#their microexpressions are too good !!

[dramaism]

Thank you for your support all the way up to today, to this point. I have nothing else to offer, except this song.

[emotinalsupportturtle]

Sometimes I watch genuinely good shows and movies with honestly great acting with emotional depth, subtlety, sincerity, and I enjoy it

then I go watch good omens and 5 minutes in, Michael Sheen's micro expressions destroy any notion I ever had about those other shows and acting

[purple-worm]

I choose to believe Do-il got this for her as a gift because it was her birthday the day before. I know I'm right.

[avis-writeshq]

05 — enchanted

summary: “please don’t be in love with someone else”/“please don’t have somebody waiting on you.”  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, no use of (Y/N) warnings: alcohol (reader gets drunk lmfao), jealousy, slight miscommunication, austin (aka: bartender girl from s4), special mention to special people wc: 4.9k a/n: everyone say thank you @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH ilyvm zara <33 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Although you haven’t been a part of the BAU for more than one year, it didn’t stop you from maintaining the connections that you had in all your years of working there. Sure, the scheduling times could be better, but that didn’t stop the team from spending their rare day off to spend time with you. After all, the adjustment of seeing you every day to once in a blue moon was a difficult one to make. 

O’Keefe’s has been the main victim of the team’s shenanigans, its doors open for the seven members of law enforcement, all eager to get their hands on some well earned rest and relaxation. Drinks are passed around the booth and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Derek get his ‘groove thang on’ with a few girls in the bar. Today is one of the rare occasions when the team didn’t have a case, an even rarer day when the team didn’t have to take on any new or incoming cases. 

“How’s life treating you?” Emily asks cheerfully, sipping at her strawberry daiquiri. You gather that tonight is one of those nights.

You smile, sipping at your own beverage of choice. “Good! Way less stressful than working at the BAU, that’s for sure. And the hours are good, too.”

JJ snorts from beside you. “Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not jealous. How’re the kids?”

“I can’t say much because of confidentiality and all that, but they’re doing well. A lot better, thank goodness but it just goes to show the aftermath of the things that you guys deal with. I mean, I still think about all the victims we’ve helped and it sucks that we can’t do anything to help them further.” You finish your tangent with a long sip of your drink before leaning back against the booth. “Anyway, how are you guys?”

Penelope comes shuffling past carrying a series of cocktails, her absolutely monstrous platform heels not aiding her in her slightly tipsy task. “Do not even get me started on work. No work! None! We’re having a fun day. Ergo, no work talk.”

You laugh in response, moving to the side to allow her room to sit in the booth. “No, Penny, you’re right. No work talk.”

The drinks are dispersed and your gaze shifts to where Spencer is standing, laughing awkwardly as he tries to follow along to Derek’s dancing and socialising. He looks incredibly out of place in his brown argyle sweater vest, navy tie and freshly pressed slacks, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt. 

“Nah, Spencer could definitely be a ladies’ man if he plays his cards right. And I mean that literally,” Emily says, bringing you out of your daydream.

Your head snaps in her direction, trying to calm your facial features and microexpressions. Regardless of your attempts, after a year of not practising, you don’t do as well as you hope. “What?”

JJ grins at you, her eyes lighting up knowingly. “We’re just talking about who’s the biggest hotshot in the BAU.”

“Wouldn’t that be David?” You ask meekly, your finger swirling along the edge of your glass. You had met David Rossi on occasion, once by accident when you were having a night out with the girls and the other during a proper introduction two weeks later. “Didn’t he have, like, five wives?”

“I had three thank you very much,” Rossi intervenes swiftly, holding his glass of whisky on ice. 

“Sorry, my bad,” you respond jokingly, snickering as he shakes his head and stalks over to where Hotch is sitting and drinking his rum. 

Penelope lets out a loud laugh. “I think we’re forgetting the obvious: our very own Chocolate Thunder.”

“Well, fine,” Emily drawls, waving a hand dismissively, “but Spencer has that innocent vibe to him, y’know? The kind of guy women go crazy over.”

JJ clicks her fingers in remembrance. “Didn’t a bunch of prostitutes try to pick him up in that one case?”

“What?” You ask again, albeit a little shrilly as you try to dismiss the surprise in your tone. 

“He didn’t take them,” Emily says quickly in an attempt to ease your discomfort. “But he did pick up a girl a few months ago. Austin?”

Penelope nods at that, putting down her cup. “Oooh, yes! I remember her. He showed me a picture. She’s pretty.”

“I mean, he did pick up Lila too.” JJ reminds the team, shooting you a sly smile. “You remember her, don’t you?”

You force out a laugh and bite the inside of your cheek in the process. “Yeah. Who’s Austin?”

“I think I still have a picture!” Penelope says, brandishing her phone from her coat pocket. She types something in before sliding it in your direction. “Pretty, right?”

Austin is certainly pretty, even in the uncoordinated selfie Penelope shows you of her and Spencer. He’s slightly out of frame, his lips set into a sweet smile while Austin practically glows. Her brilliant green eyes flash in the camera and her dark hair frames her face perfectly. She and Spencer are close in the photo, with him holding the phone clumsily and she has a hand on his arm. 

“Uh huh,” you murmur distractedly, averting your gaze from the photo as an ugly feeling creeps into your chest. “Really pretty.”

Emily looks at you curiously. “You didn’t know about her?”

You shrug in response, the smile on your face insincere. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about Spencer.”

The group exchange a couple glances at your tell-tale body language, watching as you scoot past Penelope and out of the booth, making your way to the bar. You’re all too grateful for a reprieve from the teasing as you order another drink and take a seat, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your mind goes through all the interactions you’ve had with Spencer over the years. Were you really that foolish to think that he would feel that way for you? Maybe you were reading too much into it, you try to reason, running your fingers through your once styled hair. Maybe, in some stupid and twisted way, all of Spencer’s interactions were platonic.

You scoff inwardly to yourself. Right. Because picking someone up at two o’clock in the morning is entirely platonic. Sleeping in the same bed as someone because of nightmares is totally normal between friends. In any case, you could have sworn that he–

“Trouble in paradise?” 

An unfamiliar voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and you turn to the man who takes a seat beside you. “Uh… something like that.”

The man hums, a smile on his handsome features. His dark brown hair is fluffy and, in its own charming little way, suits him. He reminds you a lot of Spencer, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles along with the timbre of his voice. He’s also very different to Spencer, especially with his sweater that has a bright orange pumpkin on it, paired with a matching orange scarf. A pair of red tinted sunglasses hang on the neckline of his sweater, and you doubt that it would do much good to block the sun.

“I’m Matthias,” he says good naturedly, beaming. “I’m with my sister, Laura,” he explains, gesturing to a lady sporting dyed auburn coloured hair, and she waves with a matching smile.

You introduce yourself, pointing to the booth. “My friends are over there.”

Matthias nods, undeterred by your company on the other side of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”

*** 

After what felt like hours of dancing (it was really only fifteen minutes), Spencer and Derek make their way to rejoin the group. The feeling of sweat matting his skin is one of many reasons as to why Spencer hates dancing. That, and the fact that there were far too many people on the dancefloor. What’s worse is the fact that he’s sure that none of them have ever heard of the word ‘deodorant’. He cringes at the thought of all the germs that could be festering on his skin as he sits at the booth, his eyes shifting to wear your bag lays haphazardly on the red cushions. 

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, turning to Emily and placing your bag so that it’s in a safer and less hazardous position.

She hums, pointing in the bar’s direction. “Getting a drink. She’s just cooling off.”

“Cooling off?” Spencer echoes, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean she’s ‘cooling off’?”

Penelope offers an apologetic smile, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “We… might have told her about Austin?”

“You what?” Spencer can barely believe his ears as he looks at the group incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it,” JJ says hastily. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“React like what?” Spencer’s voice is strangely stern, his eyes narrowing as he turns to the rest of the team. “I don’t like Austin. She’s nice but I don’t like her.”

Derek’s brows lift in surprise and confusion. “Did you go out with her after the case?”

Spencer’s ears burn in embarrassment and he turns to his friend in offence. “I asked her for help. I don’t like Austin like that. I needed advice.”

“Advice,” Emily repeats, turning in the direction of the bar. “You mean about…?”

Spencer doesn’t stay long enough to head the rest of Emily’s sentence or to answer it, making his way over to you are. Part of him wishes that he stayed put, especially when he sees what you’re doing. In an instant, his nose is scrunched up in distaste as he spies the random stranger chatting you up. His eyes lock with yours and he relishes in the way they light up as you wave him over.

“Hi,” he breathes, standing beside you. 

“Hi!” You gush, beaming at him. “Saw you on the dancefloor.”

“You’ll never see it again,” he says honestly, stealing a sip of your drink. It tastes like vodka and the strawberry lipgloss you use (he only know what it tastes like because of its very on the nose packaging: a giant strawberry. He wishes he knew for other reasons).

You laugh, bright and loud, before you gasp excitedly. “Oh, Spencer, this is Matthias! He’s been keeping me company.” Then, you lean closer to him, your voice a very exaggerated whisper as if the person you’re talking about isn’t in the seat next to you as you tell Spencer, “he’s a director.”

Matthias waves off the statement, chuckling along. “Nothing famous though.”

“He’s a liar,” you tell Spencer enthusiastically. “Did you know he went to New York University? Crazy, right? Like, the school of arts or something. Oh! And he’s also from Vegas! You two are so alike.”

Spencer nods half-heartedly as he tells you, “you know, I went to MIT and CalTech.”

“Well I know that, silly!” You say with a drunken laugh, poking at his cheek. You turn to Matthias with a proud grin before reaching for a shot. “Spencer’s a genius. He’s a super smart genius.”

“That’s what ‘genius’ means, angel,” Spencer reminds gently, prying the little cup away from you. “No more. You’re drunk and we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Your face falls and your lips curl into a frown. “But Spencer I’m thirsty!”

“You have water in your bag,” he prompts, squeezing your shoulder and helping you off the barstool, not paying this Matthias person any mind. “Okay? Let’s go back to the others.”

You nod eagerly, stumbling a little as you wave goodbye. “Bye, Matthias!”

“Uh huh,” Spencer dismisses, leading you back to the table by the small of your back. He leans a little closer to murmur in your ear, “why did you leave the others?”

You shrug dismissively, leaning into his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, angel, it does,” he says carefully, “tell me?”

You huff in your own clumsy drunken way. “You should ask Austin. Or go pick someone else up. Emily says you’re turning into a ‘ladies’ man’.”

Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. “I don’t like Austin,” he tells you in earnest, holding you close to his side as you stumble back to the booth. “I mean it, angel.”

“Bet you call everyone angel,” you grumble under your breath. “Bet you let everyone call you ‘Walter’ too.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately, a hand on your waist. “I only call you that. Besides, why would I let someone call me by my middle name if it isn’t you?”

You huff again, slumping in the booth as Penelope shuffles inward to give you more room. Your arms cross over your chest in annoyance and frustration and  you turn away from Spencer’s direction. He doesn’t need to be a profiler to know that you’re pissed off at him. Somewhere in your hazy drunk mind, you’ve made it out as him being the bad guy.

Spencer shoots the other girls a pointed glare, gesturing at you as if to say ‘This is your fault’ because, in reality, it is. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t be mad at him. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself drunk with some random guy who went to New York University. Spencer mocks Matthias in his head. Stupid Matthias and his stupidly good hair. Spencer runs a hand through his own growing locks, grimacing when he realises that it reaches his shoulders now. Maybe he should get a haircut later.

“Angel,” Spencer tries again, kneeling down next to your chair. “Let’s get you home, alright? Please don’t be mad at me?”

You mutter something incoherent, not bothering to look in his direction.

“I’m not in love with Austin,” he tells you, his tone a mix of firmness and gentleness. “Really, I’m not. We’re just friends, angel, I promise.”

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath as you get out of the booth. JJ guiltily passes you your bag and you take it out of her hands as Spencer grips your arm with one hand, the other on the small of your back. 

“Not a lie,” Spencer says, walking you to his car. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Not after Lila.”

“Lie-la,” you say bitterly as you get into the passenger seat. “Stupid actress.”

He laughs at that, getting behind the wheel. “Yeah, angel. Stupid actress.”

“You kissed her in a pool,” you continue as you fumble drunkenly with the buckle of the seatbelt. “You don’t kiss me in the pool.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn at your words as he puts your seatbelt on, his fingers grazing yours. “It never came up. Besides, I hate pools, you know that.”

“Germ-y,” you respond knowingly, a silly giddy smile on your face. “I know you the best.”

“Exactly,” he hums as starts the car, his words flowing smoothly as he considers how drunk you are. There’s no way you’d remember this, right? “Why would I find another girl when I have you who knows me best?”

Your cheeks glow with pride at his words and you laugh. “Exactly.”

*** 

It’s late. Far too late and you toss and turn in bed. Your eyes are heavy but your brain won’t shut up, swirling with the memories of the previous night. You’re not really sure what happened after you got to the bar, only remembering snippets of the night. The entire time was a blur: you remember getting upset at the girls (or rather, at the information they were feeding you), meeting someone– Mason? Matthew? You can’t even remember– and then downing three shots. It’s awfully stupid of you, yes but then somehow you got home safe and sound with a note on your kitchen counter from Spencer.

You felt a little silly upon the finding of the note. Of course Spencer would take you home; it’s not like the girls were particularly sober by the time you wanted to leave. Regardless, reading the note made you feel incredibly stupid, more stupid than usual, and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself six feet underground. 

‘Hi angel,’ it read in Spencer’s messy scrawl with chaotic lettering and swirly g’s. ‘You’re probably really hungover right now so there’s a Tylenol on the counter and a sandwich in the fridge. Please drink water; I’m sure you’re also severely dehydrated from the alcohol. I know you’re upset at me but please just forget about what the others said about Austin. I don’t like her like that. Be safe and call me when you wake up.’

The note was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, just Spencer being his usual ridiculously lovely self. You didn’t mind that he took care of you, either. It’s more-so the fact that you genuinely could barely remember what you said that him. You’re betting on it being something exceedingly dumb (you’re making a habit of it, much to your own chagrin), especially considering how much you had to drink that night. Maybe you should start abstaining from drinking from now on, especially if Spencer was in the vicinity. 

The note is now pinned securely to your cork board, a pretty lavender thumb tack holding it in place. Your gaze drifts to it for a moment then to your clock and you groan into your pillow. This is dumb. Sleep is dumb. Your clock blinks with the numbers ‘02:01’ in red mocking letters and you resist the urge to scream. After blindly searching for your phone, you step out of bed while rubbing your eyes. 

The lingering question keeps you up as you pace back and forth beside you bed. If Spencer doesn’t like Austin, who does he like? It can’t be Lila. You would have known if they kept in contact. Then again, you had no idea who Austin was so who knows what secrets Spencer is keeping? What if there was another girl? What if your entire friendship with Spencer was exactly that– friendship. You slap the palm of your hand to your forehead. Were you really that stupid?

It’s in that moment when your phone begins to ring. The tune plays through the room and you know it all too well; the Doctor Who theme song that you spent a whopping two dollars and thirty-seven cents on to add it as the custom ringtone for Spencer. 

“Hello…?” You answer quietly, your voice choking. “Walter?”

“Angel,” he murmurs, and you can hear shuffling in the background. “Why are you still awake?”

You hum, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs quietly on the other side of the line, scratchy from the lack of sleep. “Can I come over?”

“Always.”

He hangs up after that and you press the pads of your fingers into the corners of your eyes again. You’re exhausted, far too exhausted to be hosting guests, but this is Spencer. How can you ever say no to him? So, instead of sulking around and spending far too long doing nothing, you fashion yourself a cup of tea and flick the lights on. The book you were reading is thrown haphazardly onto the cushions of your couch but you can’t bring yourself to pick it up. 

The jiggling of the door handle brings you out of your little mood, and Spencer lets himself in with the key you gave him, locking it securely and taking his shoes off to reveal his sock choice of the day: one bright green and the other in fuchsia with buttercup yellow spots. He’s wearing a crinkly white t-shirt that hangs over his gangly frame and grey sweatpants. For something so basic, he looks absolutely criminal in it. You pinch yourself as punishment for thinking such a thing. 

“Hey,” he breathes, sitting next to you. He runs his fingers through his hair, frowning a little. “Do you think I should get it cut?”

You laugh, almost spilling your tea. “You came to my apartment at two in the morning to ask what I think about your hair?”

“Yes,” he agrees before laughing, “no! Of course not. I just thought of it.”

A hum leaves your lips as you curl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I like long hair on you. Besides, you’d look good in any hair cut.”

Spencer preens at your words, enjoying the feel of your touch in his hair. “You’re a liar. I know what I looked like four years ago. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” You insist, beaming at him as you poke his cheek. “You were really cute back then. Like a baby.”

He flushes again at both the compliment and the contact, his mind committing the way you say ‘baby’ to memory. He thinks it again and again; baby, baby, baby. 

“I was not a baby,” He tells you, half in jest. “I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” you quip, the sleep deprivation making your head go loopy. “Barely. Doesn’t matter, you’re still baby.”

Spencer scoffs lightly, poking your side. “If I’m a baby, what does that make you? A foetus? A zygote?”

You let out a quiet scream in protest, whacking him over the head with a throw pillow. “Ew, Spencer what the hell?”

He snickers in response, shielding his face with his forearm. “If I’m a baby and you’re younger than me, you must be at an earlier stage of development. So? Which is it, are you a foetus or a zygote? C’mon, angel, you passed eighth grade biology.”

“You’re an ass,” you chastise jokingly, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. Sometime amidst the commotion he must have gotten closer to you. Your noses are almost touching and your breath hitches in your throat. 

He smiles sweetly, his own cheeks warm and flushed with embarrassment as he maintains eye contact. “I thought I was ‘baby’.”

What the hell? Is this really Spencer Reid? Silly, awkward, nerdy little Spencer Reid? This must be a very convincing body suit and an even more convincing voice altering machine because this is not Spencer Reid. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks and ears so quickly that it’s enough to make you go dizzy. Maybe you’re a lot more sleep deprived than you thought. 

“Are you drunk?” You croak out meekly as he cages you in, his forearms on either side of your head as he leans you against the couch. 

He laughs– he has the actual audacity to laugh– and he shakes his head. “No, angel, I’m not drunk. You know I don’t drink enough to actually get drunk. Besides, I drove here.”

“You drove here,” you repeat, a little dazed from how close he is. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Almost three now but yes,” Spencer agrees, smiling. 

“You hate driving,” you remind him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Especially at night.”

He hums in agreement. “I do. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

You kick yourself internally. ‘Oh’? Who the hell says ‘Oh’? This is it. Your life is over. Maybe you should move to another state. Change your name, shave your head, and get a different degree because you’re almost certain that it’s the end of the line for you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago?” You say it like a question and you suddenly feel yourself sweating. It definitely got hotter in here. 

He murmurs your name, his fingers grazing the skin of your jaw gently. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I ran into you four years ago and almost gave myself a concussion,” you say, averting your gaze as you tried to calm yourself down. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he repeats softly, his nose brushing against your cheek. “Look at me, angel.”

You wet your bottom lip nervously as you look at him, his hazel eyes a little greener in the low light of your apartment. His legs are on either side of your hips and he brushes his thumb against your chin. 

“I want to kiss you,” Spencer says lowly, albeit a little breathlessly, and you can hear hoarseness in his words. “Can I?”

You’re dead. You’re either dead or asleep, that is the only explanation you have for this entire situation. You’re either dead and in heaven or asleep and dreaming. It is that plain and simple.

“What?” You croak out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs. 

“I know you wanted to do it in a pool but I’m pretty sure your apartment gym is closed now, angel,” Spencer says, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”

The only thing you can manage to do is nod, your eyes flickering to his lips for a split second, watching as the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your brain barely has any time to comprehend the words he said (since when did you say that you wanted to kiss him in the pool?) because in a rush of confidence, Spencer cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a tantalisingly slow kiss. His eyes are closed and his hands are eerily soft, the gentleness in which he holds you reminiscent of one holding porcelain. 

He pulls away after a moment, his cheeks burning and a smile on his face. You can’t even breathe as you just stare at him, lips parted in surprise. What do you even say to that?

“Thank you?” You manage to stutter out, heat creeping up your neck.

He laughs again, breathless and beautiful, as he kisses the side of your face. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer brushes an eyelash from your cheek, beaming at you as he does. “It’s late,” he tells you, getting up from the couch and freeing your limbs. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” you respond, your head  spinning. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says back, trying to hold in a laugh. “I’m free next Friday. Do you want to go out?”

“Go out?” You echo, “we always go out.”

“I know.” He smiles at you again as he makes his way to the door. “I meant– you know. We can go out.”

A beat passes and your head is awfully slow, whether from the kiss or from the sleep deprivation, you’re not entirely sure. “We can go out.”

“Great.” He pauses, taking a step towards you before kissing your cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll–” you gape at him again as he opens your door to leave. “You hate texting.”

He nods, slipping on his shoes. “I also hate driving at night. Your point?”

“Right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course I will, angel,” he promises, “get some rest.”

Get some rest? How the hell are you supposed to get some rest after all that? With one last wave, Spencer leaves your apartment, leaving you hoping that this wasn’t just some thing. Maybe this was the very first page of your story– a very embarrassing start to your story. There is one thing for certain though: Spencer is not in love with someone else.

*** 

It’s a Tuesday when Penelope calls you. You had just finished up with a client when your phone begins to ring. 

“Penny!” You gush, unable to stop the smile from stretching onto your face. “I am stupid, I said ‘thank you’? Who the hell says thank you after someone kisses you?”

“Who kissed you?” Penelope asks, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own tangent you would have noticed that she sounded tearful. 

“Spencer did!” You exclaim, slapping a hand to your forehead. “He’s sitting there and he looks amazing and he smells really good and I am stupid.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Penelope says quickly, and you can imagine her waving her fluffy pen around. “He kissed you and you said thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that was very polite of you,” she says, trying to sound happy before her voice cracks.

You frown immediately, taking a seat in the wheelie chair in your office. “Penny? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Spencer,” she says woefully, sniffling. “He wanted me to tell you something. It’s not looking good, honey, but– but he wanted me to give you a message.”

“Penny–” You stop short when you hear Spencer’s voice. It’s a recording from his phone, and you can only really tell because of the crackling audio on the other side of the line.

“Is it on?” Spencer asks before clearing his throat. He sounds breathless, his words breaking off at some parts and you know that it’s not from the bad audio quality. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter. If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

Through the recording you can hear a shuffle, like the sound of a sliding door being opened, along with a quiet, “Prep the victim for transfer,” before the recording cuts out, leaving you with Penelope on the line. 

She calls your name quietly, choking on her words. “Are you okay?”

You hang up. 

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[actual-changeling]

this one is thanks to a post by @thegroovyfool because she is very much correct - we do not talk about aziraphale's "i need you" enough.

so once again, with a deep breath and a sigh, welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, where i tear apart the confession scene frame by frame. i'm gonna say, watching this particular clip over and over and focusing on aziraphale's face almost took me out.

let's get into it.

first, how about a little look at our starting point. (any blurry screencaps are due to a LOT of movement on michael's part rip)

crowley is very pointedly facing away from him, he turned after aziraphale said "we can be together - angels!", presumably because being offered exactly what he wants in the one way he cannot have it fried his brain, cause besties it surely fried mine.

aziraphale on the other hand looks openly desperate, which is why he says "i need you." more on that later. let's have a look at how he says it, because michael "microexpressions" sheen is putting in the work.

to me, he seems close to tears, his eyes are glistening in that specific "i'm about to cry my eyes out" way i know from looking in the mirror while crying

he is trying to get crowley to listen to him and to turn around. he wants crowley to face him, which is something most people tend to want during an argument. talking to someone who is not looking at you tends to make someone frustrated and like they're not hearing you/do not care about what you have to say.

aziraphale looks close to despair, his i need you is a plea to crowley to come with him. he is opening himself up not just emotionally but physically, too.

he slightly leans forward, his arms are raised and seem to both slightly grasp for crowley and point towards his chest/heart for emphasis. the pure pain visible on his face knocks the air out of me every single time i look at it.

aziraphale is admitting to needing him, something he has never done before, hell, he has told him the exact opposite on numerous occasions. i don't need you. and while they both knew it was a) a lie and b) a way for him to deal with his conflicting emotional standpoints and cognitive dissonance, it still hurt crowley every. single time.

crowley was there for him no matter what, he knows aziraphale needs him but he came back and remained at his side even when he was pushed away and more or less openly insulted. he endured it all.

aziraphale saying i need you now is pretty much a slap in the face but also what crowley needs to hear. as with everything that happens during the entire conversation, the timing is fucked up and they're talking past each other.

in my opinion, that is why crowley does not react.

only when aziraphale turns spiteful and starts questioning his understanding (aka calling him stupid without outright saying it) does he re-enter the conversation.

aziraphale, however, is upset. now, i will put on my tinhat for just a second and turn up the insanity because there are two more things i want to talk about.

first, the little stutter at the beginning.

"i ngk - i need you."

my question is - why? why does he stumble over these words in particular when it does not happen with any other sentence? the only other time is right after crowley walks away with his "good luck", he stumbles over crowley's name.

so, in short, it happens when he is either caught off-guard or saying something incredible emotional.

and this, everyone, is where i go unhinged in my interpretation.

what if he initially did not want to say "i need you?" what if he was so caught up in getting crowley to stay/come with him that he did not think and almost confessed another three word sentence?

what if he was about to say "i love you" but stopped himself because no, that's too direct, they don't do that, they can't do that. it goes against EVERYTHING they have silently build over the last six thousand years. so he chokes on it. he chokes on it and instead he says "i need you" because it means the same thing.

i need you. don't leave me. come with me. be an us. go off together.

i forgive you. i love you.

they say it over and over again because that's the only way they can say it.

that is why aziraphale is so angry and upset after saying it. he told crowley he loves him, he needs him, and all he got in return was silence.

the funny part is that this code may have worked before, but it no longer does. crowley is too hurt to listen to what aziraphale is trying to tell him, and aziraphale is equally as hurt and also not listening anymore.

the funny part is that it stopped being about love and started being about sides again. my side, your side, our side. choose a side, choose our side, choose me.

the funny part is that beelzebub and gabriel told them what they need to do, i found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

One of your "It's a Match" chapters gave me an idea. LOVE that series btw!

What if Gaz is a virgin so Simon let's him lose his virginity with his gf? Simon is there to guide Gaz and make sure he does it right so you get as much pleasure out of it as needed. Then you give Gaz the ride of his life while Simon controls when and where he gets to cum. The poor man whimpering beneath you from the edging and denial until he finally gets permission to cum.

Sub!Gaz x Dom!Simon x Switch!Reader

(Feel free to ignore this as well.)

Took some creative liberties with the prompt and made Switch!Reader a mean/brat tamer domme even if Gaz isn’t necessarily a brat (just felt more practical for me to do it). Sue me.

Sharing is caring. || Gaz x F!Reader x Ghost

Rating: E Words: 4.7K (this one got away from me sorry) Pairing: virgin!Gaz x gf!Reader x bf!Simon CW: smut, voyeurism, hotwifing, domination/submission, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), unprotected piv, fairly rough/forceful sex (BUT CONSENSUAL), praise, slight verbal degradation?, body mods (piercings). other tags: pre-established couple, loss of virginity, pre-agreed upon conditions, consent checks, no beta we die like soap. a/n: no thoughts, just vibes. NOT PROOFREAD

Simon first brought it up one sleepy Sunday evening, when you two were lying side by side in bed, his arms snaked around you as you read an e-book, his eyes glued to the TV on an episode of some crime show.

“You know,” He had said, Roman nose rubbing the top of your head affectionately. “I’d like to run something by you.”

“Hm?” You cooed as you rolled your head back on his chest to look up at him.

“So Kyle has this problem,” Simon began to explain as he looked down at you, brown eyes peering through his blonde lashes.

That got your senses tingling and you immediately set aside the tablet to dedicate your attention to the topic at hand, turning your body to properly face him, your arm coming to rest on his shoulder.

“What kind of problem?” You questioned, an eyebrow raising in intrigue.

Simon’s eyebrows twitched lightly, a tell-tale sign he was about to bring up something ‘embarrassing’, some good gossip. “Go on!” You immediately insisted, catching the little microexpressions on his face.

“He’s a virgin.” Simon revealed, causing you to gasp, pulling your head back and shaking it in confusion.

“NO?!” You said in shock. “With that pretty face of his?” You blinked.

“I know.” Simon says and then cocks a brow upward. “So what do you say?”

You didn’t need clarification, you simply smirked and shot him a look.

-

That’s how you ended up here.

Simon made all the arrangements, established rules with Kyle, and finally brought him over the that following Friday.

“You sure about this, sir?” Kyle asks, ever respectfully, sat on your living room couch, with you by his side, Simon sitting across from you on the arm chair by the chandelier.

“As sure as anyt’in’.” Your boyfriend replies and casts a glance at you. “You sure, da’lin’?”

“100% sure.” You answer, before glancing at Kyle. “Are you sure about it?”

“I… I am. But… It’s… It’s your relationship, I don’t want to cause an issue.” Kyle tells you, looking at you sheepishly, dark lashes fluttering anxiously over those stunning brown eyes of his.

“It’s not our first time doing this, I’m sure Simon’s told you all about it.” You reply in a reassuring tone.

“I know but…” Kyle says as he looks at you, your hand on his knee, finger drawing light circles on the denim of his pants.

“We’ll start off slow, at your pace. If ever there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll stop.” You assure him. “Simon’s here for that, after all… Not just for my sake, but yours too.” You add.

Kyle nods and gulps down a deep breath, casting one last glance at the form of his lieutenant, sat imposingly on the arm chair, legs spread open, lounging without a car in the world. One of his legs is bent near the seat, the other stretched across, foot resting on the edge of the coffee table, and arms resting comfortably on the rests, one of his hands holding a tumbler of Bourbon. His head is cocked to the side with interest.

The young sergeant nods again and slowly leans toward you. One of his hand tentatively wraps around your hip, fingers grazing the expanse of your ass in the shorts you’re wearing, while the other grabs you around the back of the neck, his lips connecting to yours.

Your warm, wet tongue swirling with his, soft breaths and gasps coming from your mouth as you let him take the lead for a moment... it’s all making his confidence grow. Sure, he’ll need guidance eventually, but for now he’s got this.

His hand slides to cup your ass, grabbing it with a greedy grasp, squeezing his fingers into the thickness, the other sinking into your hair, fingers gently clutching your scalp as they tug into the hairs.

He’s kissed plenty of people before, this isn’t new for him, and yet, it still feels completely different, in the way you’re not ‘his’ to kiss. But, somehow, that makes it all the better.

Slowly, your lips separate and you glance up at him a single look to check on his state and he nods imperceptibly, which causes your hands to slide down his chest and begin feeling him up.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you atop of him, hands sliding under the fabric of your top to feel up your back as your own find the hem of his t-shirt and tug it up to expose his chest.

Your fingers trace his pecs, his abs, nails softly drawing down atop him, making him shiver. He’s younger than Simon, his skin infinitely smoother, his body fat percentage definitely lower, not a trace of hair on him. It’s so different from your boyfriend… And you welcome the change.

You help him take off his t-shirt, throwing it haphazardly to the side and then lower your mouth onto his jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones… You’ve barely started and the poor kid looks like he’s already seeing the universe and all its stars, his cock having sprung to attention so quickly that the bulge in his pants keeps rubbing against your inner thigh.

Slowly, you slip down from atop of him, your hands sliding down his body as you kneel before him on the floor, hands tracing over his thighs in the jeans he’s wearing, fingers squeezing his strong muscles through the fabric.

“You’ve never gotten a bj before, have you?” You ask him, eyebrows cocked and eyes locked onto his face. He shakes his head immediately, muttering something about ‘getting a handy’ back in secondary but that was the extent of it.

“Poor thing.” You coo at him. “Never got to feel a pretty mouth wrapped around that cock, hm?” Yo teased him playfully, watching how his eyes widened, eyebrows scrunching pitifully, as you undid his belt and tugged down his jeans.

“You’re in good hands, Garrick. She’ll take good care of you. Has a very talented throat.” Simon pipes up behind you. You don’t even have to look behind you to spot the smirk on his lips, the way the dulcet of his voice comes just short of a boast and a brag of how lucky he himself is, and how lucky Kyle is that Simon was willing to share you.

You help Kyle out of his sneakers and jeans before beginnin to palm him through the black cotton of his boxer briefs, his cock already peeking up from behind the waistband, leaking precum in anticipation. “Someone’s eager, hm? Are you excited, Kyle?” You quip to him.

“Mhm. Very. Very!” Kyle nods, his eyes glued to every single movement of yours, from the way your hands palm at his bulge, to how your fingers caress his smooth skin, to how they hook onto the waistband and roll down his underwear, peeling it off his body.

He’s big, bigger than Simon, even, though not as thick… He’s circumcised and he’s perfectly shaven. You wonder if he did that for your sake, or his own preference. There’s a thick vein running down the underside of him, one you can’t wait to feel pulse against your tongue.

Taking his cock in your hand, you stroke it slowly before allowing your tongue to run atop of it, base to tip, your tongue gently grazing the leaky tip, spreading the precum over the head before slowly parting your lips and guiding him inside.

The moan that escapes the boy in front of you makes you smirk, he twitches below you, fingers clenching on either side of his thighs, as if resisting squeezing into tight fists as you slowly allow his cock to slide deeper into your mouth. Then, you start bobbing it, up and down, cheeks hollowed out and lips grazing the warm skin leaving a mess of saliva around him.

Kyle’s quick to react this time, his hand grabbing you by your hair, legs trembling on either side of you. Your eyes shoot up to find his, only to find that his head is falling back onto the back of the couch, eyes screwed closed, mouth hanging open like he’s experiencing an out of body experience.

“He’s certainly enjoying himself, isn’t he?” Simon remarks behind you, receiving a finger signal from you, a sign of agreement, a preestablished way of communicating, since your mouth was busy. “That feel good, Kyle?”

“Y-Yeah… Yeah… I-It… God…” Kyle groans in between swallowed breaths. Poor thing, you want to coo at him, already too lost in the pleasure to even speak… Oh, how beautiful he’ll look soon, fucked out under you, drunk on your pussy…

You don’t notice Simon coming up from behind you until you feel his hand grip your head, atop of Kyle’s, calloused fingers digging into your scalp. His other hand shoots out to grab Kyle’s head from the back, pulling it forward so he’s forced to stare at you.

Then, your head is shoved forward, Kyle’s cock sliding down your throat with no warning Simon’s hand holding you in place, while Kyle’s eyes widen and an obscene moan escapes his mouth. Simon controls your head, pulling and pushing you onto Kyle’s hip. 

It’s no wonder that Kyle’s whole body starts to tremble, eyes widened and having trouble staying focused, or open, mouth left wide open as Simon makes him fuck the back of your throat, experienced eyes keeping watch of your reactions and signals and of Kyle’s…

He’s controlling the speed at which you go, how deep you take his cock down his throat, how much of a mess you make with your spit, and how long you get to breathe whenever he pulls you off before pushing you back on. A reminder. He’s always in control.

“Come down her pretty throat, go on, Garrick.” Simon demands. Kyle, poor thing, has already been holding on with teeth and nails to keep himself from climaxing too soon, wanting to prove himself as more than just inexperienced… But Simon’s order is so severe, he can’t keep it up… And he lets go, twitching in your mouth and shooting his come down your throat.

Simon lets go of you both, giving you a moment to catch your breaths, brown eyes staring at the result of what you just did, you, out of breath, a mess of drool down your chin, and eyes welled up with tears, and Kyle, out of breath, a mess of drool around the base of his cock, and eyes glazed over.

“Good job, da’lin’...” Simon tells you, pulling you up ever so slightly, kissing you sweetly, his tongue piercing flicking across your tongue, as if he’s looking for a taste of Kyle in your throat. 

After a moment, he pulls back and looks at Kyle. “Now, you’re gonna thank her for the favour she made ya, hm?” He warns. “Let’s take this to the bed. C’mon.” He demands, taking you by the hand and leading you to the bedroom, leaving Kyle to have to keep up.

Simon, unlike you, is a practical man. He doesn’t waste time. By the time Kyle has made it to the bedroom after barely 20 seconds, he’s already got you naked and splayed atop the mattress, a pillow placed under your hips.

He’s on his knees in front of you and beckons Kyle closer with two fingers, before he uses those same two fingers to rub over your folds and spread them open, revealing just how wet you’ve gotten from merely giving Kyle head. “You see that?” Simon coos at him while you stare at them both, holding yourself up on your elbows.

“Y-Yes, sir.” Kyle replies with a nod, his own hand reaching to touch you, carefully sliding between your puffy lips, gliding across easily through the slick. 

Simon grabs Kyle’s wrist and carefully guides it across to your clit, finding it with the speed of a man that’s been fucking you often since you two started dating. He knows your body, knows you better than anyone, and he’s about to show Kyle exactly how to touch you to get you to fall apart like he does…

You immediately stiffen up when you feel the pads of Kyle’s fingers against your clit, the pressure behind them coming from Simon’s hand as he rolls his fingers in light circles. It’s familiar and it immediately causes you to hum in pleasure and hiss, lying yourself back on the mattress.

“Ideally, you always keep something touch that needy little clit there.” Simon explains, more like he’s giving an anatomy lesson than having a threesome. “Be it a tongue, a finger, what have you.”

Simon’s hand then slides Kyle’s fingers away, making you whimper from the loss of contact. “Be patient, da’lin’, you’ll get more soon.” He quips. “Needy girl… Thought you were going to be all bossy with Kyle, now look at you…” He coos. 

Simon turns Kyle’s hand over and, using his own hand, parts your puffy cunny before helping Kyle push two digits into your slick warmth. Kyle’s fingers are no biggy, not thick and calloused like Simon’s, and they’re surprisingly easy to take on. You moan softly at them, before becoming just a bit more vocal when Kyle’s fingers pad over your G-spot when Simon curls them just so.

“Right there, you see that?” Simon beckons, Kyle responding with mild agreement that you don’t even register because, soon, his fingers start moving, fucking in and out you per Simon’s instruction, while your boyfriend’s tongue quickly finds your clit, the cold piercing rubbing and flicking at your most sensitive spot, causing your back to arch on the bed.

“Oh, fuck, Simon…” You whine, legs already shaking, more so per the stimulation, which causes your boyfriend to use both of his free hands to keep your knees spread open as far as he could comfortably get them, tongue still lapping up at you with purposeful strokes.

The shaggy blond hair of your boyfriend vanishes for a moment, as does the experienced tongue touching you, before it gets replaced with Kyle’s slightly messier and uncoordinated attempts, Simon observing Kyle and noting your reactions and how much weaker they are, upset at the lack of proper stimulation.

“C’mon, Garrick…” Simon croons. “Your tongue’s sharp enough to roast Johnny, but you get here and it gets shy?” He taunts, before using his hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck to guide him a bit.

“I’m trying…” Kyle remarks, his face feeling warm against your skin, showing he’s likely blushing despite his darker complexion hiding it, his fingers still moving in the way Simon taught him, his only saving grace.

“Scoot.” Simon remarks and pushes his head aside, ever so slightly, causing him to rest against your thigh. Simon’s head pushes in near Kyle’s, resting against your other thigh, and his tongue catches your clit again, though the angle at he’s at now, slightly at an angle, allows Kyle to spot the way Simon moves his tongue: soft circles, zigzagging side to side, lips also rubbing against you.

Kyle watches closely, eyes widened, pupils blown with lust at the sight of Simon’s face so close and going down on you so eagerly, his eyes glued to your face up top, as if checking every single reaction you have to your boyfriend’s mouth. And react you do. Your moans are louder, jumpy, desperate, your hands grabbing the bed covers and squeezing tight, your cunt seeking Simon’s mouth as you fuck yourself onto it.

Kyle wasn’t the type to watch porn often, having little time and little interest in it, more so because he knew it wasn’t a good habit or realistic to expect it to be realistic… But the sight of Simon’s lips sucking and rubbing into your slick like it was the most delicious meal he’s ever gotten to eat was better than any of the porn he’s actually seen.

Simon’s able to make you come undone in a matter of minutes, the whimpers and needy moans, the shallow breaths, the way your head was left spinning, lolling to the side as Simon eased you down from your peak and then dropped a chaste kiss to your thigh before standing up again. 

“You saw that?” He teases Kyle, who nods eagerly, no words coming to his lips after the display he just got. “You’ll get there eventually. With practise.” He assures him before patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Up you go.”

“How are you doing, da’lin’?” Simon asks, checking on you as you nod and show him a thumbs up, causing a chuckle to come from his chest before he takes a seat in another armchair in the corner, a spot he usually uses when having insomnia, right by the windows, to work on his laptop while you sleep near him… Except this time being used for something else.

“Go on, then, continue.” He demands as he sprawls out on the armchair, legs spread and already undoing his belt and fly, seeking relief from the tight feeling in his own jeans.

You nod eagerly and quickly shift to be sat on the bed, pulling Kyle toward you. “You still want this?” You ask him as you look him in the eyes… As if Kyle, needy the way he is now, after the sight of you coming undone on Simon’s tongue, would ever be able to answer anything other than a resounding ‘YES!’.

“Mhm… I do.” Kyle assures you with another nod… So, you kiss again, hands sliding over each other’s bodies just like they had on the couch before, exploring the free skin, allowing Kyle to grope you more easily. He seems fixated on your ass and thighs, fingers kneading the extra meat in them and holding you close.

His cock has long recovered from his first orgasm, now rubbing against your tummy as he kneels in front of you on the mattress. But not for long. Soon, you’ve laid Kyle on his back, and you’re straddling him, one leg on either side, slowly rubbing your folds over the length of his veiny cock.

“You’re gonna take ‘im for a right, da’lin’?” Simon asks, your eyes seeking him out in his armchair. The way you’re positioned, he can see all of you. Your pretty tits, the way your lips spread to rub against Kyle’s shaft, your legs parted open and knees digging into the mattress.

“Mhm…” You reply, your expression having shifted once again from the needy, submissive mess he had made of you, to a more dominant, playful one as you look down at the sergeant below you, looking up at you like he knows he’s in for a wild one.

“Go on then… But try not to break him, yeah?” Simon teases and winks at you, his hand already palming his cock through his own black boxer briefs.

“No promises…” You quip in return and wink back, before, carefully reaching a hand forward to lift Kyle’s cock from its resting spot against his hip.

Slowly, you sink yourself into it, his narrower build a lot easier to accommodate than Simon’s girth… But you soon regret how eagerly you did it, when you feel Kyle’s sheer size slip inside easily, his tip striking your cervix forcefully with that one swft motion.

“Bloody hell…” You grunt and bounce back a bit to relieve the pressure. “You’re big, aren’t you?” You tease Kyle who’s already unresponsive, poor little thing, eyes twice as wide as they had been when you gave him head, barely nodding in response.

Shifting your weight around, you plant your feet on either side of Kyle’s hip. “I’m gonna move, okay?” You warn him, setting your open palms on his thighs, behind your back, earning another nod from Kyle.

Slowly, you start to ride him, each bounce of your hips drawing the most delicious moans out of Kyle, his head lolling back over the foot of the bed, eyelids fluttering and his back arching.

“Gah- Fuck-” Kyle grunts, his breath already ragged before you’ve had time to do anything, just slowly moving, feeling his lengthy size rub against your walls as you force him to bottom out every time.

Kyle’s voice gets higher, whinier, his forehead dribbling with sweat with each thrust you force his cock to deliver into your slick cunny. “Feels… so… sososo so good…” He whimpers, his tone almost pathetic.

“Yeah… does it feel good?” You croon at him, a mischievous smirk on your lips, his cock drawing soft moans off your mouth as well.

“Yeah… yeah… yeah…” Kyle nods needily, his breath staggered and swallowing excess saliva.

“Yeah? Was it all you were expecting, pretty boy?” You tease him some more, earning another handful of needy ‘Yeah’s, his mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to consider saying anything else. “You don’t want me to go faster then, do you?”

“No… no… faster…” He replies, his head shooting forward, clearly eager to experience what ‘faster’ would feel like.

“Oh? Then you were lying? It doesn’t feel good, you need it faster?” You croon at him as if he was behaving like a brat and not like the good boy he really was.

“No… nO… it’s- it’s-!” Kyle tries to reply, desperate to clear the misunderstanding. Not that you give him time for it, as you speed up the speed of your bouncing, taking him in harder with each strike of your hips coming down onto his.

“GOD- YES!” Kyle shouts, eyes shot open and back curling upward, his head snapping forward to look at you and watch the way your pussy swallows every inch of his veiny cock, before letting out a huff and falling back on the bed again, desperate for more.

His hands grab onto your thighs and hips, fingers digging in hard, as you ride him, sweat beginning to slide down your forehead, down your cheeks and neck. Your eyes flitter over to Simon in the corner.

The smug fucker is watching everything with a nasty little half-grin on his lips, brown eyes darkened with lust as he watches you play with Kyle, making him squirm and whimper below you.

“Play with your clit for me, da’lin’.” His voice rings out amidst the frequent and whiney moans coming from Kyle. One of your hands slips away from Kyle’s thigh behind you, finding your clit and rubbing it slowly as you keep bouncing atop of Kyle, hips stuttering lightly as the pleasure becomes more intense.

“That’s it…” Simon says with a chuckle from his armchair, fisting his cock leisurely, as if the sight in front of him wasn’t worth any more from him. “How’s his cock feel, da’lin’?” Your boyfriend asks you.

He’s playing with your head, much like you’re playing with Kyle’s… making you go back and forth between a submissive and dominant mind frame, deriving pleasure from the mind games he’s forcing you to take on.

“It’s big…” You whimper in reply. “So big…” You murmur, your eyes soft and needy as you look at your boyfriend, watching the wicked look in his face..

“Don’t look at me, look at him…” Simon tells you. “Fuck ‘im right, he deserves it.” Simon adds. “Poor lad, been so long without experiencing a pussy…” He teases. “ow’s it feel, Garrick?” He turns his attention, and yours, to the sergeant below you.

Kyle nods pathetically. “Y-Yeah… It’s- Ah-” He whimpers, eyes glazed over with pleasure, too far gone in it, too overwhelmed with the feeling of a warm, wet pussy sheathing his virgin cock.

He’s too fucked out to think… And you’re bound to join him soon enough, with the way he looks below you, your fingers playing with your clit, and his cock swiftly hitting a spot inside you that no man’s ever reached before…

Your hips stutter atop of Kyle’s, your legs straining and tired, sore from the rhythm and position. You shift positions, leaning forward, hands coming to rest on his hard pecs, your head hanging atop of Kyle’s, facing him better.

You grind back and forth, trying to regain strength to continue, feeling Kyle’s tip rubbing deep inside of you, so deep and hard… You can’t help but whine.

“She’s getting tired, Kyle. Go on, it’s your turn.” Your boyfriend quips, his voice dripping with power and command over the two of you.

Kyle didn’t need to be told twice, his arms wrapped around your lower back and he bucked up like a bull, tossing you both aside, the bed creaking with the movement. Whatever insecurity he had is gone.

He pushes your thighs apart with his hip and starts pistoning into you with barely any regard for rhythm or how deep he’s going, his face buried into your neck as he plows into you, grunting and whining like an animal in rut. Not that you mind.

You’re used to Simon (and sometimes a few other mutual ‘friends’ of yours), men who are experienced, who know what to do, how to do it, who aren’t sloppy or erratic, who’s hips don’t jerk with each plunge into your warm cunny… It’s completely different with a bloke like Kyle. Inexperienced, green, but eager and desperate and…

You’re moaning loud and often, nails clawing at his smooth scarless back, eyes rolling as each snap of his hips claps against you like a whip, his cock burying into you to the hilt and back out before plunging back in.

Once more, Simon’s quick to come to your side, quick to crouch by the side of the bed, eyes admiring the way you both act and move, to keep a keen eye on your reactions and his, ready to pull him off you like a mutt that’ll hurt his mate if the owner doesn’t make him dismount…

But he doesn’t intervene. Not when you’re moaning like a whore, with Kyle sweating and grunting atop you, his eyes screwed shut and looking like he’ll lose every and any ounce of restraint he has in the next 3 seconds, somehow pulling the will to go on from sheer fucking air.

“You gonna flood ‘er little cunt with your come, aren’t you, Kyle?” Simon coos as he rests his forearms on the mattress, a perch to watch better.

“Y-Yeah! Yeah!” Kyle replies with an eager nod, eyes opening for a moment to look at Simon who’s so close to him.

“Yeah? Are you?” Simon continues egging him on. “You gonna fill my girl with your load?” He adds, his voice dropping to a more authoritative tone.

“Y-YEAH!” Kyle raises his voice, a bit more determined, but still deep in his natural state… obedient, ready to die for his superior, for his lieutenant.

“Go on, then,” Simon demands. “I wanna see. I wanna see you fill ‘er up.” He adds. “Tell ‘er you’re gonna do it.”

Kyle’s head turns a bit to look at you, his warm brown eyes blown wide with lust and desperation, his skin slick with sweat, his plump lips parted to let in desperate gulps of air.

“‘m gonna…” Kyle grunts as he shifts his weight lightly, his nose leaning against yours. “Gonna put my come so… deep inside you…” He warns you.

The look in his eyes, the desperation in his tone, the warning tone of his that does not at all fit his personality… Somehow it all comes together to rip the filthiest orgasm out of you, your head rolling back, eyes squeezing shut and a loud whine slipping from your parted lips as you squeeze and contract around Kyle’s cock.

Kyle can’t last not even a second longer the moment you start to come around him. His eyes fall shut, his back arches and he digs his fingers into the bed, toes curling and legs shaking as he fucks his come inside of you, drool slipping down his parted mouth.

“Good job.” Simon’s voice remarks next to you, satisfied and almost… proud, while you’re both too lost in the high of pleasure to even recognize his existence in the room or that you’re… alive, really.

[ma1dita]

said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 2.1k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok

(posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you. 

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him. 

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties. 

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D. 

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame. 

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react. 

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated. 

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you. 

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well. He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?” He means it. 

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture. 

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, trouble?” 

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you. 

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts. 

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder. 

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you, trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

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[oddinarylani]

"you don't want me" | skz | pt. 1 | chan, lee know, changbin, hyunjin

9:51 pm. bang chan.

it was past midnight by now. the moon wasn’t shining. she was hidden behind great big storm clouds that’d been crying since noon. the dirt turned to slush, the pavements now a dark gray - different from their softer brighter colors underneath the sun. the only sound that triumphed through the room was the white-noise sound of the rain - beating down on the roof, on the windows, on cars outside, and on the earth. 

empty. just empty. and tired. so tired. there wasn’t a way to describe it; and you were tired of trying. you hadn’t the drive for much anymore, not for work, or friends, but you still stood out for chan. you always would. you just haven’t been good at it for the past few weeks - and he was worried to bits which was the last thing you wanted. 

maybe silence and the dreadful exhaustion of not even trying to communicate would fix things. maybe he’d get the right idea and move on. this couldn’t be good for him, no, surely not. there was better in the world, it just wasn’t the home of your arms. 

“would you talk to me?” he asks, his voice shaky - brows melted together and worried sick. and he was truly worried sick. checking his phone for any texts from you or updates, laying awake when he let the worry eat him up. 

you look up from your hands, realizing you were lost in thought. “o-oh, yeah. sorry.” 

“sorry? i just want you to talk to me. you don’t have to apologize.” he grabs at your hands, a slippery grip that shakes his stable hold, he eventually steadies his hold and looks at you with a kind of wavering certainty. he’s trying desperately to be the strength you need, but his vigor is faltering. he sees all the hope in the palms of his hands being to melt away and he hadn’t the time to sort through the hundreds of thoughts forming in the terrorous wake of that.

your hand falls slack in his own, failing in your grip of his desperate grab of your hands. chan watches every microexpression that graces your face, seeing your brows bleed together. doubt strikes your features, and you slide your hand from his grasp, shaking your head before the words leave your mouth. 

all you had to do was muster the strength to speak the words, but even then, swallowed by a kind of grief, completely blindsided by false-truths, but even then it hurt to say. 

“y-you don’t want me,,” your watery eyes can’t even meet chan’s - he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces all over the floor. 

“you’re all i want, all i have ever wanted- what do you mean.” and his voice wobbles, he wants to reach out, grab you, stabilize you - shake the sense into you, because what do you mean he doesn’t want you? he’s wanted you so terribly for so long that he let it tear him up inside. 

“i’ve been in love with you for years- i-i love you so much, you’re all i want.” he does reach out now, bracing your arms in his gentle hands when the tears spill over your cheeks and you crumble in his hold. 

“b-but i’m like,,, this- i-i don’t-” he brings your body into his arms, your chest meeting his as his big arms wrap around you and hold you tight to his body. he’s warm, and his embrace just fills you up so much you don’t know what to do with it. 

“i love this part too. i promised you that and i do. i always will okay?” his hands hold the sides of your head, over your hair - and he pulls away to look you in the eye when he says that. he knows you need to hear it, knows you need to look at him when he does. 

you fold and buckle, only able to nod to keep your voice from wobbling and cracking. you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. 

“i’ll never stop telling you i love you.” he presses his plushy lips to the top of your head, his hands smoothing over your back gently. “i’ll tell you more.” he promises. 

“i-i’m scared i’ll push you away, that i’ll scare yo-you off or that i’ll hurt you. i-i can’t-” you shake your head against him and frown, his t-shirt soaking up the wetness from your cheeks. “i can’t hurt you, chan. i can’t do that to you.”

“you don’t hurt me, baby. you never have, i promise. just wanna be here for you.” he mumbles against your hair, his hand cradling the side of your head. his lips leave tingly kisses along your hairline, and his promises to you fill you with love that you’re unsure what to do with. 

you nod against him, and he smooths his hands over your head again, “okay? i love you.” he pulls away, his eyes soft and brows melted together as his sights washed over your tear stained cheeks and face. “love you too.” you mumble, his thumbs swiping your under eyes and drying your cheeks. 

8:12 am. lee know. 

soft cuts of sunlight filtered in through the lines of the blinds and you’re immediately met with the warmth of the bed beneath you. the shirt you were wearing wasn’t yours, and your hair still seemed done from the night before - with a wandering and curious gaze, your eyes filter over to the sight next to you, and your lips part in surprise. 

minho, laying like an angel, as always. sleepy, soft skin blanketed by a thick comforter - lean muscle beneath. his hair was sprawled and he was still wearing makeup but if he wasn’t the prettiest sight in the world you didn’t know what was. 

only problem of course, he was your friend. a long time friend. and you’d been into him for far too long to let this slide. 

quickly, your legs slither out from the comforters, your toes finding the wood floors with ease as you move quietly to slink out of his bed, your gaze fixated on his sleeping face the entirety of your attempted escape. you pull on your skirt from the night before, grab your shoes in one hand before they slip from your grip and clatter to the floor quite ceremoniously. 

your face winces up, shoulders and spine tight as he stirs, his eyes fluttering open. 

he leans up on his elbows, eyes squinted as they adjust to the mild morning light coming from behind his blinds. 

“what’re you doing?” he asks tiredly, slumping back into the mattress as you gather your shoes in your hand once more. 

you push your hair from your face, huffing to gather your breath as you look at him. “i have to leave, minho.” you explain, feeling the tightness in your chest gather at the thought. 

“you don’t, come back to bed-” he groans, stretching, his hand gently offered to you as he laid back down, eyes sleepy and voice croaky. 

all of your hurt, after all of these years comes back to the forefront of your brain. the nights you spent crying, realizing he’d never want you, the years spent in pain in realization you’d never have him. and you can’t stop yourself from blurting what you truly felt, tired and defeated. 

“you don’t want me.” you shrug like it’s easy, like there was no other way, only acceptance of what you’d manage to convince yourself of. your chest aches at the sound of your own statement, but you grip your shoes a little closer and swallow the dryness in your throat. 

he leans up, slow. the crinkle of the comforter as he does so only fills you further with nervous anticipation. his eyes are still tired, angeled and low and he seems so pleased with what he says. 

“i do want you.” his brows lift for a moment. not for a second does his eye contact waver - and you knew, a small but very true part of you knew he wasn’t lying but you couldn’t accept it. no it wouldn’t be that easy, and maybe it meant something different to him. 

“no you don’t.” it’s gentle, defeated, barely rolled off your mouth when you say it and he feels your hurt - feels a bit of his own too though he wouldn’t like to admit it. 

“i do.” he presses. his expression changes, one of understanding that melts at the ache in your chest. he softens, his hand now more of an extended invitation. almost like he was silently pleading with you to just take it - take it and trust him. 

your fingertips tingle with the twinge of need that extends in your touch; they act before you can control them. the back of your hand raises, the supple skin of your palm meets his, and he wraps his hand around yours the moment you touch. 

it feels so right - god it feels right. it nearly takes the breath away from you - even this was enough. just this. 

he pulls you closer to him, his arm lifting to circle around your waist like it was the first time he’d ever done so; his touch and hold almost chivalrous. never for a second does he let his eyes leave your own, your face. his skin awakens prickles in your skin, your lungs take in breaths shakily - like every bit of you trembles at his touch. 

he takes your hand, swallows it in his grip because he wants to ground you - just think of me. it’s like he says. i’m here. a promise. what he can’t muster to say in words - he tries desperately hard to say in the way he floods your senses. it’s bracing, whole. 

“have for a while.” he admits softly, as your knee comes to press into the softness of his bed, getting closer by the second. 

“why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, sitting with your legs folded over his own cloaked by the comforter. 

he shakes his head gently, brows raised again, for a moment. “don’t know.” he musters, smiling for a second at the realization of his own sheer disbelief. why hadn’t he? fear? doubt?

“i should’ve said something too. ‘s okay.” you squeeze his hand before softly pulling it from his grasp, knowing he wasn’t the biggest fan of skinship. but to your surprise, he reaches back out for you.

he pulls your hand to his cheek, leaning into the touch with soft low gaze. his skin is warm, his guidance of your hand to his face is gentle, and you feel your heart lighten at the action, a small understanding smile on your lips. your shoes are disregarded, hair messy, but all you see is him. and all he wants is you. 

3:43 pm. changbin.

“your friend,” your mom begins. “the one with the…” her voice drifts off, her hands gesturing in long strokes of her fingers from the top of her head to her mid-waist, repeating this action until you understood. the long hair, she was meaning. 

“yeah,” you follow with their name. 

“their parents were at the recital - did you know she’s going off to a performing arts high school?” and you swallow because of course you knew this, the whole school did. and now your hands were wringing together because you were nervous, anxious. and you just didn’t want to hear her actually say it or it’d confirm everything.

“why don’t you do something like that? 

it was a frightening feeling and not at all fleeting. no. this sat with you, cooked inside your brain and marinated in a venomous concoction of long-lasting insecurity and self-doubt. 

being loved by and loving changbin was a catalyst and returning friend of a face you said goodbye to some time ago. comparatively, you and changbin were very different people. a world-renown producer and artistic creator to one of the most popular kpop groups to ever rise in the industry, and you. 

little you. 

with nimble fingers half-good at crochet, a homemade recipe for lemon ginger tea, and a smile you convinced yourself most days was nice, you didn’t compare. it wasn’t sad, it took no convincing on your end, it just was. 

suddenly consciousness regains in the forefront of your mind - and it slips from your lips before you can stop it. 

“you don’t want me.” it’s said into the phone pressed against your cheek, you’re driving, and you’re nearly home. the rain is still falling from the morning - shining and wetting the roads up for traffic lights to reflect their bright colors on the throats of puddles. 

on the other end of the line, changbin’s voice dies in his throat - too thoroughly stunned in the moment to even try speaking. his lips part, his brain thinks over the words you’ve just said to him, and he can’t puzzle himself as to why you’d ever say that. 

“w-why do you want me-” a sharp intake of breath past your lips, a shudder, the slam of your car into park as the doors unlock and his very first instinct before anything else is to be there. 

he says your name, speaks it with ease - familiarized himself with the way it feels in his mouth, and he stutters before speaking again. 

“of course i want you- are-are you okay? talk to me, baby what’s going on?” he stiffens up in his chair and chan leaves the room to grab a call from an executive. right now the music doesn’t matter, the hours of work spent trying to delicately assemble a new track doesn’t matter, the only thing he can think about is you. why you’re saying this. 

“i-it’s been-” you sniff, wiping your face at the pathetic notion of your own tears. “it’s been on my mind lately and i can’t stop thinking about it, bin.” your hand shakes with the grip on your phone, voice failing as you succumb to the tears. your shoulders shake, and you put a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise - as if you could hide it from changbin.

“baby, i’m here, i’m here, it’s okay. let me wrap this up with chan real quick and i’ll be over okay? you at your place?” he asks, voice soft and turned away from the mixing booth as chan walks back into the studio.

you nod, humming and confirming.

“i’ll be on my way in a minute, okay? i’ll text you when i’m headed over, baby.”

he leaves a minute later, driving like hell to get to you quick enough - and when he sprints up the stairs to your apartment he walks in to find the lights low and your form sitting on the couch - head resting in your hand.

“i’m here, baby. what’s wrong.” he doesn’t miss a beat - immediately he kneels at the couch, his hands coming to stroke your upper arms, coaxing you soothingly to open up to him. you shake your head, lips wobbling. 

“god- it’s pathetic really, bin-” you almost chuckle in hindsight. “just…” you look down, feeling the warmth of his hands as he circles you.

there’s a brief intermittent pause. a realization. it washes over you and steals the words from your mouth and the thoughts along with them. his hands pause between your bodies as if he’s afraid - afraid to touch you - afraid to upset you. more big wet tears cascade down your cheeks, face flushed with heat and red, and you wish more now than ever that he’d just hold you. 

“i-i don’t,,, i can’t-” you sniff. “compare to you.” it angers you to even speak it, knowing it’d hurt him. why.

“y-you don’t,,” you shake your head, your eyes filtering up to meet his own that look at you with such disbelief it’s almost sobering.

you were telling him this. like it was a fact, like it was your decision to make. he thinks maybe that’s why it hurt so much to hear you say it. like there was no alternative in your mind, nothing you could tell yourself to soothe this particular ache. like your mind was made up. 

“baby, baby-” he stands to sit next to you on the couch, gently grabbing your legs to toss over his own, his hands coming to stroke the wetness from your cheeks. every touch of his skin on your own is terribly grounding and sobering, and for a moment your tears slow a bit as he cradles your face in his calloused hands. 

“all i want is you. all i want. okay? i want all of you, on your best and worst days.” his arms circle you, hand resting at the back of your head to urge him into your shoulder. there’s where your tears fall now, arms grasping onto him and his shoulders. “there’s nothing you or anyone else could say to change my mind either. you’re perfect and i love you.” 

you nod against him, breathing in shaky. “i love you. i love you so much.” you know he’ll say it as many times as he must before you accept it. 

“love you too. love you.” you’ve become something like putty in his arms as he holds you. his hands soothe over your back, and you hear it; hear him. and believe him. 

1:03 am. hyunjin. 

your fingertips shake, fluttering over the textured fabric of the dress sitting daintily from your figure. a breath released, a breath inhaled, and in the next moment - it all comes crumbling; the image of yourself you brave for yourself. the falsities, the fabrications. in the reflection of the mirror you watch peripherally your face drop, turning to the side to run your hands over the curve of your body, trying to make it fit, trying to fit this idea into a box. 

your hands drop slack, hitting the sides of your legs. your composure weakens and you feel a buckle in your ability to withstand it. 

“fuck,,” you whisper, turnin away from the mirror with your hands on your face - fighting with might only a god could match to keep from crying. 

too many tears were shed because of this very same reality, you didn’t want to give it the satisfaction of succumbing to it. 

but your knees buckle - submitting to it, and you’re right back at square zero. 

hyunjin was going to be home any moment now, this fact had drifted away from your thoughts as hot tears welled up in your eyes, only when you hear the door unlock do you tighten up like board was tied to your back. you stand, walking to the closet to change quickly. just as your fingers unzipped the back, tears rolling over your cheeks and jaw, hyunjin announces he’s walked into the bedroom with a soft, “i’m back, baby.” 

his voice was soft, and he was completely oblivious and safe from the torrent of thoughts within your skull. he slinks in, your hands pause from unzipping your dress. “ah,” you sniff. “hey honey.” 

his head turns in your direction at the sound of that. 

he doesn’t have sights on you, you’re hidden behind the closet doors, but he makes his way over quietly, making a questioning type of humming noise, as if gently asking, “what?” 

you keep your lips sealed, unable to conjure an excuse quick enough - he’s suspected you already and you know if he finds you like this, it’ll be a torrential downpour you won’t be able to stop - hyunjin had that effect. 

“,,,babe? what’s-“ “d-don’t-“ your hand stops him from opening the closet door, you didn’t mean for the action to come across as aggressive it was - but you couldn’t let him see, and your heartbreaks at the idea. 

“what’s wrong, angel? i won’t judge you, i promise.” he relaxes his hands on the closet doors, his eyes darting over it’s surface. there’s a bit of anxiety boiling up now for hyunjin, he hadn’t a clue what was going on but he expected the worst by far. all he wanted was to be there for you - know why you were upset and help. 

“the dress i-… it doesn’t look good.” you sniff again, on the very edge once more as tears build more, faster. 

“i’m sure you look beautiful, baby. it’s okay. can i come in?” he doesn’t press the door, but instead waits for your consent. 

“s-some of the beading came off while i was putting it on and the seams look stretched-“ you take a breath shakily from your nose, “hyunjin-“ you say his name with reason, like saying it would be enough to soothe you. hyunjin feels his heart ache deep within his chest, his bottom lip pushed out slightly as he hears your hurt. 

“you won’t… you won’t want me.” 

it absolutely tears him up inside the way you say that. 

he pushes the door with no fighting from you, eyes first and only meeting your eye contact. “all i want is you, okay? i want you.” he promises, hands a bit shaky as he smooths over your hair and holds your face, his movements a bit sporadic as he tries everything he can to get you to focus on him, on what he was saying. 

“i love you.” he exhales. “i love you.” his hands shake your face the slightest amount to just try to get you to believe him. 

“and you look so beautiful, baby.” he mumbles into your hairline, pulling you into his arms, his own eyes closed tight. his hands flatten against your back, running his palms smooth over your exposed skin. “you are so beautiful.” 

in his arms, your crying slows. and the only reason he lets you go is to make a point. 

“come. follow me.” he grasps your hand, letting you follow behind him with as he stands in your mirror. 

“look at you.” he smiles softly, holding your hands in his own. “so pretty,” he whispers as if in thought, looking over your form as if it was a book to study. 

you wipe your face, feeling hyunjin begin to walk behind you, his hand kept only our waist as he now towers behind you - warm hand resting on your hip. “i knew when i bought this you’d look beautiful but,, it’s more than that.” his voice is soft, only shared between the both of you. 

you shake your head gently, feeling his hands steady on your zipper, stabilizing your side as he begins zipping you up - his eyes thoroughly focused on your form in the mirror as he does so. he says it like he doesn’t doubt it even for a moment. there’s not a moment he doesn’t think you’re outstanding, and not a moment he wishes to quiet his claim of your beauty. 

“look at me,” he asks, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes in the mirror. you let his soft touch gently guide you - his thumb swiftly drying a stray tear. his hand settles on the other side of your waist, holding you in his hands. his look is all too knowing, chin dropped, fully expectant on you understanding what he was thinking - and all you can do for a moment is chuckle, wiping your cheeks. 

“you look so pretty, baby - this was made for you.” he promises, admiring the texture of the dress under his hands as he gently strokes your sides and smiles.

[runnning-outof-time]

Worth Breaking Plans For | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby never thought he'd willingly go to see a ballet…that was until he found out that (Y/N) was performing in one. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) never thought she was someone worth breaking plans for…that was until Tommy came into her life.

Warnings: drinking and one bad word

Word Count: 4238

A/N: I’ve got another long one for ya here…the words just wouldn’t stop haha. This one was super fun to write. I hope I added enough ballerina elements for you, anon. If you haven’t got your fill by the end of it though, @padfootdaredmetoo has an amazing ballerina!reader series that you should check out! Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) just barely had the time to take in her surroundings before she was having a flute of champagne thrust in her direction. "Here," the drink was accompanied by the words of her friend, Lou, "have a few of these and you'll be settled in in no time."

"Thank you," (Y/N) gingerly replied, accepting the glass and bringing it up to her lips so that she could take a sip of the bubbly liquid. She then smiled at her friends, who were intently watching for any microexpression she would share with them. "It's good," she told them, feeling a little silly for even saying that in the first place.

"Good," Julia affirmed, a smile present on her face as she watched her friend take another sip, "let's get into this party now!" she cheered, taking hold of (Y/N)'s hand so that she, and Lou, could lead her deeper into the establishment.

(Y/N) took that time to look around in awe. She hadn't attended many of these parties - as if that hadn't been obvious enough - and was eager to soak in every aspect of it that she could. Spending time with a few friends from her company at either her flat or a smaller venue was more her speed, but that didn't mean she wasn't excited to see the other half of the spectrum.

"Did you hear what Lou said, (Y/N)?" the sound of Julia's voice broke into her thoughts, making her focus on her friends again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't," she admitted, a sheepish smile present on her face. They'd been here for a handful of minutes now and yet there were details of the venue and revelry that she still hadn't caught onto. She didn't feel too bad for being lost in the atmosphere of it all.

"I was saying that I've gotten word about there being some rather prominent figures at this party," Lou repeated herself, a grin forming on her face.

"Prominent in what sense?" (Y/N) couldn't help but ask. She had a right to, considering that she and her two friends were members of one of the most prestigious ballet companies that ran in London and its surrounding areas. Technically they could be considered part of the 'prominent figures' being talked about.

"I've heard everything from entertainers, to politicians, and even..." Julia trailed off, glancing around before she leaned closer to the other two women, her grin growing as she went to finish off her statement, "gangsters."

"Why did you say it in that way?" (Y/N) couldn't help but giggle at her friend's delivery of the word.

"Because the thought of it is so utterly...interesting," Julia responded.

“And exhilarating,” Lou added.

"Wouldn’t it be fun to meet a gangster?" Julia finished off with a question, making Lou nod, a giddy grin present on her face as she added a few more words of agreement.

"Hmm...I suppose," (Y/N) aired more on the coy side of things, looking out at the sea of people that were attending the party. She found it slightly hard to believe that there were actual gangsters scattered amongst these innocent looking party-goers. Maybe it'd only be those fake kinds...like the ones you'd see in the pictures.

"Come on ladies, let's find ourselves a gangster!" Julia cheered, obviously not letting the distinction bog her mind down. She clapped her hands together before leading the other two even further into the venue.

(Y/N) took that time to do some more looking around, her eyes dancing from the band, to the extravagant decorations, to the many people who seemed to be having the time of their lives. Amidst the looking, her eyes stopped on a man...one who immediately stood out from the rest of the people she'd been watching so far. She couldn't help but let her eyes linger on him for a longer amount of time. He just looked so...interesting, for lack of better words, and she found herself entranced by him.

She let her eyes linger on him until Lou broke into her thoughts - yet again - this time going on about seeing a familiar face that she wanted to go speak to. So with slight dismay, she broke her stare and followed her friends.

"Ada Thorne! It really is you!" Lou exclaimed as the three women approached another one, who had brown hair and a well-dressed figure.

"Lou! It's so good to see you!" the woman replied in a similar fashion to the initial greeting, a wide smile forming on her face. "Goodness, you've brought friends as well," she added, her eyes focusing on the other two ladies.

"Yes, I have," Lou answered with a smile, "this is Julia and (Y/N), they're both in the same company as me," she then went about the introductions.

"It's nice to meet you ladies. Lou always goes on and on about the women she performs with...it's so nice to finally put some faces to the stories," Ada said, smiling as she spoke.

"So how have things been with you?" Lou then moved to the small talk portion of the conversation, her eyebrows raised as she awaited a response.

(Y/N) figured that she didn't really need to be a part of the conversation anymore, so she happily went back to people watching. Much to her upset, she couldn't find the man she'd been fixated on earlier, no matter how hard she looked for him. That didn't mean that she didn't still enjoy taking in her surroundings once more.

She stayed locked into her own world until the feeling of Julia jabbing her side brought her out of it. "Goodness, what's that for?" she asked her friend, her eyes snapping to the other woman as she sent her a glare.

"You've been in your own world while we're being introduced to someone here," she hissed, nodding her head to the left to indicate that someone else had joined the group in the meantime.

(Y/N) was a bit nervous to look, feeling bashful all of a sudden for not having proper party manners. But she had to look, because it quickly became apparent that the conversation wasn't going on without it. So she did, and the sight that was awaiting her made her mouth go dry in seconds. Standing before her was the man...the one that she'd been transfixed on earlier. She suddenly hoped that her jaw hadn't gone slack at the realization as she scrambled to think of something to say.

"You'll have to forgive me...I like to take in my surroundings whenever I'm able to," she said to the man, a sheepish smile forming on her face.

"All is forgiven," the man brushed her apology off without second thought. The gruffness in his voice moved her in ways that she truly hadn't been moved before. That, coupled with the intensity of his ocean blue eyes that were currently focused on her, made her feel like her knees could give out at any moment.

"My name's (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," (Y/N) then decided to introduce herself, figuring that the group had already gotten past that step and was waiting for her to catch up.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)," the man said with a slight, greeting-typed nod before continuing, "my name's Tommy. Tommy Shelby," he then offered up his name, along with his hand for her to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you as well, Tommy," she responded to him, accepting the handshake with a kind smile.

"Tommy's my brother," Ada then entered the conversation, making (Y/N) remember that there were others around her, and that she wasn't just standing by herself with this man. "He says he's in town on business, but I think he's come to keep tabs on me," she added, a grin forming on her face as she took a playful jab at her sibling.

"It's nice to meet you, Tommy," Julia offered a greeting similar to (Y/N)'s, which made her wonder if maybe introductions hadn't been completed yet.

"These ladies all belong to one of the finest ballet companies this city has to offer," Ada then gave her brother some more information on the women he'd just been introduced to, her words making Lou playfully chide her.

Small talk re-commenced then, and (Y/N) tried to stay with it for the sake of not making another awkward mistake. She found it hard to be completely focused though, because no matter what she did, she couldn't quite keep her eyes off of Tommy.

——

"Well this is a surprise," Ada remarked when she opened the door to find her brother on the other side of it.

"Do you have plans for this evening?" Tommy asked, deciding to skip the greetings and get to the reason he was standing outside her door.

"I don't," Ada, thankfully, answered without much thought, "is there something you need me for?"

"I need you to come with me," Tommy continued, fishing his watch out of its pocket so that he could make sure he was still on time.

"Where?" now she was answering like the Ada he knew.

"There's a show going on at the theatre...I wanted to go to it and figured you'd might want to come," he gave her some vague details.

"And what is this show exactly?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in a questioning manner.

"Just come with me, Ada," he answered in a dismissive tone, not exactly wanting to play twenty questions at this moment.

Ada pursed her lips, not happy that her brother was being abrupt with her. She took a few moments to think his proposal over, secretly loving how the wait was driving him crazy. "I'll come," she finally agreed to his plan, "just let me make sure that Karl can be watched first," she added, turning and going back into the house to find that live-in nanny and tell her that she was going out.

—

"I never thought there'd come a day where Tommy Shelby would willingly go to a ballet," Ada commented with a smirk as she and Tommy found their seats in the front row of the upper balcony. She'd been sending these little jabs his way since she got the program and realized what show he was bringing them to.

"Ada," Tommy spoke in a warning tone, having heard enough of her teasing.

"Fine, I'll stop," she conceded, although she was trying her best to withhold her giggles.

Tommy just shook his head and turned his attention to the stage's curtains. He could see from the corner of his eye that Ada had opened the program and started flipping through it. He was thankful that she'd now found something else to do. But he wasn't out of the woods just yet.

"Which of the ladies is it?" she asked after a few minutes had passed, her words making him turn to look at her with furrowed brows. "Of the women we met at the party...which one is it?" she added more clarification.

Tommy went to speak, but the house lights dimming stopped - saved - him from having to answer. A round of applause coursed through the theatre as the curtains were pulled aside and the performance began. Tommy spent the next hour or so keeping his eyes fixed on the woman he hadn't been able to rid his mind of since he last saw her at the party.

—

"Oh my, this is so lovely," (Y/N) cooed as she accepted the single flower and hand-drawn picture from one of the girls that had come backstage to meet her, "thank you so much!"

"I drew the picture myself," the girl boasted, her words making (Y/N) look at the picture to see that there were two ballerinas drawn on it: one bigger and one smaller. "I want to be a ballerina one day when I grow up," the girl added, a toothy smile forming on her face.

"You keep practicing and you may just be on stage with us one day," (Y/N) told her, an encouraging smile present on her face.

The group of girls said their goodbyes then, their mothers calling them back over so that they could leave. That was when (Y/N) looked up to see a familiar figure leaning against the wall not too far away. The breath got stuck in her throat as she became focused on him; feeling the exact same feelings she'd experienced at the party. Goodness, he just had this aura to him.

"Tommy," she hated that she said his name a little too eagerly, "I...I would have never expected to see you here," she couldn't help but voice her surprise.

"I was in town and figured I'd come to see a show," he brushed her statement off with a slight shrug of his shoulders after he pushed himself off of the wall to move closer to her.

"Did you come alone?" she just had to ask.

"No, Ada came as well. She went off to find your friend...Lou, I believe it was," he answered, glancing down at the items she was holding then. "Had I known you were accepting gifts, I would have brought one," he said, motioning to the flowers and bears she had in her arms.

"Oh no...that's not necessary," she brushed him off, trying to ignore the giddy feeling she was now getting in her stomach.

"You did well," he complimented her performance, tucking his hands into his pockets as he spoke.

"Thank you," (Y/N) accepted the compliment with a smile. She looked down at the things she was holding then, feeling the heat rise within her more with each second that they held eye contact.

"You know..." Tommy started, clearing his throat before continuing, "you should at least let me take you for a drink; since I came here empty-handed."

His words brought (Y/N)'s eyes back up to his in a flash, and he most certainly caught the look of surprise she was wearing before she tried hard to hide it. "Oh you don't have to do that," she tried to brush his offer off.

"No, I insist," he held steady, "it'd be a way to celebrate a successful show...my first ballet," he added, the final words of his sentence making her let out a stifled laugh.

"You're truly offering?" she checked with him before giving her final answer.

"I am," he nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

She had to bite back the smile that was threatening to form as she took a moment's pause. If she answered too soon, it would have looked like she was overly excited for this opportunity. "I'd like that then," she told him, hoping that her giddiness wasn't plastered clear across her face. "I need to quickly put these in the dressing room," she added, raising her arms slightly to call attention to the gifts she'd been holding.

"I'll be waiting here," he told her, nodding as she turned and walked towards the dressing rooms.

She was unable to get to them without being stopped by Julia first. "Is that the man from the party, (Y/N)?" her friend asked, her eyes swapping between (Y/N) and Tommy.

"It is," (Y/N) answered, again hoping that her giddiness wasn't too apparent.

"What's he doing here?"

"He's offered to take me for drinks," (Y/N) couldn't help but feel proud as she spoke.

A grin spread across Julia's face as she heard her friend's response, "oh so it's like that?" she questioned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Not exactly like that," (Y/N) was quick to brush her off, "he's just being kind."

"You'll have to tell me all about it at rehearsals tomorrow...we'll see how kind he ended up being," Julia stated, winking as she put emphasis on the word 'kind'.

"It's not like that, Julia!" (Y/N) insisted, her eyebrows raised as she stressed her point in a harsh whisper.

"Don't keep your man waiting." (Y/N)'s statement was ignored, and Julia's grin only grew as she spoke, ending off with giving the other woman a friendly push towards the dressing room.

(Y/N) let out a huff as she went to quickly put the gifts she'd received down. She then hurried to get changed out of her costume before grabbing her things and heading out of the dressing room. Tommy was standing right where she left him, and she sent him a smile as she approached him. He asked her if she was ready, and she nodded, allowing the two to leave the theatre and go wherever they'd be having drinks.

—

Conversation came easily between the two as they settled in at the bar of one of the more prestigious clubs in the city. (Y/N) would have loved to look around and get lost in her surroundings but, well...she had more interesting things to look at.

They learned a good bit about each other as they sat and talked. (Y/N) told Tommy all about her rise to the company that she was dancing for now, and Tommy in turn told (Y/N) of how he made his way out of Birmingham, coming from nothing to now dealing with some of the heads of the business sphere. He also made hints at some other avenues that he's simultaneously working in, but didn't really elaborate on them. (Y/N) truly didn't need details though...she'd become so enthralled by this man that she was sure it'd take something dire to make her want to leave him.

So enthralled, in fact, that she did something that would be considered rather bold by her standards and invited him back to her flat for a nightcap. Tommy, who was also enjoying himself, accepted the invitation with no hesitation, then going to pay off their tab so that they could leave the club for the building she lived in.

Things transitioned more than smoothly to her flat. The shift in the energy between them became increasingly more noticeable the closer they got to the building, and neither said a word as they rode the elevator up to her floor, instead choosing to let their eyes do the talking as they held each other's gazes.

If she was being honest, (Y/N) couldn't wait much longer to get him behind the privacy of her door. The second she did, her hands found the lapels of his suit jacket so that she could bring him to her and press their lips together in a haste kiss. Tommy accepted it with a matched eagerness, holding her tight to his body as he deepened it.

"I'm sorry...that was a bit forward of me," (Y/N) panted once they'd pulled away. She couldn't mask the bashfulness that was coming on once her mind caught up to her actions.

"Don't apologize," Tommy told her, taking a chance to take in her features at this new closeness, "I quite liked it." A slight laugh left her lips as he finished speaking, one that sounded like music to his ears.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked him then.

"Sure."

(Y/N) nodded before she glanced down to where she was still gripping his lapels. She exhaled a breath of a laugh before releasing them and smoothing them back to their previous state. Tommy let go of her waist then, and she quickly turned to head to the kitchen so that he wouldn't see her frown at the loss of contact. He followed her to the kitchen, not really wanting to leave her side either.

"Did you enjoy the performance today?" she asked him as she grabbed a bottle and two glasses.

"I did," he answered after having to recall how the night started. It felt like it happened so long ago at this point. "You didn't have much of a part in it though," he pointed out then.

"Yeah," she answered, a bit of a lopsided smile present as she went about pouring the drinks. "I did audition for the lead in our next show though..." she paused, sliding one glass towards him before she looked up with a smile, "and I got the part!" she couldn't help but voice her happiness to this man she'd only met a week ago.

"Yeah? When is the show?" he asked, genuine curiosity present in his voice.

"It's in two weeks. On the twentieth," a fire started to burn in her stomach at the thought of him coming to see her perform again.

"Fuck," he breathed as he looked down at the glass.

This was a response she was not expecting, and it confused her. "What? Is something wrong?" she asked, all of the excitement now gone.

"I'll be out of town that day, on business," he told her, his simple sentence effectively breaking her heart. Why had she gotten her hopes up?

"Oh," she couldn't help but voice her upset, glancing up at him before she took a drink.

She looked at him again as she set the glass down on the counter, trying not to let this turn of events spoil what had been an otherwise amazing evening. Hell, she had this insanely handsome man in her flat...who was she to stand around and mope over something she couldn't control? Tommy was taking that time to look her over too, and she couldn't help but love the feeling of his eyes on her.

"We still have tonight though..." she spoke again after a few moments had passed, keeping her eyes steady on him, watching his every move.

He let his eyes trail over her face again, taking in every inch of it. He licked his lips as he thought about the magnitude of her statement. "We do have tonight," he answered then, letting her lead the interaction.

She couldn't stop from biting on her bottom lip as she thought of how to word her next question. The energy coursing between them was almost palpable at this point, and she wondered how she was able to shift so quickly from disappointment to desire just by standing in his presence. It felt like ages before she spoke again, a hint of curiosity now sparkling in her eyes: "would you like to come to bed with me?"

Tommy didn't wait ages to give his response. He broke the distance between them in seconds, his hands finding the sides of her face so that he could pull her into a deep kiss.

The kiss alone buried the upset of him not being able to attend her performance, and if it was a precursor of what would come, (Y/N) knew that this would be a night she'd hold in her mind for years to come.

——

(Y/N) hadn't had a moment to herself since she exited the stage after final bows. She was being swarmed by the fellow ballerinas in her company, who were congratulating her on a wonderful show and already celebrating their collective performance. She didn't mind it though...she was buzzing from the high herself.

"You have a few fans waiting out in the hall to see you, Miss (Y/L/N)," one of the stagehands told her once she'd finished the conversation she was having.

(Y/N) nodded and allowed the man to lead her to the door that separated the backstage area from the rest of the theatre. He opened the door for her and she thanked him before seeing the same group of little girls that had been at her last show waiting for her. She greeted them with a wide smile, happily accepting their flowers and other gifts that they came back to bring her. After many hugs and a short conversation, she said goodbye and some words of encouragement.

Standing tall again, she looked ahead of her and found the last person she expected to. Tommy Shelby was there, leaning against the wall much like he had last time, but now he had a bouquet of beautiful red roses with him. (Y/N) went over to him without a second thought.

"I brought you flowers this time," he was the first to speak, raising the bouquet slightly to accentuate his statement.

"You...you did," she stuttered out, still not quite believing her eyes, "were...were you...?" She couldn’t get a complete sentence out. Not once in the times they’d met up over the last two weeks did he mention he was able to make it to her show - they hadn’t spoken about it after that night.

"I was," he answered with a slight chuckle, a smile forming on his lips at her shock.

"Please tell me you didn't cancel your plans for me."

"I did," he confirmed what she already knew, "you're worth breaking plans for, love."

The widest smile formed on her face at his statement, and she couldn't help but close the distance to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He chuckled at her reaction, holding onto her as tightly as she was holding him. "You did amazing," he mumbled into her neck before pressing a kiss to it.

"I'm happy you came," she said, holding back her emotions with a smile as she pulled away, "so happy," she added, her hands moving to his face so that she could kiss him.

Even though she’d just given what was surely the best performance of her career, (Y/N) couldn’t deny that she’d never felt happier than she did at this moment.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[yamisnuffles]

I love Aziraphale because he's expected to be hard, to be a warrior, but he chooses to be soft. He's not gentle, kind, and good because he's an angel. We've seen what the other angels are like and many of them are anything but. And there's no doubt that he could be that warrior if he wanted. He was issued a flaming sword, after all. But he gave it away and seemed none to eager to use it when he finally picked it up again. No, he is who he is because he chooses to be that way again and again.

I adore that. In a world that's often so hard and in a system that expects him to be just as hard, he chooses to be soft. To be silly. He learns to dance even though angels don't dance. He learns magic and French the human way. Successful or not, he likes playing parts, living it up as a double agent and newspaperman. He wears glasses because he thinks they're nifty. He enjoys eating food and going to the barber not because he has to but because he likes being pampered. To be fussy and indulgent. Despite strength and miraculous powers, he makes himself vulnerable so that he can be coddled and rescued.

And it's not like it's easy for him. He has to struggle against what's expected of him and against judgment from the other angels. He was worried about doing the wrong thing before the beginning, before there was even really a concept of the wrong thing. He's so terribly anxious but he doesn't let it stop him from trying to do real good. He did his part to save Job's family, even when he was certain he would fall for it.

Most difficult of all, he loves. Is in love. A thing humans do, he says to the Archangels in S2. So that's not just some easy, natural, angelic thing for him. It's very human and very scary because it's not really something he's meant to do and especially not with a demon. But he pushes slowly forward as best he can. He risks small touches and can't help but wear his heart on his sleeve with that all too expressive face. He's the angelic embodiment of heart eyes. Because he wants to love and be loved.

This isn't all he is, of course. He can be bitchy and petty and hard when pushed. He can be the warrior he was built to be. Those aren't bad things. Just enough of a bastard and all that. But just enough also means they also don't define him.

Which is where my frustration comes in. I understand the desire to flip the script sometimes. I like to do it myself from time to time and definitely think Aziraphale should be allowed to take charge. But it feels like, more often than not, large parts of fandom have taken those moments and made them all of who he is. Of the two of them, he's often made to be much more impassive and distant than Crowley. It's Crowley who is more emotional, who is more overcome physically. Despite the fact that it's almost entirely Aziraphale in canon who reaches and touches. Despite Michael Microexpressions Sheen putting so much open heart into Aziaphale's face. He isn't allowed to be soft and needy, comforted, coddled, and rescued. To be the one who yearns and lets himself be weak with it.

Just... let him be soft and silly. Let him be the person he most often chooses to be.

[naranjapetrificada]

Just a small thing I noticed while being totally normal about the gay pirates:

I've watched The Kiss™ way too many times a normal number of times and my favorite moment is the series of microexpressions Rhys cycles through while Stede is reacting to "what makes Ed happy is...you" because it's just so lovely and masterfully done. While trying to find a good gif of just that moment (no luck so far!) I noticed something that happens while Ed is pulling Stede in.

Stede, darling honey light of my life, clueless useless "oblivious" gay that he is, tilts his head a bit and leans into the kiss too. Before it's even started. On some level he registers that This Is Happening in time to react in a positive way, even before their lips have touched.

Our boy is a creature of instinct, and when he acts on his emotional instincts without thinking too much he knocks so much shit out of the park. Instinct is part of why "you wear fine things well" hits as hard as it does. Instinct is how he can woo Ed as easily as he does. Instinct is how they were able connect so deeply so quickly, because his instinct is to be open and non-judgemental to this beautiful man waiting beside his sickbed and asking about fine fabrics.

Stede's thoughts are still too clouded by his trauma and self-loathing to be useful for him, and he can end up thinking too much about what he "should" do or what other people do. Thinking is part of the reason he's so quick to believe Chauncey in the woods. Thinking means succumbing to beliefs about his perceived worthlessness, which leads to his biggest mistakes. Thinking tells him to adjust what he says about Blackbeard in that tavern of townies, when his instinct was to say how "absolutely lovely" Ed is.

Obviously man cannot live by instinct alone, like he definitely should have thought for a minute about making a deal with Geraldo to fence the hostage. Stede needs to learn to balance the two and when to listen to either/both of them. But I was just so excited to see him leaning in the way he does because it underlines a feeling I've had for a minute, which is that Stede's instincts are those of someone crushing and then falling in love, and that never wavers.

He lacks the context and vocabulary to identify what's going on without outside intervention, but he also deeply gets it in a way that's extremely queer and that I hope starts showing up more in the fanon. I do a little happy dance every time I see this in people's fics and I just need so many more of them! Give me more eager Stede who is Ready To Go once he's given the right context for his feelings about Ed!

[quin-ns]

jj w a virgin reader and he has to be gentle w her but he’s like holding himself back from fucking her into oblivion the entire time and it’s really obvious

I can’t believe it took me this long to write any kind of obx smut… definitely changing that soon lol

Hold Back (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Everything had been leading up to this. At least, that’s how JJ looked at it.

All of the flirting and touches and late night talks and him finally, finally getting the courage to ask you out and you actually agreeing instead of your long time friendship being ruined.

And now you were together, and everything was perfect.

You were his best friend, and now you were his girlfriend, and JJ couldn’t have been happier. It was simply meant to be.

The two of you pretty much did everything couples did before you called it official (although JJ still really liked being able to call you his girlfriend). The only thing missing was sex, because that doesn’t exactly fall under the “just friends” category.

It wasn’t like it was the most important thing in the world to JJ, but when you told him you wanted to, he about had a heart attack from the excitement. His thoughts about you hadn’t been all innocent while the two of you were friends, after all.

Now you were gripping his arm, nails digging in, gasping a little as JJ held himself above you and pushed his way inside of you. He made sure you were ready, but you were tense and hadn’t had any kind of experience.

As hard as it was to do so, JJ slowed down.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, not wanting to hurt you.

You nodded at his question, voice catching in your throat and making it too difficult to speak.

JJ would’ve stopped if you asked him to, but he was relieved that you didn’t.

JJ continued to push into your tight body, stretching you with his cock. The choked moan that came from you made him want to slam himself into the hilt just to hear it again, only louder, but he fought the urge.

It was your first time, and as eager as he was to feel you squeezing around his entire length, he didn’t want to ruin it for you.

You looked so beautiful beneath him and JJ tried to memorize every microexpression on your face as he moved slowly. Gently.

It took a lot of effort to be careful when his mind was crowded with thoughts of making you scream with pleasure and show you how good the two of you could be together.

“You can move faster,” you said suddenly, voice low. “I know you want to. I’m not made of glass.”

JJ took in your words and watched your face. You meant it, genuinely giving him the green light.

He gave a rough, experimental thrust, and watched your reaction. No pain, no doubt. You liked it, and JJ liked that.

The moan you let out when he picked up his pace only spurred him on, forcing your body to tremble with pleasure beneath him. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and even though JJ couldn’t speak for you, he was damn sure you felt the same. He made sure of that.

That night he gave you everything he had, and you took it.

In the morning you could hardly move from the bed, but that didn’t stop you from pulling him into a searing kiss and asking to go again. JJ was already climbing on top of you, not wanting to keep you waiting.

[softgreengrass]

Sun to Me

Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: Wednesday isn't a great girlfriend.

Words: 2.0k

Warnings: none, implied f!reader, reader referred to as girlfriend

Author's Note: angst sorry not sorry. inspired by sun to me by zach bryan,, first fic i've published so any feedback is appreciated!

Pt. 2

When you first met Wednesday, you were absolutely terrified of her. But she had taken an interest in you, from the very beginning, and soon you found yourself laughing at her morbid jokes and thinking about her every night before you fell asleep.

Wednesday would never admit it, but when she couldn’t sleep, her mind would wander to far-off places. She saw your smile, your hand in hers, and she saw a love like her parents had. 

Now, half a year later, you feel like you know more about Wednesday than you ever wanted to. You know every last quirk, every microexpression she lets grace her face. You know exactly the way she lights up when she sees you, even if to others it looks like a regular glare. Wednesday lets you sleep in her bed; she lets you braid her hair; she lets you lounge about during her writing time. It’s normal stuff, but it isn’t, because it’s Wednesday. Hell, seeing her smile is rarer than Halley’s Comet, let alone getting into her personal space.

Wednesday doesn’t know why she’s so enthralled by you, but she is. You’re patient with her, even when you probably shouldn’t be, and you jump at the chance to take care of her. It feels good.

“Thank god that’s over,” you say, flopping face-down onto her bed. Thing jumps out from under the covers, scurrying away.

The history exam you’ve just completed was the last one on your schedule — you’re free. For a week of break, anyways. Wednesday had helped you study for it (you flipped through a textbook while she rattled off every piece of evidence she had collected for her newest investigation).

“How did it go?” she asks, standing up from her chair and popping a piece of black licorice into her mouth.

“Bad,” you say, voice muffled. “But it’s over.”

She hums.

“How were yours?” You roll over, watching as she walks over to the bulletin board pinned full of documents and sticky notes.

“Unchallenging.”

That was Wednesday. Always too smart for her own good. “What do you want to do tonight? No homework,” you grin.

“I need to go to Jericho High School,” she says plainly, staring at the board.

Your face falls, even though at this point it shouldn’t. It’s a common occurrence: Wednesday too caught up in her hyperfixation to make time for you or your feelings. You shouldn’t be surprised anymore. You swallow, making sure your voice stays level. “What are you gonna find there?”

She looks over her shoulder, eyes flashing annoyance. “I don’t know. That’s the point of going.”

Right.

The thing is, you can’t blame her. She told you, again and again, that you shouldn’t devote your time or energy to her. For the first few weeks of your relationship, she was a broken record: “this is a bad idea,” “you shouldn’t care about me,” “you’d be better off alone.” You, enamored with her jet-black hair and the dusting of freckles across her nose, had taken it as a challenge.

More and more, you found yourself regretting that.

Then Wednesday says your name, tentatively, and your gaze snaps to her.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, the words unnatural in her stony voice. “Was that insensitive?”

You shake your head, putting on a smile. You’re still Wednesday Addams’ girlfriend. You get her heart, at the end of the day. “It’s okay.”

“I’m hoping to find something that points me to the culprit.”

You nod, wishing for her to just drop it. You’d rather move on, figure out plans with one of your friends instead.

“Would you like to do something tomorrow?” Her eyes are hesitant, but genuine, and just like that your heart melts again.

“There’s an art gallery opening a couple towns over,” you blurt, too excited to let this opportunity pass. “We could… drive over and see it?”

She’s turned back to the board. “How long would that take?”

You ignore the slight sting in your heart. “I don’t know, it depends on how long we spend there. We could make a whole day out of it.”

“I told Eugene I’d help him prepare the hives for the next harvest,” she says blankly. “That won’t work.”

It kills you that she can’t concentrate on you for more than a few seconds at a time. Especially since you know that if you were to ignore her in the same way, even just for an hour, she would shut down and close herself off. “Can you at least look at me?”

There’s emotion bubbling up inside of you, emotion that you don’t want to express right now, but she’s facing you.

“I’m working on being more delicate, you know that,” Wednesday says, her voice tight. You know her defenses are up.

“It’s not that,” you scoff, blinking back stubborn tears. “You never try. Do you know how many things I’ve compromised on for you?”

Her eyes flick around the room, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“The movies, for one,” you say, shuddering at the thought of the true-crime documentaries you’re plagued to watch nearly every night. “The no-touching. The no-compliments. The not-telling-anyone-about-us?”

“You agreed to all of that.”

“Exactly!” you cry. “That’s my point! What have you agreed to?”

Wednesday hates the feeling creeping up her chest. The burning feeling in her throat, the cold dread in the pit of her stomach. That she’s hurting someone she cares about without even realizing it. Again. She wants desperately to make it right, to understand exactly what you want her to do, but the moment you raise your voice, her reflexes kick in. 

“I agreed to being your girlfriend!” she says, louder than she meant to.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. She isn’t even trying to understand. “That was that big of a sacrifice for you, huh?”

Wednesday licks her lips nervously, hating the look in your eyes, hating how hurt you are and how angry she is. Now, the thought of a relationship like her parents’ is distant and sickening. She can’t imagine having the patience to communicate with someone for so many years — all she can think about is how much easier it would be to do it all alone.

But then her eyes find yours, desperate and heartbroken and filled with tears, and she wants to tear her hair out.

“I’m not enough for you, I know that,” you say quietly, and Wednesday’s heart twists in a way it never has before. “But I… I just thought you would try.”

She calls your name, reaches out a hand, but you’ve already left her dorm. You rush down the hallway, hoping she leaves you alone and chases after you all at once. The tears are hot down your cheeks, and the lump in your throat just won’t leave. You had trusted Wednesday with your heart. You had given it to her, even though your mom knew and your best friend knew and you knew that you shouldn’t have.

Find someone who grows flowers in the darkest parts of you, your mom would say, whenever you asked her questions about love far too big for a six-year-old. She would tell you that your heart was a treasure, and that someday you’d find someone who bettered you in every single way.

You had known, you had always known that that wasn’t Wednesday. But she kissed you, she opened up to you, she looked at you in ways that said you were the most special person in the world. And for a while, you were. You were the only one who got to know Wednesday Addams. But you had invested too much, and she never changed: the same inexplicable mystery that had drawn you to her was now pulling you apart from the inside out. She wasn’t built for the kind of relationship that you needed, even if she could make your day just by meeting your eyes.

You find your way to your room through tear-blurred vision, thanking the stars above that your roommate had left early to spend break with her parents.

You collapse onto your bed, sobbing. You feel silly, stupid, used, thinking about every sacrifice you’ve made for her and how little she’s done in return. How unfair it is: she’s trying, you know she’s trying, but trying to Wednesday is the bare minimum to you, and you can’t change what you need.

You cry until your head pounds and your throat is raw, and even then you can’t stop picturing her dark eyes and scarce, golden smiles. You hear your mother’s voice in your head. Your heart clenches.

Eventually, you fall into a restless sleep, thoughts racing and palms sweating. You want more than anything to go to Wednesday’s room to rant about all of your emotions, knowing she’s only half-listening, and to persuade her to cuddle with you in bed, to hold her tight.

Nausea comes and goes in waves.

You don’t want to answer the knock at your door, except it comes from low down on the ground, and you’d never turn Thing away.

He’s holding an envelope between his second and third fingers.

An envelope, with your name scrawled across it in messy cursive. Thing drops it and takes a small bow, hurrying down the hall. You pick it up and shut the door with a sniff, wiping your nose. You’ve never been so grateful for deserted hallways.

You rip it open on your bed, entirely unprepared for the rush of emotion that hits you when you smell Wednesday’s typewriter ink.

I can’t say things to your face, but you need to know them, so I’ve decided to write them.  If I am a black dahlia, you are a sunflower. You are the sweetest of the sunflowers; you are the sun to me. I loathe myself for every moment I have spent upsetting you. I know that I am selfish, and that you are selfless, and that I hurt you even when I’m not trying to. Sorry isn’t enough of a word.

For my entire life, I believed love was nothing but a weakness to be exploited. I thought people like you, who love and give endlessly into this world, were oblivious to the reality of the world. But then I met you, and you cared for someone who least deserved it. The time of day was more than I deserved, and you gave me so much more than that. You have parted the clouds, you have brought sunlight into my life, you have brought me more joy and peace than I care to admit. And to repay you, I hurt you.

You are the sweetest of the sunflowers, and I will never again let myself forget it. I vow to do my utmost to provide you with everything you desire, if you allow me. I’m sorry, my love.

Wednesday nearly jumps when Thing returns, asking him how you looked and if you took the letter. She waits, bouncing her leg, tapping her fingers, thinking about why time travel hasn’t been invented yet. Her mouth is dry, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’s never been so anxious before.

 She barely remembers to smooth out her hair before answering the knock that eventually comes at her door.

“Hi,” you mumble, holding the letter in your hands.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Do I get another chance?” she asks in a rush. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her this forward.

“I’m out of patience,” you say, and she nods quickly, blinking red-rimmed eyes.

A younger version of you would be reeling at the sight of such blatant emotion on her face.

“Can I hug you?”

Her eyebrows lift, eyes widening ever so slightly.

You can’t stand being mad at her.

Her arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close, her face buried into the crook of your neck. You take a deep breath.

[abbacchiosbelt]

will you, won’t you

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest​’s Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context! This is an alternate take on Ayato inviting his teacher inside at the year-end event. Please heed the warnings before you read this one.

Warnings: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], student/teacher with the student initiating, drunk sex.

CW: Not sfw, non-con, coercion, manipulation, implied blackmail, power imbalance.

WC: 4k

Taglist: @babyybitchhh​, @chelbizzaro​

The sound of your heart beating heavy in your chest nearly drowns out the hum from the celebration happening outside. You shouldn’t have allowed Ayato to lead you away from the crowd, but trying to back away now would cause more problems than it would solve. Seconds pass while you stand, staring blankly until the sound of Ayato repeating your name breaks you out of your trance. The slightest furrow of his brow at your inattention isn’t lost on you, but the microexpression fades so quickly that you think you might have imagined it.

“Go ahead and sit down wherever you like,” Ayato says, gesturing with his arm towards the sitting area. He doesn’t wait for you to move before he continues speaking. “Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you bottled water from the fridge…”

Ayato continues speaking as you choose a place to sit, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t actually responded to his question. His chatty nature was something you had grown used to, but even this was almost too much. 

Ayato can barely contain his excitement - he knows that he’s probably overwhelming you, but he can’t stop himself from carrying on. You’re here, and you actually agreed to step away from the party with him. To have you here, in his own home, was something he had only dreamed about. (Sure, you probably weren’t thinking the same thing he was, but it was a good start to what Ayato had planned for tonight.) You looked so cute sitting on the couch, squirming nervously. If only you knew what you did to him - ah, but there would be time to think about that later. For now, he’d grab the water bottle he’d offered you. 

Ayato opens the fridge and grabs the water before letting out an ‘ah’ of fake surprise, reaching in to grab a bottle of wine that he’d left to chill earlier that day with the intention of getting you to drink some. It was a long shot, but he had to try. He continues talking to distract you as he grabs the two wine glasses he’d stashed in the kitchen area, opening the bottle and pouring it without so much as pausing in order to keep you focused on what he was saying. 

Ayato places the two glasses of wine, the bottled water, and the wine bottle itself on a serving tray before making his way back to you. He places the tray on the table and sits down, making sure to leave a respectable distance for the time being. He watches your expression when you realize that he had brought over wine, your eyebrows furrowing. Before you can protest, he starts speaking.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I insist you have at least one sip. It’s a vintage wine that my parents procured recently on one of their business trips.” Ayato holds one of the glasses toward you. “I’ll only drink a small sip as well. We can toast to the end of the year. It’s good luck, you know?”

You take the glass of wine reluctantly, eyeing Ayato with suspicion. You knew that you shouldn’t take a drink, especially when it was a student. Especially when that student was under the legal drinking age. You’d known teachers who had been fired for less… But Ayato rattled your nerves. His congeniality was wrapped with a commanding aura that made refusing him feel impossible. 

Well. It was only one, tiny drink… Right? Plus, it was expensive - it probably cost more than your entire year’s salary, if you were being honest with yourself. The opportunity to drink such a decadent wine might not ever present itself again. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s one you’re willing to take. 

“Just a small sip.” Your nerves almost make you back down when you see how Ayato’s face lights up, but you ignore the warning bells ringing in your mind in favor of bringing the glass towards your lips and tipping the wine into your mouth - and oh, it’s good. Light and fruity with the slightest hint of spice, and smooth when you swallow. It’s the kind of wine that would be very easy to overindulge in. 

Ayato watches hungrily as you take a sip, his eyes honing in on your lips as you pour the liquid into your mouth. ‘Not properly savored’, he thinks, but the fact that you don’t know the correct way to drink wine is charming to him. He’ll teach you. It really didn’t matter now, though, not when he was witnessing such a lovely sight. He lifts his glass up and swirls the liquid in a circular motion before he takes a sip, savoring the only drop of alcohol he’d planned on consuming tonight. Ayato's cheeks turn pink when he looks over and sees a smile on your face, and fights himself to swallow his sip without choking. The expression on your face was one he hadn’t seen in a long time - natural happiness. Though he wishes it was directed at him, he relishes in it nonetheless.

“I take it that you like it?” Ayato asks. You nod at him, a smile still on your lips, and he feels his face growing warmer. “I’m glad.” To keep you drinking, Ayato had calculated, he’d engage you in menial conversation. He knew from attending many, many work events with his parents that people were wont to use alcohol as a social lubricant, and often took sips of it between conversations to gloss over any awkward silences. Even if you’d only said you’d take one sip, the reality was different. 

Ayato begins by asking you easy questions, like ‘How was your school year?’ and ‘Any plans for the summer?’ It’s easy enough to keep the conversation going despite the middling replies you give him. He has to contain his excitement every time you take a sip of the wine, almost unconsciously, between answering him and listening to his replies. You’d ignored the water bottle completely in favor of the wine, which you were downing quickly. 

The wine hits your system faster than you expect. The ‘one sip’ you’d told yourself you’d stick to turned to two, turned to three, and then turned to the whole glass. Excuses came easier as your mind became pleasantly hazy, and you don’t say anything at all when Ayato refills your empty glass. You still had a hold of yourself, definitely… You could still get up and leave. Ride services were a call away, so there was nothing to worry about.

Ayato’s questions become more personal the drunker you get, though you barely notice. Your answers come easier, the urge to reply with short quips falling away as the wine melts away your inhibitions. You don’t notice, either, that Ayato has inched closer to you. His thigh is pressed against your own, but you only register it as pleasant warmth rather than an uncomfortable invasion of your space.

By the end of your third glass, your head feels light and floaty. Time seems to slow down, and the feeling in your head reminds you of nights spent with friends in your college years. It’s nice, and Ayato’s voice is so soothing… You should really be worried, but maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen all along. 

And then, he asks something odd. It’s not enough to shock you sober, but it makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you ever thought about retiring early?” At the expression on your face, Ayato quickly starts to explain. “You’re still quite young, and you must have other things you want to do. What if you had someone to take care of you so you could settle down?”

What exactly was Ayato asking of you? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Your train of thought was halted by the fuzziness in your brain, and instead of thinking too seriously about it, you giggle. Ayato’s mouth opens like he wants to say more, but he closes it and merely watches as you fall into a fit of giggles.

“You’re funny, Ayato,” you manage in-between giggles. “That’s sweet. But who would be taking care of me?”

Ayato presses his hand over his mouth and frowns. Did you really not understand? Perhaps he had given you too much alcohol. Things could be salvaged, though - he’d just have to show you. When he drops his hand from his mouth, he leans in and clumsily presses his lips to yours.

You gasp and try to pull back, but Ayato’s arms snake around your waist to hold you in an iron grip. He pulls away and sighs.

“Don’t you understand? I’ll take care of you. Let me show you.” You pull away as far as you can, trying to ignore the unwanted flutter of pleasure from the kiss. It wasn’t even a good kiss, but your drunken brain registered any modicum of pleasure as something worth chasing.

“W-we can’t, Ayato,” The words spill from your mouth, and Ayato huffs, impatient.

“We can,” he states. “You’re not my teacher any longer.” Ayato leans forward and captures your lips again, your brain fizzing out as his tongue swipes at your lips. It’s not awkward any longer, the stolen kiss from earlier simply a fluke. Every logical part in your brain is telling you to pull away, but the part of you that wants to feel good drowns it out, though just barely. Even though your response is delayed, Ayato responds with enthusiasm when he feels you lean into the kiss instead of pulling away again. 

When he breaks the kiss for a second time, his face is flushed. It’s the most undone you’ve ever seen him look. A sudden wave of dizziness hits you and Ayato gives you a sympathetic look, clicking his tongue.

“You’re probably overheating. Let’s get you out of those hot clothes.” His words don’t register until you feel his fingers at the hem of your shirt.

“No, that’s… It’s too much.” You protest. Ayato hums in acknowledgment but presses on. Any squirming you do is nothing compared to his strength. You’re helpless against him as he removes your shirt, neatly folding it before placing it on the edge of the couch. You hate to admit that the cool air against your skin does feel good. No - it shouldn’t, but then Ayato’s cold hands are skimming across your sides and you can’t think—

You should stop him. You really should. But then his hands are pushing your bra up and baring your breasts to him, nipples already hard. The shame you feel is fleeting when Ayato dips his head down and licks a stripe up your neck before he begins to press hurried kisses down your chest.

It feels good. It feels wrong. The pang of arousal in your stomach is undeniable, but it churns in disgust all the same. What should you do? What can you do when Ayato is looking at you like that? 

Ayato, for his part, is barely holding on to what little control he has left.

Ayato, always so careful about the image he projects, can barely contain himself at the sight of your bare breasts. He dips forward and places his lips over your right nipple, experimentally sucking at the hardened bud. The moan that rumbles from your chest spurns him forward, and he responds by flicking his tongue across the tender nub a few times before switching back to sucking on it. He’s so hard beneath his slacks that he feels like he’s about to burst - but Ayato is determined to properly worship you. If his words couldn’t sway your opinion, his body would have to do. He’d show you.

“S’too much,” You mumble. The haze clouding your mind and the heaviness in your limbs prevent your thought that you need to push him away before it goes too far. This was beyond inappropriate (as if it hadn’t been beyond inappropriate three glasses of wine ago), but if you could stop him now, the two of you could just forget this happened. “Ayato,” you say, with more force.

He pulls off of your nipple with a pop, his face flushed. Ayato’s gaze finds yours right away, the hunger in his eyes evident. The intensity of his look sends a shiver up your spine, and it’s at that moment that you realize there’s no stopping him. From the second you’d agreed to come to this party, he must have had things planned out. Ayato had no doubt realized you’d come to an understanding, and promptly dipped his head back down to give your left nipple the same attention he’d given your right. 

Ayato sucks fervently at your nipple while his hand comes up to pinch your already-abused bud, his nimble fingers tweaking and pulling at it with inexperience. His inexperience is made up for by his affinity for quick learning, and it only takes a few minutes for him to start using his fingers in a way that feels good. You moan unabashedly as he works your chest, aided by the wine you’ve consumed. The full effects of the alcohol had hit you with full force by now, and you were helpless to do anything but accept what Ayato wanted to do to you.

Ayato wants to worship you - wants to explore your body in full until he knows you inside out, but his lack of experience with sex is pushing him to get his cock inside you over doing anything else. 

There will be a next time, Ayato knows. He’ll show you as many times as he needs to that he’s perfect for you, that he’s capable of giving you the life you should be living. 

Ayato lifts his head from your chest and takes in the blissed-out expression on your face, his cock twitching. The wine was the right choice, and though he’d rather you be fully present, the brainless state you were in was getting to him more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t linger on the thought too long, instead moving to take off your pants. Ayato doesn’t bother admiring your panties, quickly removing them and placing them to the side before he’s tugging his cock out of his pants.

You know what’s coming, and you weakly protest again, whining when Ayato awkwardly presses your legs to the side.

“Nooo,” you whimper, weak. “I can… use my hand. Or my mouth,” You let the words fall from your mouth, desperate. “We can’t…”

Ayato slides between your legs, ignoring your protests, and brings one of his hands up to cup your chin. “It’s okay,” He coos. “You’ll be my first. I want it to be you.”

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It made it all the worse. You can’t do it, you can’t be that for him. “But—” You start to protest, but the nudge of Ayato’s cock against your slit makes you startle. Any words you had left to say in an attempt to persuade him die in your throat. Arousal burns hot in your stomach again, your body responding to stimuli despite the dismay swirling in your mind. 

Ayato has to stop himself from burying himself inside of you in one stroke. Just the touch of his sensitive cock against your slick pussy made him feel crazed. He understood now why so many of his peers were desperate to sneak away and fuck at every opportunity. He’d read things and watched porn, of course, but being a breadth away from fucking his longtime obsession was better than anything he’d ever fantasized about.

He can’t wait any longer.

Ayato uses his free hand to grab your hip and drags his cock through your pussy lips once more before he presses into you, his head catching your entrance after a few sloppy attempts.

Just the tip of his cock inside your warm walls makes Ayato groan, the hand around your hip tightening into a painful grip. You whine at the stretch as he continues to push forward. His cock was thick, and though your arousal helped, it’d been a long time since you’d been fucked - let alone by such a thick cock. 

Ayato rubs his thumb against your cheek as he continues to press into you, attempting to soothe you while trying to focus on not coming instantly. He lets out a guttural noise once he’s sunken to the hilt - he never imagined that sex would feel this good. The fact that his virgin cock is inside of you makes the feeling beyond euphoric. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he meets your gaze or looks down to see where the two of you are connected, he’ll come instantly. 

“You feel so good,” Ayato huffs, not daring to move. “I can’t ever let you go.” His sudden possessive tone startles you, and the gravity of the situation seems to hit you all at once. The pleasant haze you were in dissipates, and you squeak out a panicked noise. Ayato’s eyes open, unable to resist the temptation to look at you. 

“O-oh, fuck,” Ayato breathes out, biting down hard on his lip as his orgasm hits without warning - the look on your face combined with everything else was too much for him to bear. He keeps his gaze locked on yours as he comes, each throb of his cock so intense that you can feel it against your walls. His fingers grip your hip with such force that there are certain to be bruises left on those spots in the morning. 

Ayato’s face flushes bright red. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him look. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. He doesn’t make a move to pull out, though. Ayato closes his eyes for a moment and grounds himself, breathing in and out. You wouldn’t judge him, would you? No… He knew you weren’t that sort of person. Before you can even try to move away or speak up, you feel his cock hardening inside of you. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, we can’t,” You start rambling, trying to pull yourself back and away. Ayato’s grip on you is like iron. His eyes fly open, the hungry expression you’d seen before painting his gaze once again. “You came inside, we have to… Have to do something about it. Please, Ayato—”

“Shh.” Ayato presses a finger to your lips and smiles. His cock twitches inside of you, and he sighs. “We can’t end on that note. You wouldn’t deny me a good first time, would you?” He experimentally pulls out until just his tip is resting inside of you before he shoves himself back in, the cum inside of you making a squelching noise. It makes your stomach turn. “It’s the least you can do if you don’t agree to my offer,” Ayato purrs. The speed at which he had recovered control of the situation was nothing less than you expected from the prestigious teen, but to experience it in this situation made your blood run cold.

You lay there, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, as Ayato continues to violate you.

-

At some point, you must have blacked out. When you wake up, you’re cleaned of any mess and dressed in your clothing again. You blink wearily, heart stopping for a moment when you spot Ayato above you - and then you realize your head is laying on his lap. You try to spring up, but nausea roils in your stomach and you’re forced to lay back down.

“Don’t try to get up so fast,” Ayato scolds. He runs a hand across your forehead, clicking his tongue. “You still feel quite hot. You must have drank too much.”

It feels like you’re in a different reality than him. Was he just going to ignore what he’d done? How much time had passed? Seeming to read your mind, Ayato smiles.

“We can talk about that in the morning. You were only out for about an hour.” Ayato gently lifts your head from his lap and stands, offering his arm to you. Knowing that you otherwise might tumble over, you reluctantly take it.

“I need to get home,” you start, but Ayato hushes you as he begins to lead you out of the lounge.

“You’ll stay here, of course.” Ayato’s tone leaves no room for arguments. “My parents are gone, and Ayaka is going to a friend’s house tonight. All the housekeepers know to remain out of this wing until tomorrow morning.” Ayato continues, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Besides, you’re still drunk. It’d be irresponsible of you to drive.”

“Then I’ll call a ride service,” You protest. Ayato frowns, but you press on. “I can’t stay here. We… I… I already messed up. I need to get out of here.” Your words grow more hurried as you speak, panic starting to rise in your throat. “P-please, just give me my phone.”

Ayato shakes his head and tuts. “No. I already told you what’s happening. The guest room is already done up for you.” He pauses and then raises one eyebrow. “Or you can stay in my room. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

You scoff, and your stomach rolls again. You just wanted to be left alone. There was no point in arguing with him further. Your phone was gone, and it was unlikely you’d be able to snatch his phone. Any technology was sure to be locked down by passwords, and it was highly unlikely there were any landlines. You were well and truly stuck for the night.

“Fine,” you say. “Take me to the guest room.”

“Good girl,” Ayato coos. It makes you want to scream. “Though I’d prefer you to stay in my room, I think some alone time will be good for you. You’ll be able to think about my offer and reflect on what happened tonight.” Ayato doesn’t wait for a reply and begins to walk you out of the lounge and toward the bedrooms. He continues to speak as he guides you, his voice soft. “In the morning, Thoma will be here. He’s an excellent cook, and I’ve told him so much about you… Ah, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

As you’re walking through the halls, Ayato’s hand tight on your arm, you can faintly hear the party continuing outside. It occurs to you that someone will notice you’re missing and that maybe Ayato had overlooked such a glaring detail. You wrestle against bringing it up or not, but Ayato interrupts your thoughts as if he can read your mind.

“Don’t worry about your absence from the party. I don’t wish to offend you, but the other students probably didn’t even notice you.” He gives you a sympathetic look, and your mouth curls into a frown. “They’re more worried about getting alcohol. Even if someone were to notice, they’re not going to remember by the end of the night.”

Ayato stops in front of a door at the end of the hall, producing a key from his pocket to unlock it. You eye it warily, realizing that the door only locks from the outside.

So quickly had Ayato’s charm turned to cunning, his kindness laced with poison. 

Before he unlocks the door, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I know that’s not much compared to what we just did,” he says, voice airy. “But I don’t want to get carried away. You’ll certainly need tonight’s rest.” He chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, holding it open for you. You slink inside and turn to shut the door, finding that Ayato is still standing there.

“What?” You ask flatly. 

“I just wanted to tell you good night,” he says, practically pouting. “And to remind you of my offer.” Ayato slips his phone from his pocket and fiddles with it for a moment before turning it in your direction, revealing the screen to show a paused video of your naked body, wine glass placed in your hand. Your eyes widen, and you really think you might throw up. “There’s more,” Ayato says. “But I’ll keep those to myself for now. Just give my offer serious thought, okay?”

There’s nothing more you can say to him. Bile rises in your throat as Ayato bids you good night and shuts the door behind him, the clink of the lock latching sealing your fate for the night.

[drivestraight]

Obv no pressure!!!!!!!!! And sorry if it comes off that way ❤️❤️ I was just wondering if u would ever consider posting the 4fic?? Just on tumblr even

i keep forgetting OMG but here is part 1 (4.2k)

THE SET-UP

They don’t do this very often anymore. Hang out, just the four of them.

George, Alex, Lando, and Charles.

To get closer to the truth, it’s not like the four of them ever properly hung out at any point in time, in the strictest sense of the phrase. They’d stream together on Twitch during COVID, yes, and they get on well in the paddock. But that doesn’t exactly count, when George thinks about it. Not even in 2019 did the four of them ever really hang out willingly, outside of work, not even just George, Alex, and Lando, no matter how much media they were shoved into together throughout the year. These past four years, they’ve just all been too busy. Besides, Charles and Lando have their own friend circles. Charles prefers his hometown Monegasque friends. Lando has Max F and Max V and Martin G and Daniel R and Quadrant and—whatever the fuck ever, really.

George and Alex, well. Different case. Not the point.

Even closer to the truth: they had more time and less fame before Formula 1, and they would hang out outside of races. Underage pub crawls, house parties with friends from secondary, even during their F2 season. Which George won, by the way.

So.

Formula 2.

George, Alex, and Lando were close back then despite being competitors. They were the weirdos. No one liked Lando because his dad was rich and bought him a spot in McLaren’s junior academy; no one liked Alex because he was a Red Bull junior and Asian, but not Asian enough; and no one liked George because—he was George.

Jokes on everyone else. They were the winners. They’re the ones who made it to F1.

All this to say: the three of them were close back then, but they’re not as close anymore. Still, good times. They had many good times.

One memory George holds quite dear to his heart is Alex accidentally knocking Lando into a bush that George puked on. Yes, George is quite fond of that night.

But then, that three-way friendship didn’t exactly include Charles at all. All of them were friends and friendly with Charles even in karting, but those days, Charles wasn’t exactly part of their little group. It was just George and Alex and Lando. Or George and Alex.

Which is probably why they’re here, in Charles’ teeny tiny flat. 

/

They were in Spa, the four of them chatting before free practice. Alex had offhandedly asked why they haven’t gone on their little drunken adventures like they used to. Then, Charles made a shocked noise, small and offended, and demanded to be included.

Demanded is probably a strong word. His eyes went wide and curious. He tilted his head to the side and pouted at Alex, then Alex spluttered and said, Of course, you should come!

As if they had tangible plans.

However, they ended up making plans, and it was a miracle that they all had a weekend free in Monaco before Alex fucked off with Lily to Majorca.

/

And it’s not like George doesn’t like Charles.

He likes Charles a lot, actually.

It’s just, sometimes—

All the time.

It’s hard to tell what his humor is. George’ll say something, try to crack a joke, and Charles will look at him with these big, round, open eyes. Not understanding, or worse, understanding, and choosing not to play along.

Not in a, like, malicious way. But in a why did you say that? sort of way. Which is probably worse. He’s always very nice about it, very earnest. But his sincerity knocks George off-guard. Sometimes, George wishes Charles was more like Alex, laughing at everything and playing everything off like a joke just to maintain an ounce of control. Twist things the way he wants them to be twisted.

Right, yes. Charles.

It’s easier with him online. Voice chat. That way, George doesn’t have to see his microexpressions and feel self-conscious, analyzing each of their conversations.

Charles has a very expressive face.

Alex gets on with him a lot better.

He makes Charles laugh, a lot. A lot. And while George has made Charles laugh plenty of times, it’s never actually been on purpose. It is more like—George saying something unintentionally funny, and Charles slowly bursting into giggles, or Lando and Alex making George the butt of the joke and Charles laughing along just because he wants to fit in.

Ah. George needs to be more charitable.

/

Returning to Charles’ teeny tiny flat:

They’ve just gotten back from Jimmy’z. Honestly, George was having a great time: Alex was all giggly on his shoulder sipping on a fruity cocktail and Lando had been up by the DJ stage and Charles was off at the bar chatting with some girl. But then Charles sprinted to them and tugged on George’s arm and said, We need to leave.

So they left.

They found Lando first, of course, floundering as he tried to get this girl’s number. They dragged him out of the club, the four of them squeezed into an Uber, tried to be as polite as possible to the driver, and here they are now:

Charles’ teeny tiny flat. On the floor circled around the coffee table in the sitting room. Lando took the couch because—of course he did.

“So?” Lando demands, frowning. His cheeks are flushed, his curls a mess. “Why’d we leave? I thought the point was to get pissed, and I’m not even.”

George would disagree. But, well.

Charles huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I saw someone that I did not want to talk to.”

Alex snorts. He flushes this lovely color of pink whenever he’s drunk, George has noticed. Quite lovely. Very lovely. “Who? An ex-girlfriend?”

Charles kicks lightly at Alex’s thigh. They’re deep into summer, hot, sticky. Alex is wearing these little shorts. Not so little, really, but right now, George can see the meat of his underthigh, muscle hidden.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Charles corrects.

Alex dyed his hair to this auburn shade of brown the other month. George likes it better, like this, if he’s being honest. Obviously, Alex looked amazing as a blond—Alex looks amazing no matter what, but he looks softer like this, not a blond bombshell, alien and out of reach, grabbing everyone’s attention. Instead, just George’s best friend.

“Which one?” Alex asks, propped up on his hands, flat to the ground behind him. His shin hairs tickle George’s. Under the table, George only now realizes, they’re touching.

“Jean,” Charles answers.

“Oh,” Alex says, brows furrowing. Overdramatic. Alex likes being dramatic like that. He looks a little goofy right now. Silly, maybe. “I never liked that guy.”

Charles sighs. “It has been a while, but our breakup was…” He turns to Alex. “How do you say it…”

“A shit show?” Alex supplies, grinning warmly. George feels so warm.

Charles laughs, shoulders coming up to his ears. “Yes, a shit show,” he repeats, the syllables odd and unfamiliar on his tongue, mouth curling emphatically. “He—”

He.

Charles keeps talking.

But George:

“Wait, wait, wait. Your what?”

Charles turns his head to George. Blinks. Slowly. Tilts his head to the side. Confused.

“My ex-boyfriend,” he repeats, like this isn’t earth-shattering information.

George gawks. Mouth open. Jaw unhinged. Eyes bug-wide. The full mile. He glances over at Alex, who looks just as confused as Charles, then Lando, who’s looking down at his phone, disinterested.

Charles blinks again, seeming to understand George’s confusion. “Oh, you don’t…?”

“I don’t what?” George snaps, feeling like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. Feeling like the odd one out. For the first time in their little quartet, George feels like the outsider.

“I am gay, George,” Charles deadpans. “Did I never tell you this?”

“Uh,” George says, wincing at how his voice cracks, “no?”

“Oh,” Charles replies, blinking. His mouth parts into a small circle. He bats his eyelashes, demure, and George feels something ugly twist in his belly. “Well. Sorry, I think I forgot.”

George suddenly feels very sober.

“But you—your girlfriend—”

Charles shrugs. “She is a good friend. It is always good to have a public girlfriend.”

Well. This explains a lot.

“Lando,” George starts, head whipping toward him, “did you—?”

“Mmh. I didn’t like Jean either,” Lando replies, still not looking up from his phone.

George makes a noise. “How do you guys know this Jean?”

Alex snorts and rolls his eyes. “George, you know Jean. F2?”

Jean. Jean Jean Jean. George thinks and thinks and—

“Oh,” George says, Jean’s face materializing in his head. George never really talked to him; they ran in different circles and drove for different teams, but George vaguely remembers narrowly missing out on a win because Jean wouldn’t get out of the fucking way when George was trying to lap him. He lost the win by three seconds. To Lando. That’s about all he remembers of the guy. “Wow.”

Charles… dated him.

Suddenly self-conscious about how he’s coming off about this whole thing, George stumbles to clarify, “I mean, mate, obviously I don’t care. It’s not a problem. Like, of course I don’t have a problem, I’m just shocked, mate. I would’ve—”

“Oh, calm down, George,” Alex says, grinning beatifically. “Yes, yes. You’re an ally. You’re teammates with Lewis Hamilton. Love is love. We know. You don’t need to give us a little speech.”

“Sod off,” George mutters, kicking Alex under the table. “Why did no one tell me this?”

“Not my fault you have a stick up your arse when it comes to sex,” Alex jibes, kicking George back. “I think talking about gay sex would’ve given you a heart attack.”

George huffs, cheeks warming. Like, fine. George is self-aware enough to know that he gets a bit dodgy when it comes to sex. But that’s the way he thinks it should be, anyway. “Doesn’t have to be about gay sex, does it?”

“You should try it,” Alex says. “It’s fun. Quite different.”

Charles hums carefully, eyes big and curious, assessing. George feels like he’s being taken apart. “Yes, George. I think it would loosen you up,” Charles says, too sincerely.

From the couch, Lando snickers, chewing on his hoodie drawstring.

Charles frowns and glares at him. “What?”

Ah. Charles hadn’t even caught the double entendre.

Wait.

His head whips to Alex. “You have?” Had sex. With a man. George can’t get any of the words out.

“Oh, c’mon,” Alex says, easy and casual like George’s whole world isn’t falling apart. “You know I like blokes.”

Well, sure. George did know that. He knows everything about Alex. Alex is his best mate, after all. But Alex’s sexuality was an irrelevant, inconsequential little fact that George’d merely hold in the back of his mind. His best mate happened to be bisexual. That didn’t change anything.

“Yeah, I guess,” George admits, “but—Lily?”

“Again,” Alex says, “you know we have an open relationship.”

George laughs nervously. Yes, right. He’d forgotten about that.

He’d honestly—

He doesn’t know. He hadn’t actually thought Alex and Lily were acting on that.

“You’ve never thought about it?” Alex asks. “A little hanky-panky with the lads? Never?”

George chokes. “The lads? Plural?”

Alex waves his hand. “Hyperbole.”

Lando, hoodie drawstring still in his mouth, asks, “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Hyperbowl,” Lando butchers. George isn’t sure how he made it past primary.

“Like,” Alex says, “when you tell your girls on Raya you have an eight inch dick. Hyperbole.”

The drawstring falls out of Lando’s mouth. He sits straight up, inflamed. “I do not tell them I have a—”

“Lando, you have an eight inch dick?” Charles asks, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

Alex snickers. “The point is that he doesn’t.”

Tomato-red, Lando bumbles, “Oh, bugger off. It’s not like you’d know.”

“Anways, George?”

George scratches the back of his head. Is it hot in here? Is it just him or the shitty insulation in Charles’ flat?

He thinks back to the original question and replies, “I cannot say I have thought about it.” He swallows. Because honestly, he hasn’t. He’s, like, twenty-five now. That’s far too old to be having sexuality crises anyway. Still, drunk, and a little too honest for his own good, he starts to ramble, “Like, I don’t think I. I mean. Haha. I am very happy with, er. Women.”

Not like George has been getting much lately, not after his less than ideal breakup with Carmen at the start of the season. And he isn’t like Lando either: going on apps or picking up a girl at the club is, like, his worst fucking nightmare. Rock fucking bottom. He’d rather go celibate than go on Tinder.

“So, like. You know. Men don’t.” God, why is George still talking? “I have my own, er. Likes. And I don’t think that—”

“Oh,” Alex sighs, exasperated, “don’t be such a prude, Georgie. Here—”

Fireworks. Butterflies. Violins.

No, none of that, actually. Just Alex’s mouth. George wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It has been so long since George kissed someone. Since George was kissed by someone.

Alex has a hand cupping his cheek—so tender and gentle that George shivers beneath him. Yes, beneath him. George isn’t on his back, but it’s taking all of his core muscle strength to keep himself somewhat upright with Alex half on top of him and half in his lap, kissing him. Alex, Alexander, Alexander Albon is kissing him.

His tongue runs along the seam of George’s mouth, and with a gasp, George parts his lips, mouth going slack, finally realizing that Alex is kissing him, and he isn’t kissing him back. He’s a bloody idiot, that’s what he is, he thinks, as he surges forward to return the kiss, and—

Ah.

Alex sitting back on his heels, eyes a little wild, mouth pink and slick.

Anticlamactic.

George makes a soft noise, feeling like he’s just been taken apart, disemboweled, ribs in all the wrong places.

It feels like—

Feels like the comedown after Brazil 2022. He got a taste of a win, and now he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what it feels like to stand on the top of the podium.

Now, he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what Alex’s lips feel like against his.

It’s not like it was a fantastic kiss, or anything. George has had better. Loads better. This wasn’t even a proper kiss. George hadn’t even managed to kiss back. And it wasn’t like it meant anything either.

It was just Alex.

“Hey,” Charles whines, sounding like he’s pouting. Only sounding like it—George couldn’t possibly know what Charles looks like right now. He isn’t looking anywhere but at Alex. It just isn’t possible for him to take his eyes away. “Why do you kiss George and not me?” 

Lazily, Alex throws his head to the side, looking at Charles. In the meantime George stares at the lovely column of his throat. “Been there done that, Charlie.”

George sucks in a breath.

“Don’t look so jealous,” Alex says, chuckling, his gaze returning to George. George doesn’t even want to imagine what he looks like right now—what Alex sees. “It’s not like you were up for grabs.”

“Ah,” George says, shuddering. It’s just—the way Alex’s voice sounds, the way he’s looking at him—

“Oi, oi,” Lando sounds, swinging upright so that his shoes are finally off the couch and on the ground. “This is getting a bit too gay for me. I’m calling a Lyft.”

“Lando,” Alex laughs, “you are quite literally dating a man.”

Lando, ever prey-like and anxious when it doesn’t matter, blushes and says, “Oh, fuck off. Me and Max aren’t dating. We’re just, um…”

He reminds George of a snapping turtle, in a way: hard-shelled, prickly, and goes through puberty late.

At Lando’s words, Charles’ head rises, which is rather striking, George reckons, since he hasn’t said a word this whole conversation. His face scrunches up, brows furrowed, almost irritated. He’s frowning when he asks, “Lando, you are with Max?”

“Fewtrell,” Alex clarifies.

“Oh,” Charles exhales, tension releasing from his shoulders as Lando blushes an even brighter red and blubbers incoherently.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Lando says, flustered and bitchy. “I’m not with Max. Fewtrell or Charles’ Max—”

“Um,” Charles says, looking a little furious, “he’s not my—”

“Whatever,” Lando says, waving his hand vaguely. “Anyway, I’m leaving—mmph!”

Oh, alright then, George thinks, watching as Charles yanks on Lando’s wrist and pulls him down to the floor for a kiss.

Lando yanks himself away, and in the process, bangs his knee on the underside of the coffee table and hisses as he falls onto his back. Clearly still very drunk. Charles is laughing at him. So is Alex, honking and boisterous. George feels too shocked to find the humor in this.

Scrubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he stammers, “What was that for?”

Charles shrugs. His face is pink and filled with glee, eyes sparkling. “Alex wouldn’t kiss me.”

“That’s the only reason why?” Lando asks, lifting a brow.

Charles giggles. “I like you, Lando,” Charles says, like it’s nothing, like Charles Leclerc liking someone means nothing. George wonders what that is like, to be able to say something like that without shame or anxiety. To be able to throw things into the air like that. I like you with the self-assurance to know that it will be well-received. That your attraction will be reciprocated.

“I think you are very cute,” Charles finishes, swaying a little.

“Not cute,” Lando huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, which strangely, George reckons, makes him look cuter. “I’m sexy.”

“Yes,” Charles says, giggling harder, his shoulders rising to his ears, “you are very sexy, Lando.”

“You’ll say anything to anyone,” Alex snorts, watching them with curiosity.

Charles keeps his eyes on Lando when he says, “When I want them in bed, yes.” Lando’s throat bobs, a mouse caught in the trap. Yes, George thinks, that’s what it’s like being looked at by Charles: caught in a trap. “Is that something you would like, Lando?”

“Uh,” Lando squeaks.

“Or will your Max get mad at me?”

Instantly, Lando shakes his head, a bit like a dog coming out of the bath. Doesn’t even make a snippy comment about your Max. 

Charles kisses him again.

It isn’t anything like the last kiss, abrupt and awkward. It isn’t anything like when Alex kissed George either. This one is—

George has to look away, face hot.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he hears from the side.

“What?” George asks, his insides feeling gooey.

“Look,” Alex says, then his hand is on George’s burning cheek, turning it to face Charles and Lando. Lando, who is sitting in Charles’ lap. Charles, who has his hands firmly on Lando’s waist.

George swallows. The room is far too small and the only sounds are the slick-wet sounds of kissing, and heavy breathing. Now that George is looking, he can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. Like a car crash, he thinks absently. Sweat drips down the side of his neck, where Alex’s hand is placed now. George’s whole body feels on fire.

Alex isn’t saying anything. They only—watch. Watch as Charles slides a careful hand under the seam of Lando’s shirt, snaking along his lower back. Lando squeaks and pulls back from the kiss, panting against Charles’ mouth. Desperate, George thinks. They both look a little desperate right now.

More than a little. Faces flushed, clothes wrinkled, making out on the fucking floor in front of a fucking audience.

“It’s kind of late,” Lando mutters, so quietly that George can barely hear him over the sound of his own breathing.

“Yes, ah,” Charles says. Lando crawls off of him, uncoordinated; whatever spell the both of them were under seems to be broken. Charles turns toward George and Alex, his lips swollen, looking thoroughly kissed. His shirt is riding up. Lower: a massive tent in his jeans. George forces his eyes to drift back up to Charles’ face, settling on his mouth. “Maybe everyone should go.” After a beat, he adds, “I am very drunk.”

Lando is avoiding eye contact, playing with his fingers, hands positioned conspicuously over his crotch, inhibitions remembered.

George swallows, his voice hoarse when he says, “We can tell.”

Alex collects Lando off the floor, and George and Charles follow them to the door, silently.

“I’ll get these two home safe,” Alex promises, clasping a hand on both George’s and Lando’s shoulder. Lando bats his hand away.

Leaning against the wall, Charles smirks and says, “You owe me a kiss, Alexander.”

Alex smiles back at Charles. George stiffens at the reminder that Charles has Alex wrapped around his fucking finger, even now. “I’ll pay you back with interest next time, Charlie.”

After that, they start to shuffle out the door, but then Lando, still inside the flat, says, “Charles.”

George and Alex turn around.

Head tilted, Charles asks, “What is it?”

And that’s all he’s able to get out before Lando is grabbing his face and kissing him. Hungrily. Charles makes a shocked noise as he’s backed up against the wall, melting.

It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered. After only a moment, Lando pulls away with a smug smile, and Charles looks—dazed. Kiss-stupid and slack-jawed. George wonders if that’s how he gets when he isn’t in control.

“We should,” Charles starts, throat bobbing as he stares at the three of them in the hall. He licks his lips, cheeks red like his car, and scans each of them with his eyes. “All of us. Again.”

All of us, George thinks. Not just Lando, not just Alex. All of them. All four of them.

“I mean. Only if you all want.”

Charles, George registers, is looking at George. That’s where his gaze has settled. And George realizes that, yes, he is the limiting factor here. Because apparently, a-fucking-pparently, Charles has a history with Alex, and George’s more than half sure that if Charles and Lando were only marginally less drunk than they are, they would have fucked tonight.

Alex and Lando are looking at him too.

What’s the harm if George says no?

No, no. Wrong question.

What’s the harm if George says yes?

He doesn’t want to be the odd one out. What he wants is—

He turns to look at Alex, looking at him with curious eyes. George’s gaze drifts and drifts—Alex’s pink mouth, the shape of it, remembering the feel of it against his own.

George made his decision a long time ago. Charles and Lando—they’re just the implications.

Shuddering, he turns back to Charles, and nods his head.

/

Monaco is small enough that practically everything is just a walk away. Lando’s flat is the closest one to Charles’; George and Alex drop him off. On the way, surprisingly, they don’t chat about what happened back at Charles’ place. Instead, they grill Lando about whatever’s going on between him and Fewtrell, only to get absolutely nothing.

George’s flat is the closest to Lando’s, so Alex walks him back. And they don’t talk at all, at least until they’re outside the front door and George is about to walk in.

“Hey, um,” Alex says, biting his lip. “Tonight was a lot.”

“Yeah,” George admits, finding no use in pretending otherwise.

“So,” Alex starts. “Are you, like, sure? About—getting all together again? I feel kinda bad that like—I dunno. It was kinda like, we were ganging up on you. If you feel pressured in any way, I couldn’t live with myself, so, uh—”

Alex rambles. He’s a rambler. George knows this about him. Alex is a horrible storyteller, always telling the punchline first, then filling in all the gaps. Even then, he always forgets important parts, tells it all non-linearly and it never makes sense to anyone but him.

The truth is, as much as Alex’s blithe, carefree nature obscures, beneath that persona, he does just as much overthinking that George does.

And George—

Perhaps he isn’t as sober as he thought he was, but he feels clear. For the first time tonight, he feels in control. Brave.

He does what he wanted to do earlier, back in Charles’ flat, when Alex pulled away and George surged forward.

He kisses Alex. Mid-sentence, mid-word, mid-apology.

It’s just a peck, really. George thinks that if he properly kissed Alex right now, he might do something absolutely stupid, like drop to his knees and try to blow Alex under the cameras of his building. Even if he’s never done that before, he thinks he’d do that for Alex.

If Alex asked. If Alex wanted. He’s too afraid to ask if that’s what Alex would want.

Alex is smiling at him—and it’s one of his soft smiles. George feels so dizzy and stupid. “Not so straight then, are you?”

Heart hammering, George remembers to be brave. “Probably not.”

Alex licks over his mouth. George wants.

“Alright then,” Alex says, pupils wide. “We’ll talk in the morning? All of us?”

Yes, George thinks. They will.

/

And, against all odds, they do.

[the-guilty-writer]

Criminal Minds x BAU!autistic!reader Headcanons

I got this request in and I want to do so much more with this than just headcanons but here are some to get us started! These are rather vuage since autism presents differently in everyone.

Hotch and Rossi knew from the hiring process that you were autistic because it was listed in your file, but no one else on the team knew.

The first day when Hotch is talking you, he tells you that if you need anything you can always come to him and that what you tell the team about your personal life is always up to you.

He's the first boss that's ever told that to you.

But you insisted that you were okay.

You're super nervous when meeting the rest of the team and spend a lot of time trying to analyze their microexpressions while controlling your own.

For the first while you spend a lot of time masking, but that's really hard to do around a bunch of profilers.

After a really hard case on the jet everything starts to become too much- you lock yourself in the bathroom to try to calm yourself down.

Most of the team was asleep, but Reid noticed your absence and went to check on you.

He had always suspected that you were autistic but he never said anything, so he was super careful when knocking on the bathroom door, approaching you, and helping make your meltdown not so intense.

"Accommodations exist for a reason. Hotch is really good at making sure the paperwork goes through smoothly and the rest of the team is very understanding."

The next day you talked to Hotch about what work accommodations would help you.

You slowly began to open up to the team about your needs.

All of them were beyond suppotive.

Garcia makes sure to have your safe foods for you when you get home from a hard case. She made a box of sensory toys for your desk and your go bag. Even though she's a very affection person, she makes sure to ask you before initating any sort of physical contact.

Morgan is protective of you when away on cases- always making sure that the locals treat you with respect. If the precinct/station doesn't have the ability to provide you with accomodations he gets creative to make sure you have what you need.

Prentiss is also a protector, but she isn't quite as loud. It's in the way that she always asks to sit in the quiet corner of resturant when the team is out for dinner, or sits outside the station with you in silence so you can have a break but not have to be alone.

JJ knows a meltdown is coming before it even happens and she's so good at helping you through it. She also has a few sensory tools in her bag just for good measure.

Rossi making sure you drink your water, eat food, and explaining sarcasm or jokes in a way you can understand.

Hotch always makes sure your voice is heard in your job and reassures you about how valuble you are to the team. If you need an accommodation and HR doesn't aprove it he finds a way to make sure you get it anyway.

Spencer Reid is the special interest king. He gladly listens to you talk, learns about your special interest so you can discuss it together, if there is an event that has to do with your special interest he goes with you, etc.

All of them make sure you know how much you mean to them and that you never have to hide who you are <3