#the l word fan fiction

[ourautumn86]

puppy love

dad’s bf shane mccutcheon x fem! reader

pt2

synopsis: you’ve liked your dad’s best friend for a very long time. the time has come when you can finally have her.

cw;; +18 content! minors dni!! (i’ll hunt you down), shane is 34, reader is 18 in the first part of the fic, alcohol and drug consumption (coke and weed) (don’t do this guys!!!!), fighting, reader being mean, TENSIONNNN, puking, kissing, tattoos, piercings, teasing, praising, degradation, voyeurism (kinda), oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), cum eating, hair pulling…

you’ve had this silly little crush on your dad’s best friend since you were a teenager.

how could you not? she was beautiful, and successful and so fucking hot… she was unique. you’ve never met anyone quite like shane mccutcheon. so free.

it was innocent at first. you’d always want to spend time with her. she was the person you looked up to after all. she taught you how to skate from a a very early age. she always cut your hair when you’d need a fresh cut, and dyed it even though when she knew your dad would give her hell for it just because you wanted to (she would say sorry, but she wasn’t). she gave you your first tattoo when you turned 16 in a place where your father wouldn’t see. a hummingbird, just like hers. “my birthday present for you, kid” she had said. you could still remember the feeling of her fingertips on your thighs and waist as she tattooed your hipbone. you had tried so hard to not blush and squirm, her touch electrifying.

you could feel butterflies every time your friends would ask you about her in recess, well-known looks being shared when you’d blush. and your knees would go weak when you’d see her at the entrance of your high-school after class, waiting for you leaning against her car with her charming smile. “hey kid.” she’d mess up your hair with one of her ringed hands, hugging you close to her chest. you’d push her away, acting pissed off, when in reality all you wanted was to hug her closer and bury your face in the crook of her neck. she always smelled so nice…

but you couldn’t keep her too close ‘cause then you’d notice the hickeys on her neck, and all those butterflies would die.

your father had you at a very early age, having to raise you all by himself since your mother decided to run away and leave you. and shane had been there since the first second that she had met your father, along with the whole group, helping him push through.

so when you realized that what you felt for her was more than something platonic… your whole world came crashing down on your shoulders.

eighteen and in love with a woman twice your age… so you slowly started to drift away. you’d act busy. you’d started going out frequently, doing drugs, drinking alcohol… getting wasted and sleeping with a bunch of girls to try and forget her.

of course, she’d always find you.

“oh my god…” you groaned, turning around to face your friend with wobbly legs and your heart on your throat. “shane’s here.” you had just left the club, completely drunk out of your mind and with hickeys all over your chest and neck. you couldn’t let her see you like this. you didn’t want to see her.

“what? where?” your friend inquired and you pointed with your eyes to the side and to your back. “fuck. what do we do?”

“don’t let her see me. please, lucile.”

“okay, let’s…” but then she ducked her head, eyes shot open. “oh shit. shit. shit. she saw me.”

“fuck!” you whispered, and at the same time you heard shane’s voice coming from behind you, calling out for you. you tried to ignore her, tried to act as if she wasn’t you who she was looking for, but she wouldn’t give up.

“hey! i’m talking to you!” your whole world started spinning when you felt her hand on your shoulder, turning you around so you could face her. “do you have any idea how worried your dad is? we’ve been looking like crazy for you.” her voice sounded harsh, and she looked pissed. it was when she noticed that you weren’t looking at her, but instead hiding your eyes that she took your face with her free hand, making you face her. “fuck… you’re high?” your eyes were reddish and half lided, pupils dilated. your makeup ruined, gloss smushed. she looked at your clothes, completely out of place, bruises on your skin. “let’s go.” she grabbed onto your wrist to pull you along, but you fought her. she growled your name, slowly.

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m having fun.” you slurred, taking a swing of the bottle of alcohol on your hand. your vision was blurry, and your heart was beating too loud. “hey!” you whined when she took it from you and threw it aside, making the glass break. you whistled at her pissed off look. “somebody needs to have a little bit of fun…” you muttered.

“you’ve had enough, i’m taking you home.” her voice was stern, green eyes angry.

“you’re not my dad.” you said, and she smirked.

“yeah. thank god i’m not, ‘cause if he saw you like this, he’d kill you. move.” you rolled your eyes. “don’t be a brat with me. i’m not putting up with that shit. car, now.” she ordered, and you finally moved, walking towards her car.

you hadn’t shared a word on the whole way and you frowned when she kept going straight instead of taking a turn when the street of your neighborhood came to your view. she noticed. “i’m taking you to my house. can’t let your father see you like this.” your stomach jumped at the thought of being alone with her on her beautiful house. you could still remember how soft her bed was, how everything smelled of her. it was making you nervous. you didn’t want to be alone with her. not when she looked this good and you were this drunk and high.

she parked right outside, turning off the engine and getting out of the car. you followed her up the stairs and inside her home, groaning when she turned the lights on and it hit your eyes.

“fuck.”

“what did you take?” she inquired and you giggled.

“what did i not take?” she crossed her arms over her chest and you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know. some weed. cocaine…” she rose one of her hands to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“jesus christ. why the fuck would you do that! are you insane?”

“oh, don’t act as if you hadn’t done it before… we all know shane heart breaker mccutcheon’s reputation.” you scoffed, and she squinted at you.

“and now you want to follow my steps?”

“maybe i do.” you shrugged.

“you’re acting stupid.” she sighed.

“and you’re acting fucking annoying.” you retorted, grabbing at the sides of your head when it throbbed. “ugh you’re making my head hurt.” your legs wobbled and if it weren’t for shane grabbing you, you’d have probably fell onto the floor.

“woah. are you okay?” you shook your head.

“i think… i’m going to…” you clasped your mouth shut with one of your hands and shane’s eyes quickly shot open before she was hurriedly guiding you to the toilet. you fell on your knees, puking your guts out. she grabbed your hair on a make-shift ponytail to make sure that it wouldn’t get dirty. she rubbed your back with her free hand.

“it’s okay, let it go. that’s it.” you groaned, feeling your stomach hurt. you didn’t want her to touch you, not on this state, but at the same time, you just wanted to lean on her touch and forget about everything.

“sorry.” you apologized, not really sure about what, maybe everything. she hushed you.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about it, okay? let it all out.” after a couple of minutes, you felt your dizziness subside, although you were still pretty high. “stay here, alright? i’m gonna go for some clothes you can change into.” you nodded, resting against the cold wall as you took deep breaths.

“fuck.”

you were cringing at the thought of shane seeing you like this, a complete fucking mess, just when she came back to the bathroom with some clothes on her hands.

“come on. let’s get you up.” she offered you her help to get up, hands on your hips to stabilize you as you took off your heels. “do you need help with-“ you shook your head.

“i’m fine.”

“are you sure?”

“shane. i’m fine.” you repeated, harshly, and she nodded. she wanted to understand. if you were acting like this it had to be due to something.

“alright… i’ll… i’ll be outside if you need me.” she nodded, and left the bathroom.

you sighed, leaning on the counter. you looked at the pile of clothes she had left you, and you took them. they were soft, and just as you imagined, they smelled like her.

you pulled over your head your dress, feeling the cold of the bathroom slide into your bones. your skin rose in goosebumps when you slid her shirt on, feeling caged in her and at the same time so free… you were surrounded by shane. and you were ashamed of yourself. you were supposed to be getting over her, not thinking about how much you liked having her on you. you were deep in thought when she knocked on the door. you had already pulled up your legs the shorts she had lent you.

“you okay in there?” she inquired through the other side, and you opened up for her.

“do you have some makeup remover i could use?” you inquired her, shying away from her green deep eyes.

“oh, yeah.” she passed through you, pulling it from the drawers of the sink along with some cotton wipes.

“thank you.” you muttered when she handed it to you.

“no problem.”

there was this… awkward tension in between the two of you. shane didn’t know what to say. she had noticed how lately you’d gone off the rails, but she didn’t really know why. it was your last year of high school. maybe you were just trying to have fun before college…? she was just worried about you.

you took off your makeup, and she stood there with you, cautious in case you felt like getting sick again.

you were still pretty high, although the dizziness of the alcohol had disappeared once you’d gotten it out of your system. suddenly, you felt this knot in your throat. shit. not now.

“hey… are you…? what’s wrong?” you shook your head, wiping away the first tear that fell from your eyes.

“nothing.” you muttered, but she wasn’t having it.

“come on, something must be going on for you to be like this. talk to me, sweetheart.” she pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back as you hid on the crook of her neck. “hm?” she took your face in between her hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“i love you.” you said, and she smiled.

“i love you too, kid.” you shook your head, interrupting her, your hands surrounding her wrists.

“i love you, shane.” she frowned, eyes shooting open in shock when she felt your lips on hers. your eyes were squeezed shut, heart beating harshly against your ribs. it was just a mere touch, two seconds of contact before she was softly pushing you away, breath fanning over your lips. your forehead collided with her chest. “i’m sorry.” you muttered, and shane hugged you, rubbing your back in soft circles. oh, sweet thoughtful shane.

“why don’t we get you in bed, hm?” she inquired, tenderly. she didn’t think too much of it. you were drunk, high and sad. this had all been a slip. a mistake. she had surely had many before. you nodded, and let her guide you to her bedroom. she always let you use her bed when you’d sleep over, using the sofa instead or sometimes sleeping with you when you were younger and would get scared.

“shane?” you inquired her as she made her way to the door.

“yeah?”

“do you think maybe…you could stay?”

she stood silent for a couple of seconds.

“yeah, sure.” she answered, and you moved to make some space for her. she laid on her back, and looked at you. “come here.” you got closer, and leaned on her chest, right above her heart, where you could hear her heartbeat. her hand laced on your hair, rubbing your scalp and brushing it for you to relax —something she has always done since you were little and helped you sleep—. you had to bite down on your lip and swallow your tears.

“good night, shane.” you whispered.

“good night, kid.” she answered.

the next morning. you were gone. and shane didn’t see you again.

-

4 years later…

“there’s my baby girl fresh out of college!!!” you chuckled at your dad’s excitement. you thanked the taxi driver who waved goodbye and started the car to drive away. “oh god, you’ve gotten so big!” you rolled your eyes, hugging him back as he squeezed you against his chest.

“dad… you saw me a couple of months ago!” you laughed and he grunted.

“kids grow so fast…” he sighed, shaking his head and you copied him, rolling your eyes. “come on! let’s get you inside!” he took your suitcase, pulling from it.

four years had passed since the last time you’d stepped on your city, even your house. that night after telling shane you’d loved her, you’d taken the offer one of your friends had given you to work for her during the summer in NY and left LA, later on having enrolled on the local college to continue your education. it was your dad who would come visit you on the holidays, since you’d promised yourself not to come back after you’d finally finished your degree to… disconnect. you needed change. needed to find yourself. and in reality, all of it was a simple excuse. you just needed to get away from shane. you couldn’t look her in the eyes after that night, couldn’t act as if nothing had happened and you hadn’t kissed her. couldn’t ignore the way your whole body had filled with euphoria and your stomach had blown up in butterflies.

so you ran. and did everything in your power to forget all about it. you had made new friends, met new people, dated, broke up, fucked, partied… you’d lived a brand new life away from her. and somehow…, it still felt like something was missing.

“dad… what’s all of this?” you inquired at the amount of snacks and beers decorating the isle of your kitchen. he guiltily smiled and you rose your eyebrows.

“i may of may have not invited some people to throw you a… comeback party?” you groaned.

“dad!”

“i know! but you know your aunt alice! she’s missed you so much… and angelica wouldn’t stop asking for you to bette and tina. so i thought that a little gathering wouldn’t kill anybody…” you sighed. “we’re just happy to have you back home, baby.”

you felt the itch. the need to ask about her. to say her name out loud after all this years. but you fought it.

“you’re right. i’m sorry. i’ve missed them too.” he hugged you again.

“why don’t you take a shower and get ready, hm? i’ll bring your luggage up your room for you. they’ll get here in an hour or so.” you nodded.

“okay. thanks dad.”

-

shane had been shocked to hear the drastic decision you’ve made in moving to new york. you’d packed and left the same day without even saying goodbye. she had tried calling you, of course she had. at least to try and get to know how you were doing over there in that immense city. but it’d always go straight to voice mail. your dad would tell her that it’s because you were real busy with school and your work. so she’d given you space. she had enough knowing through your father that you were alright. though she missed you. you were important for her. she adored you.

the years passed by quicker than she thought. she had taken over a couple of hair salons that now had her name, and sold her photography to great prices, giving her the chance to move to a better apartment. she hadn’t noticed the change that this years supposed for you ‘till she finally got to see you again, four years later.

you weren’t the same little teenager girl she once knew. you had grown up into this beautiful woman with radiant smile and vibrant eyes. you’d gotten a couple more tattoos, she could perfectly see the tramp stamp peeking from your low rise jeans, and outline the bars on your nipples though your tight top. jesus christ. when the hell had you gotten those?

you were wearing a beautiful lip gloss that made your lips pop, and black eyeshadow and waterline in your eyes. your nails were done in a deep shade of red, yet short.

shane had to take a deep breath when you finally noticed her, walking into your house as you took a beer from the kitchen. your dad and the group was outside by the pool, getting ready to eat some meat fresh out from the grill.

she looked good. why did she look so fucking good? and why was your heart going this crazy? for god’s sake, it had been four years already. you were sure you’d finally gotten it under control, but one look at her and those stupid butterflies were back, along with the memory of her soft lips and electrifying touch.

“well if it isn’t new york’s sweetheart…” she said as she finally reached you a smirk on her lips as she leaned on the isle, to what you scoffed. “it’s nice to see you, kid.” her voice was low, and silky. you wanted to groan. she sounded better than you remembered. but instead, you rolled your eyes, leaning on the other side of the isle to get closer.

“i’m not a kid anymore, shane.”

“yeah, i can see that.” she chuckled, eyes training on your body, eyeing you up and down when you turned around and asked:

“want a beer?”

“please.” you opened the fridge once again, bending over to get them from the last shelf, giving her the perfect view of your tattoo and ass. it read: heaven. “thanks.” she said when you handed it to her.

“no problem.” the two of you took a swing form the bottles, fresh beer spilling down your throat. somehow it didn’t help with how hot you were feeling.

“so tell me. how has new york treated you?” she inquired and you shrugged.

“it was alright. kinda busy with college.”

“oh yeah… as if college were everything you’ve been up to, huh?” she teased you, and you chuckled.

“what do you want to know, shane?” you squinted your eyes. “that the parties are amazing there? that the girls are hot?” she smiled.

“yeah, that’s more like it…” she drank again. there was this easy-going atmosphere in between the two of you. you liked it. you thought it would be harsher to face her. but she was shane. how could it be? she always made you feel safe. “see you’ve gotten more tattoos…” her eyes eyes your arms, where some of them stood. “i like them.”

“oh, yeah. have this friend back in the city that would do them for free if she could practice on me.” you laughed, showing them to her. she took your arm, soft fingertips drawing over their lines .

“well, she’s got talent, i’d give you that.” she whistled.

“yeah. taught me how to stick and poke and everything.” you laughed at her shocked expression.

“no fucking way… you tattoo?” you nodded.

“yeah, so if you ever want a new one just hit me up, i still owe you one.”

“true. the hummingbird. how’s it holding?” you pulled down your pants and panties to show it to her, soft skin in display. “might need a little ink.” she hummed, and you pushed your pants back to their spot. you might need something else.

shane tried to ignore the little speck of ink that she saw more towards your center when you pulled your pants down, but it left her with curiosity running through her veins.

you stared at each other, green eyes on yours for a couple of long seconds before she looked away, beer on hand. she couldn’t.

“where’s your dad?” she inquired, and you sighed.

“she’s out by the pool, getting the grill ready.” she nodded.

“see you later?” you nodded, and saw her go outside, being welcomed by her friends.

well… you were fucked.

-

summer in LA was hot. really hot. and shane prancing around your house with one of her wife beaters and tight jeans wasn’t of much help. you could see her arms bulge as she helped your dad put up a new relaxing space on your garden, where he’ll build a wooden ceiling and put up a few couches for you to relax by the pool.

you were currently taking a swim, small black bikini accentuating your perfect body. it was hard to say shane was having a great time.

“hey kid. enjoying the pool?” she inquired, wiping the sweat off her forehead. it was already almost night, the sunset already had been engulfed by the ocean.

you looked up at her, resting against the edge, cleavage on full and exposure.

“really. the water is so refreshing…” you smiled.

“shane!” your father called out for her. “i’m going out to buy some bear. want anything?” he inquired.

“marlboro reds?”

“got it.” she thanked him as he took his keys and left through the main door, leaving the two of you alone. you bit down on your lip at the thought of it.

“hey shane?” you muttered.

“yeah?”

“can i tell you something?”

“anything.” she nodded.

“bend over.” you whispered, and she followed, kneeling on one knee by the pool so she could get closer to you, and just as you were about to part your lips, your wet fingers gripped on her shirt, pulling her inside the pool. she was gasping for air as she came back up to the surface, wiping the water out of her face as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “oh god! you should have seen your face!!!”

“oh yeah? you think this is funny?” she chuckled, pointing at her wet clothes. the white wife beater let her nipples show now. you tried not to state too much.

“totally.” you nodded, taking a step back when she step closer.

“com’here.” she ordered, waving her hand.

“nah, i’m cool here.” you laughed, and shrieked when she jumped at you. “no!!”

“oh, so now the princess is begging for mercy, huh?” you sputtered as her fingers tickled you, grabbing at your sides. “how’s that? who’s laughing now, hm?” she muttered as you begged her to stop, trying to get rid of her hold. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” she left you breathless when she finally decided to let you go, although you two were close, your back against the wall of the pool.

you looked at her, and chuckled slightly at the messy state of her hair, which now stood completely drenched hiding her eyes and getting all over her face.

“what?”

“your hair. is… wait. let me.” your soft fingertips made contact with the skin of her face, pushing away the strands and behind her ear.

“thanks.” she muttered.

“you’re welcome.” you two stared at each other, realizing just how close you were. your eyes drifted to her chest, which rose and lowered in deep breaths, her perky nipples hard against the white of her tank top.

she stared at you. at your long eyelashes, flushed cheeks due to the lack of air and laughter and your glossy plump lips. somehow you two just ended closer, the hands that had tickled you still on your hips, burning your skin. your eyes met, and after a couple of seconds she looked away, clearing your throat and letting go of you, leaving you freezing.

“fuck. now i’m completely drenched.” she looked at her clothes.

“you could borrow some of mine.” you shrugged, and she scoffed. “what? i’m sure some of my clothes will fit you, shane. or do you want to get your leather seats wet?”

“fuck no.” her nose wrinkled up, and you chuckled.

“just what i thought.” you muttered, swimming towards the stairs and dipping your hair underneath the water one more time before getting out the pool. shane tried really hard to not stare at the perfect view of your ass. your dad would kill her. your dad will kill her. why was she even staring at you this way? for gods sake she had seen you grow up…

you turned around, and she quickly looked you in the eyes. “you coming or not.”

oh for sure.

“yeah.” she said before following after you.

-

“are you sure you know how to do this shit?” she inquired for like the eleventh time, and you rolled your eyes. “hey, i just want to make sure you don’t fuck it up, alright? i’ll live with it for the rest of my life.”

“shane, i’m positive. you’re not the first person i tattoo, alright?” you promised, getting the needles and ink ready.

“cool. cool.” she nodded, laying on your bed. your room stood frozen in your teenage years, full of books and pictures and posters. you even had your favorite music records (at least the ones you’ve had to leave behind for college). it gave you this nostalgic feeling that you couldn’t shake off your bones. your father was out with some of his friends, and you and shane had ended up meeting up to tattoo each other. “but-“ she tried and sit back up, but you pushed her down, pointing one of your fingers at her.

“shut the fuck up.” you ordered, and she rose her hands.

“okay.”

she was going for a simple design. a scorpion on her forearm. you’d done some before, so it would be easy. you’d also made a stencil for her, so you would be fine.

you prepped and disinfected everything, putting on your gloves. “okay. where do you exactly want it?” you inquired her, and she pointed at the place where she thought would look best and you nodded, placing the stencil there to let her see if she’d like it.

“yeah, i like it.” you nodded once again.

“alright. then i guess we’re ready. it won’t take a lot, if it hurts too much just let me know and we’ll take a break.” she scoffed.

“who do you think i am?” she sassily inquired and you rolled your eyes.

“hope you choke on your words, mccutcheon.” you shook your head, taking her arm and leaning over to start tattooing her.

“huh, you wish.” she smirked, taking a glimpse of your cleavage. she breathed deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. come on shane. focus.

those fucking nipple piercings… shit. no. don’t think about that.

you noticed her silence and you decided to check up on her.

“you alright?”

“hm?” she seemed distracted. how couldn’t she be? “oh yeah. don’t worry.” of course it wasn’t like she were thinking about your tits. absolutely not. “so… had any girlfriends in new york?” yeah, let’s change the subject.

you sighed and shrugged. “i mean… not really. messed up around but never got serious, you know what i mean?” she smirked, surprised.

“do tell…” you chuckled, playfully hitting her on the arm.

“what about you?” you inquired, trying to not sound so interested. although you were. you truly were.

“could say the same. you know me.” you nodded, and hid your excitement. so she was single.

she stared at you as you worked. fuck. you were so beautiful. new york had changed you so much. you had always been, but now, there was this… something about you she couldn’t put her finger on. she just knew she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you. and that was no good.

“okay. i’m done.” you smiled, wiping over the tattoo to stare at the end result.

“now that’s amazing.” she whistled, taking a look at it. it hadn’t hurt at all.

“told you…” you muttered and she scoffed.

“oh i’m sorry for being scared, you’re the first kid i let near me with a needle.” you rolled your eyes. there was that nickname again. kid.

did she really still looked at you like one?

she noticed your silence.

“hey. you okay?” you pushed away her touch, nodding.

“yeah, i’m fine.” no you were not. what the hell did you have to do for shane to look at you? would it always be like this? will you always be running after her? “so… you up for retouching my tattoo?” you asked and she nodded.

“yeah, sure. could i borrow your gun, though? i’m not that good at stick and poke.” you gave it to her, along with some ink, gloves and new needles.

you got up from your seat, unbuckling your pants. shane tried to not look at you as you pushed them down your thighs, leaving you in a pretty lace pair of panties. her eyes continuously drifted from you to the tattoo gun as you sat on your bed, legs spread as she sat in front of you. there was no comfortable way she could tattoo you in your room, and having her in between your legs, leaning over and so close to your barely clothed center somehow felt more intimate than the first time around. she looked at you as her fingertips made contact with the skin of your hip bone, carefully pulling your panties down just the slightest to disinfect the zone. your cheeks were burning up when her soft low voice caught your attention. “you ready?” you nodded. “alright. if you need me to stop just say the word.” and then there was the buzzing of the tattoo gun and that burning feeling of the needle breaking your skin. you hissed. you knew it was a sensitive spot, but you always forgot how sensitive.

you thanked god the tattoo was small, ‘cause you couldn’t really look at shane too much without thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. she looked so good in between your legs, hair falling messily in her eyes, tongue sticking out and glossing her lips in concentration. the things you’ve thought about that tongue, the nights you’ve imagined her in this same exact position but with less clothing. this was turning you on. it shouldn’t be turning you on.

“fuck.” you groaned. and she looked at you.

“you’re doing good, just hold on a little bit more for me, alright?” you almost moaned. fuck. and now she was praising you. one particular harsh swipe of the needle almost had you gripping her hair. you could feel her breathing against your skin.

this was all too much.

“shane…” you sighed, your hips twitching upwards involuntarily due to the pain.

“i know baby, i know. i’m halfway there.”

you tried to hold in the need to move, but it hurt, and you were getting horny. there wasn’t much you could do. at one particular point, she had to harshly grip your hip with her free hand, pushing you against the duvet. “don’t move.” she ordered, and you bit down on your lip. holy fuck. this looked so much like those dreams you’d have about her…

you could feel your pussy throbbing.

shane was trying her best to keep her composure. but jesus christ, you were writhing under her, letting out this little pained sounds and you were just in a pair of panties and a tank top. it was making it hard for her. you were making it hard for her.

the room was sticky with tension. she could see the peeking of your pubic hair since she had pulled your underwear down, and your skin was so soft…

focus. focus. focus.

but then…

fuck. you were wet. you were soaked.

her green eyes met the wet patch forming on your panties, and she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. hell, she even forgot the fact that you were her best friend’s daughter.

you perked up at the feeling of her stoping with the tattoo.

“shane?” you called out for her, and then you were letting out this sound in between a moan and a gasp when you felt her fingers pushing in between your lips and over the cloth, slowly, teasingly. “oh fuck. what are you doing?” you gasped in a whisper, your hips rutting against her touch. she smirked.

“me? i’m not doing anything.” she looked at you, and slowly leaned closer to you, leaving this soft peck on your thigh. you shuddered. “tell me to stop…” she whispered. it was more like a begging. she needed you to tell her that this was wrong. that she shouldn’t be touching you right now. that it was a really stupid idea. she was your dad’s best friend. and yet…

“i can’t…” your hand laced on her hair when she started softly kissing your skin, lip in between your teeth. you wanted her. you’ve wanted her for so long… “please…”

you whimpered when her fingers bumped against your throbbing and sensitive clit, your hips bucking against her touch. “what’s this, hm?” your cheeks were beet red, thighs trembling under her green stare. “tell me baby, this all for me?” she inquired, leaving a wet kiss on your thigh and you nodded, muttering a ‘yes’ that had her short of breath.

your back arched when she kissed you on top of your panties, her tongue licking the arousal that dampened the lace. at the same time, her hands grabbed at the seam of your panties, slowly pulling them down your hips and thighs. that’s when she finally caught a glimpse of that tattoo that she had barely seen the day of your party. it was above your mound. and it said: ‘lucky you’.

shane smirked, chuckling. “lucky me…” your cheeks reddened, but all shyness and embarrassment disappeared when her fingers dipped in between your drooling folds, connected by strings of your arousal. shane felt her mouth watering. “such a pretty pussy.” you felt so exposed, but at the same time you just wanted to open up your legs for her, let her see every little crevice of you.

you let out this pornographic sweet moan when her tongue draw a long fat strip from your entrance to your clit, softly suckling on it and making your thighs squeeze her head, what made her groan and bury her face deeper into your pussy.

“fuck…” you cried out, your hands meeting her short messy dark hair, tugging at it. why did it felt so good?

she pushed your legs over her shoulders, her warm hands on your thighs as she sucked on your clit, sticking her tongue out for you to ride her face when you’d hump against her. that was until you felt one finger prodding against your hole, easily pushing inside your tight and warm walls due to how wet you were. “that’s it. open up for me, doll.” she hummed when you whimpered, starting to thrust it in and out of you, your arousal thick and white on her knuckles as you thrusted yourself on her finger and mouth.“taste so good…” she couldn’t get enough, eating you like a starved woman.

“shane.” you whined when she added her ring finger, stretching you out. and how could she resist when you sounded so sweet moaning her name? she just wanted to get more of those sounds out of you, make you cum over and over again until the only thing you could remember was her name.

she groaned. “look at you, fuck. so fucking pretty. what would your dad think, hm? her little girl letting his best friend fuck her like this.” you moaned, pulling from her hair. “oh you liked that, huh? like the idea of your daddy catching me with my tongue on your cunt, baby?” you blushed, embarrassed to like the idea of it, the adrenaline rushing through your veins making the pleasure enhance. her fingers constantly hitting your g spot had you so close to the edge… “of course you do…” she smirked, sucking on your clit. you cried out her name, your hips pushing against her mouth. “you close, princess?” you nodded, biting down on your lip. “cum for me, baby. cum on my face. i’ll clean it all up for you.” she muttered, licking at your folds before latching onto your clit. your back arched. that encouragement being all you needed to fall apart, thighs shaking as your high hit you like a tidal wave with a high pitched moan. she groaned at the taste of your white creamy cum on her tongue, lapping at it in need, the wet sounds of her tongue pushing into you and licking in between your lips filling your room. she kept finger-fucking you to help you ride off your orgasm, sucking at your clit to extend it.

you swore you could see stars on your room’s ceiling, thighs shaking and breathing ragged. it had been the best orgasm of your life.

shane finished cleaning you up, swallowing every last bit of your cum before pulling her fingers out of you and pushing them inside your mouth. her green eyes met yours as you cleaned them for her. and you could just think about the fact that you had just fucked your dad’s best friend.

and how much you wanted to do it again…

-

a/n; 😶‍🌫️

#shane mccutcheon smut #l word shane #shane l word #shane mccutcheon #shane smut #shane mccutcheon x you #shane fluff #shane mccutcheon x reader #shane x reader #shane angst #shane mccutcheon fluff #shane mccutcheon x fem! reader #the l word fan fiction #the l word smut #the l word x reader #the l word

[the-royal-blue-network]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The L Word: Generation Q (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gigi Ghorbani/Dani Núñez Characters: Dani Núñez, Gigi Ghorbani Additional Tags: Break Up, Memories, Flashback Summary:

I'm still grieving the loss of Dani and Gigi's relationship, and after watching 3x4, this is what I imagine would have happened once Dani was alone in her apartment. Just her... and that damn earring.

#fan fiction #AO3 fanfic #the l word fan fiction #the l word generation Q

[winter-literature]

Bloody, Beaten, and Perfect

Lawlight Alternate Universe

Additional info below.

Trigger warning - graphic violence.

Light always sought to look perfect. Each of his hairs were meticulously placed. His shirts were ironed and carefully tucked in and his tie knotted with delicate precision. It would seem, no matter what world they were in, Light’s appearance would always define handsome.

When Light first started his detainment, L thought he would finally see the crack in the mask. He thought with time, he’d break Light down to a mortal’s level of beauty.

Once that didn’t work, L thought at least dishevelment would fracture the illusion of enigmatic beauty. It was certainly more satisfying, to witness the boy lose control of the costume he draped himself in.

But he endlessly remained breathtaking.

Even with scarlet stained teeth and matted hair, with his shirt torn and unevenly flipped out of his pants, L was drawn to Light.

Maybe, part of the danger was that he found him all the more enticing in such a state.

No matter what rationale L gave to himself, he couldn’t deny that he loved the chuckle that bobbed at Light’s Adam’s Apple as his head hung backwards over the chair, his cheek dusted with the colours of the aurora borealis.

“L.” Watari opened his office door, beckoning L away from his perch.

He could feel Light’s taunting gaze follow him as he limped towards Watari.

Once he was out of Light’s sight, L allowed his body’s injuries to affect his cadence further. It appears that he’d fought the boy too much, Light kept getting better.

“What were you thinking?” Watari sighed as he pushed out his rolling chair on the other side of the desk, falling towards it with a heaving sigh.

Wincing, L continued to attempt to sit in the chair. Any movement of limbs sent shockwaves of pain through L’s bones. Giving up, L rested against the heater protruding from the wall. Watari’s office was fairly small, but considering most of the teacher’s weren’t awarded one at all, it was still a sign of his own affluence.

“I was thinking that Light was being exceptionally irritating today.” L met Watari’s disappointed stature with stoic detachment.

“I believe it is in both of your best interests if you return to the house. I don’t believe this excursion has been as beneficial as we had hoped. Honestly, it appears as if it has done nothing but erode yours and Yagami’s relationship further.” Watari pressed against the back of the chair, which squeaked in protest.

They’d been there almost a month and he’d had two primary objectives. The first, to determine if Light had in fact brought over a Death Note. The second, to reacclimate to the peculiar environment surrounded by a new set of bright children. He’d been so preoccupied that he’d forgotten to study why they were the only ones who drove to school everyday. Well, them and often Isaac. But at least the connection with Isaac had a logical answer. Watari had made friends with his mother and she’d often drop him off on days where she had to leave to work early. However, in a school that thrived on competition and stepping atop mundane minds, Isaac would clearly not provide a solid reason for both him and Light to attend a school so below both of their intellectual capabilities.

“Please expand on your reasoning, Watari.” L tested the waters to see if he had a leg to stand on.

Pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, he let out a sigh of exhaustion. “L, I understand you believe that the boy has promise. But I worry that this has only exasperated the problem instead of working to solve it.” Watari waved over L, clearly indicating his own state.

I believe the boy has promise… We are then still contending for L? Still playing ‘which adolescent can solve the most murders’? Well that is relieving. I was worried you’d gone soft in your old age.

“L, there needs to b-,” Watari rested his elbows on the desk to lessen the space between them.

“It was my fault.” L flicked his eyes up to Watari’s, registering the shock pulling at his wrinkles.

“He should return to his previous accommodations, L. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to teach him how to participate in society.” Watari shook his head.

Previous accommodations? Where did we find Light? Or where did we put him? None of the Whammy’s kids can regularly function in society. This doesn’t make sense…

“You don’t think he’s changed?” L needed Watari to keep talking; if he was going to keep Light close he would require more details.

“His bloodlust seems exactly as before.” Watari huffed.

Do you remember? Do you know that he is Kira? No… I wouldn’t give that more than 9%. You would approach me in a different manner, or discuss the implications of judgement if you did. It would have to mean that Light has a history of violence in this world. How deep does his bloodlust lay? What horrors have the mirror’s eyes seen?

“I already stated I started the fight.” L shrugged, flattening his face against the wince from his possibly torn shoulder.

“L…”

“And look, we’re both evenly injured.” L flexed out his hand, showing the layer of scaled blood he’d won from Light.

“Why must you poke the bear?” Watari’s face reddened before he dodged L’s glance.

“Watari. You run an orphanage of anti-social, sadistic, hyper intelligent youth. Why are you so concerned over merely one of your creations? Blood is bleached from the cafeteria on a daily basis.” L squinted at the man, he really couldn’t understand. Whammy had never been one to shy away from the student’s sadist tendencies.

“I thought we could fix him.” Watari pulled out a file organiser and slid out a flask.

“Why are you so certain he’s broken?” Was he Kira at a younger age here? Do we have possession of the Death Note?

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Watari gulped at his flask. Leaving the top off, he tapped at the metallic container while he muddled through his thoughts. “I really did think it would work.” Watari raised his sights to L, clearly indicating it was his turn to speak.

L, still having absolutely no clue what the man was going on about, stared blankly.

“I thought if he could prove to others that he was a person, maybe he’d believe it too.” Watari sipped at the flask again.

Light has haunted you. What do you mean ‘believe that he’s a person’? Are you referring to his ever present god-complex or early stage schizophrenia?

“You don’t think he believes it?” L knew that he had the single most simple opportunity to protect himself from Kira’s wrath. All he would need to say is ‘you’re right, we should lock Light up’, and he would easily never see the sun rise again. The universe was passing him a golden ticket.

“I think that man could end the world with a pen and a notepad and he knows it.” Watari pulled at his dreary eyes.

Well, you are completely correct there. But… anyone can become a villain.

A moment of sobriety wafted across L. Light came from a nice house, a loving family, it made it too easy to dismiss any struggles he may have pertaining to mental health. He never thought about the stress Light induced upon himself to hide his own sexuality. Or how he was completely defined through matters of grades and triumphs. Had he only felt like he was worthy of conditional love? To have that coincided with the fact that he despised each day of suffering through mundane classes that were below his capabilities… Kira was… depressed? Lost?

“I think the same can be said for any child at Whammy’s.” L picked up the flask from Watari, receiving no complaint as he pulled it up to his own lips.

A thick syrup of cinnamon fire coated L’s throat. Grimacing, L set back down the flask.

“He’s too smart, L.” Watari pulled out glassware, so that neither of them would have to keep drinking from the metallic container.

“We’re all too smart.” L watched as the orange liquid unevenly splashed against the edges of the glass.

“I still think, if you take him with you, he’ll…” Watari slid the glass over to L. Leaving his sentence hanging, he spun the glass in his hand, watching the liquid tunnel within his cup. “I’m afraid he’ll kill you.” The words were barely audible.

Taking a sip, L turned towards the closed door. His greatest enemy was lounging on the other side, likely laughing about their sharing of wounds.

“Violet.” L turned to Watari.

“… Indigo?” Watari poured himself another glass. The flask was nearly gone and they’d barely been in his office for fifteen minutes.

“Violet Morello.” L tipped his glass into his mouth and held it out for another.

“What about her?” Watari’s hand shook as he dumped the rest of the flask into L’s glass.

“Light walks her to breakfast everyday. He’ll even help her with her homework. He has a soft spot for her.” L started pacing around the room.

“Dear god… you don’t think… is he… should I move Violet to a different floor?” Watari’s voice cracked.

What? L’s halt in pacing spilt droplets of Fireball off the edge of his glass. Oh!

“He‘s gay, Watari.” L rolled his eyes at the insinuation and resumed pacing.

“Are-are you sure?” Watari appeared to be constantly looking for the worst in Light. The logic still didn’t quite connect with L, but he accepted that Watari knew a different Light.

“Certain. If you don’t take my word, watch him with Violet. He may be all of what you say, but there is still good within him. There is still someone… someone worth fighting for…” shutting his eyes, he downed the remainder of the drink.

“If you believe so L, I’ll trust you. You may finish out the school year.” Watari ceded his position.

“I can also take Light now and we can begin what we were destined to do.” L suggested as a way to make them all happy. It might have been the alcohol churning within his stomach, but he really believed it would make him happy… maybe Light would be happy with him…

“If you can handle him until the end of the year, then we will discuss it.” Watari nodded as he screwed the cap back on his flask.

“Thank you.” L started to step out, suddenly reminded of the glass within his hand. Turning, he set the glass on the desk. “Perhaps sending someone to drive us would also be a preferable option?”

“Of course, L. Take Yagami downstairs and the car will be around shortly.” Watari clicked at his mouse, likely doing nothing but creating a diversion.

Light straightened up as the doorknob turned, he refused to look defeated in front of L. The detective strode out with a slightly loopy sense of confusion.

Shit, does he have a concussion?

Bounding to his feet, Light attempted to ascertain if L’s pupils were any stranger than usual.

“What are you doing Light-kun?” L mumbled without breaking their eye contact.

“You’re off balance and I’m worried you may have a concussion.” Light tilted his chin as if it would help study L’s permanently ebony eyes.

“That’s because I’m inebriated, Light-kun.” L stated confidently before striding towards the door.

“Oh how the mighty fall.” Light snickered as he pulled his beaten body from the chair.

-

OKAY - THIS STORY IS GOING TO KILL ME. I HAVE PLOTS I HAVE 50,000+ WORDS IN AND IT STILL EFFIN FIGHTS ME. I WILL BE EXPERIENCING DEATH BY IMPLOSION QUITE SOON.

Either that or regular insanity. I’m losing it. Please send help.

I am so sad to see this scene go, so I hope at least someone will enjoy it as a solo 🥲😭

#lawlight #death note #death note fandom #fan fiction #fanfiction #mature #graphic violence #l is drunk #l lawliet #light yagami #l x light #alternate universe #send help #i’m dying #why do the words hate me #I’m a victim of my own creation #whammys #Kira #angst #the angst is on me #I need to go scream into darkness for 5-7 business days

[ukendeavour]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: The L Word (TV 2004) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tina Kennard/Bette Porter Characters: Tina Kennard, Bette Porter, Alice Pieszecki, Shane McCutcheon, Dana Fairbanks, Jenny Schecter, Marina Ferrer Additional Tags: Love, lesbian love, rebuilding season 2 of the l word, Rewrite Summary:

16 years ago I wrote my first ever fan fiction, and frankly it's terrible. this is a total rewrite of that story. Tina goes home after Provocation and seeing Bette with the Carpenter. Can they rebuild their relationship? Will they ever have their family?

#Tibette #The L Word #Bette Porter #Tina Kennard #FanFic #Fan fiction

[acescavern]

SAN, WHERE ARE YOU? — CHOI SAN X FEM! READER

Paring: San x Fem!Reader

Genre: Pure smut. No plot whatsoever. There is a sprinkling of fluff if you squint?

wc: 4,825

Synopsis: Your boyfriend invites you to the fancy dress party his frat is holding to celebrate the frats birthday. Only, nobody will tell you what he's dressed as. When you spend half of the party searching for him, Jongho gives away his location.. you're in for a night of fun. One question though, Do you like scary movies?

warnings: smut, smut,smut. Ghostface!San, Velma!reader. Rough sex, unprotected sex, Knife play ( WITHOUT cutting reader. The knife isn't sharp enough for skin), praise, degradation, manhandling, sex in a treehouse, reader's hands get tied, Reader has her view restricted, everything is consented, established relationship, light choking from behind?, reader gets carpet burn. I'm not sure if I've missed something.

note: Hey! it's been a long while. oops. anyway. here, enjoy this badly written San fic! please remember that this is all fiction. This is a little darker than what i've written previously but it's more my vibe ;)

Reblogs are kinder than likes, if you can. Likes can shadowban creators. Any feedback is welcome

You didn't know what you were thinking. For starters, your costume was tight and short. You were sure the Velma outfit looked different online, instead, the material was like a tight second skin that stretched across your chest and the skirt was much shorter than the picture. You were surely careful not to bend or move too much. Your long orange socks weren't meant to be thigh-highs at all. Overall, you'd come to the conclusion that the outfit was more on the verge of a more adult theme that would pass for a party.

You still looked good. In fact, your legs looked amazing in the platform heels Mingi's girlfriend persuaded you into. She claimed that if you'd already gone this far, you may as well go all out. What sold you on the whole outfit was her mentioning that San would go insane and you'd had a knack for winding each other up lately.

So, here you were, at the KQ Frat like every other Friday night. Only this time, it was a special party. The KQ Frat as a whole was turning 5 and they'd let their dearest Song Mingi choose the theme. Okay, maybe he was put on the spot and said 'uhhhm' a lot when he was asked but he eventually stumbled out with the theme of fancy dress.

You pushed the fake glasses up your nose, swearing to yourself at the realization that you could have used your own glasses for this instead of messing around for half an hour trying to put contacts in with shaky hands. You opted to just take them off all together, setting them down on a ledge in the hall. If you had your way, you'd be at home.

Honestly, since you moved in with San things have been a lot better for you both, other than his inability to do the laundry. However, tonight you'd gotten ready at a friend's house and with him being so secretive with his costume, you hadn't a clue what to look for.

The first person you came across was your boyfriend's best friend, Wooyoung. You stifled a laugh, raising your eyebrow at him. “A vampire?” Your fingers ruffled his black and red cape, the material cheap and wrinkled. Wooyoung only rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“It was rushed! San took my costume idea!” He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Woo’s words came out in a slight lisp, the terrible plastic fangs moving around in his mouth so much that he just ripped them out.

What he said piqued your interest though, an overly friendly smile plastering on your face. “And..what were you going to be, Wooyoungie?” The raised eyebrow look the man gave you had you almost ashamed that you were trying to butter him up to tell you San’s costume. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.

“Don’t ‘Wooyoungie’ me!” His voice raised a pitch as he mocked you, his eyelids rapidly moving to fan his lashes in an imitation of you. “I’m not stupid, ____. San would never let me live it down if I ruined the surprise.”

That was true, Woo was already the brunt of most of the group's jokes. Though lately, they’d dwindled down in public. Anything to help save a crumb of his image in attempts to woo the library girl. You rolled your eyes and lightly whacked his arm, pushing past him with a grumbled goodbye.

The next familiar face you came across nearly took you off your feet, if only it weren't for the person behind you steadying your form. Spiderman and..Chucky? Something about the spiderman felt familiar and as your eyes lit up with hope… they soon dullened when the voice spoke. Yunho. Not San.

“Woah, careful there.” He patted the top of your head in a friendly gesture. Yunho was the most big brother friend you’d ever met and he was the one you went to for comfort whenever you and San fought. He offered the best advice sometimes. It wasn't surprising.

“I’m sorry, ____.” Chucky spoke, adjusting his cap. Except it wasn't Chucky really, it was just Hongjoong, shooting you an apologetic grin. “Have you seen my girl? She’s dressed as the bride of Chucky.” The obvious reveal that he succumbed to the couple's costume agenda had a light blush blossoming at the tips of his ears.

You shook your head, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "Sorry, Joong. Have you seen San?" His reply was the same as yours.

So, you kept moving, pushing through the sweaty bodies grinding together in time with the heavy thudding of music. Eventually, you managed to push through to the kitchen. Huffing out a breath, you leant against the counter. Where was San? There were so many people here, it was more packed than last year especially with the frat's growing reputation. You glanced around the space from the doorway of the kitchen once more, spotting Yeosang, dressed as Link from the zelda games, talking very animatedly with Seonghwa, who you weren't sure of his character but he looked striking in a white ruffled blouse and half corset. You suspected he was some kind of vampire, judging by the vibe.

“You’re looking for San, I take it.” A casual voice piped up from behind you, startling you to whirl around. There stood Jongho, his face half covered by a cut off white mask. He wore a suit, without the jacket. Instead, a long cape with hand painted gold swirls on the inside. He had obviously done it himself. It was certainly the best effort of Phantom of The Opera you'd seen.

“You know where he is?” Desperation laced your tone, you just wanted to see your boyfriend at this point. San had been teasing you all day over text, telling you that you’d love his outfit. That you would go crazy. He told you that he chose it with you in mind.

Jongho gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes looking toward the back patio door. “Maybe, try looking out there.” Your shoulders relaxed, a grin overtaking your painted lips. You were about to set off in that direction when he held up a gloved hand. “You didn’t hear it from me, ____. Okay?”

With an endearing eye roll, you brought your fingers across your mouth in a zipping motion that earned you an approving nod. Now, you set off outside carefully, being mindful of the shoes you were wearing. They were practically stilts to you. Your fingers held down the ends of your skirt, worried it might blow up in the breeze. Even though ninety percent of the party goers were indoors out of the cold. Speaking of cold, goosebumps rose against your exposed skin as you squinted through the darkness.

“San?” You called, rounding the pool to the concrete slabs that paved the way to the tree at the bottom of the yard. “Sannie?”

You hated it down here. The frat house was a huge place. You often wondered how on earth the guys managed to score it. But with eighteen people living there, it was much needed. The thing was, with the big house came the big garden. The bottom of the garden, whilst still kept mowed, was mostly unused. Save for a few sheds.. But it was creepy and always sent a chill up your spine. Though that could be the cemetery on the other side of the fence. All in all, with the massive house the guys were sure was haunted and the cemetery backing onto the place.. It was just spooky all around.

You stood for a moment, a shiver running down your spine as a whisper of wind rushed by your ear. “San, come on.. this isn’t funny..” Silence. “I’m cold..” A rustle sounded to your left, your head snapping in that direction.

You began to tentatively approach, trying to make sure your heels don’t sink into the grass. You bit back a scream at the sudden animal sprinting out from behind the shrubbery, your palm pressed against your heart as it pounded in your chest. Your breath left you as a sharp exhale of relief. You chuckled at yourself, shaking your head as you turned.. Though you didn’t get far.

You turned straight into a broad, hard chest. A small scream left you, the masked man's hands reaching out to grip your hips. The figure was wearing a ghostface mask, something sheathed in his belt glinting in the moonlight. Although, the familiarity in the way his strong hand splayed on your body as he held you, you knew it was him.

San’s Ghostface robe was open, revealing his black jeans and a shirt that stretched across his torso. Your eyes once more caught the glint at his waist. “A real knife? San, are you craz-” He said nothing, only span you around with your back to his chest. One of his hands drifted up your body to cover your mouth, it was then that you noticed the leather gloves as you felt them against your skin.

“You look like a treat, ____.” He hushed in your ear, the plastic of his mask bumping against the side of your face with how close his head was to you. “Now, Velma, you think you can climb that ladder?” he pointed a gloved hand to the tree, the stepped ladder made up of wooden slats fixed together. At least it was sturdy.

You nodded mutedly against his hand, resisting the urge to turn to face him when he let you go completely with a part pat to your behind. “Good girl.” His voice was smooth to the ear, “Off you go.” With a nudge to the small of your back, he urged you on.

It was a slight struggle to climb the ladder with the way you were dressed, but San was close behind you. When you made it to the doorway of the treehouse, you waited for him as you stood on the ladder. San slotted his feet either side of yours on the same ladder rung, his body caging you against it as he produced the keys for the door. The tree house was in regular use by the frat, mostly so the house didn’t smell of weed whenever the landlord decided to randomly drop by for house inspections.

The treehouse itself was very sturdily built, with an old bedroom door that was previously Mingi’s and the hole in the middle fixed over with planks of wood screwed in place. The floor was covered in carpet that used to be in Hongjoong’s room. A few beanbags dotted around the place and for lighting there were battery operated fairy lights strung around the square perimeter. It was a cute little hangout that San had quite literally banished everybody from for tonight.

With the door now open, you were about to climb in when San’s hands landed on your waist again. His strong grip practically hauled you up and into the treehouse. With a noise of surprise, you landed on your stomach, scrambling up on your hands and knees to crawl to one of the beanbags. The door shut behind you, you noted San didn’t bother to lock it.

San was silent. You almost wondered if he even came here with you but when his leather clad fingers curled around your ankle and a low chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. “Where are you going, Baby?” His voice was a mocking coo as he pulled you toward him, your body dragging across the carpet causing your skirt to drift up to your waist. “Didn’t you miss me?” His voice sounded close to your ear again now and you felt his presence close to your back but he wasn’t actually touching you.

“Sa-” He interrupted you, his voice completely dropping his act to murmur to you softly. “Do you trust me?” He stayed poised above you, his body weight on his arms so he’s not touching you.

You twisted underneath him, rolling onto your back to stare up at him. Although, you only saw his mask. Your hands reached out, fingers delicately lifting his mask up for you to see his eyes. His lips quirked at the corners when you cupped his cheeks. “I trust you with my life, Sannie.” You arched your neck up your lips pressing the lightest of kisses to his jaw. “You’re doing good. We spoke about this, remember?” Your thumbs grazed small circles on the apples of his cheeks, San’s brown eyes closing as he leaned into your touch.

It was true. You both had spoken about this forever ago, You’d established the limits and words to use if either of you were uncomfortable. The only thing you both hadn’t settled on was when. You both agreed to keep that a surprise and to San, today was perfect. So, with a sure nod, he lightly battered your hands away from his face to pull the mask back down and sink back into character.

You instead began to let your hands wander over his back, the muscles prominent from holding himself up. When they drifted down to his behind, the intent to give him a playful squeeze, your hands froze. San grinned behind the mask, seeing your eyes light up in surprise. He could see the excitement swimming in them and he knew you’d just encountered the feel of the rope tucked into his back pocket beneath the robe. Perfect opportunity. Your boyfriend rose himself to his knees, his right hand disappearing beneath the black material to pull the soft rope from his pocket. It wasn’t too heavy duty. Actually… it was just the craft string that was tied around his christmas present from you.

San was quick and efficient with the way he pinned your hands to the carpet above your head. He paused, his eyes darting around to search for something to fix them to. His gaze landed on the small table next to one of the beanbags, a grin overtaking his features behind the mask once more. Instead of dragging your body across the carpet again, San pulled the table closer threading the twine string around the leg before fastening both of your wrists against it.

You watched him obediently, pretending to struggle at least a little bit. It added to the excitement after all. San let his eyes properly travel over your body and your outfit in the soft glow of the fairy lights. You couldn’t see his facial reactions but it excited you all the more. The adrenaline of the situation had you panting in anticipation. You felt his fingers brush over your ankle once more, ghosting up, up, up… his hand now cupping over your thigh, leathered index finger brushing the edge of your panties. He was taking his sweet time but his other hand was hovering over the handle of the knife at his waistband. Not yet.

The first thing to go was your tight orange shirt. It was roughly pulled over your head just to expose your torso. With your hands tied there was no way to fully remove it but San liked the way it restricted your arms above your head even further.

“Hm,” he made a sound in the back of his throat. “I think we’ll keep this, what do you think?” Even though he had asked you.. his tone suggested there was no room for negotiation, his fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt just once.

You felt him push the material higher to pool at your waist once more. San’s touch was feather light, teasing as he circled it around your navel and down to your waistline. Now was when his free hand curled around the handle of the knife in his belt. Your breathing hitched, body completely still as you felt the cold metal against your collarbone. Your eyes were staring at the ceiling, lips parted. A sound caught in your throat as he dragged it down your body, you could feel that the blade was dull and not sharp enough to actually cut your skin… it was either that or San was pressing very lightly.

“Shh,” He hushed, letting the point of the blade drag across your hardened nipple over the sheer fabric of your bra. “I’ve got you, now.” The point broke through the fabric, San lifting it away from you to slice your bra cup straight through the middle.

His face appeared in your vision and you could only imagine him looking absolutely elated with how glassy your eyes looked. He tutted, “You’ve seen enough, I think.” He set the knife on your sternum as he pulled your shirt down your arms enough to cover the top half of your head, blanking out your vision.

Your body squirmed between his thighs, small sounds of struggle leaving your parted lips. “San, I wanna see you.” You whined, wrists twisting in their binds before you'd remembered they were currently immobile.

“Keep still.” San warned, his tone was far from the soft and loving boyfriend you usually encountered. San was rarely dominant in bed with you, he preferred to lovingly worship your body and praise you with sweet nothings.

This was pleasantly different. His touch was firmer, his grip harsher and his demands had arousal shooting straight through your body. Like the good girlfriend you were, you stilled. San lifted the Ghostface mask up to uncover his mouth, not that you could even see.

Your body flinched in surprise when you felt cool air blow across your exposed nipple. San could only nod to himself in satisfaction. He loved the reactions he could draw from your body without even touching you. He lowered his mouth further, plush lips enveloping the peaked flesh into his warm mouth.

Your hands clenched into fists, longing to dive themselves into his hair. You were totally restricted, completely at San's mercy. The thought alone had a soft moan drifting into the silence. You felt his touch leave you again, the knife's weight leaving your sternum. You felt the material of your bra pull away from you in the middle, the sound of tearing fabric mixing with your breathing.

Your bra was now loose, the cups falling completely to the sides to expose you further. “Hey.” You protested weakly. That bra was expensive.

San could only laugh softly as he dropped a kiss between your breasts. “She finally talks.” He drawled, the feeling of the cold blade starting back at your collarbone once more.

The sharpness of the thin coldness trailed down your middle, a circle made around your belly button before it lifted from your exposed skin only briefly. You felt it again on your waistline, right where your panties sat. San made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat, flattening the blade to firmly tap it against your clothed center.

The feeling had you mewling beneath him, struggling to stay still. The panties were the next thing to go, San pulling the torn fabric from under you after he had successfully cut it away from your body only to drop the arousal coated garment on your chest.

“Please..” Your beg came as a desperate cry, you needed some sort of relief. The wait was killing you.

You were rewarded with San shushing you yet again. “If you're looking for any mercy here, ____, you're out of luck.”

San's left hand pinned your hips down, his other manning the knife. The knife where he had used the flat of the blade to press it to your, now bare, core. You knew you were wet, you could feel it. Hell, you could hear it when the metal was tapped against you again. Your moan raised a pitch, the hand holding your hips moving and allowing your hips to rock dangerously against the flat of the knife.

“I wish you could see yourself, baby.” San's voice deepened, sounding huskier as he watched you. “My girl. So needy to get off, you're rubbing yourself on a kitchen knife.” He tutted. “Pathetic, don't you think?”

You could think of a single coherent thought. Gasps drawing from you as all you could do was nod and cry out when the surface your hips were working against was removed.

You were sure you would remember this night forever… The thrill rushing through your veins. You thought San had gotten up. You thought he left you there for a moment until his fingers dug into your cheeks, palm holding your jaw tight. He squeezed, forcing your mouth to open. “Tongue.”

It was a one-word demand and yet you knew the instruction, your mouth opening wide to poke out your flattened tongue. San's harsh breathing was heard as he very carefully let the knife rest on the pink muscle. More specifically, the side he coated with yourself. You whined once more.

“Clean it.” San encouraged, watching with interest as you followed his every command and collected your own taste. He was so hard it was painful but he wanted to drag this night out… He thought his decision over, curious, lust blown eyes taking in the sight of you.

You, with your skirt bunched at your waist. You, with your orange thigh high socks, your ridiculous shoes, your arms trussed up above your head, your shirt covering half of your face, your ruined bra exposing your chest, your chest where your ripped panties lie. You, with your trust in him to carry out such fantasies. San was done waiting. He wanted you and he wanted you now.

The loud clang of an object being thrown away was harsh to your ears, the object thudding against the carpet. San had thrown the knife far away from you both, his fingers frantically fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. “I'm done fucking waiting.” He panted sharply, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to let his cock free.

You wished you could see him, you wished you could see how red the swollen tip of his cock was. You wished you could watch the thick vein along his shaft throb before your eyes… the bead of precum smeared across the head. The image had a zing of pleasure pulsing through your clit.

“San, please.” You begged, “Please. I've been good, right?” You hadn't a clue what you were babbling. Your words tumbled out of your mouth quickly before your brain could filter.

San groaned, “Yes, Baby.” You felt him brush against your entrance. “You have.” In one sharp snap forward of his hips, San sheathed himself into your warm, wet pussy. “F-Fuck..” His grip was back on your body again, maneuvering your legs back by your thighs as he gave you time to adjust to the sheer stretch his cock gave you.

San's big palms spread over the backs of your thighs, opting to just gather your ankles in one hand to push your legs back against your torso. You felt the burn of your thigh muscles at your body being bent this way but your main focus was still trying to relax your tight grip around his cock.

“Relax for me.” San murmured, his free hand settling on your pubic area.. you wondered what the purpose of the hand placement was until his leather-gloved thumb made contact with your clit.

San stayed perfectly still as his thumb moved in slow circles, your body eventually relaxing to the pleasure coursing through you. Your chest rose and fell harshly the faster his thumb moved. San watched you through the mask intently, how your facial features slackened. Small moans of his name bounced off the wooden walls of the treehouse, the fairy lights casting a beautiful glow across your skin that San could look at forever.

San knew you were getting close, he knew your body. He knew that when your teeth sunk into your bottom lip it meant you were on the edge of an orgasm and for a moment he felt bad to rip your peak right away from you by stopping his thumb.

“No, no! San, that's not fair!” Your eyes fluttered harshly to adjust as he lifted the shirt from your eyes. Your legs were let go, dropping each side of his body.

San's fingers skillfully untied the knots of your binds, rubbing at the marks on your wrists for a mere moment. He pulled completely from you, your expression frowning in confusion.

“What are yo–” You were roughly rolled onto your stomach, your body manhandled so you were on your knees and your naked torso was flush to the carpet. “Fuck!” Your curse abruptly escaped you as he entered you once more without warning, San's pelvis flush to your behind.

Your fingers grip on the carpet was torn away when San gathered your arms behind your back, wrists tethered together once more with the twine. “Stay fucking still.” He grunted, a harsh swat of his hand smacking your ass cheek eliciting a long moan from you.

He gave another swat to the other cheek. Matching red hand prints on display. Punishment for trying to lift your head. It didn't matter anymore, San fixed that problem by keeping a hand closed around the back of your neck, the side of your face roughly rubbing against the carpet with each hard thrust of his hips.

San fucked you like a man possessed, not a single break between thrusts. His belt jingled with his rapid movements. “See what you get when you do as you're told for once, hmm?” His voice was broken with his own noises of pleasure.

You weren't much better, your mouth permanently open with screams of his name and the word ‘yes’ repeating on loop. Your brain felt hazy, pleasantly so. You weren't even aware of your volume or even the patch of drool soaking the floor under your mouth. San had never fucked you like this before.

“You're so fucked out you haven't even noticed you're being fucked raw.” The pressure on your neck increased, a garbled noise from you being muffled by the floor.

You barely registered San's free hand fumbling around for something until the light of his phone screen was shoved in front of your face. The camera app. The idea had your thighs trembling. Your face had a far away look to it, one you hardly recognized as yourself. You watched pliantly as San propped the device against the table leg that your hands were previously tied to before hitting the capture a few times.

San could feel you shaking against him, his hips stuttering a moment when you clenched around him. The arm that wasn't holding you down snaked around you, his fingers finding your clit to rub fast, tight circles.

He'd never heard you scream so loud when the orgasm wracked through your body. Toes curling in your heels, nails digging into your palms. The feeling slammed into you abruptly, rippling through your pussy. Anyone outside would think you were being murdered.

San tore the mask off his face, his head tipping back on a long guttural moan. You knew he'd just come inside you, you'd know what that sound meant anywhere. Even if you didn't feel the slow softening of his cock, or the excess come smear on your skin as his thrusts slowed to a stop.

The both of you were panting harshly. San gently patted your waist, letting go of your neck to work on untying your wrists again. “Wow.” You huffed, arms falling limply to the floor with exhaustion. The cool breeze felt nice against your heated, sweat sheened skin.

He hummed in light agreement, his palms coasting up and down your back and sides for a moment before he withdrew from you. San was quick to reach up to the small table for the box of tissues he had brought up here when he prepared the treehouse that morning.

Your boyfriend always prided himself with being gentle with your aftercare. San made sure to clean your abused pussy as best he could in that moment before he gathered your limp body in his arms. “My limbs don't work.” You mumbled, your head resting on his shoulder as San brought you both to one of the big bean bags. His touch was the most gentle it had been all evening, palms trying to rub some warmth and life back into your body.

“Mmh, That was definitely something..” San agreed, draping a blanket over you both.

The two of you sat there in the blissful afterglow for a while. Bodies tangled together, your head against San's shoulder and your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck and San's own hands lovingly rubbing over your body to soothe you.

After a few minutes, your fingers stopped and San was sure you'd fallen asleep until–

“I have carpet burn on my cheek.”

©️acescavern, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted or translated and reposted. reblogs are accepted.

#Choi San #ateez #acescavern #Ateez smut #ateez fluff #san atz #atz smut #san smut #san x reader #san fanfic #san fluff #san #san ateez #ateez san #choi san smut #choi san x reader #choi san #atz

[xyxzm]

my baby; daniel ricciardo (pt l )

summary: mr ricciardo breaks the internet with his new girlfriend!

pairing:daniel ricciardo x younger! reader (23)

content:social media au!

warnings: ddlg undertones! + big age gap! + suggestive! | reader is Daniel’s princess :(

added notes: this is my first post and I had to dedicated to my favorite man. Let me know what you think and sent me compliments/intimate phrases that I can use for my future works as comments or even fake messages- that have a similar vibe as the interactions below.ps i don’t hate heidi, this is fan fiction people!

y/nbambi

Liked by danielricciardo, yourbsf and 12,502 others

y/nbambi cue the birthday song 🧁

view all 9,222 comments

danielricciardo: What a ravishing sight

view more 2,030 replies

danielricciardo: Happy birthday, little one

y/nbambi: i love you :(

danielricciardo: I love you more, sweetheart

view more 4,429 replies

rizziardo: damn her account went from 1.2k to 30k in an hour

norris08: so we all came from twitter huh

fckferrari: the way I ran here 🏃‍♀️

wags4f1: danny just dropped that and called it a day 💀

raciinglecler: how old is she turning

bbysainz: i heard 23

view 308 more replies

danielricciardo

Liked by y/nbambi, landonorris and 724,351 others

danielricciardo

Austin, Texas 📌

view all 16,987 coments

dr_threee: is he going to addressed it or what

princesshamilton2: I mean, its not like he owes us anything. It's his life..

y/nbambi: i like riding...horses

view 3,309 more replies

danielricciardo: Did my sweet girl get tongue-tied?

y/nbambi: you're mean

danielricciardo: I'm just teasing you, puppy

view 7,132 more replies

russelll: HER COMMENT

f1_updattes: HIS REPLIES

leclerc8gf: this is so gross she's 23

lulurosc:you talking like she’s 12… homegirl is grown

xyxzm: okay but the nicknames are making feel something 🤭

XCLUSIVE.COM

NEW WAG ALERT?! 🚨

Hold on tight, folks, we have some juicy gossip for you! It seems that Daniel Ricciardo, the Australian race driver, has a new girlfriend. Her name is Y/n L/n, and she's a 23-year-old college student who's been seeing Ricciardo for the past six months.

Despite her young age and relative anonymity, Y/n has quickly gained fame and followers after Ricciardo left some very intimate comments under her latest Instagram post. This came as a surprise to many, as Ricciardo has always been notoriously private about his relationships, especially when it comes to social media.

Our sources have told us that Ricciardo is fiercely protective of Y/n and has chosen to keep their relationship under wraps to shield her from the public eye. This is a stark contrast to his previous relationship with Heidi Berger, where he never engaged in any public displays of affection on social media.

To get the full scoop, we reached out to Heidi to hear what she had to say about this new development. And let's just say that she didn't hold back! In her own words, she said, "I don't know what he sees in her. She's just a regular college student who's using him for fame." Ouch!

Despite Heidi's harsh words, it seems that Ricciardo and Y/n are still going strong. With a significant age gap between them, some fans are wondering whether this romance will last. But for now, we're excited to see how this relationship unfolds. As always, our sources are spot-on, and we're excited to share this never-before-seen image of Y/n with you all. So what do you think of this unexpected pairing? Let us know in the comments below!

GENERATED REACTIONS

😍🤮😬

(28,126) (4,937) ( 818)

COMMENTS

Anonymous: y’all are saying that she’s using him but she could of shown him off months ago. She seems like a nice girl 🤷‍♀️ | Reacted with: 😍

Anonymous:Danny deserves better than a plastic girl | Reacted with: 🤮

—> Anonymous: agree with the anon! she looks like an alcoholic… she’ll def be a bad influence on my danny 🥺 | Reacted with: 😬

—-> Anonymous: The way you’re talking about him like he’s a child 💀. They’re both grown adults who are capable of making their own decisions. She’s an alcoholic because she’s posing with the bottle?…you need help | Reacted with: 😍

LOAD ALL COMMENTS

(6:30 pm) D🤍:My love, how are you holding up? I know the hate can be tough, but I need you to be strong for me.

(6:32 pm) little one🧸: I'm trying my best, but it's getting overwhelming :(

(6:35 pm) D🤍:Don't worry, sweetheart. My team is handling everything that is a threat and that is greatly malicious. Don’t believe a word that they say. You know how much I care about you and our relationship.

(6:40 pm) little one🧸: I know and I also care about us so I’ll do my best to not let them get to me!

(6:43 pm) D🤍:That’s my girl. You know you can always talk to me, puppy.

(6:49 pm) little one 🧸:that reminds me, I better go and eat something since I haven't even eaten yet

(6:50 pm) D🤍: My love, it's nearly 7:00 pm and you still haven't eaten yet? That's not good. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. Just be ready in 30 minutes and I'll pick you up.

(6:52 pm) little one 🧸: maybe it’s best if people don't see us out together as they think that I'm using you :/ I’ll just eat something here at home, don’t worry my love!

(6:52pm) D🤍: I am not having you starve yourself for the sake of others. I need to nourish my baby and you know I love taking care of you. Besides, I want to show you off to the world. Get ready, I'm picking you up in 30 minutes and we're going to your favorite spot.

(6:55pm) little one🧸: but the spot is kind of a long ride and I don’t want to bother you danny

(6:56 pm) D🤍: Get those thoughts out of that pretty head of yours, princess. Don’t you know I breathe for you? Now go get ready, I'll be there soon.

( 6:56 pm ) little one 🧸: i’m sorry for feeling so down lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me :\

( 6:57 pm ) D🤍: Don’t apologize for that, sweetheart. It seems that I need to work more on reassurances.I am going to fuck those doubts out of you by the end of the night.

( 6:59 pm ) little one 🧸: i really need that daddy :(

( 7:00 pm ) D🤍: First, let’s put some food in that tummy of yours and then daddy will take care of his girl hmm?

( 7:12 pm ) little one 🧸: yes sir! i am done getting ready, i love you so much 🤍

( 7:12 pm ) D🤍:My heart belongs to you, little one. I love you more. See you soon.

-To Be Continue

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #dr3 x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo instagram au #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc #lando norris #formula one fanfiction #formula one fake text #daniel ricciardo drabble #daniel ricciardo blurb #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

[hrtbeomi]

⋆ ˒ 💭 ۫  ּ ROMANCE IS NOT DEAD IF YOU KEEP IT JUST YOURS !

pairing: actor!gojo x singer!reader wc: 0,3k            warnings: not proofread ‼️, reader's album is basically reputation by miss tswift 🙈

a/n: i've had this in my drafts for a while now,, hope you like it >< i just looove actor!gojo and if you'd like to see more of him leave a comment!

WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE INTERVIEW WITH GOJO SATORU AND Y/N

3. 2. 1. ACTION !

As the camera clicked on, you sensed the beginning of another recording session. Satoru, next to you, shifted in his seat about before the start of the video.

"Hey there, it's l/n y/n," you chimed in with a grin, "and i'm Gojo Satoru," the white-haired male beside you smoothly finished, "and this is our Wired auto-complete interview!" both of you beamed as the staff handed over boards containing the internet's most searched questions.

Satoru held your board while you held his, diving into the depths of what the online people wanted to know about you.

Q. "Who's y/n l/n's 'gorgeous' about?"

With a smirk, you retorted, "sorry to burst your bubble, person-who-searched-that but 'gorgeous' is about your mom," you answered, eliciting laughter from Satoru and the crew.

"Lame! Just tell them the truth" Satoru teased, well aware of the implications behind his words.

"That's the only truth," you replied, feigning innocence before swiftly moving on.

Q. "Is y/n l/n's song 'call it what you want' about Gojo Satoru?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you stuttered, "That's... quite the assumption," failing miserably at masking your nerves.

The crew chuckled, mentioning how your fandom had already orchestrated a fictional relationship between you two.

"We know, next they'll claim we're expecting a baby or something!" Satoru quipped, earning a horrified look from you, "Alright, my turn now."

Q. "Who's Gojo Satoru's favorite actor?"

"I'd say my good ol' friend, Geto Suguru! He's a top-notch," Satoru replied, reminiscing about the movies and series they did together.

"True, i'm a big fan of his work" you confessed, prompting a playful pout from Satoru.

"Maybe he's not that great anymore," he mumbled in mock jealousy.

"You're good too!" you reassured him amidst laughter.

Q. "Is Gojo Satoru married to y/n l/n?"

"Spiritually i am" Satoru quipped, earning a playful jab from you.

"Don't encourage them, Satoru!" you scolded him.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," he replied unrepentantly.

Q. "Is Gojo Satoru in a relationship?"

"I am. . .not! i'm a lone wolf" Satoru declared with a hint of melancholy, though everyone in the room knew the truth but as you looked at him, his convincing lie almost had you fooled, if it weren't for the fact that you, his actual girlfriend, stood right beside him.

"Alright, alpha boy, next question!" you exclaimed before the tables turned.

Q. "What's the name of y/n l/n's next album?"

"I've just released 'reputation' can't I catch a break?" you exclaimed, playfully collapsing out of your chair.

"How dramatic," Satoru chuckled before suggesting, "You should write a song about me though."

CUT !

[BONUS] [CLIP THAT WAS CUT FROM THE VIDEO]

"Sure, it'll be called 'gorgeous,'" you teased, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"The greatest song ever! Although 'So It Goes' is my personal favorite," Satoru grinned mischievously, almost revealing too much of your relationship before you intervened.

"Too much information!" you laughed, covering his mouth to keep him from saying more.

© 2024 HRTBEOMI

#lacy writes for jjk ❕ #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo fanfic #gojo headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #actor!gojo <33 #hrtbeomi

[heliads]

You Agreed to This

Pierre Gasly has a reputation for flirting with anything that breathes. You have a reputation for being scarily focused on racing. When Charles, Lando, and Esteban get it into their heads to dare Pierre to get you to fall in love with him, the results can only be tragic.

a/n: i was frustrated when i couldn't find fics with this vague plotline like two months ago and then i remembered that i can simply make them myself. anyway this is my longest fic to date (6k+ words), enjoy!

masterlist

The whole affair started in the recesses of the Alpine motorhome, too far from prying eyes and chances to stop before it got bad. Miami is boiling hot as per usual, it gets to Pierre just like it always does. He’s trying to fend off the heat by hiding somewhere deep within his team’s complex, team jacket stripped off somewhere on a nearby sofa and fans cranked on high. 

It was just Pierre at the beginning, but drivers tend to flock together in times of heat related stress, and now there are four of them sprawled across floors and furniture in an attempt to alleviate their suffering. Charles found Pierre first, just like he usually does, then Lando followed after media duties were over, and Esteban was last, claiming that if this many rival drivers were there he had a right to die in his own motorhome too, god damn it.

Pierre has mixed thoughts on that. He has mixed thoughts on quite a lot, actually– the blistering temperatures are getting to him, swirling memories into fact into fiction. He’ll get his head in order when it comes time to race, but that won’t happen until tomorrow, once qualis are in order and they’ve all been shunted around for the grid lineup.

Across the room, Lando groans from the shadows of a functionally decorated armchair. “This is miserable.”

Pierre gives him a look. “Your complaining is miserable.” 

Undeterred, Lando keeps up his protests. “We should do something fun. Pierre, don’t you know like a thousand people here? Invite someone over.”

Pierre snorts. “I don’t know all of Miami, Lando. Go to sleep or something.”

Esteban chuckles. “Could have fooled me. Didn’t you tag, like, a hundred people in your latest Instagram story?”

Pierre turns his head to glare at his teammate. They’re still supposed to be friends as of three or so months of being racing partners, but apparently that association doesn’t go so far as requiring Esteban to defend him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Charles shakes his head, grinning. “It’s the truth, let him speak. You have connections.”

Lando flings a dramatic arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight pouring in through the windows. They’ve all been shut with the blinds pulled down, of course, but some warmth has a way of coming in regardless of what anyone wants. “Pierre’s just sociable like that. He could win over anybody. Or flirt with anybody.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Norris.”

Charles arches a brow. “What would he be jealous of, your losing streak? I saw you strike out trying to talk up Margot Robbie last time we were in Monaco, don’t lie to me.”

“That was different,” Pierre protests, “she’se literally married, what did you expect?”

Charles coughs pointedly. “Yet you flirted with her anyway. Anyways, don’t argue. You can’t flirt with everybody. Not successfully, at least.”

Pierre leans forward cautiously. “What does that mean?”

Charles laughs. “There’s one person you could never charm in a thousand years.”

Pierre sighs, answers Charles’ unspoken question in time with his friend. “Y/N L/N?”

“Y/N L/N,” Charles confirms, and the other three drivers break into identical grins.

Pierre can accept defeat on that front. Y/N L/N is the only female driver on the grid at the moment, and anyone can tell why she made it despite the odds mere moments after meeting her. She’s crazy intense, more dedicated to racing than even Max or Lewis. Pierre wouldn’t be surprised if she could win a driver’s championship in the next year or two. Talk to her once and you’ll be stunned that she hasn’t done it yet.

Every time Pierre, or any other driver or spectator for that matter, has tried to chat her up, they always end up shut down faster than you can spin out on a slick track with the wrong tires. She doesn’t have time for any of them. The girl lives and breathes and dies for racing, she’s not going to let something like a boy get in her way.

This only makes Pierre more tempted to keep up with her, of course, but he learned a long time ago that was a lost cause. The only reason Y/N would ever look twice at him is if he was a place ahead of her during a race, and given her knack for overtakes, that doesn’t happen all that often.

Lando sits forward, and Pierre decides that he doesn’t like the gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. “Say, I’ve got a great idea to stave off boredom. Pierre, go date Y/N.”

Pierre almost chokes. “Are you insane? Just like that, go date her? How would that help you in any way?”

Lando spreads his hands. “If it would be so easy for you to flirt with anybody, how about you prove it? Surely Y/N isn’t so far out of your league. You’re both in the same line of work, at least you’ve got that going for you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to fight this. He may have a bit of a cocky streak, sure, but he’s a driver, who amongst them doesn’t? Just as he starts to get himself out of this, though, Esteban speaks up instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pierre couldn’t even come close. None of us can.” Esteban says it like a fact, and that’s all it takes for Pierre to change his tune.

“You know what?” He says, feeling his adrenaline start to kick in, “Sure I can.”

Charles’ eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious about girls,” Pierre says, causing a ripple of groans to cascade around the room, “This time I am, at least. I’ll win her over, no problem.”

Lando sits up. “If you’re really doing this, we’ve got to set some rules.”

“Such as?” Pierre dares him to continue.

Charles taps a thoughtful hand on his leg. “It has to be more than a one time thing. Just a single conversation could be a fluke or her feeling bad for you.”

Outraged, Pierre starts to fight that, but Lando picks up the thread of the conversation before he can cut it short. “That makes sense. We have to be sure that she’s actually in love with you. Like, get her to kiss you or something? And pics or it didn’t happen. We need proof.”

Pierre snickers, trying not to feel like control is slipping out of his hands with each passing second. “Anything else? Want me to name our firstborn child after you?”

That makes Esteban crack up. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? We’ll settle for being named godfather. All three of us collectively.”

Pierre shakes his head incredulously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Charles slaps him on the back. “You have to believe in yourself, Pierre. If you don’t, she’ll never fall for it.”

And so Pierre Gasly gets himself stuck in the con of a lifetime. Is it going to work? The odds are abysmal. Will he make it, though? Well, Pierre never likes to back down from a challenge. He’s not going to let this one get away from him so easily.

The sun is bright and the morning is tense in the paddock. You arrived early, earlier than most of the drivers, all so you could get a taste of what the track was like without anyone breathing down your neck. Some would call you a little too eager, others would say you’re plain stressed out and nothing more to it.

You’d give yourself a little more credit than that, though. You know exactly who you are and what you have to prove. The more time you give yourself to plan and acclimate, the less time there is for mistakes.

That isn’t to say that you ignore all the comments on your pre-race habits. You are well aware of your reputation, even proud of it. You wear it as a second skin, a racing suit, a livery specially designed to flaunt your own achievement. The whispers of those out and about in the world of motorsport follow you wherever you go, dogging your footsteps until you half expect to leave streams of words behind you instead of burned rubber.

That’s Y/N L/N. The one who only cares about the track? The one who lives and dies for racing? That’s the one. That’s the one.

There’s not much else to it. So what if you tend to be a little more intense than most? Being serious is the only method of survival available to you. You can be sweet and fun, play yourself off as the ditzy girl who only got in so her team could capitalize on brand deals, or you can be a woman without a feminine bone in her body, so far from girlish she chokes whenever she sees the color pink. Both are awful alternatives, so you choose the only one you can:  ignore every box they try to push you in until everyone else gives up. Let them whisper. At least they aren’t trying to change you anymore.

That’s how you’ve navigated the paddock up until now, the entirety of racing life as you know it. It’s worked out in your favor, or so you’d say, at least. You push yourself on and off track. You answer the unfair questions they throw at you. You solve the mysteries of why someone is taking an involvement in your affairs and come out on top of any possible rumors.

There are mysteries, though, and then there’s the latest one, which is why on Earth Pierre Gasly has taken to following you around the paddock. They all did, at the start; the drivers, the fans, the interviewers, even the team bosses, all staring at you like you were in a circus exhibition. A girl in motorsport? Couldn’t be. Yet it is. 

That’s mostly drifted off, though, the attention gone once they realized you weren’t interested in belonging to any of them. Most of them did it unintentionally, of course, and the few who got too close on purpose quickly learned they would get nothing from you. Pierre learned that himself, or so you thought. That doesn’t stop his attention from surging up again all of a sudden.

It’s been a solid few weeks of this behavior, and you’re still no closer to understanding it than you were at the start. If you were to put an initial date on this whole affair, you’d maybe say everything began back in Miami. All of a sudden, Pierre, who up until now had accepted that you weren’t interested in him even if he didn’t like that all too much, had decided to renew his affections once more. 

Where you had been content to walk briskly through the paddock by yourself, Pierre is suddenly a few feet behind you, always ready to offer a bottle of water when you need it or issue a joking comment when you seem in need of a laugh. He’s playing his cards carefully, always disappearing the moment you start to take his presence for granted, but why, you cannot tell. Everyone here has a motive. Surely Pierre Gasly has one as well.

You weren’t willing to trust him at first, ignoring him throughout the Miami race and all sessions at Imola. The only angle worth your while is your own, and maybe your constructor’s, too. Still, he stayed. That has to count for something.

And, when the end of a race finds you absolutely desolate after an engine failure, that starts to count a little more than it would have before. This race is early enough in the year that the DNF doesn’t have to sting too much, but all you can think about is how you just gave Max, Charles, and the rest of the title competitors the leg up they need to beat you out.

It’s not a good feeling, to say the least. You find some empty corner of the paddock where you can be alone and let your emptiness consume you. That was your plan, at least, but you’ve only been able to wallow in your own misery for about ten minutes or so before someone else joins you. The only other driver to fail to complete the necessary laps:  Pierre.

Pierre may not have had engine problems like you, but that doesn’t make him any luckier. George Russell spun wide on a turn and took out Pierre before righting himself again. George got off relatively easy for a crash, only needed to swap out some tires and his front wing, but Pierre took the brunt of it and ended up in the barriers. You heard him swearing, frustrated, on the radio after the race; the commentators loved that one, even if he didn’t.

That leaves both of you in the same undesirable position. Pierre arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you:  legs pulled up to your chest where you sit slumped against the wall, expression hopeless and all ambition gone for the moment.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, “I’m trying to hide from Sky Sports.”

You gesture vaguely at the open floor next to you. “Feel free. I'm not too thrilled about hearing from them, either.”

Pierre collapses in an untidy heap of limbs by your side, pulling at the collar of his race suit so he can unzip it down to his waist, leaving only the long sleeved shirt clinging to his skin. “At least engine failure is something you can’t control. Everyone’s been all over me trying to get me to admit that I should have seen George coming.”

You wrinkle your brow. “That wasn’t your fault. He braked late, it was obvious.”

Pierre glances over at you, clearly fighting a laugh. “Obvious, huh?”

You look away, wondering why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden. You don’t lie when it comes to racing, why bother? Thanks to the vast supplies of driver cameras and radio clips, there’s no point in glossing over what everyone knows to be true. Still, Pierre has a way of making that feel like something you should think twice about, like maybe not all of your attitudes towards drivers and their habits are things you should speak freely on. Maybe some things can be kept just to yourself. Maybe some drivers are beginning to verge beyond mere functionality as competitors.

“Everyone saw it,” you justify, “bad timing, that’s all. Not something you could control no matter how much space you gave him.”

Pierre nods solemnly. “The engine wasn’t your fault either, by the way. There was nothing you could have done to make it work again. You can’t limp through a problem like that.”

You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling above you. “I tried, though.”

“I know,” Pierre says. They’re only two words, but for some reason they make you feel better than any of the minutes spent listening to your engineers’ speeches on how they would fix that issue by the next race.

Judging by the slight smile on Pierre’s face, he must know that too. When the seconds stretch into minutes and you never tell Pierre to go, that smile only deepens. The conversation leaves the race eventually, and you end up talking about silly things like movies you’d like to see or places you want to go but never have. You don’t know that you’ve ever spoken to another driver like this before. You don’t know that you could with anyone else.

You have to leave that corner eventually, called away by a team principal with apologies in order. Pierre departs around the same time, claiming that he can’t run from the interviewers forever. You steal one last glance at him over your shoulder as you go, and can’t help but notice the grin on his face. It’s broader than before, proud of something; what, you can’t tell. Despite the fact that both of you have failed out of the race, you still get the feeling that Pierre has won at something more than you today. 

Charles releases an Instagram post later that day of him, Pierre, and a few other drivers out at a club. You see it, and spend too much time wondering how long you have to wait after a photo is posted to like it so it’s not weird. What you don’t see is the conversation that happened later, how Pierre triumphantly told the rest that he was closer than they’d ever believe. You don’t see it, and the next time you see him, you stop to talk with a ready smile.

So it goes the next race, and the next one, and the next. Pierre is there. So are you. You end up finding him eventually; as time goes on, it’s not just Pierre seeking you out but the other way around, too. It’s even, both of you wanting each other just as often as the other. Eventually, you have to admit defeat to the voice in the back of your head telling you that you might have misread Pierre after all. Maybe he’s not just a horrific flirt. Maybe he can be a friend.

And, leaning over the railing of Pierre’s room in the Alpine motorhome so you can feel the gentle wind on your face while you stare out at the paddock, you think you would be alright if there was something more, too. You swore to yourself you’d never even think about another driver in that way, too scared of all your efforts to distinguish yourself from everyone’s expectations for female drivers being for naught, but it might be okay if it was Pierre. Pierre is different, nothing like the rest. It would be alright if it was him.

Pierre stands by your side, back straight and posture perfect as he surveys the mess of people milling about some floors below. “Nervous for the race?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering the question. “As much as anyone, I guess. I like this track, though. Should be good.”

Pierre nods, smiling at that. “And what about me? Am I going to be good, too?”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” 

He doesn’t; this is one of Pierre’s best tracks. He should be up for a podium or at least high in the points if everything goes according to plan.

He just grins. “Indulge me.”

You give him a pointed stare, then head back into the room. “You’re an ass.”

Pierre follows. “You love me, though.”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He asks, unable to disguise a slight shine of surprise from entering his eyes, like despite all the luck he’d had recently, Pierre still didn’t think he would get this far.

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug, unwilling to commit to anything further. You feel as if you’re standing on a lake frozen over, aware that any wrong move could shatter the ice beneath your feet.

Pierre moves towards the door, and for one horrified moment you think he’s actually going to leave right then and there before you realize he’s closing it instead. He turns back once he’s sure no passersby can see you, and then he’s kissing you and you can’t worry about anything else. Not even the race. Not even the threat that this might send you spiraling until you’re so lost on him that you won’t be able to think straight for the rest of your life.

He leans back at last, smiling at you with the same smile you think you saw on a podium on Monza when he first won a race in F1. “We could have done that earlier,” he whispers, not daring to disturb the quiet victory of the room.

“We could have,” you answer him. Every driver hates losing time. This is no exception.

Your head is light with the most wonderful feeling, and then over Pierre’s shoulder you see something strange. He left the door open. Cracked halfway, even though this door is notorious for never staying open right. He would have had to try to keep it like this. He would have wanted it to be that way for a reason.

Pierre’s phone vibrates and he grimaces, murmuring something about having to talk to one of his engineers before slipping out of the room. He kisses you one last time before he leaves, a quiet touch pressed to your cheek. He takes great care to ensure that you do not see the message blinking up from his screen, and when he goes, you notice that he does not have to turn the knob, only pull open an already ajar door.

Something is wrong. The longer you stand there, alone in Pierre’s room, the more you start to think, and what you think about is not good at all. The timing of the text message. The look on his face when he left. Nothing is adding up.

Voices drift to you down the hall as you stand there wondering, Pierre’s among them. You walk slowly forward, unable to fight a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like something is about to go very, very poorly. You usually trust your instincts. As it turns out, they won’t be wrong now.

Pierre is standing in a meeting room down the hall, talking in hushed voices to a few other drivers. As you draw closer, you recognize them. Charles, closest; Lando, eyes wide; Esteban, even, staring in disbelief. All three are telling Pierre replications of the same sentiment, which is that they cannot believe he actually managed to do it.

Get you to fall in love with him, they mean. Fulfill the dare, they explain. Like they all agreed a few months ago. Back in Miami, the three of them dared Pierre to get you to fall for him, and like the overconfident, thrill seeking diehard flirt that he is, Pierre agreed.

Worse:  he did it successfully. You know, you had been wondering if this was too good to be true. Looks like it was. All that time you were letting Pierre into your heart, and he was manipulating you into falling in love. How pathetic. How incredibly soul-destroying.

The four drivers look up when you shut the door to the meeting room behind you. Pierre is the first one to notice it’s you, and you don’t ever think you’ll forget the look on his face when he realizes that you know the truth. His entire expression contorts with horror and his hands rise by his sides, trying to force your heart to stay unbroken. Pity it’s too late for that.

“Y/N–” he begins, a little too loud, a little too desperate, “wait– it’s not what it sounds like–”

“Actually,” you say coolly, “I believe that it is. You three dared Pierre to get me to fall in love with him? That’s exactly what it is, right?”

It’s not a question. Charles, Lando, and Esteban have realized you’re here, too, and they wear similar shades of Pierre’s alarm. Charles opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to explain himself, but you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I know what you did, I don’t want to hear your terrible reasoning for why you thought this was okay. I’m going to go back to my motorhome and we are never going to speak of this again. Don’t talk to me in the paddock. Don’t talk to me at all unless we’re in a media event and you have to. I never want to speak to any of you.”

Lando interrupts, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Y/N, don’t you think that’s a little extreme? It was just a prank, that’s all. Just a laugh.”

Pierre looks like he’s fighting back deep irritation at that. You just arch one brow. “Just a prank to humiliate me? You disgust me. All of you.”

You let that silence their arguments and leave the room. You think Pierre might have tried to follow you out, but Charles blocks him. You hear the Monegasque’s voice spilling out into the hall as you leave, telling Pierre not to try it. She obviously doesn’t want to see any of us anymore, mate. Best to leave it be.

You wish it was that easy for you. It takes everything in you to make it to your private room in your team’s motorhome and lock the door behind you before the tears finally come flooding out. You’d like nothing more than to fly home and spend the next several days and nights comatose in your bed, but, as if things weren’t bad as is, there’s still a race tomorrow, so you won’t be able to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours.

The lights go out, the chequered flag waves some time later. You’re not entirely aware of what happened in that race, nor of how you were able to drag yourself out of your room and back to the starting grid, but you blink once and you’re on the podium, so evidently everything worked out. You watch the clips later, the commentators are all in shock. They haven’t seen you race so aggressively in years. It bordered on cruelty.

Pierre, by contrast, had his worst race in months. It seemed like he was hardly in charge at all, more like the car was controlling him. He wasn’t even in the points. No one can understand it. You refuse to think about it any longer.

Another race weekend comes and goes. The interviewers are confused– wasn’t it just last week that you seemed so much happier than you are now? You’re surly in press conferences, answering questions in a clipped and emotionless tone. They’d say you were totally checked out were it not for the fact that you’re still getting good results.

They don’t know everything, of course, but some of the more eagle-eyed reporters are starting to put the pieces together. What’s up with you and Pierre Gasly? Someone asks one day, Weren’t you two good friends recently?

We’re drivers, you reply, Aren’t we all used to pretending things are better than they are?

When you see Pierre after that press conference, he looks dizzy, totally unsteady on his own feet. You don’t meet his eyes. You’re not sure that it’s guilt, but it feels something like that anyway. Everything is wrong.

Pierre is asked about it later, of course, and he’s a little more candid than you were. He never names names, just says that things happen sometimes, things he wishes he could take back. Pierre has to take a moment to get himself together after that to answer the next question, a fantastic display of emotion. How charming of him to wear his heart on his sleeve when he’s just ripped yours out of your chest.

The pattern repeats the next few weeks. Pierre, Charles, Lando, and Esteban try to talk to you on multiple occasions, but you brush them off with nothing more than a well-placed glare and some good avoidance tactics. Even then, you should have known that your cold shoulder couldn’t last forever.

Of course it would be Charles who gets you at last– if there’s anyone on this entire damned grid who could get why you are the way you are, it would be him. Il Predestinato knows what it’s like to have the entire world expecting something of you, and he doesn’t lie easy because of it. Charles finds you late as the sun is setting and won’t let you avoid him forever, even though you try.

At last, you give up and stop making him chase you around the paddock. You’re sitting at a table outside your motorhome, shaded by a sunbleached umbrella and sipping at a bottle of ice water long since turned lukewarm.

“He regrets it, you know,” Charles says by way of introduction.

You refuse to raise your eyes from your intense study of the bottle’s printed plastic label. “He’s going to have to do a lot better than sending his best friend to talk for him, then.”

Charles scoffs. “Oh, come on. You know you haven’t let him get close enough for that.”

Your water bottle receives a very irate glare. “Wonder why that would be.”

Charles sighs. “We were wrong, we all know that. It was a stupid thing to suggest and even more stupid to keep it up that long.”

You look at him at last, anger gone and replaced by mere disappointment. From the way Charles shifts in his seat opposite you, you think that might be an even worse threat for him to face. “Then why did you keep it going? If you knew it was so wrong? Pierre was committed to your prank for weeks. Why didn’t any of you call it quits?”

“He didn’t want to,” Charles admits, “not because of the dare, because he liked being around you. Did you know he was mad at us the day you caught us? He didn’t want us anywhere near that room. Told me privately it’s because he wanted the first kiss for himself, not for anything related to the dare.”

That makes you go silent. The fan whirs overhead, pushing your thoughts around in slow circles somewhere above you. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Charles grumbles, “Happened, though. Regardless of what he thought at the start, Pierre doesn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.”

You turn towards him. “Is that supposed to make how he felt at the start okay somehow?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, but it makes the ending better, I think.”

He’s right. You lean back against your seat, contemplative. Charles takes this as his cue to leave. He pauses once before he’s out of range, then calls something else back to you. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you that, by the way.”

You can’t fight a laugh. “I won’t tell a soul you’re on my side.”

He smiles at that. You’ve missed him, you realize, him and the rest. You thought distance would save you from feeling quite so badly about all of this, but it just cut you off from your best support. Charles disappears into the crowd, a bright flare of red in a multitude of shifting shades, and for the first time since that treacherous discovery, you start to wonder what it would feel like to forgive.

Pierre is in an awful state. So Esteban has told him about a thousand and one times, at least, each utterance delivered with the same derisive snort. Pierre knows he’s supposed to bounce back from this, pretend it was all just a prank, but he’s known better for months now. It might have been a prank the first day, even the first week, but not after that.

Here is the problem:  Pierre, in all his cocky eagerness to show his friends up, failed to consider that Y/N might be able to charm him as well. He might have gone a little overboard in his attempts to make her fall in love with him, perhaps even to the point where he fell in love instead. He isn’t sure when he first realized he had feelings for her, but Pierre is more than certain it was before Y/N discovered she felt the same way.

What a ruin to his reputation. Pierre hadn’t minded, though, not when they were still on speaking terms. He liked the way they could talk for hours, how Y/N’s guard slipped when she started to trust him. She had a way of smiling when she was sure no one was about to stab her in the back. Pierre misses that. He’s sure he’ll never see it again.

Unable to stand Esteban’s dismissive attitude anymore, Pierre picks himself up from where he’d been wallowing in misery on the floor of the Alpine motorhome. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, only that it needs to be somewhere without a single soul in sight. Still, when he passes aimlessly through the halls and almost runs into another driver, he supposes he should take it as a testament to his distracted mind that he doesn’t realize it’s Y/N until they’re already standing still and staring at each other.

Too late, Pierre remembers she hates him. His eyes drop to the floor and he mumbles an apology, ready to keep moving. She told him not to speak to her anymore; Pierre can hardly fault her for that, and he won’t use his presence as a weapon if that’s the one that will cut her the deepest.

He is surprised, then, when Y/N reaches out to stop him before he can get too much farther. Pierre looks at her hand locked around his, then back up at her.

“Wait,” she says, “I want to talk to you.”

“I thought that wasn’t happening anymore,” Pierre says. It occurs to him that it probably sounds cold, but she speaks before he can try to explain what he meant.

“Things have changed,” she says.

That’s enough to convince him to stay, if not for the feeling of her fingers still on his than anything else. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting from him to the occasional Alpine aide walking down the halls, and to save her, Pierre jerks his head towards a door down the hall.

“There’s an empty room to the left, we can talk there.”

A brief flash of relief crosses her face, and Y/N lets Pierre lead her over to the room. He leaves the door open to give her an easy escape, but she closes it after her anyway. No onlookers. Maybe that’s for the best.

Y/N sits down in one of the chairs, legs crossed, arms folded. She may be here with him after so long, but that doesn’t stop her from throwing up all her walls, even the physical ones. It hurts to remember how easy it had been to be with her that last day. Pierre plays those moments on repeat in his head– the balcony, the breeze, the words, the kiss. He can never stop the later scene from following, how her demeanor had changed when she realized the truth. He didn’t think he could hurt one person that badly. He was wrong.

She’s still silent, so Pierre assumes it’s on him to start talking. “I’m sorry,” he begins, “I know that’s not enough, but it’s true. I was stupid. I should have told you before–”

Regret clogs up his throat and he can’t choke out a single syllable more. Y/N looks suspicious. “Before the kiss?”

“Before anything,” Pierre clarifies, “when we were talking at the beginning. I never should have let it get so far. Doesn’t mean I minded when it did,” he remarks half to himself, “but I should have done it on my own terms.”

When he dares look up at Y/N again, he swears she seems slightly more open, but that could just be his wishful thinking. “Do you mean what you said in the interview?” She asks suddenly, “Do you wish you could take it back?”

“Yes,” Pierre says in a rush, “I want a do over. I want to do it right. I would have done all of it without ever talking to Lando or Esteban or Charles first. I would have done it for me.” His voice is quiet. “I would have loved you without making it a lie.”

Y/N’s eyes are wide, but she isn’t afraid or angry. “Second chances come around more often than you’d think,” she whispers.

“Even for me?” Pierre asks.

She nods once. “Even for you.”

They’re both on the podium that day. His race engineers can’t explain why Pierre’s luck has suddenly had this tremendous turnaround. He can. She can, too. Sometimes your heart likes getting in the way if it knows you’re doing something wrong. It’s a good thing, then, that he’s finally doing something right.

She’s waiting for him once the interviews are over. They’re both exhausted, half drunk on the champagne in the air and wholly pleased with themselves. The sun goes down, and Pierre is happy. It is just as easy as that.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #f1 pierre #f1 pierre imagines #f1 pierre x reader #f1 pierre oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot

[justatasteofyourpoison]

A Hazbin Hotel/Alastor x Fem Reader Fan Fiction

Thought I’d put links to my fanfiction in one place. One day I’ll think of a name for it… For now enjoy. :D

Pairing: Alastor x Fem reader

Plot: Alastor is going through a rut and decides that you’re his little Doe… But Alastor’s past comes into question. Does the Radio Demon have ulterior motives?

And smut. :D

Warnings: 18+, sexually explicit, swearing, alcohol consumption, murder/man-slaughter, bdsm, suggestions of abuse, adult content, fluff.

Word count (per instalment): About 1-3k

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

Part 9:

Part 10: ?

On hiatus until I get my mojo back.

#hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel writing #alastor x female reader #alastor x reader #alastor smut #fanfic #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #niffty hazbin hotel #Niffty #husk #husker #hazbin hotel sir pentious #sir pentious #hazbin hotel cherri bomb #cherri bomb #Hazbin hotel story #Vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #vivziepop #fan fic writing #fan fiction #hazbin hotel smut

[arafilez]

☆ ⼂ ALL FOR LOVE ﹗

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ skz ot8 x any reader ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤfluff, specific aus for every member 𓏧 alternatively where they ask you out on valentine's ㅤ warnings pet names ㅤ﹢ㅤ1k per member ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ og request ] ⋆ friend of a friend/crush skz seeing you read fluff on your phone 🤭💖 - anon. i did change it for valentine's day and made the request a part of the story but not the main one.

◗ ៹ BANG CHAN ›

idol AU! best friends to lovers now playing: sparks fly by taylor swift

Valentine’s Day is stupid! This is the first thought that registers in your mind as you enter the JYP building and see a whole bunch of staff congratulate a couple who you figure got together today. Your pace quickens courtesy of another urging text from Chan lighting up your phone and you groan at his impatience.

Knocking on their practice room door, you patiently await the frisking process before entering it. Your eyebrows scrunch back in confusion when you don’t hear or see anything happen. You knock the second time and nothing! Weird!

Your eyes travel to your phone where the texts from your best friend have stopped coming too, you text him a quick and short sentence about the door not opening. You wait for some more moments before knocking for the third time, and your patience gets better as you twist the room handle.

To your surprise, it opens easily and your frown visibly. Your eyes stray around the dark room as you place your foot in and turn on your phone's flashlight. But before you can do that, the practice room lights up and you look up abruptly and gasp loudly at the banner hanging from the ceiling- “L/n y/n, will you be my valentine?”

“What the-" your voice trails off taking in the low lighting bouncing off the red walls of the room and traces over the rose petals on the floor.

“Will you be my valentine?” You scream in surprise at the voice behind you and turn to see Chan standing there with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses on the other hand.

“You like me?” you speak up, words stuttering a lot more than you would like them to and his dimples appear as he smiles saying, “Yes, idiot I do.”

You like Chan, in fact, you like him a lot, to the point where pining over him is painfully obvious to everyone else. But Chan could not know that because he is oblivious enough when it comes to you. Your confusion must have been visible on your face because Chan promptly answers, “I know because I caught you reading a fluff fanfiction the other day during our practice.” A short pose follows and he continues, “About me. And after that, it wasn’t tough to interpret.”

Your face falls, he laughs at your endearing expression, and you whisper, “How?” You are very careful while reading fan fiction and never slip up. Not that you are regretting it right now.

“Mirrors reflect your screen, love,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling into half-moons and you pout in realisation. You look up and suddenly get shy and overwhelmed. The flowers, chocolate, decorations and the day itself come rushing back to you and you realise your best friend has asked you out and you have kept him hanging for the last ten minutes.

“I,” your breath falters before you muster a weak and small, “Yes, I will be,” before happy tears roll down your cheeks. Great, now you are crying like the emotional shit you are.

“Oh baby, don’t cry,” Chan hugs you grinning lightly and placing a kiss on top of your head and you croak, “These are happy tears, Channie.” His laugh vibrates along his body making you happier in his warm embrace, you look up and smile through the glossy eyes and he whispers, “I am sorry it took me so much time to understand, I am so stupid.”

“That you are,” a laugh leaves your throat and he fakes an offended face making you laugh louder and he whispers, “Shut up.” “Make me,” you tease and he chuckles before encasing your lips into a sweet kiss.

◗ ៹ LEE MINHO ›

college AU! enemies to lovers now playing: let me move you by sabrina carpenter

He is beauty, he is grace. He is Lee Minho the menace. Why did you have to pair up with this reincarnation of the devil for a dance project? Your heavy pants echo in the room after you run the practice and look at the clock. Half an hour late!

You know very well he does this to rile you up on purpose because the said boy is the definition of punctuality. He just finds special interest in setting all your nerves on fire. You sigh in annoyance as you plop down on the floor. Scrolling through Instagram you double tap on the posts with every one of your friends posting something with their significant others.

Frankly, you were surprised when Minho asked you to practice with him today. It is Valentine’s Day and according to him his mood will be “sappy” and “tired from fourteenth wheeling his friends” so practising is much better. You have nothing better to do either so you decided to agree.

Which was clearly a mistake.

You scroll absentmindedly before opening up the fanfiction you had left the other day. Resting your head on the wall you put on your ear-pods and start reading. The scene is really cute and you can feel yourself gushing and squealing lightly at the cute behaviour of the leads.

Minho has been watching you quietly gush over it for the past ten minutes loving your giggles. He reads a few lines over your shoulder smiling to himself at the thought of you and him doing it. You seem to like nose kisses and light pecks a lot, he registers as he continues reading from your screen.

You have not seen he has come in and he is thankful as he slides beside you on the floor. You jump up as he rips off one of the ear-pods and slips it inside his ear. All this happens too fast and you squeak trying to hide your phone.

“Lee What the fuck?” you scream but he shrugs you try to snatch back your earpods but he holds your hand saying, “I love this song, finally something you listen to that doesn’t suck,” he grins in a sinister manner and your protest goes to deaf ears as the beats of ‘Let Me Move You’ enters your ears.

Sabrina’s voice fills your ear and Minho glides you to the dance floor in a modern pop couple dance. He twirls you around and you laugh at the cliché steps as he holds you from the back after spinning you. The mischievous smile works its way up on his month and you giggle at the little out-of-routine fun you two are having.

You feel your heart racing as his hands slide down your waist and spin you around he grins matching your smile as you circle your arms around his neck and dance matching the fast beats. The prelude comes and you sway gently and then tap your feet as Minho sings the lyrics lightly making his voice sing-song at the “one, two, three dance with me tonight” line.

Your style matches so well that it makes you feel feral. He really was a great dancer.

The song ends and Minho holds you as you two pant looking at the mirror. The air becomes tense and your heart beats loudly and you blabber out before you can stop yourself, “You have a sweet smile when you are not scowling,” and add, “Not that I see it often.”

Stop talking, your mind screams but you continue, “I don’t like it that much”, liar. Have you noticed him smiling? Yes, the whole ‘enemies’ issue was a huge cliché in your head, and a part of you did hope and pray you would end up like the book couples.

“Yeah I know, you stare at it quite often,” he shrugs nonchalantly and your expression falters in a millisecond yet he never takes his eyes off yours on the mirror and continues, “It is very cliché to like your so-called enemy.”

Your pupils dilate and he chuckles, his soft hair bristling from the cooler of the room and before you can react he spins you and looks at you. Your cheeks grow warm at his intense gaze before he says, “I like you back.”

Your attitude returns with new-found confidence and you reply, “Now who is cliché? Asking me out on Valentine’s Day.” His shoulders shake from the laugh and you grin liking the new dynamic of you two. He dips his head pressing a light kiss on your nose and says, “I am but I can make what you read come true so shh.”

You shyly giggle registering he had earlier caught you reading fluff and pecking his lip you tease him saying, “Don’t make me wait, Lee.”

◗ ៹ SEO CHANGBIN ›

neighbours AU! friends to lovers now playing: dancing in the kitchen by LANY

You stifle a yawn as you struggle to stay awake after a tedious day at work. You curse inwardly at the universe for making you so single. Valentine’s Day and no one to come home to and curl up in their embrace was absolutely cruel however much you try to convince yourself it isn’t.

So when you hear your doorbell ring you are pretty much confused as to who it can be. The pizza you ordered five minutes ago cannot arrive that fast. Walking in your fluffy stickers you open the door and your eyes turn into saucers at the person in front of you.

Your neighbour Seo Changbin is standing there with a pair of CDs in his hand and some clothes in the other. Looking carefully you noticed he also had a single rose under his CDs.

“I know I am fine, but my hands are cramping, so let me in and then gawk all you want,” Changbin deadpans and you quietly let him in the confusion not clearing at all as to why he is here. Shouldn’t he be on a date with someone? Anyone?

“Why are you here?” you ask and he gives you a face before saying, “It is Wednesday, don’t tell me you forgot our ritual.” Your confusion only grows but you still take the rose as he hands it to you saying, “It is Valentine’s Day, I thought it would be rude to not at least bring a flower.”

“Thanks,” you take it, warmth filling your whole face and you look away. Even though he is being really casual about it, everything is just making butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your eyes fall on the CDs and you furrow your eyebrows and it finally hits you.

Oh. Oh.

Changbin, who apparently doesn’t have a date is here to spend his evening with you watching famous movies you haven’t watched before. You two started this ritual because you had randomly blurted it to him and his dramatic ass couldn’t handle you not seeing Mean Girls.

Since then every Wednesday you two watch one famous movie to “catch up” with the generation. You had initially rolled your eyes at his proposal but movie nights with Changbin became better as months went by.

“Don’t think too much and go put these on,” Changbin’s voice cuts in your thoughts and you look down to see pyjamas being handed to you. You don’t question him too much as you go inside and put it on. One thing you have learned is never to question Changbin.

Unless you want to hear a lecture.

You come out and your eyes widen as you realise why he told you to wear those. They were matching pyjamas. Oh. Your body warms up again as you realise you are now wearing matching pyjamas. Like a couple. Watching a movie. On Valentine’s Day. Like a couple.

You throw all thoughts about Changbin liking you behind your mind, he is a friend who helps you out and he is doing the same today. It is nothing much but your beating heart and crush on Changbin fails to live up to your convincement.

You walk towards the couch and watch his muscles flex as he brings the remote and turns on a movie called ‘10 Things I Hate About You’.

Like every other day he turns on the movie but unlike every other day, you find it very hard to focus when there is a whole zoo in your stomach. Just the mere thought of Changbin, who can get any date, spending Valentine’s Day with you is making you go feral. His head whips towards you as soon as you turn towards the screen.

It was a kiss scene. Oh.

You turn your head back to him and find him staring at you with a fiery intensity that you have never seen before. This is new, you think but you don’t miss the way his gaze obviously lingers on your lips before it moves up to your eyes. The air thickens and you hold your breath in mere anticipation.

So it is not only you. The roses and the pyjamas make so much more sense now.

“Changbin, if you want to do it, do it, do it, before we both start to regret it,” you whisper and the last part almost dies in your mouth as he presses his lips to yours. You fist his shirt as his hand caresses your cheek in the soft kiss and you can feel all the unspoken emotion and tension from the past few months.

Heck if you two weren’t so oblivious.

“I have always wanted to do this,” Changbin says, breathless as his lips hover over yours and your eyes hold his gaze and you whisper, “Me too.” He breaks into a grin and you smile lightly running your hands through his hair before he pushes you to the couch kissing you feverishly and the movie long forgotten.

Best Valentine’s ever!

◗ ៹ HWANG HYUNJIN ›

high-school AU! childhood friend to lovers now playing: 2002 by anne-marie

Your lips protrude in despair of your single life as you lean back on your chair and flip through the pages in your phone reading how much one of the leads works throughout Valentine’s Week to get the other lead.

“If you keep reading and sighing you will never get one in real life,” you jump up at Hyunjin’s voice and take a deep breath before deadpanning him. “Shut up,” you tell him and he raises an eyebrow settling down beside you as soon as the bell for first period rings.

The next day your eyes bulge in surprise as a single rose rests inside your locker. You pick it up and see the note attached to it- starting off slow a bit ;).

You narrow your eyes a little at the note and the rose and rack your head for anyone who likes you. The confusion rises when you don’t remember anyone and you suddenly wish it isn’t a prank. You keep the rose inside your bag and the note neatly in your back pocket. Sitting down, you see Hyunjin skip his steps and sit beside you casually whistling and you look at him.

“I got a rose today,” you trail off and he nods saying, “Good to know.”

“No Hyunjin, you don’t get it, what if this is a prank?” you whisper looking around to see if anyone is looking at you two and laughing at your stance. A chuckle escapes his throat as he looks at you saying, “It isn’t a prank.”

You scan his face and tilt your head and Hyunjin quickly amends, “I think.” You shake your head as the teacher enters, still feeling a little down about letting your intrusive thoughts win making you think it is Hyunjin.

The next day you deflate a little seeing nothing inside even though you are vaguely aware it is Propose Day and sigh lightly knowing I might well have just been a prank. Hyunjin seems surprisingly calm about the whole situation, any other time he would have made a whole deal about this and even though it irks you, you brush it off hating the dread in your stomach.

You are proved wrong when you find a box of chocolates the next day, with a note saying- Sorry can’t propose just yet. I hate your sad face, never make it again :(

You open the box hurriedly finding a mix of all kinds of your favourite chocolates and you look in the box, a custom-made one for gifts. Your heart warms at how thoughtful your secret admirer is and how whoever they are, is aware of your preferences. You open the wrap of one and pop it in your mouth, melting at the taste.

The next day you open your locker in anticipation and find a medium-sized teddy inside. Whispers of envy and awe pass through the hall as you lean on the door and read the note- My broke ass could only afford that, sorry. Forgive me?

You scrunch your nose at the cute tone of the letter and you whisper to yourself, “Of course I forgive you.” You skip your steps happily entering your class and see Hyunjin already there doing something with his camera. You stare at him unintentionally, eyes tracing over his flawless features and then feel guilty.

Obviously, someone else is trying to court you now, and you are still hanging over him, your childhood friend. You shake your head again as your mind fills with the possibility of the secret admirer being Hyunjin. No, he cannot be, he hardly seems interested whenever you talk to him about the gifts.

The next three days pass in a blur as your secret admirer makes up for the kiss and hug as a promise for later and you can’t help but feel giddy when Valentine’s Day comes. You try your best to not run to your locker but you end up speed-walking and open it quickly. Your eyes light up at another note from your admirer and you pick it up and read it.

Your brows furrow in confusion at the location mentioned as it was a park you used to go to when you were a kid. With Hyunjin, your mind registers and you push the voice to the back of your mind. Nevertheless, your secret admirer has told you to visit the spot so you will be right at the time mentioned.

The day feels extremely slow and boring and you run out of school when the bell rings. Hyunjin comes out too from his art class with the tube hanging from his shoulders and you hurry him up.

“Geez, what is with the enthusiasm?” he chuckles and you roll your eyes saying, “You would know if you ever listened to me.”

“Listen to you ranting about a person who is head over heels in love with you? I will do it soon,” he smiles and is met with another eye-roll from you as you two start walking. The walk is silent as your mind wanders over a few options on who can ask you out. There was Jongho from music class, Jungmo from Chemistry, Soobin from History, and Han the class president. No, he is after that girl named Alexa.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hyunjin’s voice snaps you out of your trance but you reply without missing a beat, “A million won and I might tell you something.”

He lets out a light laugh and says, “We are at the place your secret admirer asked you to meet. You get surprised looking around and then the real question comes to your mind- how did Hyunjin know where you were asked to meet?

He can’t know because you didn’t tell him, unless…he is the secret admirer. Your head whips towards his direction and gasp loudly when you see the same paper in his hands. The paper in which the notes were sent.

“Hyunjin oh,” your voice dies down in your throat as you hold it up and a small whimper of emotion leaves your mouth. You open the paper and read the note- We used to play here and I have loved you since the time I knew what love was. Happy Valentine’s y/n

“You- you are, oh my,” your words stumble over and Hyunjin bites his lips smiling at you and you feel the warmth all over your beating heart. It spreads down your body and you find yourself dizzying from the rush of emotions.

“I like you, y/n,” Hyunjin speaks softly and his nose scrunches, his eyes turning into half-moons and he holds you as you look at him with adoration. “I like you too,” you stutter out and he giggles hugging you tighter.

“Now, how about the days we missed?” he speaks softly and you kick him lightly and his giggles tune-up to a full-blown laugh. Just like old times.

◗ ៹ HAN JISUNG ›

royal AU! forbidden lovers now playing: fool’s gold by one direction

The evening sun lights up the sky in hues of golden and red and you sit on the grass in the royal garden opening your book. Being a general for the royal army wasn’t easy, especially for the commander-in-chief. So the breaks you get are the most cherished and thus you prefer to spend them in the garden instead of your quarters.

The peace and quiet, the smell of the flowers, the light buzzing of the bees and the warmth of the sun feel absolutely wonderful as you turn the pages of the book. You giggle lightly at the cute scenes of the romantic novel you are reading and smile when you read about how the leads are absolutely smitten with each other.

“Do not let our enemies see the general giggling like that over a romantic novel,” you turn your head at the familiar voice and raise your eyebrows saying, “Your Highness.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Sungie?” he pouts and you bite your lips restraining your hands from poking his cheeks. He adjusts his hanbok as he sits down and you keep the book beside you to read for later. Right now you have a big baby to attend you. You turn to him and see a pout already adorning his face from the lack of attention.

“What are you doing here, Your Highness?” you ask and he grins, his eyes lighting up as he holds out a flower to you and your eyes widen. “Han, don’t-" You cannot complete your sentence as he puts a finger on your lips and shushes you. You stare at him with parted lips and sigh again.

You cannot be doing this.

He is of royal blood and you are a mere commoner. It doesn’t matter if you are a high-ranking official or not at the end of the day you are not from any kind of royal blood. Heck, the only royal blood you have ever gotten is from killing or hurting royals.

“Since you aren’t saying anything, I will take that as my cue,” you hear him say and before you can protest he gently tucks the flower in your hair.

Your eyes betray every emotion you are feeling when you look at him but Han’s bright smile doesn’t fade as he starts to animatedly tell you how his day went. Apparently, his new History teacher is so boring he fell asleep three times during the class. All while he is talking, you silently listen, your eyes shining with adoration at his enthusiasm.

“Do you know today is what day?” he asks suddenly and you nod. You are aware of different cultures and you read books which doesn’t qualify you as illiterate but Han still asks to be sure.

“You should not be spending it with me Sungie,” you voice out softly and Han lets out a dry chuckle looking away. He doesn’t care, heck he will spend every single Valentine’s Day with you. The rule is to marry a royal blood, there is no rule that it is compulsory to marry.

He will happily stay single his whole life if it means he can spend every day and every night with you.

“I know what you are thinking, but someday you have to see your suitors,” you smile without emotion and just the mere thought of it brings tears to your eyes. How many days have you spent thinking about what will happen when Han finally finds his suitor?

They will marry, that is what will happen.

Han holds your hand and you look at him and he says, “We should run away.” A laugh of disbelief rings through your throat and his mischievous smile returns as soon as he sees you double over in pure and unfiltered laugh at his ridiculous idea.

“That’s how I like you, smiling, for me,” he tilts his head watching you in adoration and you giggle, leaning over to his body and he engulfs you in his arms. Your breath hitches in your throat as you look up and Han does something you have always dreaded and wished at the same time.

“Will you be my Valentine?” he asks and you nod. You know this is wrong, you know you shouldn’t fall for him but when the grin breaks out in his face and you hear his laugh for your affirmation you realise you have never loved anyone more.

And when his sweet lips encase yours you forget every obstacle that will be arising from this blossoming relationship. After all, you can just always run away.

◗ ៹ LEE FELIX ›

brother’s best friend AU! grumpy x sunshine now playing: shower by becky g

Lee Felix Yongbok. The name that is the reason of your doom.

You look at him, your mouth agape as he plays the game in front of him for the thousandth time and still loses. You don’t even know why he is here, your brother left more than half an hour ago with his date. You have been stuck watching him gaming because it is so amusing.

Felix has always been bad at games and it is no secret. It is not like your brother or his other friends were great but watching Felix play a game was more fun than watching a comedy series. Speaking of him, he throws the controller down, a string of colourful curses leaving his mouth.

You had enough.

Sure he looks hot while cursing, and sure his arms flexing as he presses the controls makes you want to do unnameable things to him, or let him do to you, whichever works, and sure his blonde hair makes you want to run your hand over them while you press light kisses over his face, but you finally had enough.

You sign in annoyance when he picks up the controller again and you snatch it out of his hand, yanking open the cable from the plug point and look at him. He smiles brightly when he sees your grimacing face and jokes, “Come on grumpy don’t glare at me like that.”

“First, Jisung left over an hour ago, so what the hell are you doing here?” you hold up your hand when he opens his mouth to speak and then continue, “Second, it is Valentine’s Day, don’t you have anything better to do than play LoL? And thirdly, Felix give up god you are bad at gaming.”

He pouts and you roll your eyes at him. Everyone in your brother’s friend circle how straightforward you are. Jisung has tried to set you up with Felix because according to him you are in desperate need of some “sunshine” in your life.

Fuck him and his sunshine.

He is the reason anyway you think about Felix so much and develop a crush on him. It is purely because of him you think about Felix and whenever he is around you smile, feel like a thousand fireworks going off when he smiles, and do pathetic things like singing love songs in the shower and dancing in front of the mirror.

All the more reason to hate Han Jisung.

“I am spending the day with you, aren’t I?” Felix winks and you gasp at his answer. He casually gets up and you look behind as he pours himself a glass of water and you close your eyes calming yourself. You cannot be more delusional about his casual flirting than you already are.

He walks off to Jisung’s room and you exhale, hating for even being born. The way his words have set your whole face on fire should be researched. Hell Felix can graze his hands casually and you will be firing up for no reason. You open your phone in frustration and scroll until you find a fluff fanfiction you feel like reading.

The reader kisses the person’s freckles.

Cringe.

You will definitely read it.

And do it to Felix, your mind screams and you want nothing more than to punch your mind. You keep reading trying to focus on the story and not think how it is so fitting with Felix.

“For someone always scowling you like reading stuff that makes normal people giggle,” a deep voice interrupts your reading and you jump as Felix slides beside you, still grinning. You hate yourself for how your eyes instantly dropped to his freckles. They looked like stars littered along his cheekbones and you would want nothing more than pressing kisses all over them.

Stop it.

You force yourself to look into his eyes and it doesn’t help a lot since they look like a whole galaxy of stars. How can someone’s eyes hold so much adoration and spark?

“Why are you looking at my freckles?” he chuckles but you can sense the tinge of insecurity behind it and the answer rolls off your lips before you can stop yourself, “If I was yours I would just spend the day kissing them.”

Your eyes widen and you want the ground to swallow you whole while Felix's loud laugh fills the room. You look at him and the way his nose scrunches and soft hair falls on his lashes as he continues laughing and asks, “Is that a line from the thing you were reading?”

“No, stop it,” you whine and your ears, heck, your whole body feels on fire as you look at Felix who is smiling and looking at you. “You say that but you look at me like this,” you pout and it takes all of his strength to not press his lips to yours right then and there.

“Like what?” he asks and you glare half-heartedly but he continues, “If you mean like I am head over heels for you, then yes, I do look at you like that.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you don’t trust your voice too much but you blabber out, “Don’t ask me out on Valentine’s, that’s cliché as hell.”

“I can do all kinds of cliché things for you though,” Felix’s smiles brighten and you feel your heart beating at an unhealthy rate. Is this a heart attack? Will you die now? But his next sentence almost make you pass out if he was not holding you.

His breath mingles with yours as he asks with his lips inches away from yours, “Kissing on Valentine’s is a bit cliché too right?”

◗ ៹ KIM SEUNGMIN ›

roommate AU! friends to lovers now playing: i like me better by lauv

You put on your earphones and sit down on the couch reading the latest update on fanfiction from your favourite author. You place the cup of hot coffee on the table beside and get comfortable on the couch. You check the time on your phone and realise it is still some hours till Seungmin comes home from his practice.

With your lack of a date for Valentine’s, you have decided reading is the best way to solve all your wanted desires and cute scenarios while Seungmin, who claims he also had a lack of date (he didn’t, you literally saw him rejecting people) will be at vocal practice with his friend Jeongin.

You giggle when you read the fluffy scenes, kicking your feet and giggling to your heart’s content. You do not notice Seungmin returning at all and he understands that when you don’t reply when he calls your name. Seungmin runs a hand through his hair as he enters and his confused gaze falls over you sprawling on the couch.

He chuckles at how cute you are behaving and how cute you look in the oversized hoodie. He places his practice bag down, walks behind you and looks at your screen loving how oblivious of his presence. His mischievous side acts up and he starts reading loudly from the line he can see, “He places a soft kiss on the forehead, then traces them down the yes, and the nose, to the lips of-“

Your eyes open wide in shock and you jerk up and three incidents happen at the same time- you scream at Seungmin, one of your earpods falls off and the coffee in your hand spills over your clothes and hand.

You hiss at the burning sensations on your palm and thumb and Seungmin’s eyes widen as he pulls you by your hand. “Min what?” you ask confusedly as he sprints with you to the kitchen sink and throws your hand under the cold water. You look at him in shock, unable to process how quickly the situation escalated.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” he murmurs and his fingers run over your burnt area under the water. Well almost-burnt. The coffee wasn’t that hot and it would not even escalate to a first-degree burn.

“Min, hello to you too,” you joke and he grimaces upset at himself for causing such a situation. You open your mouth to say you are fine but he shushes you and makes you sit on the kitchen counter. He brings down the first-aid box and slightly blows on the region. The action releases a whole cage of butterflies in your stomach and his concerned face over a little harm makes your heart tighten.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean-“ his sentences is interrupted as you put your finger over his lips and say what you have been trying to say for the last fifteen minutes, “Minnie, I am fine.”

“Are you sure? I think we need to give some more ice,” he murmurs but before he can drift away, again, you pull him by his arms against your body. Seungmin stumbles over his feet and you giggle at his confused puppy behaviour before repeating your sentence, “Minnie, I swear I am fine.”

“Okay,” he complies and you laugh before saying, “You are too cute trying to take care of me, you know?” His nose scrunches and he puts his arms around your waist and murmurs, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

His tugs lightly on your waist and you tip forward getting close to him and your breath hitches at the proximity. His caramel eyes look so beautiful up close that you never want to look away. You can get lost in his eyes. Literally.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, the tension thickening as his body presses to yours and warmth spreads over your cheek but you whisper back, “Like what?”

“Like you want to never let me go,” he says and his breath fans your face as you make out the little details of his face. His hold tightens around your waist and you find yourself replying, “Maybe I don’t.”

His eyes roam over your features and land on your lips and that gives you the courage to lean in. Seungmin takes the cue and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. You hum kissing him back as you feel him smiling through the kiss. Your lips move together perfectly just like they fit like two missing puzzle pieces.

Seungmin’s hands caress your waist and you fist his shirt lightly and when you finally pull back a big grin breaks along his face making you laugh along. You sway lightly in his arms and a teasing smile reaches your lips as you ask the cringiest question existing to mankind.

“How about you kiss my wound better too?”

◗ ៹ YANG JEONGIN ›

office AU! co-workers to lovers now playing: silver tongues by louis tomlinson

What is better than working after-hours on Valentine’s Day? Absolutely fucking nothing. You sigh at your unfortunate state and continue typing on the computer finishing up the last slide for your colleague’s presentation who has clocked off as it was Valentine’s.

It was just two slides but you being the perfectionist you were couldn’t just leave it like that and thus completed it fully. After you are finished you huff and lean back on the chair. The creaking noise echoes in the empty office and you look around. Your desk was comparatively closer to the glass window of the building.

That is now giving you the perfect view of the streets decorated with pink and red fairy lights and the couples walking below. The street is buzzing with love and it is making you feel lonely. Another year, another day, you think. It will pass.

Swiping open your phone you quietly check through your notifications, most of them your work emails or bank account reports and sighing you clear them out. You swipe up a few notifications from your friends and some garbage notifications like the weather.

What the hell are you going to do with knowing the weather at eight in the night!

Your eyes fall over a particular notification- the update of a book chapter you have been waiting for. You eye the office once again. Alone. Swivelling in your chair you open your work computer and login through your account in Incognito. Nothing better than reading on a big screen.

You lean back satisfied and read it feeling giddy at the scenes the author has written. The kisses and the hugs are so satisfactorily written you feel literal butterflies reading them.

“Reading stories on a work computer, should I be reporting this?” you jerk up at the familiar voice and are instantly met with a pair of foxlike eyes. His mouth presses together trying to suppress a smile as you tried to hurriedly close the tab in the computer.

When you are done you take a long breath and look towards him and ask, “What are you doing here?” An amused smile reaches his lips but he answers nevertheless, “Came to take some files.” You nod your head but can’t look away from his face. The low light of the office casts a warm glow on his defined cheekbones and a light shade on his dyed caramel hair.

It is not like you and Jeongin were friends, but you weren’t acquaintances either. You two were somewhere in between and given his bright smile and even brighter personality nobody can hate him.

“Don’t you have a date?” Jeongin asks casually still holding onto your gaze and you chuckle shaking your head. Your love life is basically DOA. He sighs in relief unknowingly and before he can stop himself he continues, “Do you want to catch up with dinner?”

You whip your head towards him so fast that he stutters and blabbers, “I mean not today if you are busy, someday later or we can forget I said it.”

Did Yang Jeongin, the man who works in an office with his prim and proper attire, wears glasses, but dyes his hair for style and is the eye candy of more than half the office, ask you out on a date?

“Today’s fine,” you blurt out and you see the red blush spread from his nose to his cheeks. You are sure you are blushing too and you look away trying to arrange the already-made files. Jeongin stutters out an okay and keeps quiet, the awkward silence hanging as you quickly tidy up.

Ten minutes and an awkward elevator ride later you and Jeongin are walking down the decorated streets and attempting small talk which gradually are beginning to loosen you two up. You talk about your favourites and he talks about his own funny incidents, mostly with his older brother Minho.

You two enter a bar and order a drink each simply sitting down. By the time your drinks arrive the loud tempo has reduced to a slow song and you gasp in shock. This is your favourite song. You look at Jeongin who sips on his drink slightly, his glasses resting a little low on his nose and messy hair sprawling over his forehead.

One drink cannot make you tipsy but you blame it on the drink anyway when you ask, “Do you want to dance to this?” If Jeongin is surprised by the request, he doesn’t show it and nods, a small smile creasing up his cheeks.

He takes your hand and you twirl around the dance floor. Feeling a little bolder you circle your arms around his neck and sway to the beats of the song. All the time Jeongin never takes his eyes off yours and you feel yourself flustering under his intense gaze. His eyes trace your features and linger lightly on your lips before returning to your eyes.

The moment is so intense it makes you light-headed and his musky deodorant infiltrating your senses didn’t help at all. As the song finishes, Jeongin is unable to look away but he lets go reluctantly.

You miss his warm flush against your skin already but it returns as soon as he says, “If you don’t mind, do you want to catch a proper dinner tomorrow?”

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's note ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤthis is kind of a personal favourite and even though I have no one to spend Valentine’s with I love being delusional lol. I enjoyed writing these too much and so I would really appreciate feedback and reblogs. my personal favourite is Felix even though he isn’t my bias but it was my first time trying grumpy x sunshine and I loved it so much. Happy Valentine’s everyone ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerr @jeonghanfr ﹢ beta readingㅤ@kyrjnie @haneagerr ㅤmain mlistㅤ skz listㅤ navi ㅤ add to taglist

© arafilez on tumblr. please do not copy and repost my work as your own.

#ㅤ── ㅤara posts ㅤ𝜗𝜚 #stray kids #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han skz #felix #seungmin #jeongin #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz #˖ ⋈ ˚ ‹ skz › #⺌ r.equests ♡ #𓂃 FIC : all for love 𒉽 #divider by fairytopia

[ourautumn86]

Shane spiting in your mouth sound kinda…. ya know hahahaha 😜😜🙏🙏🙏

swallow

shane mccutcheon x fem reader!

cw; +18 content, minors dni!, oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), spitting, cum play, cum swallowing, making out…

she’s nasty with it. eating you out with so much precision it’s making you shiver in pleasure, whining and pulling at her messy brunette hair as your hips thrust against her tongue, plunging inside of you to scoop out your sweet release.

“fuck, shane.” you breathily moaned, hearing her hum against your clit, making you cry out at the feeling of the vibrations.

she sucked harder on your nub, your back arching when her middle finger pushed inside your tight warm walls, curling and thrusting right against your g spot. you let out a gasp, and she chuckled.

“oh, yeah? right there, huh?” she curled it again, and you whimpered.

you hummed and she cooed, pushing her ring finger inside with her middle, stretching you out and curling them as she went back to lapping at your folds and sucking at your clit.

“gonna cum.” you cried out, pulling at her hair, and she went faster, harder, just how you needed it to have you falling apart with a scream. she looked up at you with her green beautiful eyes to take in the moment in which you soaked her fingers, creaming for her with a slack jaw and furrowed eyebrows. she worked you through it, making sure to milk out of you the last drop of your cum before pulling her finger out and cleaning you up with her tongue. you trembled in overstimulation, watery dazed eyes staring at her when she climbed on top of you, sucking on her fingers to collect your sweet slick inside her mouth.

she tapped your chin, pulling down on your bottom lip for you to open your mouth for her, which you did, moaning when you felt her spit inside of it, when you tasted your own cum from her mouth. she then leaned down and pushed her tongue inside, kissing you with a hunger that left your thighs shaking and your pussy throbbing in a renewed need.

“tastes good, hm?” she whispered against your lips, and you nodded. “swallow for me, baby.” she ordered, and you followed, making her hum. “good girl.”

-

a/n; i will stop writing from tlou to join the boycott! to keep the blog going i will focus on other characters like shane from the l world, or vi from arcane (i think???) anyways. hope you enjoy this. also remember to keep talking about palestine and gaza!!!🩵

#shane mccutcheon x reader #shane x reader #shane mccutcheon smut #shane mccutcheon imagine #shane smut #shane l word #l word shane #shane mccutcheon #the l word x reader #the l word imagine #the l word smut #the l word fan fiction #the l word

[the-royal-blue-network]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The L Word: Generation Q (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gigi Ghorbani/Dani Núñez Characters: Dani Núñez, Gigi Ghorbani Additional Tags: Relationship(s), Smut, Sweet Summary:

Dani and Gigi are over at Dani's place. They have no plans really, just relaxing and letting the night just happen. This is a one shot, separate from anything really; just a moment in time. ENJOY!

#the l word fan fiction #the l word #the l word generation Q #dani nuñez #dani x gigi #gigi ghorbani

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Something Old, Something New

Spencer Reid used to know everything about Y/N Y/L/N. But what happens when ten years after they last saw each other, they just so happen to bump into one another.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

TW: Brief mentions of domestic violence, the slightest implications of DV, mentions of guns, Spencer hating JJ, colorful language.

Notes: This is my first ever fan fiction and so I’d absolutely love some feedback! I really want to expand this into either a full sized fic, or a series. Would anyone be interested in that ???? This takes place during S7E1 in which the team is on Trial because of their actions with Ian Doyle, Declan Doyle, and the others. One of my fav Reid episodes, and just a good one overall. Side note, it’s barely edited, apologies in advance. 

GIF not mine.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“If you want to punish me for taking a risk, then I encourage you to do that, but do not put the rest of my team on trial for something I suggested.” The words flew out of his mouth. Some might think it was because he wasn’t thinking clearly. But he was. Senator Cramer was not amused. “Calm down Agent.”

“This is calm, and it’s doctor.”

“That’s all then, Doctor Reid.”  

“Thank you, Senator.” His chair scraped across the floor as he stood up. Spencer turned around and exited the jury room, door slamming behind him.

The team all stared as he stalked past them, and out towards the bathroom. JJ started to follow him before Derek put his hand up in front of her.

“Derek–”

“Let him go JJ.”

She sighed before turning around and walking the opposite direction. Just then, one of the clerks opened the door to the room and requested that Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia enter next.

As Spencer walked towards the bathroom, his mind was racing a million miles an hour. His anger was surely justified and the Senator was not listening to him, at all. Especially since the only thing the committee really even wants to do is have an excuse to transplant every one of his teammates—

“Shit!”

Spencer had collided with someone. Head on.

“O-oh, I’m..” He quickly bent down to help her pick up the various items now strewn across the floor, due to his negligence to his surroundings.

“I’m so sorry.” He managed to sputter out before actually managing to look up to the person he bumped into, holding out the remaining item on the floor–a small black binder, clearly heavier than it looked.

The woman he had run into smiled quickly, but kindly at him.

“It’s okay—thank you—don’t worry about it. Could’ve had a coffee or something in my hand and then we would have had a serious issue.” She placed the binder back into her bag, somehow already neatly organized despite being completely empty and on the floor a minute before. She laughed a little before smiling at him.

Reid smiled back at her.

“I-I really am sorry about all your….” He tapered off. “Y/N?”

Y/N really looked at him for a moment before her whole face shifted. “Spencer?”

Both stared at one another in the hallway until a voice called over to the two of them “Hey Pretty Boy, we’re getting called in.”

Y/N tilted her head, a small smirk making its way across her lips.

“...Pretty Boy?”

“Yeah—–Well. No. It’s his nickname for me, uh..”

“Reid!”

She smiled at him. “Go Spencer. I’m here all day. Maybe you should look for me downstairs in the library when you’re done testifying in…” she peered around him and looked at where Derek was standing. “Federal Court? Oh Spencer, didn’t know you had become such a rule breaker.”

“A lot’s happened in the past ten years Y/N.” He smiled at her before turning around and walking towards Derek who pushed his lips together, trying not to make a bigger scene than before.

“Are we going to talk about whoever that is?”

“Nope.” Spencer pushed past Derek and into the courtroom.

_________________________________________________________

Once the team, except for Prentiss, was released into the hallway, JJ tried to grab Spencer's hand.

“Spence—”

“Not now Jennifer.” Spencer quickly maneuvered himself away from JJ, and headed towards the double doors at the end of the hall.

“Reid…” JJ tried again, but Spencer just pushed past the doors and walked down the stairs. He walked down two flights before exiting the stairwell. He found himself in front of the library, next to a small local cafe that clearly catered to exhausted lawyers and their incessant clients. Reid walked past the little cafe and entered the library. He realized that he didn’t know what type of Law Y/N practiced so he wouldn’t know where in the library she would be, but it wouldn’t matter since she was sitting at one of the tables next to the windows, trying to soak up as much sun while she withered away in the library. She sat with her back to the doors, maybe because the glare was too blinding on the laptop in front of her, or maybe because she couldn’t stop looking up at the entrance hoping a certain Doctor would enter.

Spencer approached her and stood in front of the empty chair.

“This taken?”

Y/N looked up, smiled, and nodded.

“By you Doctor Reid. Please, have a seat.”

Spencer laughed lightly and sat down.

“I feel like I’m in a client meeting.”

Y/N shook her head and closed her laptop.

“Not unless you have something you need a divorce lawyer for Reid.”

Reid looked at the books scattered in front of her, noting what books she had, and what cases she had opened them to.

“Tough case?” He nodded towards the books that she was busy tidying and shoving off to the side. Y/N sighed and stacked the books on the side of the table near the window.

“Not necessarily anything I can’t deal with, it’s just brutal to see someone be repeatedly assaulted by their husband, and–I’m sorry. That’s so…That’s so grim, I didn’t mean to bring the mood, um, down.” She laughed nervously and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

“Believe it or not, that is probably a regular topic on a weekly basis for me.” Spencer gave her a sheepish smile.

“Wh-” She smiled and shook her head. A ray of sun was slowly stretched across her face, illuminating her eyes, and captivating Spencer. “Well, Doctor Reid. Tell me what a man like you is doing with three PhDs and multiple Bachelor's degrees these days in which you deal with such graphic topics and have to be on trial in Federal Court?”

Reid smiled at his folded hands. “I’m a–uh–profiler for the FBI’s BAU—Behavioural Analysis Unit. We, uh, look at the way an unsub–unknown subject–behaves, as well as the victims behavior, and create profiles based off of that information to help law enforcement agencies, at every level, across the country.” Spencer finished his ramble by biting his bottom lip, and smiling at her. “As for the trail…my team led an operation that was…not at all by the book.”

Y/n nodded, choosing, for Spencer’s sake, to not prod further into the reason he was at the courthouse.“So can you analyze people just by…looking at them?”

Spencer nodded at her. “Yeah, I mean that’s not all that we do. We make preliminary personality profiles yes, but I’ve also made linguistic profiles and geographical profiles–But, uh, y-yeah I can do that…”

“So profile me then Doctor Reid.”

Reid’s brain short circuited at that moment. “I-uh, you. Um. You want me to….”

“Profile me. Yes.” Y/N bit her lip. “Unless, you’re lying to me Spencer.”

Spencer took a breath before locking eyes with her.

“You’re wearing a tailor made dress for you, which means you have enough money to be able to buy nice clothes, and buy someone’s labor to make them for you. Since the dress is well made and uses an expensive material, the case today is really important to you–from the books I’m assuming a messy divorce involving domestic abuse since that is what all of your books are about, and it involves weapons of some type, most likely guns, because one of those books is dedicated entirely to United States versus Hayes, which deals with convicted domestic abusers not being allowed to purchase guns or have a gun license. When I sat down you also had one of the books open to District of Columbia versus Heller, which deals with an individual’s right to possess a firearm unless they’re a convicted felon or mentally ill. You’re not wearing any makeup which means you’re confident about this case, and your client, regardless of her current physical state. It also means you’re confident in yourself, and don't feel the need to hide your face in any way. You’re wearing shoes that add about three inches to your height so that you’ll appear taller in court to make yourself seem like a bigger presence, as well as assert your previously mentioned confidence in this case and your stance in it. The binder you carry is smaller in size, but heavier than expected meaning you probably have a tablet, maybe an IPad, in there for any paper you don’t actually need a physical copy of, which tells me you’re environmentally conscious, or you’re trying to be. Because you also had a plastic water bottle in your purse which means that you knew you had a long day today, but probably also had a long day and or night yesterday since your prep towards yourself was minimal—shall I keep going?”

Y/N was looking at him with that look he simply could not figure out. “If you want Spencer. I’m quite enjoying it.”

He licked his lips before nodding at the coffee cup on the table. “You’re exhausted. I can tell since you’re no longer wearing your shoes, and your hair is now up. You probably work better with your hair up, which stems from the fact that you danced as a child. Hair up means getting to work. You’re also exhausted since you needed espresso. That cup says you’re drinking four shots of espresso in your latte. But it’s probably because you’ve put a lot of thought and time into this case. Which is good for your clients since they need someone who is compassionate and empathizes—” Spencer stopped short. His realization did not go unnoticed by her.

“Did you figure something out, Doctor Reid?”

“You…..Was it….?”

“No.” She sighed before reaching across the table and putting her hand on top of Reid’s clasped ones. His entire body was immediately filled with static.

“No Spencer. But maybe that’s enough profiling for the day, yeah?”

Spencer nodded before darting his eyes around the library.

“Would you, uh, maybe want to go get lunch, um, with me?”

Y/N smiled at him and nodded. “I would love nothing more, Doctor. Shall we?”

Spencer nodded and stood up, watching as she quickly, yet efficiently packed away her laptop, the binder and the rest of her things. She stood up, grabbed all three of the books, her bag, and her coffee.

“At least let me carry one of those books y/n–”

“Spencer, thank you, but I got this. Remember? Strong, confident woman here.” She teased him before walking over and dropping them off at the librarians desk. Reid followed behind her, still trying to fully decode the woman he once knew everything about.

“Want to take the stairs? I have this irrational fear that I’ll get stuck or die in an elevator, or both.” she mused looking at Spencer.

“As someone who has gotten stuck in an elevator, I have to agree. Did you know that according to the National Elevator Industry, there are approximately 27 recorded elevator-related deaths a year, with over 10,000 related injuries?”

Y/N paused before she opened the door to the stairwell. Spencer thought she was going to cancel the lunch. He had spewed before they even made it out of the building. But instead, she laughed a little bit.

“There’s a National Elevator Industry Company?” Out of all the things to come out of her mouth, that was not what he had expected.

“Well, yes. They’re technically the National Elevator Industry Incorporated, but yeah.”

She made a sound surprise before nodding and heading into the stairwell. “Well I’m glad we’re not volunteering to be victims 28 and 29 then.”

Spencer smiled again, and let out a laugh of agreement.  

“I did want to ask you about that sweater vest though. It’s quite....something Spencer...”

______________________________________________________________

By the time the two had reached the main doors to the outside, both were giggling incessantly as Reid recalled the time he got stuck in an elevator with his coworker, Derek. Y/N paused their conversation to say a quick goodbye to the security guards working.

“You know all of their names?” Spencer was slightly astonished, knowing how quick the turnaround was for a job like that, barely even considering the sheer amount of security guards.

“It’s important to thank them since they have to stand there and deal with every single person who comes in or out of the Court. Might as well try to make their day a little better. Besides..” She opened the door for Reid to exit through. “When you’re nice, they’re a little more lenient about…oh I don’t know…plastic water bottles and other things that you’re not technically allowed to bring into a courthouse.”

Spencer smiled at her as they walked down the steps. “And you called me a rule breaker.”

“Well Pretty Boy, I can’t follow all the rules, what fun would that be?” Spencer became flustered as she smiled politely and waved to some of her colleagues as they finished walking down the steps.

“So Mr. Profiler, where are you taking me to lun–”

“Spence!”

Spencer outwardly rolled his eyes, his face steeling up at the sound of the heels coming towards them. Y/n was now profiling him as he excused himself and turned around to face JJ.

“What.”

“Wow–uh—Spence look, I–”

Spencer huffed in annoyance. “Is there something you want Jennifer?”

JJ gave Y/n an apologetic smile before turning towards Spencer. “Hotch and Strauss need us back at the office. We have to, uh, discuss next steps in case of reassignment.”

Y/n watched as Spencer managed to steel himself up tighter than before. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll meet you all there.”

“Well actually we—”

Spencer tried to cut her off again before Derek decided to interrupt, He had been watching the whole interaction. He moved over to the small group. “Reid, we have to leave now.”

Spencer huffed in annoyance and shot him a look but Serek didn’t notice. He had turned towards Y/n at that point, and turned on that classic Derek Morgan Charm. “Didn’t know Pretty Boy could even associate with such a beautiful woman. The name’s Derek.”

He held out his hand for Y/n to take. And she did, shaking it twice before retreating her hand.

Spencer turned to you, with the hint of a devious smile, and nodded in Derek’s direction. “That’s the Derek.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with amusement, before turning back to Derek. A smile burst across her face. “Oh my god, Spence. This is him?”

Derek looked at Reid, and then back at Y/n, and then back at Reid. “Reid, what is she talking about…”

Spencer just shrugged before turning his back completely to JJ, who seemed more upset by the second at Spencer’s distantness than at Morgan’s blatant attempt to charm his way into Y/n’s heart.

“Yes! Doctor Reid here was just telling me about your adventures on the BAU.”

Derek smiled and nodded at Spencer. “All good things I hope.”

“Oh absolutely. It’s an honor to meet the person who got stuck in an elevator and freaked the fuck out with Spencer all those years ago.”

Derek’s jaw hit the floor, and JJ was pretty speechless herself. Spencer had the smirk of a lifetime written all over his face. Y/n took the opportunity to walk over, and give Spencer a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You still owe me lunch sometime, Doctor Reid.” She winked at him before pulling out her ringing phone, and answering.

Spencer, JJ, and Derek watched her walk away.

“Who the hell was that?” Derek eventually managed out before looking at Reid with a mixture of awe and proudness across his face.

“My former ‘girl next door’.” Spencer smiled, before walking off towards Hotch, Rossi, Garcia, and Emily, ready to head back to the BAU with a newfound determination. The first was to get this god forsaken meeting over with. And the second was to find out everything he could about Y/F/N, Y/L/N.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid oneshot #Spencer reid scenario #Spencer reid hc #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid fluff #speaker reid blurb #x reader #criminal minds #Spencer reid recs #spencer reid drabble #Spencer reid drabbles #Spencer reid one-shot #my first fic #ahh! #I hope y'all like it!

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE

next part

summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, gwen stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.

word count - 10.3k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 

You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 

Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 

“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 

A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 

You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 

Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 

“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 

“What crime scene?” 

His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 

“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 

Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 

If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 

“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 

You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 

Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 

“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 

Your nose scrunched up slightly. 

If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 

It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 

Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 

“No.” 

Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 

“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 

You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 

While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 

Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 

“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 

“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 

The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 

“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 

A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 

Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 

“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 

But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 

Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 

Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 

You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 

“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 

Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 

It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 

They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 

There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 

It would be the dawn of a new age. 

A dark age. 

“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 

It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 

Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 

“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 

“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 

He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 

“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 

You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 

Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 

“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 

Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 

It was different. 

Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 

If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 

“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 

His face blanched. “You what?” 

“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 

Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 

You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”

Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 

But you? 

You could get in with a simple phone call. 

“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 

A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 

You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 

Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 

“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 

Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 

You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 

Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 

So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 

You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 

“Your funeral.” 

His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 

If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 

So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 

“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 

Urich gave a stiff nod. 

“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 

The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 

Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 

“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 

“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 

“I need you to track down some information for me.” 

A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 

You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 

Once. 

In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 

And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 

“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 

You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 

“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 

It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 

Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 

You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 

“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 

At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 

While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 

Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 

You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 

“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 

“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 

“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 

“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 

You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 

In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 

Patient #121394 - Progress Report 

It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 

Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 

You weren’t sure why you ever would. 

“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 

Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 

“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 

Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 

“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 

Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 

If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 

“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 

His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 

“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 

He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 

Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 

Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 

“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 

You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 

“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 

You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 

He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 

Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 

You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 

The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 

The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 

First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 

Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 

And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 

To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 

Almost. 

Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 

Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 

Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 

If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 

You were already here. 

In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 

Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 

He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 

Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 

You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 

A bit. 

“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 

Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 

You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 

“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 

It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 

Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 

Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 

But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 

And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 

“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 

Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 

You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 

“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 

Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 

Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 

That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 

He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 

“Because I’m not like you.” 

And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 

“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 

It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 

Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 

“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 

“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 

His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 

“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 

Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 

“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 

He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 

But that was the point. 

It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 

There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 

Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 

But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 

Then, it happened. 

For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 

Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 

Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 

You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 

He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.

“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 

An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.

Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 

“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 

You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 

“Twice a week.” You countered.

“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 

But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 

Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 

“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 

“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 

“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 

His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 

You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 

“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 

“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”

Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 

You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 

“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 

The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 

“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 

Bang. 

“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 

“And you killed her.” 

Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 

“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”

Bang. 

“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 

He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 

“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 

The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 

“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”

Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 

It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 

The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 

Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 

Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 

You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 

“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 

“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 

It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 

“Don’t get involved.” 

Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 

“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 

“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 

“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 

Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 

So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 

“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 

You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 

“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 

You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 

“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 

Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 

Except for you—his friend. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 

Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 

You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 

With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 

But now you could feel him.

It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 

It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 

Harry Osborn was better off dead. 

“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 

Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 

You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 

Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 

But none of that mattered anymore. 

None of you were the same anymore. 

And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 

“Coming here was a mistake.” 

It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 

Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 

a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!

#peter parker imagine #tasm imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm fic #peter parker fic #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #harry osborn #spiderman fic #peter parker x reader #mcu imagine #yandere peter parker #yandere spiderman #dark peter parker #the amazing spiderman #tasm2 #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter one shot #tasm harry osborn

[ukendeavour]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: The L Word (TV 2004) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tina Kennard/Bette Porter Characters: Tina Kennard, Bette Porter, Angelica Porter-Kennard Additional Tags: Love Story, lesbian love, Women Loving Women Summary:

Seventeen years ago, Bette Porter made the biggest mistake of her life. She cheated on her long-term partner. What she didn't expect was Tina to disappear into the night and not been seen for years. Tina is now living in New York when she sees a gallery opening, with an owner she knows very well. can she bring herself to rekindle a romance hat hasn't been for seventeen years.

#Fan fiction #fanfic #Bette Porter #Tina Kennard #The L Word #Tibette

[genderkoolaid]

Rating Yonic Words (Very Logical and Unbiased and Scientific and Impartial)

Vagina et al. - 2/10. Hard* "g" sound is awful. Its a chewy word. Would be better with a soft "g" like in the french vagin, but even thats like, 5/10. Also way overused to describe the whole set when its only the main hole, but its also the proper clinical word for said hole. "Vag" is slightly better but carries the sin of the father (hard "g"), and va-jay-jay is a solid 0. You just doubled the worst sound here. Its the yonic Cain.

*not actually hard, my brain is just too french, but i don't think this sound deserves to be called soft. it's a chewy g. forgive me for my lies

Vulva - 10/10. Love him. "V" sounds flow so nicely. You could sing this in an opera. Also actually refers to the whole kit n caboodle. May be a little clinical for some but we can change that. We can make it horny. You can help me make it horny. Betty Dodson would want you to help me make it horny.

Pussy - 7/10. Gets some points for being a classic, and its decent sounding. But the "s" sounds aren't the best, especially alongside the "p" sound. Its just a little too harsh and kind of juvenile. Good for a laff.

Punani et al. - 2 to 7/10. Gets cool points for being a descendant of the Akan language through Jamaican creole. Gets a range of points because I'm grouping poontang (bad word to say and hear) in with punani (a clear 7)

Labia - 10/10. Vulva's lovely twin. Another word you could sing. The "b" sound isn't offputting- it flows nicely between the elegant "L" and "ia." Again, a bit clinical, but so good to say. Labia (the word and the body part) deserve more love.

Fanny - 0/10. Pussy's worse sounding cousin. Replacing the "s" sounds with "n" removes the flow of pussy, which makes this the yonic-linguistic equivalent of going down a dry waterslide.

Cunt - 10/10. Its like a punch in a good way. Not too harsh, but makes its point clearly; a well-rounded sound. Can be comedic and horny but its not too unserious. Good mouthfeel. I'm a big cunt fan. Can also be an insult, but such is the way of sex organs. Such a versatile word.

Coochie - 4/10. Sorry to the coochie lovers out there but my god? The "ch" sound? Awful to hear. Get that out of my genitalia. Gets points for comedic use, which I respect.

Twat - 2/10. Sounds like the sound made when Batman decks some guy in the face. The "t" sounds here are just unpleasant, and when combined with "æ" it gets worse. Sorry Brits & co. </3

Clitoris / Clit - 9/10. Important organ we all know and love. Both long & short versions sound good, although I think it could be smoother. Way better clinical term than vagina, but I wish we had wider options for him.

Snatch - 3/10. I'm not a fan of the sounds at play here (once again, get "ch" out of here), but I find this word really funny. I cannot imagine this being used hornily. It sounds like the name of a delightful cryptid.

Quim - 4/10. What are you, from the 1700s? I think it sounds alright, the "q" isn't abrasive, but unless you are writing historical fiction it just doesn't sound right.

Any and All Metaphorical Words - 1/10. Never work outside of extremely horny contexts or jokes. Gets one point for extremely horny contexts and jokes.

#this post brought to you by a conversation i had with myself a few nights ago #m.