#non-committal hand gestures

[tombraideradjacent]

hearts hurting a little bit over the whole not having an irl jewish community but the one time I attempted to explore and engage with it, I ended up panicking over [redacted] plus the whole being two hours + away thing like. lmao. ah well gonna watch the wife play angry birds and drink my little fizzy

[inkedmoth]

neighbour: oh is your daughter at work?

dad: no she's busy writing away at the next bestseller to keep our retirement comfortable :D

me, having just typed the words "heavy make out session in snow":

[pucksandpower]

Fixer Upper

Max Verstappen x interior designer!Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen is the most frustrating client you’ve ever dealt with … but maybe he can make it up to you

“How about some pops of color in here?” You suggest brightly, gesturing around the stark white walls of Max Verstappen’s new Monaco penthouse.

The Dutch driver sniffs, glancing up briefly from his phone. “No thanks. I like it plain.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he does. You’ve been working with Max for two weeks now trying to decorate his new home, but so far he’s shot down every single idea you’ve proposed.

As an interior designer based in a principality known for catering to the rich and famous, you’re used to difficult clients, but Max may just take the cake. Still, you’re determined to give him the space he desires … if you can only figure out what that is.

“Alright, plain it is,” you say evenly. “But we should at least add some artwork, don’t you think? Something modern and sleek could look fantastic against these walls.”

Max doesn’t even glance up this time. “No art. Don’t like it.”

You inhale slowly. “Okay, no problem. We’ll keep it artless.” Time to switch gears. You gesture to the expansive bank of windows along one wall. “These floor-to-ceiling windows are incredible, some of the best views in Monaco. We could do some fabulous seating here to take advantage of the natural light. Maybe a chaise lounge or two angled toward the harbor ...”

“Don’t need seating.” Max is focused on his phone, thumbs flying. “I’ll just put my sim rig there.”

Your eye twitches involuntarily. His racing simulator setup — in front of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the most coveted views in the principality? Absolutely not.

“Well,” you begin delicately, “Perhaps we could find another place for your sim, one that doesn’t obstruct the views quite so much. I’m sure we could-”

“No, I want it there,” Max interrupts flatly. “I like seeing the water while I drive.” His attention doesn’t waver from the screen in his hands.

You close your eyes briefly and take a calming breath. Alright. No color, no art, and a sim smack in front of priceless views. So much for design aesthetics. Time for a new tactic.

“You must do a lot of cooking,” you say brightly, turning towards the kitchen. “This is an amazing culinary space. We could do some open shelving with sleek finishes to highlight the quartz countertops.”

Silence. Max just gives a non-committal grunt, still absorbed by his phone.

You soldier on. “Or maybe some nice warm wood cabinetry for contrast? I have some fantastic artisan contacts who could do handmade custom designs.”

“Don’t cook much,” he mutters.

Your smile tightens. “Not to worry, we can keep the kitchen minimal too.” Is there anything, anything at all, you can propose that he won’t immediately shoot down? You’re starting to doubt it.

Switching to the living area, you smooth down your dress and try again. “For the living room, I was thinking we could do built-in bookcases along the back wall there, and maybe expose some of the original brick behind for an industrial chic look ...”

Max glances up from his phone to level an unimpressed look at you. “But we’re inside. Brick would make no sense.”

You close your eyes briefly. Of course not. “My mistake, you’re absolutely right,” you say through gritted teeth. Enough pussyfooting around. Time to be direct.

You plant yourself in front of where Max sits on the couch and place your hands on your hips. “Max, I’m going to be honest. I’m having trouble getting a sense of your style and vision for this space. You’ve rejected all my ideas so far.”

He blinks up at you blandly. “I don’t like any of your ideas. This is my place and I want to do what I want.”

You resist the urge to tear your hair out in frustration. “Of course, and I want you to have exactly what you want. But in order to do that, I need you to communicate with me. Tell me what kind of look and feel you envision for your home. Modern, traditional, minimalist? What colors and textures appeal to you?”

Max just shrugs, his attention already drifting back to his phone. “I don’t know. Just make it nice.”

Oh for god’s sake. You inhale slowly through your nose. “Perhaps you could show me some inspiration photos of interiors you like?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.”

That’s it. You’ve had it with this infuriating man. You know you shouldn’t lose your cool with a client, but you’re at the end of your rope.

“Well, I’m afraid ‘make it nice’ doesn’t give me much to go on,” you snap sarcastically. “I can’t read your mind, Max. So unless you start providing concrete input on what you actually want, I’m resigning from this job.”

You expect anger, or at least surprise at your outburst. But Max just regards you evenly for a moment, then nods. “Okay, fair enough. The truth is ...” He pauses, looking faintly embarrassed. “I just wanted an excuse to spend more time around you.”

You blink, blindsided. “I’m sorry, what?”

A slight flush rises in Max’s cheeks. “I didn’t actually care about the decor that much. I just thought if I kept saying no to all your ideas, you’d have to stay involved with the project longer.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Guess I took the stubborn client thing too far.”

You’re dumbfounded. And, if you’re being honest, a little charmed. “Let me get this straight — you’ve been wasting my time and driving me crazy for two weeks because you … have a crush on me?”

Max winces. “When you put it like that, I sound like an idiot.”

You have to laugh. “A bit, yeah.” But you can’t help but feel a warm flutter in your stomach too. You’ve always thought Max was cute in a boyish way. Knowing he orchestrated this whole thing just to spend time with you is, admittedly, very flattering. And more than a little endearing.

Max rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be difficult on purpose. I just ...” He trails off with a helpless little shrug.

You take pity on him. Yes, leading you on a wild goose chase of rejected designs was unprofessional. But the hesitant smile he’s giving you now tugs at your heartstrings anyway.

“Well, I appreciate you coming clean,” you say gently. “How about we start fresh? I’d love to actually get your real input now on what you want.”

His smile widens, grey eyes lighting up. “Yeah?”

You can’t help but smile back. “On one condition.”

He nods eagerly. “Name it.”

“You take me to dinner.” You arch an eyebrow. “To make up for the stress you caused me over the past two weeks.”

Max lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Deal.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”

“Little bit, yeah.” You grin to soften the reproach. “Next time just ask me out for a drink. It’s a much more straightforward approach.”

“Duly noted.” He smiles sheepishly.

You move to sit next to him on the couch. “So tell me honestly, what kind of look are you picturing for this place?”

Max considers the blank canvas of a space. “Honestly, I’m open to anything you suggest. I trust your taste — I’ve seen your work before and it’s amazing.” His eyes meet yours. “But I do definitely want my sim rig with a view. That part wasn’t a lie.”

You laugh. “We can make that work.” Your gaze travels over the strong lines of his face, the mussed brown hair, the wry curve of his smile that makes your heart beat faster.

As you begin sketching possible layout options, you make a mental note to clear your schedule for dinner soon. Very soon.

***

“Well, this is … quite a space,” you say diplomatically as the hostess leads you and Max to your table.

You’re immediately assaulted by a riot of clashing colors and patterns as your gaze darts around the trendy restaurant he’s brought you to for dinner. Your trained designer’s eye picks out aesthetic atrocities everywhere you look.

An art deco mirror topped by an incongruous ultra-modern light fixture. Fussy rococo chairs paired with sleek metal tables. And dear god, is that shag carpeting?

“Yes, Le Chat Noir is very popular right now,” Max agrees, seemingly oblivious to the decor travesties surrounding you.

You hold your tongue as the hostess seats you. The haphazard decor choices are an assault on your senses, but you don’t want to seem rude on your first date with Max.

A server appears to take your drink orders. You welcome the distraction, busying yourself with the wine list. But as soon as he departs, Max leans forward, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Alright, I know that look. Out with it — what do you really think?”

You bite your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gestures broadly around. “Of all this.”

You hesitate. “The decor is certainly … interesting.”

Max grins. “I can tell you absolutely hate it.”

You wince. Damn, he’s perceptive. And here you were trying so hard to remain poker-faced.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed laugh. “I was attempting to refrain from judgment, but it appears I failed.”

“No need to apologize.” He settles back in his chair. “Please, critique away. I want to hear your professional opinion.” His eyes dance with humor. “Don’t hold back.”

Well, far be it from you to turn down an invitation like that. As your drinks arrive, you take a fortifying sip of wine before launching in.

“Alright, you asked for it.” You set the glass down firmly. “This space is an absolute disaster from a design perspective. It’s like the interior decorator was blindfolded and threw darts at a wall covered in paint swatches and fabric samples. Nothing goes together at all.”

You point above your table. “That light fixture up there? Ultrasmack modern against 19th century crown molding? Make it make sense.”

Max chuckles. “Quite the mashup.”

You lean forward, on a roll now. “And this carpet!” You gesture in horror to the shag beneath your feet. “This trend needs to retire immediately. It looks like an avocado fucked a bear.”

Max nearly chokes on his drink. “A what now?”

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean. Just tragic.”

Sitting back, you take in the rest of the garish space. “The artwork over there is just hideous. And that tufted velvet on the booths makes me want to scream. Who decided olive green was an accent color that pairs well with anything?”

You turn back to Max, on a tirade now. “Honestly, nothing works. The proportions are bad, the color palette is an atrocity, the mixture of styles is absurd. It’s like the designer threw every conceivable element at the wall to see what would stick. I could have done a better job blindfolded after downing a bottle of tequila.” You finally stop for breath, cheeks flushed.

Max has an enormous grin on his face. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling too. “Sorry for the outburst. Like I said, feel free to tell me to zip it.”

“Are you kidding? I could listen to you shred this place all night.” Max shakes his head, looking delighted. “I’ve never seen you so worked up. It’s adorable.”

You blush, smoothing your hair self-consciously. “Oh hush. I just have … strong opinions when it comes to interior design choices.”

“Clearly.” Max’s eyes positively dance with affection. “I love how passionate you are. And your criticisms are spot on. This place really is horrendously designed.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait, you actually agree? You’re not just humoring me?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not. My knowledge doesn’t come remotely close to yours, but even I can tell everything in here clashes hideously.” He gestures at the table. “I mean, a wooden chair back with a metal seat? Just pick one material!”

You grin, happiness blossoming in your chest. It’s such a treat to have him validate your expert opinions instead of just patronizing them like many dates would. You launch eagerly back into listing all the ways the restaurant decor offends you, with Max chiming in occasional agreement or egging you on for more.

By the time your food arrives, you’ve dissected the lighting, furniture, textiles, and color schemes within an inch of their lives. Max watches you intently the whole time, blatantly enraptured by your critiques. Your wine glass is nearly empty from all the gesticulating.

“Well, I think that covers all the ways this interior design should be illegal,” you conclude, taking a bite of your meal. “Thanks for indulging me. I know I can get carried away analyzing spaces.”

“I could listen to you trash talk bad design forever.” Max can’t seem to rip his eyes away from yours. “I love how opinionated you are. And you look so damn sexy getting all fired up about it.”

A pleasurable shiver runs through you at his heated look. Maybe ripping this restaurant to shreds wasn’t the most conventional date conversation, but it clearly impressed Max. Nothing like a shared hatred of garish decor to bring two people together.

“Well, I’m glad one of us enjoys these tirades,” you laugh. You cock your head coyly. “Maybe I could come over sometime outside of work and critique your place again now that it’s shaping up. I’m sure I can find a few more things to complain about.”

Max’s eyes darken. “I’d like that.” He leans forward with a roguish smile. “Maybe we can get out of here and you can tell me all the ways you’d redesign the bedroom in my current apartment. You know, so we can avoid making those mistakes again while you help decorate my bedroom in the penthouse.”

You nearly choke on your wine, heat flooding your face. And lower regions. Goodness, Max’s flirty side really brings out your inner vixen.

You recover and stroke his ankle lightly with your heel under the table. “I’d be happy to provide any hands-on design consultation you require.”

Max sucks in a sharp breath, eyes blazing. The temperature between you two has risen about fifty degrees in the last few seconds. Suddenly you want nothing more than to leave this horribly designed restaurant and get him alone.

Immediately.

***

“A good mattress is crucial for proper sleep and recovery,” Max declares as you walk into the upscale furniture store together. “We need to test them thoroughly.”

You allow him to lead you to the mattress section, hiding a smile. When Max asked you to come mattress shopping with him for his new bedroom, you’d naively thought it would be a quick errand. But knowing Max, you should have guessed he’d take the task of “testing” mattresses very seriously.

An eager salesperson appears. “Welcome! Are we looking for any mattress in particular today?”

“We want to try them all,” Max announces, eyeing the rows of display beds keenly.

The salesperson falters. “Er, all of them?”

“How else will we know which is best?” Max shrugs as if this is obvious.

You squeeze his arm, charmed by his matter-of-fact logic. The salesperson forces a professional smile.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” He gestures expansively at the floor models. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”

“Excellent.” Max wastes no time striding over to the nearest bed. He sits, then lies back experimentally. “Hmm, decent firmness.” He pats the empty space beside him. “Come try it out.”

You curl up next to him, hiding your smile at the salesperson’s raised eyebrows. When you said you’d help Max pick out a mattress, this wasn’t what you pictured. But you have to admit, lying here with him is fun.

Max frowns. “Too much motion transfer when you move.” He sits up abruptly. “Next!”

You have to smother a laugh as you follow him to the next display. This no-nonsense methodism is peak Max. Systematic and entertainingly stubborn.

At the second bed, Max immediately starfishes spread-eagle. “Well? Get over here and test it with me. It’s the only way we’ll know.” He pats the mattress insistently.

You note the salesperson observing this display with thinly veiled disapproval. But Max just looks so irresistibly eager, you can’t help but indulge him.

You crawl onto the bed and cuddle up to him happily. “Mmm, this one’s nice. Great hugability.” You pretend to grab Max in a koala hold.

He laughs. “Agreed, good hugging potential.” Wrapping his arms around you, he shifts experimentally. “But the bounce is all wrong.” He releases you and sits up. “Next!”

And so it goes for the next hour as you enthusiastically demo mattress after mattress with Max. You try them on your backs, sides, fronts, analyzing the firmness levels and motion transfer. At one point you even test out the edge support — whatever that is — with Max insisting you sit together on the very side of the mattress frame.

“Considerable sag here,” Max murmurs against your ear, his arm firmly around your waist. You have to hide your shiver at his warm breath so close. “Could be problematic.”

The salesperson looks like he’s one demo away from throwing you both out. But Max either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He cheerfully drags you from bed to bed, ticking off pros and cons on his fingers.

“Decent lumbar support, but it sleeps too hot.”

“Great responsiveness, but poor motion isolation.”

You’re having the time of your life. Testing mattresses was benign enough, but the excuse to crawl into bed with Max over and over has you both giddy. Each demo seems to involve increasingly creative configurations of your interlocked bodies as you evaluate firmness and ergonomics.

“I’m just not sure this is a good fit,” Max eventually concludes, frowning up at you from where you straddle his hips. His hands rest casually on your thighs, as if finding yourself atop a handsome man in a public place is perfectly routine mattress research.

You smother a laugh and climb off. “Valid analysis. Though some of the testing scenarios still need more data, I’d say.” You shoot him a coy look.

Max grins. “Agreed. Further testing required.”

The salesperson pointedly avoids looking at you both. “Perhaps you’d like to narrow down your top choices? I’m sure you have plenty of notes by now.” There’s a tautness to his professionalism that suggests you’ve stretched his patience to its limit.

But Max seems oblivious. “We’re not done yet! There are still at least half a dozen models we haven’t tried.” He takes your hand, pulling you toward a plush, pillow-topped display. “Now this one looks perfect for spooning. You little spoon first this time ...”

Mattress testing with Max, you’ve learned, is a delightful mix of structured analysis and shameless flirtation. You can’t remember ever having so much fun shopping. And based on Max’s boyish smile and lingering touches, the feeling is mutual.

“Too much dip in the middle,” Max tuts later, rolling you both gently across yet another mattress surface. “Though the close contact isn’t terrible.” His low voice in your ear makes you shiver.

You grin up at him coyly. “We should do an in-depth pressure point analysis next.”

Max smirks. “Crucial data to collect.”

Eventually, however, even Max’s enthusiasm starts to wane. “I think we have sufficient consumer testing results now,” he decides, pulling you up to sit beside him on the edge of a low platform bed.

You laugh. “That poor salesperson was ready to toss us out an hour ago.”

“Hey, we were conducting necessary R&D!” Max’s grey eyes twinkle. “But I am rather tired now ...”

He lies back, resting his head in your lap. You automatically begin stroking his hair and he sighs, eyes slipping closed. You take the opportunity to admire how sweet he looks, lips slightly parted and lashes fanned on his cheeks. Testing mattresses all afternoon seems to have worn him out.

You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Ready to take this mattress research home to really compare notes?”

One grey eye peeks open. “Mmm, home analysis does sound optimal.” His voice is raspy with fatigue in a way that melts you. “Wake me when it’s time to go?”

You brush a soft kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

He nuzzles into your lap with a contented noise. Watching his breath deepen into sleep, you feel your heart overflow. There are a thousand reasons you adore Max, but these unexpectedly tender moments might top them all.

The salesperson reappears, offering you a pained smile. “So were you able to decide on a mattress today?”

You grin, fingers still carding through Max’s hair. “You know, I think we need to sleep on it a little longer.”

***

“Well, what do you think?” Max gestures with pride around his freshly competed penthouse.

You take it all in — the sleek but cozy furniture, the warm lighting, the pops of color — and smile. “It’s perfect. You have an incredible home now.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, gazing around. “I really couldn’t have done it without you. This place was a disaster before you came along.”

You lean into him happily. It’s been months since you first met Max and began working with him on decorating his new space. It was a battle at times, but you’re immensely proud of the final result.

“I’m honored I could help bring your vision to life,” you say sincerely. Though if you’re honest, the best part of this project was getting to know Max himself. The way his smile makes your heart flutter hasn’t diminished one bit.

Max turns you to face him, his expression soft. “I didn’t just get a beautifully designed home out of this. I got you.”

Your breath catches at the open affection in his eyes. Before you can respond, he dips his head and kisses you tenderly. You melt against him, the feel of his lips erasing any coherent thought.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are darker. “You know, there’s still one part of the place we haven’t officially christened yet.” He cocks his head toward the bedroom.

You bite your lip, pulse already quickening. “Is that so? Well, we should definitely perform a final inspection to confirm everything meets our standards.”

Max grins wolfishly, pulling you toward the bedroom. “Thorough testing is required.”

You laugh as he tugs you down onto the plush king mattress you’d finally agreed on after extensive “research.” The two of you bounce slightly from the momentum, causing you both to dissolve into giggles.

“Well, motion transfer still seems acceptable,” you quip. Max chuckles and silences you with another heated kiss.

You hum approvingly as his hands begin to roam your body. “Mmm, responsiveness is excellent too ...”

Clothes are quickly shed as you reacquaint yourselves with each other’s forms. When you’re finally skin-to-skin, Max sighs in satisfaction.

“I’ve been waiting months to get you in this bed.” His voice is low and gravelly in a way that makes you shiver.

“It was the longest mattress testing phase ever,” you breathe as his lips kiss down your neck.

Max laughs against your shoulder. “Worth it though, right?”

In answer, you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. “Absolutely.”

You take your time exploring each other, hands and mouths worshiping every inch. Until late afternoon sun filters through the curtains, bathing the room in an almost ethereal glow.

When Max finally sinks into you, you moan softly at the exquisite fullness. “Oh yes, this mattress has great ergonomics,” you sigh dreamily.

Max huffs a laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. “I’ll be sure to mention that in my product review.”

You grin and shift your hips experimentally, making him groan. “The responsiveness really is top-notch.”

“We should still test a few more positions though,” Max murmurs. “Just to be thorough.”

You happily comply, indulging in acrobatic mattress testing that leaves you both blissfully satisfied and out of breath. As you lay tangled together afterwards, endorphins still flooding your systems, Max presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Well, I’d say the new bed passes inspection with flying colors,” he declares with sleepy satisfaction.

You laugh and stroke his hair. “Agreed. You chose an excellent mattress.” You snuggle closer. “Though the company in it is what I really enjoy.”

Max tightens his arms around you. “Think you can put up with me and my high-maintenance decor demands a while longer?” His voice holds a vulnerable note beneath the teasing.

Your heart swells and you cup his face. “Max Verstappen, I’ll critique mattresses and furniture with you any day. As long as at the end of it, I get to fall asleep next to you.”

His smile outshines the lowering sun. “Deal.”

***

“You know what I love most about how our place looks now?” Max murmurs, his arms wrapped around you on the couch.

You tear your eyes from the awful reality show you’re watching to glance up at him. “Hmm?”

His gaze sweeps over the living room, a small smile on his lips. “All the little touches that are just so you.”

You follow his look around the penthouse that over the past year has transformed from Max’s bachelor pad to your shared home. It’s still sleek and modern overall, but with warm accents reflecting both your styles.

And yes, you realize, your personal influence shows in the decor now that you live here full time. The mugs hung on hooks in the kitchen, the plush blankets tossed artfully on the chairs, the bowls of sea glass collected from beach walks that adorn the tables.

Your heart swells looking at the traces of yourself woven into Max’s space. “It does feel more like home now, doesn’t it?”

Max nods, dropping a kiss to your hair. “It’s perfect. I love coming back after a race and being surrounded by reminders of you.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace, incredibly touched. “Well, I promise to keep leaving my clutter around to make you feel at home.”

He chuckles. “Please do. It’s my favorite kind of clutter.”

Smiling softly, you think back to when you first started dating Max after working on his penthouse makeover. Who could have guessed that would lead to sharing this life together?

Your gaze lands on a shelf displaying photos of the two of you, and your throat grows tight. There’s you and Max laughing on vacation, kissing right after he won his fourth world championship, curled up with hot chocolate on a ski trip. So many beautiful memories.

“It’s hard to remember what this place even looked like before,” you murmur. And not just the decor — it’s hard to recall your life before Max.

He rubs your shoulder idly, eyes faraway. “I know what you mean. It’s like you’ve always been here.” His voice holds a note of wonder.

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Max’s eyes shine. He bends to kiss you, soft and heartfelt. Your lips curve against his.

When you reluctantly draw back, the television screen catches your eye. You cringe at the fake drama unfolding.

“Ugh, this show is terrible,” you groan. “Can we watch something else?”

Max grins and grabs the remote, flipping through channels. He eventually lands on a home renovation program you both enjoy analyzing and critiquing together. Some things never change.

You settle in eagerly as the show starts, scrutinizing the design choices. Max wraps an arm around you, idly playing with your hair as you watch.

Despite the show’s flaws, being curled up with Max like this fills you with utter contentment. You can’t imagine anything better than coming home to his smile and laugh each day.

During commercials, you fetch snacks from the kitchen, navigating the space with ease. Max trails behind to steal bites, ever drawn to food.

You swat his hand away from the chocolate you’re preparing and laugh. “Get your paws off, those are for sharing!”

Max just tugs you close and kisses the protest from your lips. You happily let him devour the sweetness from your mouth instead, the chocolate forgotten.

Finally you collapse back on the couch together, munching and critiquing the show’s poor tile work. Max throws popcorn for you to catch, his aim as impressive as his racing lines.

Your eyes droop as the evening wears on. The cozy penthouse, tasty snacks, and Max’s warmth — it’s the perfect recipe for relaxation.

When your head nods against Max’s shoulder for the third time, he chuckles and clicks the tv off. “Alright sleepyhead, time for bed.”

You make a half-hearted noise of protest but let him pull you up. Max keeps an arm securely around you as he leads the way to the bedroom, knowing you’re prone to stumbling when tired. It makes you feel so cared for.

He even helps you change into your nightgown, his hands impossibly gentle. As you finally crawl under the blankets, you let out a massive yawn.

“Night Maxie,” you mumble, already mostly asleep. He gathers you close and presses a kiss to your hair.

“Sweet dreams, liefje.” His voice is impossibly soft. You float away cradled in his warmth and the knowledge you’re home.

The next morning, you wake slowly to sunlight streaming in the windows and the smell of coffee. Stretching languorously, you take a moment just to soak it in.

Muffled sounds drift in from the kitchen signaling Max is already up and at ‘em. You smile sleepily. The man has the energy of a hyper puppy.

Before you can muster the will to leave bed, Max appears holding two mugs. “Morning schatje,” he greets with a smile. “Thought you might need some caffeine.”

You beam and make grabby hands until he passes you a mug. The rich aroma instantly perks you up.

Max slides in next to you, sipping his own coffee. His hair is adorably mussed and you gently smooth it down before cupping his face and bringing him in for a long, thorough good morning kiss.

When you finally separate, Max looks pleasingly dazed. “Well, that’s certainly one way to wake up.”

You grin cheekily and go back to your coffee. Max wraps an arm around you and you lean into his solid warmth, trading occasional lazy kisses between sips.

Sun streams over your entwined forms as you bask in contented silence. Eventually you stretch and make your way to the bathroom to start the day, dropping a kiss to Max’s hair as you pass.

You smile seeing your hairbrush by the sink, pink toothbrush next to Max’s blue one. Such small signs of your merged lives, but they mean the world.

Refreshed, you return to Max sprawled on the bed with his phone. He immediately opens his arms in clear demand for more cuddles. Laughing, you collapse into them happily.

Nuzzling into his chest, you sigh. “I know I was practically unconscious last night, but just wanted to say again how special it is having pieces of us both around the place now.”

Max’s arms tighten around you. “You being here makes it a home, not just an apartment.” His voice catches slightly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, your own suddenly misty. No words can encapsulate what it means to build a life and home with this incredible man.

So you tell him silently instead, with a kiss overflowing with love and promise: I’ll stay by your side as long as I’m welcome.

Judging by Max’s arm anchoring you fiercely to him, that will be a good long while. You melt into his embrace, spirits soaring.

No fancy penthouse or perfect decor could compare to what you’ve found with Max — a home rooted in love, laughter, and devotion.

One look at his tender smile and you know he feels it too. This is everything.

So you’ll happily leave your mugs around the sink and blankets on the chairs, weaving threads of yourself into his space. With each passing day, it matters less whose belongings lie where.

Because home isn’t things — it’s the man gazing at you like you’re his whole world. And you know as long as you’re together, any place will feel just right.

[wildflowerhuggy]

Still Mad? // OP81

|pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

|summary: Oscar and reader have been bickering all day, sick of the uneasy tension between the two, reader decides to shock Oscar into forgiveness |warnings: female reader, alludes to mature themes but are not explored, use of pet name "baby" |author's note: this is my first time writing a fic here, so I welcome any tips! and potential asks for fic ideas :)

The apartment's tension was thick, lingering since the moment Oscar returned from his training session that morning. The two of you had been bickering all day over the most trivial of things: whether the dishwasher was loaded correctly, how to separate clothes when doing laundry, why your side of the bathroom counter was always a cluttered mess and why he always left his shoes in the middle of the entryway rather than neatly on the shoe rack like you have requested countless times. While the two of you were usually able to coexist peacefully and move around each other with ease, you were like fire and gasoline today; constantly setting each other off.

By the time late evening rolled around you were sick of the constant back and forth. Oscar seemingly having enough as well plopped himself on the couch, pulling out his phone and beginning to scroll with an annoyed expression you wanted to wipe right off of his face. With that your eyes lit up with an idea, if he wanted to sulk that was fine with you, but you had other plans for the rest of your night.

While he was distracted by whatever YouTube video he turned on you quietly slipped away, heading straight to your shared bedroom. You could feel your heart rate pick up with excitement, your lovely boyfriend had no idea about the treat he was in for.

You slowly pulled open a drawer, moving some items to the side to unveil a rectangular white box. On your last shopping trip with the girls, you purchased a stunning new lingerie set with the intention of saving it for a special occasion but ultimately decided now was perfect.

It was a delicate all-white number, a colour that always got Oscar going, and with the way he was glued to his phone you needed something to steal his attention.

Sliding on the set, you marvelled at how the waistline perfectly accentuated your hips and how the beautiful bustier enhanced your already shapely boobs (Oscar's favourite part of you, whether he admits it or not). This was certain to make him regret his actions of today...

Taking one last steadying breath you padded back out into the living room, Oscar still unmoving and eyes still glued to his phone, not even noticing you coming back into the room.

You paused your movements as you approached the back of the couch, "Baby, are you still mad?" you ask, voice sickly sweet.

"Mhm," he grunted, not even bothering to raise his head.

Moving slightly closer you place your hand on the back of the couch, beside his shoulder, "Are you sure?" trying again.

Another non-committal grunt reaches your ears.

With a small sigh, you decide to try one last time, this time making your way to the front of the couch, right in front of him. Still oblivious to you standing there half naked, Oscar remains head down still glued to his phone causing you to let out a little giggle that gains his attention.

"I told you-" Oscar snaps, clearly annoyed, and finally raising his head before cutting himself off and dropping his phone at the sight of you in front of him. Straight out of one of his wet dreams he reckons.

"So, are you sure you're sure?" you ask, tilting your head slightly and smiling smugly.

He blinks a few times, shocked at the sight of you before slowly sliding further into the couch, hands dragging down his face as a groan escapes his lips.

"Baby" he groans, sounding pained as he drags out the 'y'.

"What?" you question, moving forward to stand between his knees, smug smirk still on your face, "cat got your tongue?"

"This isn't fair, you can't just use your... your secret weapon" he gestures at your cleavage on display, "to distract me from being angry," he finishes with a slight upturn of his lips, showing you he really wasn't angry at all anymore.

"Oh but Osc, that's where you're wrong. I can, and I will," you whisper, running a hand through his hair, slightly tilting his head back as you do.

Whatever arguments you had are long forgotten, and whatever rebuttal he may have had was gone, as Oscar quickly grabs your thighs to pull you onto his lap and deliver a long-awaited kiss to your lips. Your lips meeting in hurried passion and need after a day's worth of tension leaves your body.

"Does this mean I win every argument from today?" you whisper as you pull away for air.

You're just met with an eye-roll and another mind-numbing kiss as your beloved boyfriend stands up with you in his arms heading towards your room.

Safe to say, he definitely wasn't mad anymore.

[thewitchblue]

"Oh, lovely to see you Tim, here's a gift."

You smiled as you placed a small giftbox in his hand. You've been giving the Batfamily small gifts here and there every time you get a vision of their nightlife. It's always a gift of exactly what they need, and you always make sure to put it in their packs before they leave.

You never tell them why you give them gifts, and they've never noticed the pattern because they always open their gifts just before they leave.

You simply smile and give them a pat on the back before moving on to help the others with the usual outside perspective the family desperately needs.

Tim opened the gift with raised eyebrows to reveal a nail file with a hidden trigger that, when pressed, produces a serrated knife. You always were good at making gadgets with double meanings. An unassuming nail file would never be taken away from Tim on patrol, so he slipped it into his pouch without much thought.

Until he needed the nail file (which had a motorised sandpaper) specifically to saw through chains and then cut through the ropes wrapped around his wrists and ankles. That got him thinking.

You always knew exactly what he needed and exactly how to make the gadget within 24 hours. You could probably finish most of your projects within 6 hours.

You were a genius inventor and actually made a lot of the gear they use every night. Tim began to question how you knew what he needed. He's never needed this nail file before, and why did you only give it to him? He wanted answers, and he was going to get it out of you one way or another.

You were sprawled on a couch, tinkering away with a table full of nuts, screws, and, interestingly, a bandaid. What could you possibly be doing to a bandaid? He has no idea, but he knows when you get engrossed that gaining your attention would be impossible.

He approached you with a frown. The things you make seem almost magical, but you will babble on and on if they ever ask you questions about engineering and how you made your project. You always had a mischievous gleam in your eyes as you explained the newest invention.

More recently, they have been mostly traps to bamboozle crooks and for very niche and incredibly specific situations, much to his delight. The most recent was an exploding toothpick to put inside locks and break them from the inside out.

"I have a question."

Tim cut right to the point. You looked up from your torn apart bandaid and gestured for him to continue before going back to your project. He shifted in place, uncertain of how to question you now that he's in front of you. How does he phrase his question?

"How do you... know when I need something? The nail file was extremely specific for the situation I was in."

You looked up once and took note of his determined expression. He really wanted to know, and you doubt you can shake the Bat-to-be. You shrugged non-committally as your gaze returns to your bandaid dissection.

"The idea came to mind."

Not a lie. You simply reverse-engineered the situation your vision told you would happen. However, Tim needed more answers. He asked,

"Why did you only give the file to me?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. He knows something. What he knows is unclear to you. Your visions couldn't have prepared you for this awkward conversation. You explained patiently,

"I only had time for one prototype. Why do you ask?"

Tim frowned at you. You looked so relaxed when you were focused on a project. He can't tell if you are lying when you work. What doesn't he know?

You are so specific in your inventions at times. It was as if you knew he could have died if he didn't have that nail file.

You reached for something on the table. Are you putting in a needle? Who would ever need a needle in a bandaid?

Well, the small needle had anti-venom in a tiny compartment you made that he will need when he accidentally steps on a snake tomorrow night. It's a baby snake, but he'd need the anti-venom fast. Someone was breeding super venomous snakes for Joker. It's unclear why, but he'll need the anti-venom faster than the others could appear.

Tim decided to try a different approach. He said,

"You seem to always know what we need when on patrol, and I want to know how."

You tried to appear casual. You've been doing this for years. You flew under the radar for too long to let him ruin it. Bruce pays you a lot for your inventions, but he hates metas in his city.

"I always think of a new problem. What if Jason trips into a vat of acid Joker-style? Well, I can make his patrol outfit acid-proof. What if Bruce needs fast-acting waterproof glue? I can make that easily. You, evidently, needed that nail file."

You cursed as the needle fell. You cleaned it while saying slyly,

"You're welcome, by the way."

You quirked your lips into a small smile while turning your gaze to Tim with amusement dancing in your eyes. He murmurs an embarrassed "thank you."

He moved to sit next to you on the couch you were sat on, so you make room and move all your supplies. He borderline whines,

"Who would think of waterproof glue for vigilante activities?"

You raised your hands smugly but lowered it when he lightly hit your arm with a smile on his face. You loved riling him up. He was often in the cave and became your companion in the quiet darkness. He said quietly,

"Whatever you are hiding, I won't tell the others."

You sighed. You loved Tim; you don't think your heart could handle being pushed away from him and out of the city. You told him quietly,

"There's nothing to admit."

He gently took your hand in his with a softened look. He loved you, too. You frowned and lightly squeezed his callused hand. It hurts to hide from him, but you can't tell him. He might even push you away if he found out you were a meta.

"You can tell me."

He told you softly. He wanted to know you better. You were always the kooky engineer to the family — someone in the background, but Tim saw you as you. Strong, kind, intelligent you. Someone who borderline lives in the Batcave at a table near the Batcomputer and spends all night and most of the day tinkering away and muttering questions too quiet for them to make out.

You wanted to tell him, but the fear kept your mouth glued shut. The words got clogged in your throat. You sighed and looked at your conjoined hands.

"I... It's not safe, for me here."

You said cryptically. Tim is smart. He can figure out what you mean if he is so inclined to know.

Those words, however, only set off alarm bells. Did someone threaten you? Who could sneak into the Batcave? Where was Alfred at the time? You rarely leave the cave, like some trapped oracle.

You looked at him like he should know what you mean, but his alarm wasn't allowing him to think. Did the League of Assassins come by? No, they would have kidnapped you or killed you before you even noticed. You barely noticed him until he said something, and even then, you went right back to your bandaid.

"Baby, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong and I can fix it."

Tim didn't even notice the term of endearment slipped out, but you did. Your head snapped in his direction.

You set the bandaid down in disbelief. Did he call you baby? What does that mean for your relationship going forward? You questioned,

"Baby?"

Tim responded like it was normal for you to call him that in return,

"Yes? Tell me what is wrong."

You blinked at him and waited for his words to sink in. When they refused to sink in, you sighed.

"Look, sweetheart, I'm trying to do my job. You will know what I mean when you start thinking with that BatBrain of yours."

You lightly tap his head with a wrench to signify for him to think before finishing your project and starting to wrap up your little gift.

Tim will think it's a joke, but he'll humour you. He'll put the bandage on as a last laugh and then be shocked when the anti-venom enters him. He'll give a disbelieving laugh, thank you millions of times, and hobble home when Jason showed up to handle things.

The thought struck Tim just before he went to sleep. You... you're a meta. A psychic meta. Oh, he's so screwed. If Bruce ever finds out... well, he'll just have to make sure nobody finds out. You were smart enough to know not to say it directly, which he was grateful for. If he can hide your powers nearly as well as you can, he can do this. He has to have faith in your ability to hide.

He also blushed as he remembered he called you baby. That is a can of worms he will have to deal with another time.

You handed Jason a rose with a mischievous smile while rolling a wrench between your fingers like a pencil in your opposite hand. You had turned it into a fidget toy, flicking and rolling the tool with familiarity.

The rose looked normal and unassuming. It looked so real that it would likely appear as if Red Hood was going on a date, and he's running late. You could imagine all the confused goons he beat up when they got a peak at the rose safely tucked away. The thought made you smile.

"What? Does it squirt water?"

He asked flatly. What's so special about it? He knows for a fact you aren't giving him a normal rose. You muttered,

"Tough crowd. What if I wanted to ask you on a date?"

When Jason continued to simply look at you instead of figuring it out for himself, you sighed and double tapped the centre of the rose.

A vast amount of cures for various poisons were displayed before him. He read each label carefully, then organised it how he liked it, and shut the compartment. He reluctantly tucked the rose in the pocket of his leather jacket. He simply said,

"Thanks, pipsqueak."

You only nodded in response as he walked away. Cluemaster was planning a "gameshow" type of trap tonight, but rigged the game. He will "forget" one of the cures Jason needs to complete the trial. You couldn't tell what cure was missing, so you crafted a bunch of them. You frowned in thought as you saw Tim out of the corner of your eye.

You were still a bit dazed about your recent development with Tim. You know for a fact he knows now, as he's been finding more and more excuses to hang out with you. The others assume it's because Tim is going to finally make a move on you, but he just... hovered. He looked awkward. He felt awkward. He wanted to tell you his feelings and get the rejection over with, but he's scared. He's never dated someone like you before and he had no idea how to ask you or even tell you how he feels. You're in every corner of his life. You are the one constant in his life. Your quiet companionship means the world to him. What if he ruins everything?

Dick gave him a brotherly thumbs up and walked away when he tried to ask for advice. Dick knew next to nothing about you, so he had no advice to give. Tim spends basically every day with you. He should know you best. He spends all day with you in the cave, and he asks for any input when he knows he's overlooking something.

In fact, the family was surprised it took Tim this long to notice his obvious fondness for you. It makes sense. The two introverts who can sit in silence with only the sound of typing and gears turning hanging in the air. He could smile as you murmured questions to yourself. You know Tim would be useless with any gadget, so the questions remain rhetorical. He finds it cute that you prefer to vocalise your thoughts instead of keeping it all locked in. It doesn't bother him one bit.

Nobody appreciated you like Tim did, so they didn't give you a second thought. Maybe that is part of your psychic abilities as well, he wasn't sure. He wished he could ask safely. He wanted to yell at Bruce for the paranoia, but it would reveal your ability if he did so. Instead, he settled for internally screaming at him.

You leaned down to grab a gear you had dropped the other day. When you stood up again, you said,

"Okay, I'll bite first then, why are you following me?"

Tim rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Well, now is as good a time as any to admit months' worth of feelings that morphed into something far more than a companionship in the darkness of the cave, no pressure.

"I..."

You tilted your head and gave him a knowing smile. You knew. You looked into the future of Tim out of curiosity and found his confession, but you needed him to play the part. He sighed in relief. All the pressure popped like a bubble.

"I love you."

He said it so fast that you would have missed it if you hadn't slowed it down. Your powers work kind of like a youtube video: you can pause it, slow it down, fast forward, reverse it, etc.

Now you felt a bit awkward. You had no idea what to say. You had been so shocked at night that you didn't think about what to actually say in response. You smiled nervously and awkwardly said,

"I, uh, I love you too. Thanks, by the way."

You gave him a kiss before shuffling back to work. You needed to do something with your hands. It's a form of stress relief, a small comfort to ease your nerves. Some turn to cigarettes, you turn to nuts and bolts.

Tim trailed you in a bit of a daze. He sat on a nearby chair and watched your hands fly through a project you had in your subconscious mind. It's more of a fidget project with no real purpose behind it yet.

You picked up a screw and screwed it as much as your fingers allowed. You clicked your tongue in irritation when you noticed none of your nearby screwdrivers would fit the small screw.

"Babe, can you hand me that screwdriver?"

You asked him. The small screwdriver had rolled right in front of him. Your gaze landed on him when he said and did nothing. He looked stunned.

He didn't hear a word past babe. He could only stare at you in shock. You called him babe like you've done it thousands of times. The casualness felt like you just slid right into the role of his life partner as easy as sliding your hand into his own. He didn't have to ask you to be his lover or ask you on a date. You did all that for him with one word.

You noticed his checked-out gaze and grabbed the screwdriver yourself with a quick cheek kiss which he leaned into happily.

You may be the meta, but he could have sworn he saw his future with you.

A/N I wanted to make this into a 2 part story, but decided against it and smooshed them together.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Just a little thing (1.4k) about Hans's wedding, which features some unexpected guests. Well... sort-of unexpected. Happy ending!

Some of you may recognise this trope from something else I've written ⭐

⚔ ⚔ ⚔

The sun is radiantly pinned to the sky. Dashing, dancing birds pirouette through the expanse, tweeting merrily. It’s a fine day for a wedding. 

Hans turns away from the window and back into the darkness of the chamber.  It’s near-empty, save for Hanush and Radzig talking in a corner. As he approaches, Hanush turns to him.

“Where is Henry?” he asks. Clearly, they’ve been discussing his absence.

“I have no idea,” Hans says truthfully.

“He isn't in attendance?” says Radzig. “Unlike him not to be with you.”

Hans makes a non-committal noise. “We had a falling out,” he says. “He left.”

Hanush and Radzig share a look, which Hans ignores. Let them presume whatever they want. It hardly matters now.

“Shall we?”

They make their way down to the great hall below, where Jitka and her rather expansive family are waiting. She smiles sweetly at him, and together - their families behind - they make their way to the church. The walk takes less time than Hans is expecting. He can feel his heart beating anxiously in his wrists. 

They’re met beneath the doorway by Father Godwin. He’s staring out across the fields towards the woods, looking distracted.

“Father Godwin.”

He snaps his gaze around. 

“Lord Capon,” he bows towards Hans and his would-be bride. “You’re earlier than I had expected.”

Hans gives him a little shrug. What can either of them do about that, he thinks.

It takes a little while for the crowd to finally settle - another blessing, Hans thinks, the time between now and then stretching as long as it can. And then they can wait no longer. 

From the woods comes the gentle sound of a calling dove. Hans takes his bride's hands. It is time.

Godwin begins to speak. Hans isn’t listening to a world the old man is saying, just blithely nodding along, waiting. Waiting for it to be over, so he can breathe.

Jitka gives him a comforting little smile. He tries his best to return it.

The screech of a hunting horn cuts through Godwin's sermon like a blade. Every head turns to find the source of the noise as out from the trees, in a cacophony of yelling and roaring hoofbeats, bursts half a dozen men on horseback, armed to the teeth and wearing heavy, distinctive Praguer armour.

“Get him!”

Chaos ensues. The wedding guests - many of whom are elderly, or women, or even children - panic and trample over each other in their haste to escape. Jitka leaps away from Hans towards her father and Uncle, who both step protectively in front of her. Those trained in combat amongst their numbers are almost as poorly prepared, dressed in their wedding finery instead of plate. All save Hans are armed - the display of status required at such an event - but none seem keen to pit silk against steel.

“He killed my son!”

The Praguers charge forwards in a well-practiced assault. Hanush leaps back, wildly and uselessly swinging his sword. The guards present for the event burst into action, but a handful of men on foot are nothing compared to the heavily armoured gang on horseback. 

“Stand down,” one of them growls at Hanush. “We’ve no fight with you, Sir.”

He points his sword directly at Hans. His skin goes cold. 

“We want him,” he growls. “He killed my son. We demand retribution.”

Hanush snaps into action. “Sir,” he says, “you cannot blame him for an act he took during war, surely there is—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the man sneers, “or I’ll shut it for you. You—” he gestures at another rider - imposing and strong on a huge horse, dressed head to toe in heavy armour, a bascinet helm obscuring his face— “get him.”

It all happens in an instant. The rider spurs forwards. Jitka screams, leaping into her father's arms as he thunders past. He skids at Hans's feet, reaches down with a plated arm, and grabs Hans by the back of his gambeson and heaves him onto the horse. 

“Put me down, you bastard!”

The man does not listen, kicking the horse into a gallop towards the woods. He's got one hand balled tight in Hans’s hood: even if Hans managed to slip off the horse, he'd strangle himself in the process.

He hears the other riders give chase, and behind them, the sound of Hanush shouting.

“Get after them, you fools!”

Even Hans knows that's not an order easily followed. None of the attending guards are on horseback, and the stables are at the other end of the town. By the time they can mount a response his kidnappers will be long gone.

He focuses his attention on not falling off the fucking horse as they gallop through the trees. The sound of the town and the shouting fades, then vanishes. The only noise is the rhythm of hoofbeats, the clank of the rider’s armour, and the heavy sound of his breathing.

They’re deep into the woods by the time the man pulls his horse to a halt and lets Hans go. He slides off, shakey feet hitting solid ground. For a moment he thinks he's going to fall, his legs turned soft, but the rider thumps down beside him and grabs him, keeping him upright.

Hans turns. At last, his kidnapper removes his helmet.

Henry wipes the sweat from his face. His cheeks are red.

Hans doesn't wait. He tugs Henry into a frantic kiss.

“That,” he says, when he finally releases him, “was fucking brilliant.”

Henry grins. “Anything for my Lord.”

“The others…?”

“Behind,” Henry says. “Everyone went different directions. They’ll be searching for hours.”

“Once they find fucking horses,” Hans laughs. “Speaking of?”

Henry smiles, softly. “This way.”

They pick their way through the trees into a little clearing. A horse tied to a tree looks up as they approach, brown ears twitching. Henry wastes no time digging out a sack from beneath a bush and pulling out its contents: clothes, armour, another helm. He tosses them one at a time to Hans.

“Here,” he says. “But quick. God knows how much time we have.”

Hans doesn’t wait. He hastily strips off his wedding finery, throwing it back to Henry to stuff it back into the sack.

“How did it go?” Henry asks. Hans can feel his eyes on him, watching him strip. If only they had a little more time.

“Good,” he says, cheerily. “Godwin said he'll wait to see what they intend to do and then head to the Den in a few days.”

“Did anyone seem suspicious?”

“Not at all. Went off as planned, as far as I can tell.”

“Did anyone ask where I was?”

“Hanush and Radzig did,” Hans says. “Sounded like they'd been discussing it themselves. I told them we'd had an argument and you'd left, like we said.”

“Good.” Henry ties the sack of Hans’s things to the horse’s saddle. “Christ… I hope they don’t ask too many questions.”

“You’re a good liar,” Hans grins. “You’ll think of something. What’s your plan?”

Henry shrugs. “I’ll wait for word to spread that you’ve been taken,” he says, “then ride back and tell them I’ll find you myself.”

“They’ll believe that, at least,” says Hans. “You’re always getting me out of trouble.” 

He pulls the helmet on and unties the horse. He’s about to mount up, when Henry stops him, placing a heavy hand to his shoulder.

“Hans.” 

His face is serious. Hans hesitates.

“What—”

“Are you sure about this?”

Hans blinks. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “Of course I am.”

“If we— if I go through with this, you’ll be dead. No more money and riches and comfort. You’ll be a ghost.”

He looks so damn worried. That’s Henry: always worrying about him. And Hans can understand that, to an extent. He’s throwing away a life that most people - would crave. Luxury. Protection. But he’s seen that life. Seen it at its sharpest edge.

He lets go of the horse’s saddle and turns properly to face his saviour. Even dressed in the garb of the enemy, Henry radiates a sense of safety. Hans cannot resist now, damn how quickly they need to leave. He wraps his arms around Henry’s waist and kisses him, long and slow. He feels like home.

“I’ll be dead,” he whispers against Henry’s lips, “But Hal, I’ll be free.”

He gives him one last kiss - a fluttering promise of more to come - then swiftly turns and swings up onto the horse.

“Come on,” he peers down at his lover, his liberator, his Henry, then slams the visor of his helmet shut.  “Let’s go kill Lord Capon.”

[luveline]

IM BEGGING ON MY KNEES PLEASEEEE 🔥🔥🔥 NOTICE MEEEE

Really quiet and shy reader who’s new to the team and Spencer JUST got out of prison like a month ago and he comes back and sees the cutest girl he’s ever seen so young and new to the team and can’t help but tease her

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

Unit Chief Emily Prentiss scares the fuck out of you, but you're still not as intimidated by her as you are by Dr. Reid. 

Dr. Reid, and not Special Supervisory Agent Reid —there's a big difference— shouldn't be a scary guy. He doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, his haircut is tame, and you watch him pour enough sugar into his coffee to weaken the enamel of your teeth just looking at it. But while all or this is true, Dr. Reid just came back from a weeks long stint in one of the most tense prisons in the world. Emily assured you in her way that everything bad you may have heard about Dr. Reid would be false, and that anything positive is true. 

He looks different to how you'd pictured him. Emily's promise aside, Garcia painted him as some sweater-wearing Teddy bear of a boy who likes chess and Doctor Who. 

This is a man. Full grown, full suit, dark-eyes. You're not sure what to feel as he spots you. When Anderson gave you the desk across from Spencer's you'd thought you were lucky, getting treated as part of the team from the very beginning, but now you're not so sure. 

“Hey,” he says, eyes on you as he puts down his coffee atop a stack of medical journals. His things were left untouched while he was gone, even though he was technically separated from the bureau. He's well respected. “I've been excited to meet you. I'm Spencer.” 

“Dr. Reid,” you say immediately, standing up from your chair to meet him besides your desks. 

“Spencer,” he says again. “I don't shake.” 

“Oh, no, of course not,” you say, hiding your hands behind your back. “I know you were here long before me, but I can safely say how nice it is to have you back.” You smile. “They were all so worried about you.” 

“You kept them in line while I was gone?” 

“No, I was useless. I've never felt this stupid in my life.” 

“That's just how it feels for the first year.” He isn't smiling, isn't frowning, a hint of amusement in his eyes and hands steady as he tucks them into his pants pockets. “It's not the others, is it?” 

“No, there's just a lot to learn.” 

“It shouldn't be hard for you, though, right?” He gestures to you like this means something. 

“I don't…” 

“You're what, twenty four?” Spencer picks up his mug and takes a drink. “If you're smart enough to be here now, you'll be fine.” 

“You think so?” 

“Don't tell me you're scared, Y/N.” His lashes flare ever so slightly in feigned surprise. After a second of your obvious flustering, he laughs. “No, you don't scare easily. I can tell.” 

Absolutely nothing like you told me he'd be, Penelope. I thought we were friends. 

“So what was your last case like? The Bentley driver?” he asks, nodding toward your desk. “How's your peer reviews going? They used to drive me insane.” 

You startle and rush to sit in your desk chair, opening the case file from the last case to gather his approval. He flicks through pages, almost non-committal, though he gives a hum of approval when he reads your UnSub summary, and when he sees a comment you'd made that you'd believed to be particularly astute, he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “you'll be fine.” The smell of him floats your way, cologne or aftershave that makes you feel dizzy. He looks down at you. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing, uh–” You bite your tongue rather than answer and trip over another useless sentence. 

He touches the top of your shoulder lightly. “It will get easier,” he promises. 

He means work, of course, but for a split second you wonder if he means being near him. If he's like this often, you doubt that that's true. 

[asilentsongbird]

For you, I think I would learn how to love

For my lovely anon who asked for husband Neuvillette, I bring you a whole fic. This man has me in a chokehold and I need everyone to know how much I love him.

Pairing: Neuvillette x fem! Reader Word Count: ~7k

Summary: Tired of waiting for you to find a husband, your parents find one for you. One who happens to be the Chief Justice of Fontaine. A new city, a new life, a new husband. So much new, and you could only hope, deep in your heart, that you would find happiness and love in Fontaine.

The first time you meet him, it's rather formal.

It's not as though you have much of an option. Though you certainly couldn't say you expected when you woke up to be told that your parents had found a husband for you, and that you'd be married in a week.

They had been pushing marriage lately, saying you were the right age, but the thought had been far from your mind. You thought you still had time, and the next thing you knew, you were being brought to Fontaine.

It's certainly different from Liyue. The hills and mountains are different from the Stone Forrest. The air feels different, there's water heavy in it.

You wait, in an ornate room that feels much too fancy. You've been left alone for a brief moment, the most your parents have allowed since you were told the news.

Part of you wonders if you could escape if you jumped out the window. A quick glance told you that it was much too high to entertain that idea. You'd end up breaking a leg before you got out of this marriage.

The door opens. A man appears, with long white hair with blue streaks in it. Simply from his appearance, you can tell that this is someone important. Your spine straightens as sharp eyes land on you, zeroing in on you.

You felt small, for a moment. As though he was judging you for simply existing in a space you'd rather not be in. Though your parents didn't care if you had plans or wished to find a husband on your own.

The man doesn't say anything. He closes the door behind him with a click, and makes his way over to you. Despite the desire to shrink back, you stand your ground, until he finally stands before you.

Up close you can see more details. He towers over you in height, but you suppose most people would feel short compared to him. His eyes capture your attention the most, the pupils such a strange shape, but gorgeous nevertheless.

"I apologize for leaving you waiting," he starts, almost looking as lost as you on how to start.

You wave your hands frantically in front of you. "It's fine! I didn't expect anyone to come in. I was told I would be meeting-"

Saying future husband felt much too strange. The man in front of you notices your pause, and arches a single silver brow. You frantically try to remember the name of the man who is meant to be your fiance.

"Ah, sorry, I was meant to meet a Mister Neuvillette?" your voice stumbles awkwardly over the new word, still struggling with the accent.

On the trip to Fontaine, your parents had tried to give you lessons on the language, as though you would become fluent in the few hours it took to travel.

The man blinks. And then he blinks again, as though he's trying to figure out what you just said.

Apparently the lessons hadn't worked.

"Sorry, my accent needs work," you apologize. "I hear he's the Chief Justice?"

The man nods, slowly. "That is correct."

You hum, non-committal, waiting to see if your company decides to keep the conversation going. When he doesn't, you find yourself unable to think of words.

Well, this felt awkward. And from the way the man still seemed at a loss for words, he also felt the same.

The tension could almost cut a knife.

He clears his throat after a moment, the sound almost makes you jump.

"Yes, well..." he pauses, gesturing towards the couch. "I am sure monsieur Neuvillette will be here soon."

You take a seat near him. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough that it would be clear that you were talking.  Maybe "monsieur Neuvillette" will see the two of you and decide that this marriage wasn't something he wanted a part of.

"Congratulations on your engagement," your new friend tells you after a moment. You give him a tight lipped smile.

"Thanks."

Once again, silence descends over you two. You fidget with your skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from travel. Hopefully, it wasn't something your new husband would be upset about.

At least the silence didn't feel as oppressive this time. You let yourself relax, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Can I ask you something?"

The man beside you nods. You still haven't gotten his name yet, you realize. You'd have to ask later, after some other questions. Who knows when your parents and future husband will be coming.

"Um...how is Neuvillette?" you tentatively ask, to which you only receive a rather blank, if not curious look.

You suppose you'll have to be more direct. Though it almost pains you.

But at least, if he's not kind, you would like a warning. Some way to prepare yourself for what the rest of your life is going to be like. Some women, they don't even get that. They were woken up on the day of their wedding, and the rest of their lives was at the whims of their husbands.

You steel yourself, and fully turn your attention to your friend.

"Is he kind?"

Something in him softens at that. He looks at you with an emotion that you can't recognize in that moment. Pity, maybe?

He opens his mouth, but before you can get your answer, the door opens.

Your parents lean in for a moment, see you sitting on the couch, talking to a stranger, but strangely have nothing bad to say about that. In fact, they look delighted.

"Are you two getting along well?" your mother asks you, somewhat reminding you of a cat just having caught a bird.

The satisfaction on her face made you uneasy, like there was a secret you were missing.

"Fine, thank you," your friend replied for you when you couldn't manage words. "Your daughter is very polite."

Your parents beam at that. The uneasy feeling in your stomach gets worse.

"Thank you, monsieur Neuvillette."

Somehow, it hadn't dawned on you. Your stomach feels like it falls into the floor, but Neuvillette doesn't seem to have any other reaction, looking at your parents. They don't even wither under his stare.

You never wanted to shrink into the floor more. You had just asked your future husband about himself. And more than that, you asked him if he was kind.

Your parents talk with Neuvillette, allowing you a moment to feel invisible and wallow in your self-pity and embarrassment.

At least, until you feel a small tug on the sleeve of your blouse.

It's one of the melusines, you had found them to be very cute upon first seeing them. Your parents hadn't explained much about them, so you found yourself blinking down at the small melusine.

"He is," she says to you, nodding.

You tilt your head to the side. Briefly, you feel eyes on you, but when you look at your parents, they're still talking to Neuvillette, and taking his attention.

"He's what?"

She hands you a long ribbon. It's a deep, ocean blue, the same color that Neuvillette is wearing.

"He is kind," she explains, patiently, as though you were a child. "I heard you ask."

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, especially as she climbed up next to you, weaving the ribbon through your hair, and both your parents and Neuvillette turned to stare.

"Y/N, that is very rude to ask," your mother scolds, because that is the lot of women in life, only to worry about when men think of you and what might make you undesirable. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"Nonsense, it is a very reasonable question to ask. Why wouldn't someone want to know who they're marrying?" Neuvillette cuts in, before your mother can scold you any more.

Your parents fall silent, nodding their heads in agreement as though they hadn't been about to lecture you like a child. You would have laughed if it wasn't for the Melusine finishing with your hair.

"There," she says, with her self imposed job done. "Will you be having a wedding?"

You weren't sure your heart could take any more surprises today. Your cheeks hadn't even lost their blush from the first moment, at this point you didn't think they'd ever go back to their normal color.

"We'll have to see," you murmur, because you weren't completely sure yourself.

She nods, taking in your word and opinion as though it was law. Neuvillette didn't contradict you either, but did finally turn back to your parents.

You don't get too much of a chance to participate in most of the conversation. The Melusine, Sedene, as you learned the name of, asks you more questions that keep you occupied.

It's a welcome distraction. It's better than awkwardly listening to a conversation about your future where at least two of the three people here wouldn't even care for your input.

The jury was still out on Neuvillette.

Eventually though, it grew late, late enough that Sedene was sleeping with her head on your lap. It seemed that finally the other three were tired of negotiating over your life.

Before you knew it, you looked up from your lap just in time to see Neuvillette leave without even a goodbye, the door clicking behind him. Your parents look much too pleased with themselves, which you somehow didn't think was possible.

"I told you, the match would be a good one," your mother tells your father, pride seeping into her voice.

You're not so sure. You can't be sure. At least not yet.

"Yes," your father agrees, with the same fond voice he always had when he didn't want to argue with your mother, and it's easier just to agree.

It seems, just like the foundation of Liyue, that your future is set in stone.

You hope Fontaine will be kind to you.

-x-x-x-x-

You do not have a wedding.

It's actually fine with you. More than fine, really. Apparently as Chief Justice of Fontaine, Neuvillette is well liked and popular. The amount of people you'd have to invite to the wedding would be too many for you.

So you simply don't. You sign a document and in the eyes of the law, and of Neuvillette, that is enough.

Though a part of you aches that you will never have the traditional Liyuen wedding you dreamed of as a child. But you suppose that dreams of childhood should stay there.

You move into Neuvillette's home. Fontaine comes as a culture shock, almost.

The amount of times you get absolutely lost in this fish-bowl of a city manages to astound even you.

It's not your fault, really. Liyue Harbor is easy to navigate, warm and welcoming. In Fontaine, the streets all somehow manage to look the same, though the shops sell things you never even thought of. At some point, you're pretty sure you even see a woman standing outside of a building with a mechanical bird.

You end up seeing other Melusines more than your new husband. You don't really blame him for this, his job is important and needed, so each day he bids you a single "good morning" along with a look you couldn't decipher, as he heads to the Opera House.

That's a whole other thing about Fontaine that you still haven't investigated.

It's not as though you're upset that you don't see Neuvillette often. But he is one of the few people that you know here, and it doesn't take long for you to be lonely in the new city, without any of your friends.

Though you find the Meluine's to be kind. They help you when you get lost, and press small gifts into your palms as they take your hands to lead you around.

They tell you to tell Neuvillette to take some time off work. To spend some time with you. You nod and agree that you'll tell him the next time you see him.

But when the man quickly leaves in the morning and doesn't return until late, you never really get a chance to.

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he'd been avoiding you.

It's like that for almost a month. He says good morning, disappears, and you wander the city to familiarize yourself with it. He never comes home until the sun has almost set, and night is almost there, while you wander until the rain finally starts for the day.

You asked the Melusine's about it once, commenting that there wasn't so much rain in Liyue. They tell you of the hydro dragon and the tears it cries. You hope that someday you will get to meet this dragon and see what makes them so sad.

At least, it stays like that until it doesn't, as most things tend to do.

You were lost, which wasn't too much of a surprise, but unlike the times before, there were no Melusine's to bring you back home or to a place you knew. The rain had started earlier today, earlier than anyone seemed to expect, and before you knew it, you were huddled in an alley, your clothing absolutely soaked and shivers running down your spine from the wet and the cold.

You missed Liyue. You missed your friends, your parents, you missed the smells and sounds of the harbor. Tears burned in your eyes and mixed with the rain on your cheeks.

Standing there simply isn't going to fix things though, so you eventually left your small, but dry, protection, and decided to finally figure out this city.

Your confidence fades the longer you walk around.

It takes almost two hours of wandering around in the rain until you finally recognize something. Not the path home, but to the first place you ever meet Neuvillette, despite not knowing at the time.

You push open the door. It's late, though that doesn't seem to mean the place is devoid of life. Wrapping shaking arms around yourself, you spot a sliver of light coming from Neuvillette's office.

It felt much too late to be working, but perhaps it was Sedene, fixing up things. Tentatively, you knock on the door, and the faint scratching of a pen against paper suddenly stopped.

Suddenly, this felt like a mistake. You took a single step back, but before you could change your mind and leave, the door swung open and Neuvillette stood there, a look of mild concern on his face.

Neither of you spoke. Neuvillette looks you up and down, brows furrowing, and you realize all at once that you must look like a sight, absolutely soaked and dripping water on the floor. If you weren't so cold, your cheeks would be flushed.

"Why are you here?" he asks, glancing around as though that would provide him with the answer.

Your shoulders slump. You can't really explain why. Maybe it's the disappointment  at the sight of you, or the lack of a warm welcome. Not 'what happened to you' or 'why are you soaking wet' but instead a question that felt almost like he questioning your presence in general.

"I-um," you stutter through chattering teeth, "I got lost and didn't know where to go."

That felt like an understatement of what happened, but you weren't sure how else to answer the question.

Neuvillette didn't seem to know either.

When he didn't say anything more, you shifted from foot to foot, wincing at the cold and the squish of wetness. You'd be lucky if you didn't get sick, after this.

"You got lost?" he finally asks, as though the concept was foreign to him.

You don't know what to say, so you shrug, peering around him. It seemed Sedene had already left for today, and there went your hope for an escort home.

"The streets all look the same to me," you manage, shivering again. "Uh-you can just tell me which way to go, and I'll get out of your hair. I didn't mean to be a bother."

"And why didn't you ask anyone for help? Anyone could have told you where I live."

The question almost comes out cold, for how logical it is. You huff, a small noise of frustration. All you wanted at the moment was to get out of these wet clothes and to be warm again. But it seems that isn't going to happen any time soon.

"Never mind," you murmur, suddenly so tired. Of course he wouldn't understand why you wouldn't want to ask for help. Your Fontainian was still in it's learning stage, and while you could ask a couple of questions with a thick accent, you had no idea how to ask someone to lead you home.

Plus, wouldn't it reflect badly on him, to have a wife who didn't even know how to return home? But you supposed, if it didn't matter to him, then it shouldn't matter to you.

"I'll see you at home, then," you murmur, turning on your heel to leave.

It was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment. The rain seemed to be coming down even harder, you could hear the thunderous roar of rain against the roof as you went to the main door.

A little more rain wouldn't hurt, and you were pretty sure you knew the way home from here.

You step out into the rain, but surprisingly, you don't get any wetter than before. The rain hits something above you, and you glance up to see an umbrella.

Neuvillette stands slightly behind you, umbrella extended over you. You still hadn't stopped shivering, teeth clattering together. Neuvillette almost looks pained as he looks down at you.

"You'll catch your death out here," he says, as though that explains everything.

And then, in true Fontaine fashion, he extends his arm out to you to link your own through, a true and proper escort.

You take it, if only for the stability. And maybe the warmth. And also the umbrella is hardly big enough for two, if you don't stand close, then Neuvillette would get wet as well.

That's the only reason.

He makes quick work of the walk home, and you were almost dismayed by how close you had been the entire time. By the time you walk up the steps, still shivering from  the cold, the rain had finally stopped, the sky clearing to reveal the stars.

"I shall make you something to eat while you dry off," he says, as though it is the law of the land.

You wonder if that is how he sounds in court, when he's trying the cases. You almost want to argue just for the sake of it.

But being dry and having a warm meal sounds much too good to ignore, so you only nod, and go to change your clothes. You debate on taking a bath, the call of the warm water ends up being much too tempting for you.

You emerge feeling like a new person. The water washes away the feelings of the day, and the coldness in your bones. You emerge feeling like a new person, if not a bit more tired and ready for bed than before.

Neuvillette is true to his words. Your hair drips with water as you peek into the kitchen, only to find him sitting at the table, waiting, with two bowls of soup in front of him.

"Come," he says when you don't move forward. You do as asked, sitting beside him and inhaling the rich aroma of the soup.

You had found here that the food varied greatly from what you were used to in Liyue. It certainly wasn't bad, but it was an adjustment. Even the soup was a bit creamier than you were used to, but you ate it eagerly, allowing it to chase away whatever lingering chills the bath hadn't rid you of.

"I'd like to apologize," Neuvillette starts, his own food barely touched, like it's an afterthought for him.

You tilt your head, exhaustion falling over you from the soup and warmth. "For what?"

He looks embarrassed. It's a rather cute look on the normally stoic man. Neuvillette struggles for words, almost seeming to give the words spoken to you the same value that he gives to the court.

"I was not aware that you were struggling to adjust here, I should have foreseen such an event occurring."

He almost looks upset, suddenly. You understand, at least you think you understand. It must be hard having a wife who couldn't even navigate the city of your home.

"It's okay, I'll do better in the future," you reassure, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder as you stand.

It's the first bit of contact you've had since you were married and he placed a kiss upon your cheek at your parents badgering. He looks a bit annoyed though, so you retract your hand to not make him more uncomfortable.

"That's not what I meant. I meant that I should have been here to help you adjust."

"Oh," you say, honestly confused. "it's alright. You're very important here, I don't want to be a bother when you're so busy."

Your words seem to have the opposite of your intended desire. If anything, he looks more upset, leaving you with a rather sour taste in your mouth.

You seemed to be more of an inconvenience than you had even considered.

You hoped this wouldn't turn into an argument. You were tired from wandering and walking for hours, from being caught out in the rain. You rested your head on your hand, trying to think of something to say.

Before your tired mind could think of anything, Neuvillette sighed, a long suffering thing that sounded much older than he must be.

"You should go to bed."

You don't need to be told twice. You take your dish to the sink, leaving it there to be washed by you in the morning. Neuvillette rises, though it seems more to see you off than to actually leave.

"Good night, y/n," he says quietly, still as upset as before.

"Good night, monsieur Neuvillette."

You fall asleep as soon as you're tucked underneath the covers of your bed. You wonder if it's the bed that you're meant to share with your husband, but he never joins you.

And that's fine with you.

-x-x-x-x-

He's still there, in the morning.

It's a sight that makes you freeze coming out of your bedroom, just able enough to peek down the hall and see him in the same place as last night, at the kitchen table. He holds the paper in his hands, the same one that you've seen just about everyone in Fontaine obsessed with.

Did you wake up early? A quick glance at the time told you no, that in fact you had woken up later than normal. Neuvillette was meant to be long gone by now, off to court.

As though sensing your stare, the paper falls, and startling purple eyes lock onto you.

"Ah, you're awake."

You nod, because what else are you going to do? Neuvillette folds the paper back into its  original shape.

"Let me know when you are ready to leave."

Well, you couldn't say you expected that to happen. You nod after a second, before disappearing to get yourself ready.

While you don't look your best, at least you aren't soaked and shaking. Really, the amount of time that you've spent with Neuvillette could be counted on one hand, and you did not like the thought of one of those times being when you were in such a sorry state.

A little bit later, you were back by Neuvillette, looking at him with nothing short of confusion as he prepares to leave.

Oh, the disappointment aches for a moment. Like a child being promised a treat only to have it taken away.

"Well? Come along then."

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You take a few, tentative steps forward, until he offers you his hand.

You take it, after a moment, brows furrowed with confusion.

"Don't you have court to attend to?" you ask, as he leads you outside.

"I have sent notice that I will be taking today off. I have recently become aware that my wife needs a tour of Fontaine, and I consider that a much more pressing item on my agenda."

Your cheeks color. You can't tell if it's at being called Neuvillette's wife, or from how he doesn't let go of your hand even when you walk outside.

Before you can ask him if he's sure, if he can really take time off, Neuvillette gestures down the street, and begins what has to be one of the most in depth tours of Fontaine to exist.

This time, getting lost in the sights and sounds is fun. Neuvillette explains every building you pass, the history behind it, and what is happening there now. He lets you pull him in random directions when something catches your eye, and answers every question that you can even think of.

It's fun. Neuvillette is well liked by the people, and suddenly that seems to mean you're well liked as well. The food vendors give you free samples, pressing them into your palm and insisting that you take it despite your protests.

Even the Melusine's stop, chatting with you more than Neuvilllette, much to his surprise. He even comments that you know their names, and seems very ashamed when you point out that you've spent more  time with them instead of him.

You feel like you can actually navigate the city, by the time the sun is setting. Your bones ache from the exhaustion that the excitement has left you with. When Neuvillette notices, he starts herding you home, despite your protests.

The last thing you want is for the day to end. Going back to how it was before seems unbearable now that you know how it could be. If Neuvillette knows of your plight, he says nothing of it.

He simply wishes you a good night, and lets you head to bed.

If it's a dream, you hope that you will remember every detail of it.

-x-x-x-x-

Things don't change after that, much to your relief.

Neuvillette stays in the morning, talking with you sometimes. Most of the time he reads, while you make coffee for yourself, and subsequently him. He likes it with two sugars, no milk.

The information feels nice to have. Especially when, on the very, very rare occasions you wake up before him, you can have a hot cup of coffee waiting for him.

The little things before you grow before anything else. Conversations in the morning. Coffee. Neuvillette bringing you home treats that you love, especially the conch madeleines.

There are other things, as well. When you mention missing a certain dish from Liyue, Neuvillette goes out of his way to procure it for you. You're not sure how he manages to do it, but if it means you can get slow cooked bamboo shoot soup whenever you like, then you're happy not to know.

He comes home earlier, as well. As soon as the case is done for the day, it feels like he's on his way to find you. You're happy to do just that, telling him of everything you managed to do during the day, or whatever else is going on in your head that you want to share.

Neuvillette always listens. And he remembers. You mention once, in an off handed comment, about how beautiful you thought the rainbow roses of Fontaine were.

The next day, you woke up to a bouquet of them at your bedside.

You do your best to return the favor, going to collect him at the Opera house when his day is finished.

When you were younger, you read stories of people falling in love instantly, with a single look and it was easy from there.

You think now, as a married woman, that the stories are wrong. Love comes in the small gestures, in the moments spent together.

-x-x-x-x-

It's pouring rain outside. A heavy downpour that has been going on for the last hour.

It's also the time Neuvillette normally comes home, but it doesn't seem that way today. The change in routine throws you off more than you'd like to admit.

You wait another half hour before you grab your cloak, a heavy thing that Neuvillette insisted on buying you so you wouldn't get soaked in the rain any longer, and head out to the Opera House.

You're not too fond of the aquabuses here. They're faster than walking, but something about them feels so awkwardly slow. But with a bit of tension in your shoulders, you bite down the complaints and make small talk with the Melusine piloting the aquabus as you arrive.

Neuvillette only took you over here once, to show you the Fountain of Lucine. You suppose, on another level, it was also to make sure that you knew where the Opera House was in case you needed him and didn't want to get lost.

You're thankful for his planning.

Everyone else has already left, except for a very dedicated couple by the fountain, praying for blessings upon their child. You wonder if someday that will be you, but dismiss the thought with a blush.

It takes you much too long to find Neuvillette. For a man who cuts such an imposing figure, you wander around in the rain looking for him for much longer than needed. Eventually though, you find him at the back of the Opera House, standing in the rain as though he doesn't notice it.

"Neuvillette?" you call, quiet, as to not startle him. It seems you do so anyways, from how he jumps. "Are you alright?"

He nods, but doesn't speak. You reach out to take a gloved hand, everything about him feels cold.

You lead him back home, and he follows you as though he has no mind for anything else. It takes too long to get home but also not enough time. You hold his hand the entire way.

"Was court today rough?" you finally ask, when you're in the security of your shared home. Neuvillette lets out a hum, not agreeing but not disagreeing either.

You usher him to the bathroom to clean himself up, and go to make something warm, when the irony of the situation hits you all at once, because it must have only been a few months ago that Neuvillette did the same thing for you.

It felt nice to have the roles  switched.

 Neuvillette doesn't seem hungry, so you usher him into your own bed, since truthfully you've been suspicious that he's been sleeping on the couch or at his desk in his office to prevent you from feeling uncomfortable.

You sit down, and urge him to lay his head in your lap. You brush your fingers through his slightly damp hair, and you hum a Liyuen lullaby your mother used to sing to you.

Neuvillette never talks about court. You asked him once and only once about it, curious since everyone in Fontaine seemed to think that the cases were some kind of show. But Neuvillette had simply said that it was very usual, and not worth discussing.

At the time, you took him at his word. Now though, you wonder if it's something more.

"I believe an innocent man was sentenced today," Neuvillette says, after a moment. His voice is so soft, you almost can't hear it under the pouring rain outside.

"Is that so?" you ask, a silent prompt. Does he want to continue? Or leave it there?

He sighs after only a second, pressing further against your hand in his hair. Like a cat seeing attention.

"I'm sure it will be resolved soon, I simply need to investigate things more."

You nod, remaining silent. Neuvillette doesn't explain more, but eventually, as his breathing evens out, the rain comes to a stop outside.

You can't bring yourself to move. It would no doubt wake up Neuvillette, and that seemed like the last thing anyone needed. So you settled amongst the pillows, and close your eyes.

If you wake up tomorrow, still close to another and sleepy limbs tangled together, you said nothing of it. Neither does Neuvillette.

After that though, your bed becomes just the bed, and you're not opposed to that at all.

-x-x-x-x-

The Fountain of Lucine ends up being one of your favorite places in Fontaine. Not for any particular reason, you tell yourself, it's simply pretty to look at.

And that's not a lie. It is pretty to look at, and it's fun to visit and listen to expecting parents wish for good things for their children. It was nice to see the sights and sounds without the hustle and bustle of the city.

The first time you end up going out though, you can't say you had the most pleasant experience.

You had gotten the idea in your head, perhaps you were too bored lately, that you should visit Neuvillette at work and bring him lunch. So you packed a small bag, and made the journey.

Only to be stopped at the entrance of the Opera House by one of the gardes.

"Court is in session, no one is allowed in, miss, without a ticket."

Your head tilts to the side, truly puzzled. A ticket? People bought tickets to court, as though it was a show?

"I'm not going to see the court, I came to drop something off for Neuvillette," you explain to the man, holding up the small box.

The man eyes it with a bit of suspicion, and part of you almost wants to ask if he really thinks you've poisoned it. Another part of you is sure that if you ask, you will absolutely get accused of that.

"That's nice, miss, but you still can't go in. I'm sure you know monsieur Neuvillette has many admirers, and we can't stop court simply because you wish to give him a gift."

Wow. You weren't even sure how to unpack that. You crossed your arms over your chest, not budging.

"I am his wife, here to bring him lunch. Do you want to explain to Neuvillette tomorrow about how you banned his wife from visiting him.?"

The man, you still haven't even gotten his name yet, isn't looking at you any more. He's looking behind you, a look of mild panic on his face.

Oh, this was going to be just like one of those soap operas back in Liyue, wasn't it? You knew without looking who was going to be there.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" he said, giving the salute of Fontaine. "I was just telling this young woman that we do not allow visitors during court."

"That is true," Neuvillette says, you can almost hear a bit of smile in his voice. "However, I think I can make an exception for my wife. Thank you though, I will handle it from here."

The man scurries away before you can say anything. If he had a tail, it would have been between his legs.

"I think you scared him," you said, turning to your husband.

You ignore your racing heart at hearing Neuvillette call you his wife for the first time. You couldn't stop the smile from spreading on your face though.

"I think if anyone scared him between the two of us, my dear, it was you," he muses, and yes, it is amusement you can hear in his voice.

You two stand there, smiling at each other for a moment before you remember just why you made the journey out here.

"Oh, I brought you lunch." You place the small package in his hand. "I'm sure you're busy here and I wanted to make sure you were eating. I didn't know I needed a ticket to get inside. How did you know I was here?"

"Ah, Aeife told me you had arrive, and I suspected that you would encounter a problem."

He gestures to the side, and sure enough, the small Melusine is there. She gives you a wave before going back to skipping and offering help to those who need it

"She's sweet."

"She is," Neuvillette agrees. "I think most of them like you more than me."

"Who wouldn't like me?"

The smile Neuvillette gives you almost makes you blush, but you barely manage to get a hold of yourself.

"Yes, they'd be fools not to like you."

And now you were blushing. You gently swatted Neuvillette's arm, and only received a chuckle for your antics.

"Thank you," Neuvillette says, genuinely. "I must return now, but I appreciate the thought."

A tiny sliver of disappointment ran through you, but you pushed it down, nodding your head. "Of course, of course. Don't let me keep you. Off you go now."

You made a little shooing motion, the smile on your face letting him know you were simply teasing. But he didn't leave.

"Any time you wish to come and see me, there will always be a ticket waiting for you at the booth." He gestures to the sales booth, which very much looked closed, but you didn't say that. "I'll be sure to tell you the next time Lyney and Lynette do their show."

You visibly perked up, which gained you a small chuckle. You hadn't been shy about saying you wanted to see the show, though apparently it was impossible to find tickets to it.

"Thank you, I'll be sure to take you up on that."

You stood up on your tip toes, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. He seems surprised at the touch, but after a moment manages to compose himself, saying a quick goodbye before returning to work.

Aefie tugged at your skirt, a gentle motion almost as soft as a breeze. You knelt down to her level, allowing her to whisper in your ear.

"Thank you for making Neuvillette so happy."

-x-x-x-x-

You fell a lot, as a child, as all children do.

Scraped knees and bruised elbows. What is childhood without a few injuries? Without those precious moments that make them realize oh, sometimes life has pain.

The first time you heard of the concept of "falling in love" you had thought it was like that. Falling on the ground and bruising your knees.

Now though, you think it is something else. Like the feeling of falling into a warm bed at the end of a long day.

Neuvillette is already in bed tonight, laying on his side facing where you normally lay. You tip toe over to the bed, just in case he's already fallen asleep.

He hasn't though, and your eyes meet his vivid purple ones as you lay down, facing him as well.

"I thought you were asleep," you murmur. Tentatively, you reached for him, only to have him meet you halfway. Your fingers laced together with his.

"I was waiting for you."

Such a simple declaration is enough to make you blush. A year of marriage and he still managed to make you blush.

"I'm here now."

Something changes in his eyes, and he looks at you, so, so, fond. "You are here."

You both lay there, either unwilling or unable to fall asleep, feeling so close but somehow still so far away. It's one of the nights when the rain isn't falling. When you first came to Fontaine, it felt as though the rain never stopped, but now it's only occasionally.

"You never answered my question, you know."

Neuvillette frowns for a moment, thinking. You take pity on him before he can worry if he made you upset.

"I asked if you were kind," you murmur, gentle.

It felt like ages ago, talking to a stranger without knowing who they were. Neuvillette looks at you, waiting, knowing you weren't finished.

You had been so worried about everything. And though Sedene had told you, you didn't know if you could believe it or not.

"And what have you found?" Neuvillette asks. His voice is small, as though he's actually afraid of how you might answer.

You don't hesitate.

"You are," you whisper. You inch closer, knees brushing against his own. "You are so, so kind."

He kisses you. Lips sliding against your own, slotting there as though they were meant to be there. And desperately, with almost a full year of longing in you, you kiss back.

You're breathless by the time that he pulls back. He looks the same, and for the first time you see a small blush on his cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, a reverent noise just for you.

You smile, leaning in to kiss him again.

"I love you too."

[jo6hny]

Guilty Pleasure - Hazel Callahan

Pairing: College student! Hazel Callahan x College student! Reader 

Contains: fluff, kissing, something more than kissing, reader and hazel being referred to as a girl, drunk sylvie, reader and hazel are in a situationship (oh no), freddy fazbear and fnaf mention

Summary: Based on this request.

Word Count: 2.18K

A/N: long time no post omg. sorry, i got caught up with work :( !! but i’ll still be writing and fulfilling requests. it'll just be very slooooow. tysm for all the support!!

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The sound of keys jingling breaks the silence of the once silent and unoccupied dorm room. 

“That was sooo fuckin’ crazy” Sylvie says. Her words are slurred as she continues to yap about the party her, Hazel, and you were previously at. After having one too many drinks, the both of you decided to let the drunk girl crash over at yours and Hazel’s shared dorm room. 

“Alright buddy, let’s get you tucked into bed.” Hazel says, letting her best friend crash on her bed on the left side of the room. The distinction between your side and hers was clear as day. No one would mistake one for the other. Hazel’s had different kinds of band posters on her wall, funko pops on her shelves, and five nights at Freddy’s plushies on her dark sheeted bed. You, on the other hand, liked keeping things clean and minimal with cream colored sheets and one rabbit plushie. 

Tension arises between the two of you once Sylvie is tucked into bed. It is here that you both realize that one of you is without a place to sleep. It’s not like you wouldn’t mind sharing with Hazel if it were any other day, but you weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now. 

The two of you had gotten into an argument at the party after Hazel wasn’t sure what to introduce you as to people she knew. She couldn’t settle between friend, roommate, or almost but not quite a girlfriend. It made you feel ashamed, if you were being honest. You didn’t want to be in this situation. Not knowing what stood between the two of you. Though, you did admit that the both of you were living in a bubble. A sweet, non committal and casual bubble. No one knows what goes on between the two of you except, well, the both of you. So a part of you understood her hesitancy when she introduced you, but a part of you also wanted her to take the reins and just shout out what she wanted you to be. 

“So…” The brunette mumbled, balancing herself between her toes and the balls of her feet. 

“It’s not like we have a choice.” You said, sighing. You’d stepped out of the way as a gesture for her to get in your bed. 

Hazel’s demeanor lightened. She must have thought that you were over the incident at the party (you were not). The brunette changes into sleepwear before making herself comfortable on your bed. She’s done this hundreds of times before so there’s no shame or second thoughts in her body as she takes up the space she believes is hers. The space that was next to you.

You do the same as her and change into something more comfortable before slipping into bed beside her. Your body betrays your soured feelings as it relaxes when your skin meets hers. It was automatic nowadays, the feeling of relief that washed over you whenever you were near Hazel. The brunette faces you and drapes her arm around you as she always does. 

“You looked really pretty tonight.” Hazel whispered, not risking waking Sylvie up. The brunette was anything but asleep and you could tell by the tone of her voice. She was gaging your reaction. 

“Just tonight?” You reply teasing her. 

A smile spreads across your lover’s dimly lit face. If it weren’t for Hazel’s night light, the room would have been pitch black. Thank god for Freddy Fazbear the night light. 

“Always.” She reassures, a dimple poking out of her cheek. Hazel looked charming under the dim lights. Her eyes sparkled and her hair ever so soft. It was no wonder that you fell for her charms. The charms which compel you to bare your heart out despite the disappointments you’ve suffered, that is. 

A visible frown forms on your face as you recall once again why you two were at odds. Hazel sees this and her eyebrows furrow in worry. She takes the arm that was draped around you and relocates her hand towards your face to caress it. 

“I’m sorry.” Hazel says apologetically. You knew that she meant it. Hazel was rarely malicious and even if she was, it was always in a teasing manner. She was the most pure hearted person you’ve ever met, which is why you felt bad about what you did next. 

“About what?” You asked, teasing. It was rare that your lover is the one apologizing, most of the time it was you. Taking on this rare opportunity, you decide to egg Hazel’s conscience further. 

“You know…” She trails off, avoiding eye contact but maintaining her hand on your cheek. Her thumb was caressing your cheek in a windshield like manner which signified that she was fidgeting. 

Fighting off a smile, you put on your best frown and puppy dog eyes. You wondered how long it would take the brunette to realize that you were joking. Most of the time, the jokes flew over her head. She had a knack of not detecting sarcasm and you found it endearing. 

“I don’t know, Hazel.” You sigh, slightly shrugging of the hand on your cheek. The blue eyed girl was visibly getting frustrated by the second. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her big blue eyes were the roundest it had ever been. 

“I’m sorry for not telling people what we are.” She admitted. You held in a gasp, you didn’t expect her to admit her fault outright. You were expecting a much whinier version of the woman beside you but right now you were faced with a visibly apologetic lover. The thought made your heart ache. 

“Hazel,” You sighed, taking the hand on your cheek with your own. “It’s okay.” 

She shakes her head in disagreement. A frown formed on her lips. She looked close to crying. 

“It’s not. I should’ve told them we were together.” She protested, squeezing your hand. 

“Are you sure?. I feel like you liked it when that sorority girl flirted with you.” Teasing, you interlock your fingers with her. No matter how guilty you felt, it was undeniably fun to tease your lover just a little bit. 

“I didn’t. I swear! I only like you.” She exclaimed, now holding both of your hands. The last part of her sentence was whispered but loud enough for you to catch on. 

A smile forms on your face and a warmth felt on your cheeks. You looked at your lover with much endearment and love.Hazel was nothing but pure. Her love for you had always shone and she’d never made you feel mad or sad or anything negative. Hazel’s was a love you’d never experienced with anyone else before. 

“I guess I only acted like that because I saw how Isabel looked at you.” Hazel said. Your heart drops at her revelation and you’re quick to dismiss her. Unbeknownst to you, Hazel was sporting a mischievous glint in her eyes. The same one she noticed that you had. She’d been able to notice whenever you were teasing nowadays. She noticed how your tone fluctuated, like it always does when you’re joking. And she noticed how you tried to stop yourself from smirking but the tips of your mouth would still turn upwards. All this she picked up because Hazel always took mental notes on you; observed you. 

“What? No-” You interjected, flailing your arms. “Isabel and I are just friends. Plus she has Josie, Haze!” 

“Are you sure? Because the hug you shared seemed a bit intimate.” She said, copying the tone you carried when you presented the same idea. She was toying with you and found it amusing how now you were the one who was panicking. 

“Hazel,” You grabbed her face gently to demand all her focus on you. “I would’ve kissed you in that sweaty house of people for everyone to see.” 

Now it was Hazel’s turn to blush. She could physically feel herself turning red, she imagined what she’d look like. Deciding to be brave and continue on flirting, Hazel encourages you further. 

“And why didn’t you?” She asked, her eyebrow raising. She looked at you with much anticipation, she wanted your lips on hers more than anything else. The desire to kiss and hold you is embedded in her person. Nothing else made her the happiest. 

“Because..I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to.” You mutter, avoiding eye contact. 

“I want to. You can do it right now.” Hazel said quickly and without hesitancy. 

Smiles form from both of you which cascade into giggles. Hazel’s blue eyes turn into crescent moons as her smile reaches her eyes. You could slightly see her countenance being tinted red, signaling to you that she had been flustered with the exchange.

The laughter dies down and all there’s left is tension between the both of you.The silence between you was palpable, the tension thick. You didn’t know why you felt shy now. Too shy to steal a kiss from your lover's lips like you always did. Your hands were still on her face, gently stroking it with your thumb. You imagined that the two of you looked like a couple of rags after a wild night out and yet, Hazel looked ethereal. You reckon that her face could launch a thousand ships as Helen did. 

“You look really beautiful, Haze.” You whisper, trying to shake off the nerves that suddenly appeared. It felt like the time you two first kissed. How the air was so thick and it felt like you were suffocating. The only solution was to put your lips on hers and kiss like her being held oxygen. You remember how you fantasized about how you would finally kiss her, running through so many situations in your head to prepare you only for it to happen on a random afternoon. 

Hazel smiled, the dimple on her cheek appearing. 

“You look beautiful too.You really always do. I mean it.” 

“That’s the alcohol talking.” You retaliate. Compliments never came easy to you, especially not from someone you adored. 

“I didn’t even drink that much. I was too busy looking out for…” She trailed, her gaze landing upon the bed next to yours. 

You laugh at this, following Hazel’s gaze to see that Sylvie had her mouth open as she slept. She also somehow found one of Hazel’s plushies and was snuggling it which earned a look of disdain from her. 

“She’s gonna deform him.” She says with concern. This makes you smile wider than you already had. 

Stroking her face, you decide to kiss her. Your heart couldn’t handle it anymore and it felt like it would burst with all the love and adoration it was holding. Hazel’s lips were sweet, which told you that she drank one of those liquor the sorority sisters made that was full of candy. You made a mental note to point it out to her later. But now, you were focused on the task at hand and that was kissing Hazel so much til your head felt dizzy. 

One of your hands loosen from her face and find their way to her hair. Hazel groans at the action, putting her hands on your neck in return. After what felt like a sweet eternity of kissing, the brunette takes it further by disconnecting her lips from yours and planting it down on your neck. You whimper at the feeling of her lips on yours and grip her hair tighter. 

“Mmmh head hurts!” 

A groaning Sylvie makes the both of you jump, fully forgetting that you had another person in the room. A smile is shared between you and your lover. You’d both silently agreed that you should sleep instead of fucking in case Sylvie actually wakes up. 

Settling back into your bed, Hazel takes it upon herself to position her body on top of yours and bury her neck on your face. You could physically feel her sniffing you. 

“Are you done sniffing me or do you need a little bit more time there?” You ask, wrapping your arms around her. She laughs at your comment and lifts her head up. 

“Can’t I smell my girlfriend? Is that too much to ask?” She asks, feigning sadness in her voice. 

You raise one of your eyebrows at Hazel’s reply, taking note of what she just called you. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” 

“Yup.” She nods, giving you a smile. “Unless you don’t want to, which is totally cool.” 

You shake your head frantically, earning another laugh from your girlfriend. Hazel situates her face back onto the crook of your neck and plants a small kiss. Your heart flutters at the gesture. This was it. You were finally officially together and it happened because Sylvie was forced to sleep on her side of the bed because of poor alcoholic decisions. You had to thank her in the morning, surely. But for now, you’d tighten your hold on Hazel and relish in her body heat. 

“Goodnight, Haze.” 

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tags: @academiareid <33

[thegettingbyp2]

"let's make a fucking baby" for hotch 😍

Let's Make a Fucking Baby

A/N: Okay so this one got away from me so it's almost 2k words but I loved writing it so so much!!

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You were sitting at the desk in Aaron’s home office, your laptop opened in front of you as your fingers flew over the keys. You were currently in the process of writing your second novel and you were getting impatient. No matter what you wrote, at the end of every day when you’d look over what you’d written, you weren’t happy; your ideas weren’t translating onto paper well at all. You hadn’t realised the time, until you heard the sound of your husband clearing his throat from the doorway, drawing your attention to him.

‘You’re back!’ you exclaimed, jumping out of your seat and running over to him, wrapping your arms around him. He’d been away on a case for the past two weeks and to say that you missed him would be a massive understatement. ‘I missed you,’ you said, your voice muffled in his suit jacket.

‘I missed you too, baby,’ he replied warmly, holding you tightly to him, neither of you wanting to let the other go. However, you figured that you should probably get back to writing. You reluctantly pulled away from his embrace, intertwining your fingers with his and practically dragging him over to the desk, sitting back down as he sat lightly on the arm of his chair, one of his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leant down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

‘How was the case?’ you asked as your eyes returned to your laptop screen and you began typing again.

‘And it made me think of…are you listening to me?’ Aaron cut himself off, amusement colouring his voice as he realised that you were only making non-committal sounds, a clear indication that you weren’t quite paying attention to what he was saying.

‘What? Of course I’m listening,’ you insisted, quickly drawing your eyes away from your screen to look at him. ‘You were saying that you caught the guy in,’ you were cut off my Aaron’s laugh and his lips landing on yours gently.

‘That’s what I said about five minutes ago, my love. How long have you been sitting here?’ he asked, gesturing to your set up at his desk.

‘Not too long,’ you replied quickly.

‘(Y/N),’ his tone turned to concern as he really took in how tired you looked. ‘When was the last time you slept?’

‘I’ve had a couple of hours here and there.’

‘Baby, you can’t just sit in front of your laptop all day, you need to take care of yourself,’ he scolded, cupping your jaw with his hand and running his thumb over your cheek, smiling softly when you nuzzled into his touch.

‘I was kind of hoping that you would take care of me?’ you asked, fluttering your eyes up at your husband, watching as his eyes darkened.

‘How about,’ he began, pulling you out of the seat until you were standing in-between his legs, his arms wrapped around your waist. ‘You let me finish what I was saying, then I can take care of you,’ he murmured, lowering his head to your neck, pressing a soft but firm kiss to your pulse, your fingers digging into his shoulders, making a smirk appear on his lips.

‘Okay,’ you whispered breathily.

Raising his head, he looked into your eyes before speaking. ‘Let’s have a baby.’

‘Excuse me?’ you spluttered, that phrase being the last thing you’d expected to come from his mouth. Sure, the two of you had spoken about starting a family now that you were married, but you weren’t expecting him to want it so quickly.

‘I want to have a baby with you,’ he continued, ‘there was a couple at the station earlier that were pregnant and it made me think. I want that. Most importantly, I want that with you. We can go nursery shopping, buy anything you want for it, I’ll go out a stupid times at night just because you crave something really weird. What do you say?’ You looked into the eyes of your husband, tears forming in yours as you listened to what he said and realised that that was exactly what you wanted.

You nodded quickly, pulling him down to press his lips to yours. ‘Let’s make a baby,’ you said as a tear slipped down your cheek.

‘Let’s make a fucking baby,’ he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding up your legs until he reached the waistband of the joggers that you were wearing, hooking his fingers in them and pulling them down your legs, groaning when he realised that you weren’t wearing any underwear. ‘Am I going to get the same surprise up here?’ he asked, tugging on his t-shirt that you were wearing.

‘I guess you’ll have to find out,’ you said, smirking at him, giving him his answer. In a flash, the t-shirt was discarded on the floor and you were standing completely naked in front of your fully-clothed husband. ‘Well, I don’t think this is very fair,’ you said, pouting slightly as your fingers make quick work of his tie and the buttons on his shirt, leaving it hanging open, revealing his bare chest to you.

Before you could slide the shirt off of his shoulders, Aaron reached down to grip the backs of your legs and lifting you to sit on the edge of the desk before sinking to his knees in front of you. ‘Did I tell you how much I missed you?’ he mumbled, looking up at you from between your legs; a sight that had your legs attempting to close in order to get some kind of friction.

‘You may have mentioned it,’ you whimpered breathlessly as you felt his lips start a trail up your inner thigh, skipping over where you needed him most and repeating his actions up your other thigh. ‘Aaron,’ you whined, trying to shift your body closer to him.

He grinned against your thigh, chuckling softly at your quiet yelp as he gently bit your skin before moving his head to finally run his tongue up your pussy, your head tipping back instantly at the contact. His lips wrapped around your clit and began to suckle softly as two of his fingers gently pushed into you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair in an attempt you ground yourself as you felt yourself quickly rushing towards the edge.

‘You’re close already, baby, did you miss me that much?’

‘Yes,’ you spoke quickly, ‘I missed you so bad, Aaron!’

‘Go on, baby,’ he said with a crook of his fingers inside you, ‘cum for me.’ The crook of his fingers paired with his words sent you flying over the edge as you cried out, Aaron’s tongue helping you ride your climax out until he pulled away to watch your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. ‘You okay?’ he asked, running his thumb along your thigh.

You managed a breathless nod as he slipped his shirt off of his body and stepped between your legs once again. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him down to crash his lips against yours, whimpering against his lips when you could taste yourself on his tongue. ‘I need you,’ you whined, trailing your fingers down his chest to swiftly undo his belt.

‘You have me, my love, always,’ Aaron crooned in your ear. After dating for six years and approaching your first wedding anniversary, you would have thought you’d have gotten used to the things he’d say but you were slowly accepting the fact that you never would. Aaron’s fingers wrapped around your ankles, untangling your legs from around his waist just long enough to give him time to kick his trousers and underwear to the side of the room before letting you wrap around him once again as he pushed into you.

The moment you felt his hips press against yours, you felt yourself melt against his body, trusting his arms to come around and keep you safe as he slowly started to thrust in and out of you. ‘Still want that baby?’ he asked, a shiver running down your spine at his words.

‘Please,’ you replied, looking at him without a hint of doubt in your eyes and he felt his heart clench in his chest at the way you were looking at him; he never thought that he’d have the privilege of being loved by someone like you, yet here you were.

‘You might want to hold on tight then,’ he said and he felt your arms wrap around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. As soon as he made sure you were comfortable, he started to move his hips at a faster, rougher pace, the air being pushed from your lungs with every thrust. You buried your head in his neck and gently bit down on his shoulder, pulling a hiss from his lips and his hips hitting against yours even harder.

‘You’ll look so beautiful pregnant,’ Aaron whispered into your ear, a stark contrast to the way his hips were hitting yours. ‘So beautiful walking around with a bump and people are going to know that you’re mine, that you let me give you a baby.’

A mix between a whine and a moan escaped your lips at his words and you felt your walls clench around his cock, causing his pace to stutter at the feeling of you fitting around him.

‘Want your baby, Aaron,’ you managed to say between thrusts as his hand made its way down your body to flick at your clit, sending your hurtling into your second orgasm, the way your body tensed making him still against you as his own orgasm hit. He held his hips tightly against yours as you felt him coat your walls. As you both began to come down, your head moved from its position on his shoulder to rest at an awkward angle on his chest, your eyes fluttering closed.

‘Come on, baby,’ you heard Aaron speak up in the now quiet room, ‘let’s go get you cleaned up and get to bed.’ The moment you felt him make to pull out of you, your legs tightened around his waist again.

‘Not yet,’ you mumbled, not having realised how tired you’d been while he was gone. ‘Can we just stay like this for a bit?’

Aaron’s answering chuckle caused a warm glow to spread through your body as he lifted your head to kiss you. ‘Can I at least take us to the bedroom so we’re comfier?’

You nodded sleepily at him and he let you rest your head back on his shoulder before he lifted you off of the desk, cradling your body against his, still inside you as he made his way through the house to your bedroom.

‘Do you think it worked?’

‘What was that, my love?’ he asked as he laid you on the bed, reluctantly pulling out so he could clean you up and join you.

‘The baby. Do you think it worked?’

Aaron couldn’t keep the grin off of his face at the thought of you wanting a baby with him as much as he wanted one with you. Flicking the light switch off, he crawled under the covers until he had you cradled in his arms again. ‘I hope so,’ he murmured in your ear as you drifted off to sleep. ‘And if not, we can always try again.’

[jokeringcutio]

would you ever write for TDK joker? craving something reader/ledger joker - would you ever write for him? maybe she asks to see him without his makeup and she’s totally dazzled by him, tells him how beautiful he is, touches his scars gently (I mean, he is heath ledger with some scars without it, so it tracks😍😅) and he softens

Yes. (Short Drabble follows below:)

Rating: Mature? No Explicit Smut (yet). Just some loveliness. ~*~

You watched from the shadowed corner of the hide-out, the dim light flickering across the Joker's slouched silhouette as he shuffled in. Exhaustion hung on him like one of his tailored jackets, shoulders sagging, his chaotic day etched into every line of his body.

"Rough day?" Your voice cut through the stillness, a blade wrapped in velvet.

He grunted, a non-committal sound that vibrated against the peeling walls. He faced away from you, hands reaching up to smear away the clownish facade with a stained cloth, movements slow and deliberate. The smeared white gave way to tired skin beneath, the green paint-streaked water darkening the basin.

"Chaos reigns," he murmured, the words almost lost as he wiped the last vestige of makeup from around those sleep-deprived eyes, revealing the man beneath the monster.

You stepped closer, the space between you charged with an electric current. The air felt thicker as your gaze traced the contours of his face – yellow teeth, the sallow skin, the embodiment of neglect. No wonder he had never dared to show you his face before, how he kept himself hidden from both you and the rest of the world.

A shame, really. The rest of the world was missing out.

Seeing his unmasked visage, there was something painfully human about him that took your breath away.

"Joker..." It wasn't just a name; it was a revelation, whispered with a reverence that surprised even yourself. "You're beautiful."

The word clung to the damp air, a truth laid bare. You saw him, truly saw him beyond the chaos. Not just the demon that the world portrayed him as, but someone who touched upon the divine. There was beauty in his darkness, a captivating allure in the raw edges of his insanity.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the agent of chaos stood still under your gaze, the world outside the decrepit walls of the hide-out fading into nothingness.

Your hand reached out, tentative as a whisper. Fingertips grazed the jagged landscape of his scars, grotesque and tender all at once. The touch was featherlight, tracing the history written in his flesh, the story of a smile carved by brutality.

He softened.

“Why hide this from me?” The words came out in a breathless whisper.

The wordless exhale of breath, a silent surrender. There, in the dim light, the Joker's eyes flickered with something unnamable. Not joy, not peace. A flicker of humanity amidst the turmoil.

"Liar,” he breathed, the sound a caress against the stillness.

"Beautiful," came the echo of your own voice from moments before, now reflected at you in his voice. His hand lifted, the gesture slow, purposeful. Cold fingertips danced across your cheek, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming within you.

Laughter bubbled up, nervous, shy. Your heart a staccato against ribs. You let him draw you nearer, his grip ghostly on your hand.

He was touching your face with such reverence, studying you with his darkening gaze. It made you feel like jelly under his touch. He had called you beautiful before, but this time, to hear it as an echo of your own words, felt wrong. You were no liar. You’d spoken the truth.

Joker was, without anything to hide behind, beautiful. The most beautiful man you ever saw.

His lips met your palm. Scar tissue, rough and uneven, pressed into your skin. A delicious shiver coiled down your spine, your core pulsing with desire.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his gaze holding yours captive. And in that look, the world tilted, madness and sanity blurring into a heady mix.

"Joker..." Your voice faltered, drowned in the intensity of his eyes.

"Shh," he silenced you, the sound soft as the brush of moth wings. "Just feel."

And you did. You felt everything.

You trembled, the room's chill a stark contrast to the fever in your veins. "Make love to me," you whispered, the words a loaded gun.

He didn't speak, actions speaking volumes as he moved with a predator's grace. Clothes discarded, whispers of fabric falling to the floor. A hush before the storm.

Your bodies collided, a crash of thunder in the silence. His hands, commanding, insistent, mapped every inch of you, claiming territory. You arched into him, a willing conquest, the world reduced to the space where skin met skin.

Passion flared, raw, and unbridled. Each movement was a sentence in the story you wrote together, punctuated by gasps and moans. The Joker – no longer a specter of chaos but a man ablaze with desire - moved with a singular purpose.

You clawed at the sheets, each breath a plea, each touch a promise. He complied, a give and take that danced on the knife-edge of madness and euphoria.

And then, stillness.

Afterward, you lay entwined, a tangle of limbs and labored breaths. The silence was delicate, a gossamer thread weaving through the aftermath.

"Did you ever imagine..." your voice drifted, a feather on the wind.

"Imagine?" he echoed, his chest rumbling with a low chuckle.

"Us. Like this." Your fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, daring to explore the man beneath the monster.

"Never," he admitted, the word almost lost between you. "Chaos doesn't plan."

"Yet here we are," you mused, the irony not lost on you.

"Here we are," he agreed, his eyes searching yours for a truth you hadn't spoken.

"Will you show me your face more often?" you asked tentatively, seeking his eyes.

"Why would you want that?" The question hung in the air, a thin veneer over deeper inquiries.

"Like I said,"  you whispered. “Beautiful.”

A grin curled his lips, the scars uncurling like the petals of a flower. Gorgeous, your mind provided.

“If your reaction will always be as intense as this, I just might.”

"Good." A simple affirmation, yet it carried the weight of worlds colliding.

"Good," he repeated, tucking you closer to him.

The kiss he placed on top of your head felt like heaven. ~ AN: I haven't been well enough, but once I am, I definitely want to write more for this man. I love his little insane ticks, the licking of his lips, all his mannerisms. Definitely would love to write more about him. But to everyone who didn't get the memo, I am ill (it isn't a flu or a broken leg or something that will go away on its own, it won't go away in a few days, it needs treatment and possibly surgery and time, so keep your fingers crossed that everything will end well so I can write more for all of you lovelies out there.) ♡

[utterlyvertigo]

A Mother’s Intuition…

“Surprise, my lady!” The sarcastic undertone gave Rio the air of wanting to be pummelled into the leaves. Agatha ripped the flower from her hand and slung it onto the road’s murky floor. Agatha went to scream, but it was interrupted by a low rumbling from the earth. Jen was the first to notice a hand, it grasped at Rio’s ankle. She audibly yelped and jumped back. The hand was bony, but youthful, its nails overdue a new coat of polish. The figure who pulls herself up appeared to be young, somewhere older than "Teen", yet clearly younger than Alice. “You bitch!” Agatha screamed upon recognising the figure, and she dove towards Rio, only to be held back by the rest of the coven, pleading desperately for Agatha to stay calm.

Rio picks the dropped flower up and offers a hand up to the girl. In what was likely an attempt to soften the blow of the situation, the girl addresses the rest of the coven. “I suppose two heads are better than one?” Agatha wasn’t soothed, she was agape. Then washed with emotion. Agatha took the girl into her arms. “Cassandra.” She greeted. Mere seconds later, she strode off in a tantrum.

“I thought you’d said she gave up her child?” Teen whispered to Jen, his tone unintentionally accusatory. “She gave her son up. That’s her daughter. Nobody touches a hair on that girls head. I have no idea why she’s here, what she’s doing.” Jen muttered back. “I… I’m gonna go check on Agatha.

Agatha was a good few boot strides further than expected, attempting to rein in her fury. “The… dangerous and charismatic lady is back. Are you okay…?” Teen asked, tentatively. “She has my daughter. You do the maths!” Agatha snipped. “Nobody "has" me. I’m not a puppy.” Cassandra stated. She’d taken it on herself to follow the boy, seeing as there was nought better to do. They couldn’t progress until Agatha had calmed down. Agatha sighed. “I know that! But did you really have to go to her?” She hissed, sounding remarkably like an oversized toddler requiring a nap.

“You said you’d come find me. After Westview. You never came! You threw me halfway across New Jersey and you never came back.” Cassandra accused, “I went to who I could! And it would have been nice to know who my other parent was seeing as she’s-” “Stop.” Agatha silenced. “She’s what?” Teen asked. Agatha didn’t respond. She kept walking, and the rest of the coven followed suit, Rio skipping happily along, as though this wasn’t some omen of doom. Cassandra knew better than to chase after her mother during a mood like this, so she hung back, letting Teen be the firewall.

Lilia, Alice and Jen had been hanging back too, staying a distance between the others, because of the palpable tension. “Hi…” Cassandra said, laced with clear awkwardness. Jen was the first to mutter a non committal “Hello” back. “So you’re Lilia, Jennifer and Alice, aren’t you?” She questioned. Alice perked up, “How do you know that?” She asked. “Leggings, Lawsuit and your Mother.” Cassandra admitted, respectively gesturing to each witch. “I’m Cassandra… by the way.” She added.

“Ace of Cups.” Lilia muttered.

“Pardon?” Cassandra asked. “She does that sometimes. We don’t really know why. Or where she goes.” Alice whispered, with a kind smile. That didn’t much help, but Cassandra had a feeling questioning anything on the road would end up with the same lack of understanding. So she just nodded.

And they went down down down the road.

————

Hey gang! Whilst we wait for the poll to decide which chapter of lore we’re learning about next, I’ll leave both options in the drafts and give you this little bit of writing. Hope you love it xx

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter 6

Word Count: 1500+ words

Warnings: none really, shorter chapter if this sucks ik I'm sorry

Let it be known, I am not a morning person. I much prefer calm, cool nights to early mornings because I get my best work done in the dark. The only downside to Wakanda for me is its seemingly eternal mornings that blaze like fire. That being said, the only thing that can get me out of bed early if I’m not expected at the airport or a conference is breakfast. Crispy, golden plantains, cornmeal porridge, and juicy mango could wake me up from a casket. I could have these little pleasures imported when I’m not home, but it just doesn’t taste the same when I make it myself. Honestly, nothing will put me back into those jelly sandals, swinging my feet watching my mother cook from the countertop, sneaking scalding plantain whenever she turned her back, so I’ve just stopped trying.

This morning, I woke up at around eleven A.M. to all of the windows in my room open. The sudden light was jarring, but like being baptised as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and almost trip out of my blankets. The wet season was kind enough to give me a little breeze to recalibrate my nervous system after sleeping so hard. Jetlag usually wasn’t so bad for me, as long as I got ahead of it by sleeping early, but last night, that was absolutely not an option. Bucky seemed nice enough, and I’m sure he’ll be professional, but something in me felt too uneasy to sleep.

 Yes, he wasn’t my choice and I can’t get away from him, but I can’t help but feel a little unfaithful to King T’Chaka. I shook Bucky’s hand. Why did I smile back at him? Where do I draw the line between acting cordial and being a renegade? And why am I smelling bacon?

“Good morning, Griot. What’s the weather like?”

Griot replies instantly, rattling on about the UV index and the sixty percent chance of rain as I throw pillows on the bed. He brightens the bathroom as soon as I step a slipper in, and as much as I try to get ready as slowly as I usually do, the idea that something… new, something different was waiting for me did put a little pep in my step. Flowing down the hallway in a dress that was simple, but certainly not plain, and a lighter matching robe, I can hear the sizzles of meat and the microwave turning. Bucky’s back is turned to me, and he hums a sweet song like he slept like a baby. In a thin blue henley, his shoulders and broad back shift as he flips whatever he’s got in a pan, and the pale skin of his nape is spotted with freckles.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/n.” He greets me without turning around, which might be for the best because I don’t need to be confronted with whatever muscles are showing through that shirt.

I hum in reply, turning a mango in my left hand, and then sniffing it closely. Almost ripe.

“Are you cooking an American breakfast?” Even after I move around the wide island, he still looks massive up close. “If so, I really like bacon. But no runny eggs, unless I’m having eggs benedict. And I prefer goat cheese in an omelet.” I can see from his left side, the corners of his mouth lift before he snaps them back down to keep up some front. Is it too forward to be teasing him so soon?

  “Ah, sort of American. There are no eggs, especially no runny ones, and pancakes.” He gestures to the plate of misshapen rounds of gold. Some are a little darker than others, with a deep brown crust at the border. “Bacon’s in the oven.” A towel dangles from one shoulder as he tries to flip a pancake in the pan. So far, it just slides across the surface.

“Sounds delicious. I don’t think I’ve had a real, home cooked breakfast since before the Outreach program was handed over from T’Challa.”

Bucky twists the corners of his mouth in a non committal way. “Well, don’t get too excited yet, I don’t even know if this will do it justice.” He finally flips the pancake and shuffles through the cabinets, on a search for something. “Plates?”

“In the corner cabinet at the bottom.” I reply pointing somewhere in the room. He gets the gist and pulls out two plates. “So, what are the plans for tomorrow, seeing as you’ll probably be… Sparring while I’m gone?”

He chuckles lowly like I said something else funny. I don’t really appreciate the sentiment of my comedy, or the thought of a random man in my house without me there. 

“To Belgium?” He asks with a smirk.

“Yes, where else? I have a high profile ambassador’s conference to attend there, and I don’t mind you sleeping at my house if you have to, but you will absolutely not be dicking around without me here.”

All of a sudden, he swallows his smiles and the glee shines through his eyes, almost taunting me. With a Cheshire-like smile, it takes him a while to look away. “Y’know, you’re a funny lady.”

“What’s funny about you eating up all of my plums?”

“I won’t be able to, with you and Griot watching like hawks. But, I’m also coming with you to Belgium.”

I know. Damn it. He confirms the hard truth for me, and I can’t do anything but sigh at my halfhearted attempt at a peaceful trip. “I’m working as your bodyguard, sweetheart. I’m not just some loafer.”

I stare at him, still holding the spatula, giving me an incredulous look like he didn’t just call me sweetheart, which I’m sure is not a part of being a bodyguard. And is he wearing color contacts? How is such a sharp shade of blue so easy to be swallowed up in? The oven roars, snapping me out of the strange, uncharacteristic stupor.

 “And I’m not just your sweetheart, Barnes. You need to be packed in two hours.” I answer to his turned back, retrieving the bacon.

“Got it, doll.” Bast, help this man. His insolence knows no bounds. 

I quickly grab a plate, the lone pancake he’s made, and about 5 pieces of bacon as soon as he drops it on the plate. It looks a little shrimpy, so I make sure to notify him. 

“Sorry, your highness. When I can, I’ll import the good, thick Canadian kind you like. How’s that?”

“Better.” He nods at me with mock seriousness, pleased that his efforts are to my liking. These pancakes aren’t terrible either. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He looks into me, and we share a sort of lingering look moment that makes me scared. I don’t want to share any lingering looks, I don’t want to share anything, so I turn on my heel, abruptly cutting it off.

“Wait,” Bucky calls after me, and I stop on a dime. Disgusting, how that works. “I wanted to ask you, were the plums, uhh..” He chuckles awkwardly like he knows he’s about to ask something stupid. “Were they infused with vibranium, or anything?”

“Why?”

“I think I’m allergic.”

“You have a vibranium arm. And, didn’t the super-soldier serum cure you of all illnesses and things like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just the plums, but they make me itch.”

“It’s probably just the acid in them.”

“Well, I've had those kinds of plums before, and there wasn’t as much of a tingle.”

“Okay, Barnes, as soon as possible, we’ll get you back to your bland, American plums.”

He sighs dramatically and looks away. “Oh, god, our plums are just fine. You just have everything against American food.”

“Not necessarily against American food, but the produce grown here in Wakanda is purified. If you can’t handle it, it's not the plums that need to change, Bucky.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“We absolutely will.” 

He puts his hands on his hips, twisting his mouth in concentration. We just look at each other for a while, and then he starts to smile. Real big and stupid, like I’m the butt of a joke he just got. “Don’t laugh at me.” I know I’m frowning like a child, but the receiving end of ridicule is not where I like to be. 

“I’m not. Honest. I just– You’re just nothing like I thought.” He’s still got that stupid fucking smirk on his face, and it’s making my cheeks warm up. I thought I was stronger than this. 

Before he can say anything else vaguely insulting I sneer at him, hard and heavy. “Don’t think about me. Just do your job and protect me.”

He sobers off of his smug joy quickly, and readjusts his arms, now crossed over his chest.

“Understood.” I still stare hard, returning that piercing gaze he just loves to attack me with until he nods.  

“Good.” I whip back around, making my robe swish for dramatic effect. “Some Dora will be here to get us in a few hours. Ayo hates to be kept waiting.”

“Don’t I know it.” He quips back.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"Whatcha doing, bard?"

Jaskier startled slightly when Aiden plopped down beside him next to the fire, eyes bright with the beginnings of drunkenness as he offered the wine he was holding. Jaskier took a swig straight from the bottle, choking a little in surprise. After the roughness of the various homebrews and the wines that had been aging in the cellar for possible decades it was sweeter than he expected. Definitely Southern.

"Just thinking. You?"

The Cat let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against Jaskier, "Lambert's ignoring me and it's making me sad."

"Oh, come on. I'm sure he's not."

"Oh?" Aiden cocked an eyebrow before taking a deep inhale, "Hey, Lambert!" He called over to where Lambert was deep in conversation with his brothers (and had been all night). "I'm not wearing any underthings and I fingered myself stupid while thinking of you earlier!"

"Yeah, that's fine Kitten." Lambert answered with a dismissive wave of his hand without even looking over as if Aiden had just told him that he was going to go grab more booze.

Aiden smirked at Jaskier as if to say 'see?', "And from the look on your face you know exactly what I'm talking about, no?"

Now it was Jaskier's turn to fill his lungs, "Oh Geralt!" He singsonged, "I just spilled sweet dessert wine all over my naked body. Want to help me get cleaned up? I'm so sticky and messy!"

Geralt gave one of his classic, non-committal grunts in response.

"Oh, sweet Gods." Jaskier took another angry mouthful before thrusting the bottle into Aiden's chest, ignoring the Witchers chuckle, "I understand he wants to spend time with his brothers but we haven't had any alone time for two weeks! He's either involved in some group activity or we're both too tired after training or chores."

"Hmm."'Aiden hummed in agreement, taking a deep swallow of the wine, "As much as I like Geralt and Eskel and how close they all are, there's certain activities I don't want them involved in." His expression turned devilish, "Want to do something about it?"

"...I'm listening."

Aiden crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture, prompting Jaskier to lean in closer so he could whisper in his ear as if the other Witchers in the room were actually paying attention to them.

"Fucking Hell!"

When he'd decided to call it a night and join Aiden in bed, the last thing Lambert had been expecting was to stumble on his Cat and Geralt's bard locked in a heated kiss at the top of the stairs, Jaskier's hands leisurely roaming over Aiden's back, whimpering when the Witcher moved his attentions from the bard's mouth to his throat. It was only when Geralt's telltale growl reached his ears he lifted his head, languidly turning to look at the two unsuspecting voyuers. Both Wolves looked an entertaining combination of aroused and annoyed. Mostly aroused.

Aiden purred internally. Perfect.

"Well, this is what happens when you forget about us." He said with an exaggerated pout, which Jaskier matched as he wrapped his arms around Aiden's neck, attempting to give Geralt his most pathetic look.

"I've never felt so neglected in my life." He whined, something Geralt knew definitely wasn't true but he decided to play along once he realised neither Jaskier or Aiden smelt even vaguely of arousal, despite their previous position.

"Oh, don't worry Lark." He growled as he stalked forwards, Aiden having the forethought to hurriedly disentangle himself, "I'm about to make sure you're very well taken care of."

Jaskier gave a yelp of surprise which turned into a laugh as Geralt threw him over his shoulder before stalking away towards his room. Jaskier grinned widely as he threw a salute to Aiden before they disappeared around the corner.

Before he realised what was happening, he found himself in Jaskier's previous position. Boxed in against the stone wall with Lambert's chest pressed against his, "That was your idea, wasn't it?"

It wasn't really a question and it was pointless to try and lie, "Yes." Aiden said, meeting Lambert's gaze, gasping in surprise when the Wolf ducked his head and started nuzzling at his neck.

"And you honestly feel the same?"

"...Yes."

Lambert let out a rumble, the meaning of which Aiden couldn't quite discern as he nipped at Aiden's pulse.

"So." Aiden prompted, squirming a little, "You going to make it up to me, or punish me?"

"Depends. How serious were you being about the no underthings?"

[steviewashere]

#50 just make it hurt/comfort and really angsty and sad (I’m clearly in a sad mood asking this rn 😅)

First of all, I hope you're doing better! And hopefully this suffices the ask. I got a lil' crazy with it, wrote way more than a drabble (again), but who cares?

50: Writer's preference, I chose prompts 33: "Please don't do this." and 12: "I think we need to talk."

Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Steve Harrington has Nightmares, Steve Harrington has PTSD, Steve Harrington is a Mess, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, (And Gets One!), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Arguments, Making Up, Mild Vomiting (Like One and Done), Miscommunication

————— Eddie notices a lot about Steve. Which makes sense, they’re dating, that’s supposed to make sense. But sometimes he wishes that he didn’t have to notice. That he didn’t have to hide his glances because he could spot Steve’s heavy eye bags, or the way his shoulders have been slumping, or how high strung and tight and angry he’s becoming.

The first time he sees a change in Steve’s demeanor, they’re hanging out with all their other survived friends. In his backyard. By the pool. Except, that’s not quite right. Everybody except Steve and Nancy are hanging out at the pool. They’re on opposite sides of the yard, surveying, keeping close eyes on everyone as they move and speak and laugh. At some point, though, Nancy decides she’s had enough waiting. She leaves her post, hesitantly sits next to Robin on the edge of Steve’s pool, and lets her feet soak in the water. Her smile comes easy and her eyes grow soft, and that’s when Eddie knows she’ll be okay. But he keeps his eyes on Steve.

Sure, he should be enjoying himself. Which he is, slightly. Standing in the shallow end, leaned up against the pool wall, just letting the water kiss his scarred skin. He’s sipping on a chilled beer. Talking languidly with Dustin and Lucas and Jonathan about music and games and hobbies. Then, Dustin leaves him. Leaves the water. Strides over to Steve, face set with determination, and a pep in his step. Eddie goes quiet in the conversation, looking over his shoulder instead to where Steve is tucked near his back door. Where he’s not drinking his beer, still sealed and dripping condensation onto Steve’s bare thigh.

Dustin asks him something. Steve shakes his head. He tries offering something else, gesturing loosely with his hand at the pool and the small group that he just came from, but Steve is adamant on his decision. But of course, Dustin never takes no as an answer. He pushes. Which leads to Steve roaring: “Dustin, fuck off!”

Everybody falls silent at that. Eyes on him. Steve bristles, chucks his closed beer to the wooden porch, and disappears into his house with a slam of the door. The beer is fizzing, exploded. And then Dustin starts crying.

That’s the first time Eddie notices a change.

The next time, it’s somewhat subtle. Steve spacey at work, quiet as he shelves tapes, not even talking with Robin. He tries speaking with Steve, but only gets some non-committal grunts instead.

His last straw is an argument they’re having. Currently.

Steve’s tired, bitchier than usual, tense in his shoulders and wild-eyed. Eddie tries to stay soft, give himself a chance to remain calm and keep in mind that Steve’s going through something. But that doesn’t even begin to deter the argument.

“Listen, I think it would be good for…us—“ You, Eddie doesn’t say. “—if you let me help you out,” he’s trying to persuade. He’s standing in Steve’s kitchen. Gesturing at the pile of dishes in the sink and on the counter. Pointing out how the garbage has overflowed. And how he knows laundry hasn’t been done lately. He’s trying to be polite about it. “It’ll be like when I first got out of the hospital, okay? You just rest up and I clean up a little bit, make you something that you want to eat, and we can cuddle and watch a movie.”

However, he knows he’s hitting a brick wall over and over. None of his words are making their way through. The softness is leaking from his throat, drying him out, making him want to puke. Steve huffs through his nose. Face red, eyebrows furrowed so hard that his eyes are nearly closed with it, nose flared, and mouth downturned so extreme he nearly looks like Beaker from The Muppets. “I don’t want your help, Eddie!” Steve shouts from his spot at the dining table. He wouldn’t let Eddie come any closer. “I’m not some child, you know that?! I’m fine, I can do this on my own, and I certainly don’t need somebody like you telling me what needs to happen!”

All at once, the gentle care nukes in Eddie’s chest. Replaced instead by a hazardous anger, red hot and corroding. “What do you mean by that?” He asks bitterly. Voice flat, devoid. “Thought we were over biases, Steve,” he spits.

Steve blubbers like an out of water goldfish. “I—That—You know what I mean, Eddie. Not like—It’s just—“ he flounders. His eyes trail down towards the watch on his wrist. They grow wet, but not the tears that come from sadness. These are tears of agitation. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says wetly; the first thing that fell from his mouth when Eddie began to bring everything up. “Everything’s perfectly fine. Just got behind in house chores, which is whatever, you know? Like—“ He chuckles darkly, a self-deprecating thing, something painfully normal. “—Who the fuck actually cares about how messy everything is, right? Just leave it alone. Let’s…Let’s go cuddle,” Steve says hastily. He clambers up and out of his seat, around the table, and into the kitchen. Wrapping himself tightly around Eddie, cheek pressed to his chest, trying to pull them into the living room.

But Eddie doesn’t wrap back. He steps away. Putting distance between them. “I don’t want to do that with you right now, Steve,” he mutters. “That fucking hurt. What you said. I don’t really feel comfortable being here right now. Forget that I brought this up, okay?” He steps around Steve, who stands stunned and heartbroken in his own kitchen. Eddie’s in the doorway before Steve has the chance to reach out and touch him again. “I—I think we need to talk. But I can’t do it right now. I can’t…Why would you say that? Jesus, Steve.” And yeah, he had different intentions when coming over here. Wanted to soothe whatever was going on. Figure out how he could help. If he could help. In fact, he would’ve been fine with Steve pushing him off again, insisting on a topic change. He would’ve let it happen. But not now.

He makes sure the hurt is shown on his face before he leaves. Before he has a chance to rub his eyes and sniffle. And ignores how Steve calls out to him. He needs to calm down before he says something he might regret, something that would hurt worse than what Steve said to him.

They don’t cross paths often after that. Sometimes Eddie sees him at Family Video, but not for very long. In just to rent a tape and get out, hurt simmering unrestful in his ribcage. He can spot Steve out of the corner of his eye, reaching out, stepping in place, mouth opening and closing. But he ignores what he has to say.

Sees Steve when he drops off people for Dungeons & Dragons nights at the Wheeler’s house. But he scurries off before anything can happen. Other people start to take notice and Eddie has to shoot a warning glance with a gritted, “It’s private. I don’t want to tell you.”

Today, though, he notices Steve dropping something off at Max’s. She takes the offered thing from his grip, shuts the door softly at his back, and then Eddie finds Steve’s eyes. Hard not to notice him when he lives only a short distance away from Max’s place, but what greets him makes his stomach knot. Steve is unwell. Pale and jumpy, eyes bloodshot, his eye bags heavy and dark circles so purple—he almost looks bruised. His hands are shaking, clothes are rumpled, and his hair is…greasy, flat, knotted. Eddie puts out the cigarette he’d been smoking and walks calmly and quietly down his steps. Crossing to Steve’s bumper.

“Hey, baby,” he greets softly.

Steve startles anyway. Turning with his hand gripping tight to his door handle. Tugging on it, though it must be locked. His eyes are wide and devastating. Wet, exhausted, puffy and swollen. They’re red raw. Like he’s been crying. And rubbing at them, too. At a closer look, Steve’s cheeks are blank of any color at all, slightly gaunt. His lips are chewed to all hell. And his facial hair is wiry, outgrown. Unkempt.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs, stepping closer. He places a firm hand to Steve’s left bicep, squeezing ever so gently. Runs his thumb over the taut muscle. “Can we talk inside? Let me make you a cup of tea and get you something to eat?”

He doesn’t say anything, but does release his hold on the car handle. Follows slowly to the door, but doesn’t come close to the couch where Eddie gestures to.

“You can sit on the—“

“Please don’t do this,” Steve sobs.

Immediately, Eddie comes closer into his space. Hands splayed in front of him, ready to reach out and touch and hold, but isn’t sure if that’s allowed. “What? What shouldn’t I do, Steve?” He questions. His voice quivers with concern.

“Don’t leave me, Eds,” Steve cries, rattling and shaking with it. His chest stutters. Hiccups in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry—I’m so—I didn’t mean it, I was just upset and I know that’s not okay, but I—“ Steve gags harshly, doubling over with it. Eddie rushes behind him, grabs for the waste bin, and sets it out in front of him. “—I was being an asshole and I’m sorry and I’m sorry that I hurt you and that you thought I thought bad about you, but I didn’t, I didn’t, I don’t, Eds—“ Eddie can’t even understand the rest of what he’s babbling, it’s incoherent, strung tight with snot and saliva and tears, but it renders too much. Steve finally reaches out for the trash can, hurls harshly, and drops to his knees with his grip still on the can’s lip.

Eddie crouches beside him. Hand on his back, on his forehead. Holding to him firmly, ignoring how sweaty and cold he is at once. A part of him withers at how he made things worse. It wasn’t his intention, to make Steve worry this bad, but he definitely instilled that fear. And now he needs to just glue back together what he cracked.

When Steve is able to calm down, collapsing heavily against Eddie, does he speak softly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I guess we both used our words wrong. I’m just so worried about you, I swear. This isn’t—I would never lead you on about a break up. And that’s not what this conversation is, I promise, Stevie.”

Steve sniffles noisily. He koalas himself around Eddie, burrowing his face into Eddie’s chest. He’s still shivering, sweaty, and weak. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“I forgive you, Steve.” He holds to Steve tightly. Crushing him in closer, not caring how it makes his back ache or his knees scuff the floor. Doesn’t care about how Steve’s tears soak through his shirt or the sure mess of snot left behind. He squeezes Steve’s back and states softly, “I’m just so upset that you think you have to be fine. That you can’t ask for help. That you have to deal with everything on your own.”

“I—“

“Please just talk to me, Steve. What’s going on? I just don’t understand where you’ve gone, you know? You’re so tired and angry and tense all the time. You don’t want to talk to anybody. You keep pushing us away, closing yourself off. But then you don’t take care of yourself,” Eddie rambles, his voice growing weak and choked. “I’m sorry that I—I don’t know how to talk about this without sounding like an asshole. I’m just worried. Worried that…That something’s terribly wrong.”

The implication of Vecna is not lost between them, if the way Steve tenses says anything.

Carefully, Steve pulls himself away. Staring wide and timid at Eddie. Before he breaks with another cry of, “Everybody keeps dying, Eds. The nightmares. They keep—I can’t sleep. I see it everywhere.”

“What do you see?” Eddie asks, voice shaking. Please don’t say that clock. Please don’t say the clock, Steve. Please, he internally pleads.

“Death,” Steve whispers. “Everywhere. In everybody. I see…Nancy drowning and Robin beaten and Max broken. I see you covered in blood with chunks of you missing and you don’t look at me, you just look over my shoulder and you’re gone by the time I find you. I just see it. I can’t—I can’t stop seeing it, Eddie.” He curls his hands tight into Eddie’s shirt, nearly ripping it off of his back. “And I’m always alone,” he hiccups. “Alone when I wake up. And so I leave, I drive around, I wait to see if anything bad happens. But I can’t sleep.”

Eddie brings a hand and swipes back at Steve’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He leans in and leaves a gentle, sticky kiss to the skin. Pulling back, he offers, “When you’re ready for bed, you find me. Call me so that I can come over. Or tell me to come get you.” He cups Steve’s face, holding him between his hands. His cheeks that are splotchy red, tacky with tears. Eyes hazel and shiny and slightly defeated, yet hopeful. Eddie tickles his thumb over the bridge of Steve’s nose, his cupid’s bow, between his eyebrows. “Stevie, baby, I never want you to think you’re alone again. Ever. Seeing you so distraught all the time was killing me, but I’m here to help. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders.”

“But…I’m supposed to be able to take care of myself, Eds,” Steve argues quietly.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Eddie states. “You’re not supposed to be alone, not all the time. And if laying with you until you fall asleep safely, or showing you how fine everybody is, making you a sandwich or doing the dishes—Whatever, whatever helps you out, I’m willing.” He presses another soft kiss to Steve’s lips, the tip of his nose, on his forehead. Murmuring, “You helped me. It’s my turn, don’t you think? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Steve shrugs. “Am I supposed to just sit around?”

“You don’t have to, but you could relax. Watch a movie or do something that’s not exhausting,” Eddie explains. “Being independent, you know, doesn’t mean exerting yourself at every possible moment. Or ignoring things that bother you. Or hiding your hurt. It means seeking help, even if you do it on your own. It means sticking up for yourself, even if what’s hurting you is you.”

Against Eddie’s palms, Steve sighs through his nose. “Okay,” he mutters. “Can…Can we take a nap? I’m really tired,” Steve tentatively asks.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll find my soft pajamas for you, too.” He stands, offering out his hands for Steve. Tugs him up. And when they’re at eye level, “Steve?” Eyes on him, zeroed in and focused. “I want you to bother me. Be a nuisance. Take up space.”

“Are you sure?” Steve murmurs. “I can be a lot.”

“Loving you means loving all of you, sweetheart. Even the excess parts. Which, by the way, aren’t excess. Because I love taking care of you, despite what your brain is surely telling you,” Eddie says. “Come on, I’ll take care of that can while you lay down.”

He’s glad he noticed. But he’s happier at the sound of Steve’s soft snores, puffed over his bare neck, and the drool that will surely dry on his collarbone.

——— Drabble Prompts Ask Game

[lovergirlsdumpster]

first adlerbell fic! inspired by Mitski's song 'Your Best American Girl'.

'That which I am (not).' in ao3.

pairing: russell adler/bell (nb)

tags: angst, guilt, implied relationships, ambiguous relationships, emotional hurt/comfort, light angst, angst with a happy ending, existential dread, songfic, song: your best american girl, one shot.

summary: Bell's got a conflict with themselves for not being able to live up to Adler's expectations.

notes: Adler's dialogue is OOC, because he's saying what Bell wants to hear.

The whistle of the nighttime wind filled the silence between Bell and Adler as they walked toward the car, another mission in Berlin behind them. Something as simple as that woman’s comment—just a casual remark congratulating Bell and Adler—had spiraled into this.

“You’re a strong, determined duo, agents. Like good American soldiers.”

The city lights stretched out in the distance, an artificial constellation that felt almost alien, as though it belonged to another world. Bell, hands buried in their pockets, felt the invisible weight of their identity, their roots, their very self colliding with Adler’s presence—solid, resolute, like an extension of the very American soil beneath their feet.

"You alright, Bell?” Adler asked without looking at them, lighting a cigarette.

Bell nodded, and muttered some shitty non-committal answer, though the knot in their throat and their silence told another story.

“You haven’t said a word since we left the base. If there’s something you need to say, now’s the time.” Adler had a way of saying things—direct, almost blunt, but with a hidden concern Bell had learned to recognize. Or maybe, they liked to think it was there.

“It’s complicated,” they muttered, not stopping. “Maybe even stupid.”

Adler exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the cold air. “Don’t make me guess, Bell.” They both stopped. The silence that followed was almost tangible, and when Bell finally spoke, their voice was low, as if refusing to let the words be ripped from their throat.

“Have you ever felt like… no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be enough? Like you’re always out of place.” Adler turned to look at them, but Bell avoided his gaze.

“Does this have to do with the mission? You did what you had to do. It was clean. Precise. You—”

“No,” Bell interrupted, shaking their head, and immediately raised a hand in apology. “It’s not about the mission. It’s about you. About me. About what we are… or aren’t.”

Adler blinked, taken aback. “What the hell are you talking about, Bell?” His words came out with a hint of irritation. Clearly, this was making him question things he had already established in his mind—and Adler hated that. Bell was someone that constantly shifted his views of the world. He didn't particularly like to be kept on his toes around an agent.

“About what you always try to ignore,” Bell said, crossing their arms. “I’m from Russia, Adler. And I’m not… I’m not what this country expects me to be. I’m not what you expect me to be.” Adler opened his mouth to protest, but Bell raised a hand to stop him. “Let me finish,” they said, raising an eyebrow. Adler returned the gesture, silently agreeing.

“I spend every day trying to fit into this world, your rules, your idea of how someone like me should be. But it’ll never be enough. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be whatever you need me to be — because I don't fucking know what is it you want me to be, because I'm everything, all at once. You wanted a woman yesterday, so I dressed up as a woman. Today you want a man, so I dressed up as a man." There truly is no easy way to say this crap, Bell thinks, but they're already too deep in this to backpedal. "And it hurts. It hurts because…” Bell paused, swallowing hard, “because I want to be. I want to fit into your life, into your vision of the world. But I can’t.”

Bell let out a sigh. “Do you realize? Even now, I’m thinking about what you want. If I’m a man or a woman. If I’m whatever you expect me to be, or not.” That's who I've been boiled down to. To whoever you want me to be.

Adler dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his foot. “Bell, I don’t need you to fit into anything. I don’t expect you to be something you’re not.”

“Really?” they replied with a bitter laugh. “Then why do I feel like I’m always failing you? Like I’ll never be enough for you.”

The atmosphere grew heavy—awkward, uncomfortable—and for a moment, Adler didn’t know what to say. His hands, so used to holding weapons firmly, now hung awkwardly at his sides, unable to find the right words.

Finally, he spoke, though there was a hint of… hesitation? Doubt? in his tone.

“Bell… I grew up in a world where things were clear. There was a right way to do things, to live. And you… you challenge all of that. I won’t lie to you—it’s not easy for me. But not because there’s something wrong with you. It’s because I’m learning to see the world differently.”

Bell looked up, searching for any dishonesty in Adler’s gaze. And it made them feel worse—they found more vulnerability than anything else.

“I care about you,” Adler continued, his voice firm. “And I care about who you are. I don’t care where you come from or how you fit into this country’s expectations. I care about what I see in you—what you are when you’re with me.”

The wind seemed to pause for a moment, letting his words settle between them. Bell took a deep breath, feeling the pressure in their chest start to ease, if only slightly.

“And what do you see?” they asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

Adler stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “I see someone who’s survived more than anyone should have to. Someone who fights for what they believe in, even when it’s hard. I see someone who doesn’t need to change for anyone. And that includes me.”

Silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bell looked at Adler, searching for something in his eyes—and found it: sincerity.

“I’m not easy to understand either, you know?” Adler added, a half-smile briefly softening his features.

Bell smiled too, just barely, but it was enough to break the tension.

“Maybe neither of us is,” they admitted with a small shrug.

“Maybe.” Adler turned toward the car and opened the passenger door. “Shall we?”

Bell nodded and climbed into the car. As they drove down the empty road, the city lights grew smaller on the horizon.

Adler turned on the radio, and a soft melody filled the air. Bell recognized the song, and though they didn’t say anything, something inside them shifted.

They didn’t need to do any of the things they’d thought. They didn’t need to fit in.

In that moment, as the car disappeared into the night, they understood that staying true to themselves was all that mattered. And, for now, that was enough.