments in your life, unique and specific in their own credits, that you are sure you will never forget. The day you decided to leave New York is one of them– you bought tickets last minute and left with only a rucksack you found in the back of your closet. On the way to the airport, you called your parents, waking them up at three in the morning to tell them they were going to need to ship your stuff to a PO box address. Y/N, where are you going?, your mom cried out. What is going on? To which all you said was I’ll tell you when I can, before hanging up and throwing your SIM card out of the window. 

Opening your store was high in the list too. Not the day that you conceptualised it or rented the place– the day you truly opened it. The day your first customer, your favourite customer, walked in, that’s the day you truly opened the place. The day he bought a book and promised to come back again. 

Of course there are other dates, too; simpler dates. Birthdays, christmases, random family dinners. The small things that build-up to be big memories. But then there are the big things that are even bigger memories, and you’re intimidated, with the size of it all. It’s too big, too tall, and when you fall, it might just be high enough to break all your bones, but not kill you completely. No… that would be too merciful. 

This– Cat Adams, Spencer, the box– this is not just big. 

This is huge. 

In comparison, tonight is not all that big. In fact, his living room feels quite small now that both of you are back inside. The green walls descend and it’s just you and him, squeezed close in an arm chair you both love, surrounded by books you both love, and you still can’t help but feel afraid. This is as small as it gets, as monotonous as it gets, and yet, this is the most scared you’ve ever felt, because no matter what you do, it’s like you can’t stop climbing– you go higher, higher, higher. His words, replaying in your mind, keep pushing you up, without any regard of how you’ll ever come down. 

Truthfully, you don’t want to come down, even if he brings you down gently. 

“Then… why do you stare at me, Spence?”

He doesn’t answer you, shaking his head slightly before looking away and clearing his throat. Uncomfortableness doesn’t look good on him, and that is saying something, coming from the one person who thinks everything looks good on him. “I uh, I’ll heat up some of those leftovers. Shall I get you some, too?” 

Spencer might the profiler, but you are still able to read the blooming colour in his cheeks. “Yeah,” You say softly, I would love some, Spence.”

Dinner with him is peaceful. You’re learning how to live this new life with a plus one. You learn his habits and his quirks– you learn that he likes to put ketchup on his pizza and that he drowns his coffee in sugar. That despite his immense IQ, he still can’t quite cook for himself– or prefers not doing so. That he made sure his cleaning lady came during the times he was away to avoid small talk and human contact. You learn, through a lot of trials and a lot of success, that you are his one exception. 

For you, Spencer is malleable, and he has no qualms in moulding himself to your needs, except… except you don’t want him to do that. You don’t want him to be someone he’s not and you don’t want the Spencer you know and adore to be someone curated just for you. 

“I’ll go take a shower and change into some comfortable clothes,” He says after he finishes eating. “Thank you for the food.” 

“No problem.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You can keep that hoodie. You look good in it.” 

Just like that, you chuckle, shaking your head when he disappears behind the bedroom door. If Cat Adams has the map to your past memories, Spencer Reid has the map to your future ones. 

X marks the spot. 

And for him there is no lock to pick– the door is wide open. 

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

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[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (VIII)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,385

CW: angst

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

a/n its been so long since i last wrote this, i had honeslty completey forgotton about all of my fics, i do hope the writting isnt too different and that you all enjoy! sorry its short!

Also the ages of the characters as i myself keep getting confused (and i've changed some of the ages a little): Visenya - 17, Aemond - 18, Jace - 14, Luke - 11, Aegon - 20 , Heleana - 19

Kingslanding

Visenya

With her mother being the heir, she had expected a much grander greeting. She pictured a courtyard full of eager lords and ladies, eager to see her mother after years away from court. And yet as her mother stepped out of the carriage the courtyard was barren; the few lords and ladies that were there seemed shocked and unaware of our arrival. It was clear the once welcoming feeling had gone with them when they had left for Dragonstone. 

Their greeting party solely consisted of lord Beesbury, seemingly the only council member still loyal to her mother, it even seemed that the keep itself was not what was for their return as shown by the replacement of Valyrian symbols with symbols of the seven. The home she, her brothers and parents knew was long gone, and the short years they had been away had changed the keep and people greatly.  The Hightowers had easily asserted themselves into power, and it was clear that they now ruled, perhaps in her grandsires stead. With the court laced with green gowns, and the higher necklines that Alicent seemed to adore, all influecne her mother had had been removed or hidden away. 

Not that it was surprising, as most who were loyal to her mother had too moved to dragonstone alongside them. It seemed Daemon was right about the red keep becoming a viper pit, full of hightower loyalsits. 

She had quickly left her family to go find Heleana, in hopes to see nothing had changed between them, though they exchanged letters, though less so since the birth of the twins, the letters she received now were filled with rhymes and poems in them, a part of her feared her dreams had become to strong and overtaken her. 

She knew all about Aeogns life, a little of their children, it appeared Aegon was the only one keen to keep her updated on anything in the keep and seemed eager to answer her letters, though they were mostly stained in wine and gods know what else. 

But it seemed that in her years away from kingslanding the halls had turned themselves into a labyrinth, the muscle memory of walking throughout the castel had vanished, and she was left a wandering mess. 

Though she had eventually heard the clashing of swords, orienting herself somewhat, as she realsied she was about to approach the training yard.

She first saw her brothers, watching the duel in awe, enough awe to capture her own attention and move her sights to said duel. 

Aemond.

He had grown into what she could only describe as a Valyrian god. With his long silver hair and sharp features, he was even more handsome than she imagined,  

and even more talented with a sword than she would have expected. 

He moved with such grace and finesse it was hard to predict his next move, nor his thinking behind them. Perhaps he was just used to ser criston having a sparring partner, but the way Aemond moved to defeat him could only be described, at least the Visenya was…hot.  His movements were a dance, as was the way his face light when we one, even more so when he saw her brothers. The smirk he wore could not be mistaken as welcoming if anything it was menacing, but also gleeful that her brothers, that lucerys the boy who took his eye, could see the man he had grown into.

she also smirked to herself, proud of him in some possessive way. Even more proud when his face went from gleeful spite to its own form of possession at the sight of her.

They had not seen each in years, ever since that fateful night of his thirteenth name day. 

And it was clear he had missed her, clear as he quickly stopped taunting her brothers with the offer to duel to move towards her, as if she was the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

And yet, she made no effort to move towards him. Despite the want and longing to see him again, the desire to be with him and now seeing him in his entirty, all she felt was hurt, abandonment and pain.

Visenya had never felt more alone than when she returned from Winterfell to Dragonstone. With only the letters form Cregan and Aegon as company. The only scrapes she would see of Aemonds life were Aegons complaints at him spending too much time with a sword or book, and when he was not with them he was with Vhagar.

Though she had had her family on dragonstone she always felt like an outsider. As if she was watching them love and be loved and she was simply an audience member, watching from the outside.

Hells her mother had treated her that way since Jace was born. 

But with Ameond he never made her feel like an outsider. And so too loose contact with the one person who made you feel truley seen, well it felt like she was dying. Drowning with no one to pull her back up to the surface.

And yet he looks at her and all of a sudden she is finally being pulled free and her life is hers again.

But she can’t help but still feel abandoned. Why did it take her coming to kings landing, for their wedding, to finally be seen once more.

“My bethrothed” He proclaimed, the smug expression once again returning to his face. “Have you come to see me defeat your brothers?” he questioned, sending Jace and Luke a taunting glare. 

Finally moving into the training yard, making sure to sway her skirts as she went, she proclaimed “I have not, bethrothed” she then smirked looking over to Jace “ i do not wish my bethrothed to be so humiliated as to befeated by his bride's baby brother” she sent him a glare. A glare she hoped was filled with  years of hurt and anger to him.

He laughed “oh Princess, i do not know if you understate me or seriously overestimate your dear brothers abilities”

she shrugged, a look of nonchalant crossing her face, “i do not care which, then again i do not care much to see the outcome of such a duel” 

She was sure she heard her brothers say something but neither her nor Aemond acknowledged it, their eyes and ears only focusing on one thing.

Eachother.

“Then why grace us with your presence if you do not wish bto be so thoroughly entertained?” he questioned, his smile remaining taunting.

“Am i not allowed to wonder where i please, in my own home?” she snapped.

“my my, back for a few hours and we are already calling it home, have you missed me so truly betrothed?” he questiond.

“what was there to miss? with no letters or name days gifts to remember you by, oh i could even argue i forgot you, especially with all the bids for my hand i have received since our bethrothal” she smirked

Aemonds eye turned visicous, his smile flattering. His eye too began to show the hurt that she hoped her eyes portrayed.

He stepped forward, his sword taken from him and placed on the rack. His full focus moved away from the tauting he thought to be fun and games, and now stood and looked almost worried, and all too serious.

“forgotten?” he whispered, “ I am truly that forgettable my dear Visneya?”  His voice was quieter, more hurt, and spoken so sofltley it was clear their conversation should be held under more private cirmunsatnces. 

“i-“ she  could not say it, not now, she frankly didn’t even want to think about it. To be so vulnerable, especially when she knew he wasn’t the same Aemond she had first been bethtothed to, that she had grown alongside. 

Luckily Jace inruptupted the two, eager to end what was begining. “Sister,” she said, grabbing her arm, “we should go to our chambers and settle in, should we not?” he spoke, his eyes begging to leave.

She turned to look at Luke, he looked on the verge of tears almost, worried that at any moment Aemond might snap and steal his eye in an act of revenge. 

She nodded, grabbing his arm, and sending one last look to Aemond.

next part

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[thetriumphantpanda]

rainy days | frankie morales

Summary | It has never been your favourite day, but he always knows how to make it better.

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count |

Warnings | Mentions of depression and sadness, negative feelings around birthdays, Frankie makes it all better, two idiots truly in love, allusions to smut but nothing explicit.

Authors Note | To my darling Jo, @undercoverpena - whilst this is my entry to your birthday celebration (I got the colour old rose, apologies for the tenuous link to brief you're about to read), it is also my love letter to you. To the woman you are. To the friend you have become. A love letter to the fact that you can be soft and emotional and have flaws and still be worthy of all the love in the world. Because you are. I have said it many times in recent days, but it is the truth, that I love you unconditionally and I am forever grateful for your friendship and love. I am here for you. I see you. I understand you. And I love you. Happy Birthday darling woman.

He knows it isn’t your favourite day of the year. One that is usually meant to bring joy and happiness and love is instead one that fills you with dread. Worried people would forget, having to force a smile at gifts that show that they really don’t know you at all.

He knows not to push it either. He’s good at that. Knowing the battles to pick and those to leave. You suppose that’s why you love him so much. The way he’s comfortable to sit in your hurt with you, not immediately jumping into fixing it, because it’s been years and you don’t think he could truly unravel everything behind the feelings. But he’s there, with a strong arm around you and a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t need words, just his presence to say I’m here, I see you and I love you regardless.

It rains, because of course it does, weather to match mood, drowning out any hopes of the walk he’d promised. You distract yourself, cleaning mainly, even though the kitchen counters are spotless and the vacuum has been used more times in the past week than it has in the previous two years since you bought it. Distraction mainly, but now, with nothing to do, you sit. Listen to the fat raindrops and odd rumble of thunder. You reread the same four pages of your book, hopelessly trying to stop checking your phone for missed calls or messages of glad tidings.

The doorbell rings, startling you. Clad in a big jumper, leggings and socks, hair scraped back, you open the door, roar of rain rushing in, to find him standing there. Your man. Your Frankie. He’s soaked to the bone, t-shirt wet and cap dripping, but he’s smiling, both hands behind his back.

“You’ll catch your death, Morales,” you chastise lightly, moving aside for him to step into the warmth of your house, but he makes no effort to move, “Are you coming in?”

It almost makes you laugh when he starts talking, like a scene from the old romcoms you used to watch, but you let him do it anyway. His right hand moves first, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a dusty rose colour, which he hands to you. They remind you of the paint swatches, the way he’d patiently waited at the store for you to pick it. And then painted eleven swatches on the living room wall until you settled on one. Old rose.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, “Feliz cumpleaños.”

He bends, warm lips to your cheek, finally stepping across the threshold into your home, the place he spends more time in than his own home, his other secret revealed in the shape of a basket, woven, with a telltale red and white gingham poking out.

“Damn the rain,” he says, “and damn this misery, I know we can’t have this outside, but I know you hate eating outside anyway.”

He holds the basket up to you, lets you open the top. It’s full to the brim with food, all of your favourite things from your favourite places you’ve been with him in the past year. Pastries from the coffee shop where you had your first date, fruit from the farmer’s market you visit each Sunday, sandwiches from the shop you always stop at when you visit him at work to make sure he’s eating - it’s all there, in black and white, the moments you’ve shared, tiny, edible pieces of his love and care for you, that’s he’s the first person to ever truly see you, to ever truly know you. It makes your eyes water and your nose sniffle.

You press up on tiptoes and gently slant your lips over his, trying to tell him without words how much this means, how much you truly do love him.

You spread a blanket on the floor, unpack the food and sit for hours, eating and talking and kissing, until it goes dark outside. It still rains as he clears up, lightening now illuminating the sky, it rains as he leads you upstairs and undressed you, and thunder cracks along with your gasps and moans when he buries himself inside you.

It eases late, after he’s woken you in the dead of night with his mouth fused to your cunt. Draped across his chest, silence, save for the two of your breathing, you realise that this is all you need. One man who will do the most for you. One man who will continue, day in and day out, that he truly loves you. Maybe it won’t fix the disdain for your birthday, maybe it won’t fix anything else, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he found you and he loves you.

“Muchas gracias,” you whisper softly against his skin, “Te amo, mi amor.”

“Te amo, querida.”