#the second season was just as good as the first

[pucksandpower]

Breaking the Ice

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lando Norris x Räikkönen!Reader

Summary: a boy who never shuts up meets a girl who rarely wastes the energy to speak … it doesn’t go as expected (or in which not having much to say runs in the Räikkönen family)

Lando shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting nervously as he awaits the arrival of the other drivers for the pre-season press conference. His gaze darts around the stark concrete room, taking in the harsh lighting and the row of empty chairs on the raised platform.

This is his sixth season in Formula 1, but the thrill of the new year and the prospect of racing still sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

The door opens and you stride in, Valtteri Bottas at your side. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to you, the rookie driver already capturing attention despite your quiet presence. You move with the casual confidence of someone who has grown up in this world, unbothered by the lights and cameras.

Lando finds himself staring, captivated by the way you carry yourself. The famously reserved Räikkönen genes clearly run through your veins.

Before Lando can gather his wits to introduce himself, you slide into the chair at the end of the row, Valtteri taking the seat next to you. Lando blinks, realizing he’s been caught gawking.

Smooth, Norris. Real smooth.

He clears his throat and makes his way over, mustering his most charming grin. “Hi there! Lando Norris. Welcome to the circus.”

You turn towards him, your expression unreadable. For a beat, you simply regard him in silence. Then, “Hey.”

You give a small nod of acknowledgment before turning away, effectively shutting down the conversation. Lando’s smile falters as you refocus your attention on … absolutely nothing at all.

Well, that’s a bit rude. He frowns, stung by the brush-off. So much for breaking the ice. Maybe you’re just shy around new people? Lando decides to give you the benefit of the doubt as the other drivers begin filing in.

He takes his seat a few chairs away, sneaking sidelong glances at you. You haven’t so much as glanced in his direction again, adopting the same thousand-yard stare as the Iceman.

Like father, like daughter, Lando muses with a shake of his head.

When the press conference gets underway, question after question is lobbed at the drivers. Lando fields them with his usual charismatic charm, unable to resist hamming it up for the cameras with comedic flair. In contrast, you remain stubbornly curt whenever the mic is passed your way.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I don’t know.”

Your terse responses draw titters of laughter from the audience and press corps alike. Lando watches in amazement, unable to fathom how anyone could be so … so ...

“Boring?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

You cut your eyes towards him, holding his gaze for the first time since your noncommittal greeting. Lando feels himself flush, suddenly uncertain if he’s been too cheeky. But then the corners of your mouth tug up in an unmistakable smirk before you turn away again, leaving him to wonder if he’s imagined it.

By the time the press conference mercifully ends, Lando has decided you’re definitely an odd duck. But also … kind of fascinating? In an eccentric, robotic sort of way? He’s not sure what to make of his swirling thoughts as you all rise to make your exit.

Lando hangs back, angling to get one more shot at conversation. “Hey, uh, Y/N? I know you’re still getting your feet wet here, but if you ever need any advice or, you know, someone to show you the ropes, I’m always around.”

You pause, glancing back at him over your shoulder. For a fleeting second, Lando thinks he detects … what? Amusement? Disbelief? It’s impossible to tell with your trademark poker face firmly in place.

“Thanks,” you reply, your tone mild. “But I’m good.”

And with that, you pivot on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando to stare after you.

“Huh,” he mutters to himself. So much for breaking the ice.

As the next couple of days of testing wear on, Lando can’t seem to get a read on you. Oh, you’re perfectly courteous whenever your paths happen to cross in the paddock. You’ll return his greetings with a respectful nod or murmur of acknowledgment.

But that’s as far as it goes. You’re polite, but also totally inscrutable. Lando has no idea what you make of him, or really anything at all that might be going on inside that head of yours. All he knows is that his curiosity about you has been thoroughly piqued.

One morning, Lando spies you sitting alone, sipping from a a mug of coffee as you study a stack of data printouts. He ambles over, determined to try chatting you up again.

“Y/N! How’s it going?” His voice is cheerfully upbeat. “That coffee from the hotel? Because let me tell you, it’s rubbish. If you want a proper brew, you’ve got to venture out and find a decent cafe. I know all the best spots around here if you’d like some recommendations ...”

He trails off as you simply look up at him, silent and unblinking. Lando clears his throat, feeling oddly off-kilter beneath your steady regard.

“Anyway,” he blusters on, undeterred. “How are you finding testing so far? Not too overwhelming, I hope? If you ever want to debrief or go over data or anything, I’m happy to lend an ear. Or even an eye, I suppose, since it’s more looking at numbers than listening to-”

“Bwoah.”

The single syllable cuts through Lando’s babbling. You set down your coffee and rise to your feet in one effortless, graceful movement. Lando blinks in surprise as you turn and walk away without another word.

“Oh. Erm. Sure, just … ignore me then,” he mutters, feeling his cheeks flush hotly.

He shakes his head as you disappear around the corner, baffled by your total indifference. But then a wry chuckle escapes his lips as the truth dawns on him with crystal clarity.

You’re not rude or shy at all. That’s just … who you are. Curt, to the point, unconcerned with frivolous chitchat and social niceties. You’ve got laser-focus, and nothing is going to distract you from your pursuit of speed.

In that moment, Lando feels a swell of admiration. He gets it now — you’re carved from the same uncompromising bedrock as your old man. Refreshingly authentic without any affectations or pretense.

Most people would find your blunt aloofness off-putting. But not Lando. No, he finds the prospect of unraveling the mystery that is Y/N Räikkönen irresistibly intriguing.

He grins to himself as he ambles off to get ready for his own session out on track. Just you wait, Y/N. He’s going to get you to crack a smile yet, even if it kills him.

After all, whoever said being a woman of few words was a bad thing?

***

Lando is in the middle of his pre-race routine, trying to center his mind and get into the zone, when you appear out of nowhere and thrust something at him.

“Here,” you say brusquely.

He blinks, puzzled, as he registers the scraggly bundle of wildflowers gripped in your fist. They look like they’ve been unceremoniously ripped out of the dirt, roots, soil and all.

“Uh … what’s this?” Lando asks.

You meet his confused gaze head on, your expression typically unreadable. “Flowers. For you.”

“For me?” Lando repeats dumbly. He glances around, as if expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out at any second. “Are you … giving me these?”

“No, I’m giving them to the other idiot who won’t stop yapping at me every single day,” you deadpan.

Lando feels his cheeks grow warm at the mild rebuke. He knows you’re referring to his persistent, if extremely one-sided attempts at conversation over the past few weeks. All his friendly openings and invitations have been met with a string of indifferent brush-offs and noncommittal hums.

Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? At least he’s being polite, which is more than he can say for-

“Well?” You break into his thoughts, arching one coolly expectant brow. “Are you wooed or not?”

This time it’s Lando’s turn to stare at you blankly. “I’m … sorry, what?”

“Wooed,” you repeat flatly. “You said the girl of your dreams would woo you with flowers or some nonsense. So I got you flowers.” You give the bedraggled bouquet a little shake for emphasis. “Now you’re wooed. Happy?”

It takes a moment for the words to click into place in Lando’s brain. Then a strangled laugh bursts from his lips as he remembers the foolish, offhand comment he made in an interview a few days ago. He’d been prattling on about his imaginary ideal partner, somehow painting the ridiculous picture of himself being “wooed” like some lovestruck Victorian lady.

Leave it to you to take the whole ludicrous scenario at face value. Lando can’t decide if he’s more charmed or bewildered by the fact that you’ve actually gone to the trouble of physically wooing him with … weeds?

“You cannot be serious right now,” he sputters out between residual chuckles.

You simply stand there, utterly unfazed as you hold out the world’s saddest excuse for a bouquet expectantly. “Well? Am I doing it right or not?”

“Doing what right?” Lando shakes his head, chortling again. “This whole wooing business? Y/N, that was just me rambling on like an idiot, as usual. You didn’t actually have to-”

“But I did,” you interject, effectively cutting off his protests. “So. Are. You. Wooed?”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it again as he searches for the right response. There’s no menace or mockery in your expression, just that same intense focus and matter-of-fact bluntness that you apply to everything. Somehow, he gets the distinct impression that you won’t be deterred until he gives you a straight answer.

“Uh … no?” He ventures at last. “N-Not really, I guess?”

You stand there for a beat, Processing his words. Then you give a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Okay. That’s a you problem.”

With that, you turn smartly on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando gaping after you in a stupor. He stares down at the shoddy little bundle of greenery still clutched in his hand, not sure whether to laugh or just shake his head in amazed disbelief.

“A ‘me’ problem?” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Well, you’ve got me there, Y/N.”

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that you respecting him enough to even entertain his absurd hypothetical … that might just be his new favorite problem.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando brings his car across the finish line in fourth place. Not his best result, but respectable points in the bag. He allows himself a tight smile as he peels into the pit lane and kills the engine.

Until the unmistakable bright green and black livery of your Kick Sauber fills his vision, that is.

Lando does a double take, his jaw dropping as the implication sinks in. No way. There’s absolutely no way you’ve … you’ve won this race, right? In that underpowered, aerodynamically-challenged shitbox?

He can scarcely believe his eyes as you glide to a stop behind the large “1” board. The cheers and applause swelling around the track leave no doubt — somehow, against all odds, you’ve just taken the top step of the podium.

Lando scrambles out of his own car, tugging off his helmet and balaclava as he hustles across parc fermé in a daze. The first thing he notices is the sheer confusion and shock etched onto the faces of everyone else milling around. Even the marshals look gobsmacked by this upset for the ages.

In the middle of the chaos, you’re casually unfurling yourself from the cockpit with your trademark nonchalance. Like this is just another ho-hum Sunday drive for Y/N Räikkönen instead of, you know, the most spectacular overachievement in recent Formula 1 history.

Lando stands there gaping at you, unable to fully process what’s just happened. He vaguely registers the rest of the top finishers pulling in around you, their body language radiating bewilderment and disbelief as they all turn to stare, dumbstruck.

No one can quite seem to believe that an underdog backmarker has just eclipsed them all in a car that typically struggles to score points, let alone wins.

For your part, you’re projecting indifference to the chaos swirling around you. You simply grab a water bottle and take a long, unhurried pull, seemingly oblivious to the escalating frenzy.

Then, you casually turn in Lando’s direction and arch one brow ever-so-slightly. A silent question.

“I … you ...” Lando sputters uselessly, his brain still stuttering to catch up. “Did you seriously just ...”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards, hinting at a suppressed grin. “Well?” You prompt him calmly. “Are you wooed yet or what?”

It takes a moment for the light to flicker on in Lando’s mind. Any other time, he’d be delighted by the playful ribbing, eager to keep the back-and-forth banter flowing.

But right now, something else cuts through the haze of astonishment clouding his thoughts.

“Wait … is this ...” Lando squints at you searchingly. “Did you just win this race … for me?”

The words slip out before he can stop them. Because that would be such an impossibly, endearingly you thing to do, wouldn’t it? To dedicate achieving the unachievable all because of an offhand remark about wanting to be wooed?

His heart does a strange little flip-flop at the mere idea of you going to such outlandishly romantic lengths, all for the sake of who-even-knows-what is brewing between you two these days.

For a long beat, you simply stare back at him, your expression unreadable as ever. Then, “What?” You let out a faintly derisive snort. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

The words detonate like a slap in the face, momentarily winding Lando with their blunt force. “Oh. Well, I just thought maybe since I mentioned the whole wooing thing, and then you ...”

You shake your head impatiently, cutting him off. “You’re not the one who won this race, Lando.”

With that, you turn on your heel and stride away, dismissing him with a curt finality. Lando is left speechless, mouth agape as he watches your retreating back.

Around him, the rest of the drivers and crew are still buzzing with perplexed whispers and incredulous looks. No one can seem to wrap their minds around what they’ve just witnessed.

A sudden boom of laughter from Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber garage shatters the tension. Lando glances over to see your grizzled race engineer doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he wheezes helplessly.

“That’s my girl!” He chortles, shaking his head in amazed delight. “Leave it to a Räikkönen to blow the entire fuckin’ field away and just shrug it off like it’s no big deal!”

Lando feels the corner of his own mouth twitch upwards, the pinpricks of embarrassment fading as quickly as they flared. Of course he wasn’t on your mind out there today — you’re a laser-focused competitor brimming with the same single-minded intensity as your father. No thoughts, just pure, unbridled velocity.

You don’t crave grandstanding or glory, you’re simply out there doing what you were born to do, with ruthless, unsentimental precision. No fuss, no frills. Just inevitable, undeniable greatness through sheer force of will.

For now, that’s more than enough to leave him feeling utterly, deliriously, irrevocably … wooed.

***

Lando flops back on the hotel bed with a contented sigh, still basking in the post-race glow. P3 on the podium is a stellar result, made even sweeter by the fact that you claimed second place.

He grins lazily as you emerge from the en-suite bathroom, having shed your team wear in favor of a comfy t-shirt and shorts. Even with your hair tied up in a messy bun and your face scrubbed free of makeup, you’re still the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“There’s the champion,” he rumbles affectionately, reaching out to snag your wrist and tug you down onto the bed beside him. You allow yourself to be pulled into the circle of his arms with a quiet huff of amusement.

“I didn’t win, you dork,” you point out mildly, making no move to extract yourself from his embrace. “That was Max on the first step today, not me.”

“Mmm, true.” Lando hums his agreement, nuzzling against the crown of your head. “But you’ll get there again soon enough. Then we can really celebrate.”

He punctuates the promise with a languid kiss, smiling against your lips as you melt into him with a soft sigh of contentment. These tender, unguarded moments are rapidly becoming his favorite part of any race weekend.

You allow the liplock to linger for a few long, blissful seconds before finally pulling back with a faint smirk. “Speaking of celebrating ...”

Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, you deftly roll off the mattress and sink down onto your knees in one fluid motion, effectively pitching Lando’s heart rate into a gallop.

“Whoa, hey now,” he sputters out a nervous chuckle, propping himself up on his elbows to gawk down at you in surprise. “What are you doing down there, trouble?”

Rather than answering directly, you simply arch one eloquent brow and ask, “Are you wooed yet?”

Lando blinks, needing a second to parse your meaning. Then a bark of laughter escapes before he can stop it, finally realizing where this is going. “Oh my god, you cannot be serious right now. Are we really still doing that stupid bit?”

There’s no missing the impish glint in your eye as you regard him from your knees, clearly quite pleased with yourself for managing to get the upper hand. “Well? I’m waiting for an answer here.”

Lando shakes his head in amazed disbelief, unable to smother his grin. “Y/N, love, you have got to be the most impossible woman on the planet sometimes.” He reaches down to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, cradling your face tenderly. “But lucky for you, it’s impossibly charming as hell.”

You lean into the caress ever so slightly, regarding him with an impish glint. “So? Do you feel wooed yet or not?”

Something warm and gooey blossoms in Lando’s chest as he studies your features — the amused quirk of your lips, the slight flush on your cheeks, the fire dancing in your eyes. You’re such an endearing contradiction, managing to be the most formidably stoic badass on the racetrack while also being irresistibly playful when it’s just the two of you.

“Y/N ...” he starts, a bemused chuckle rumbling from his lips. He presses a kiss to your forehead, relishing your quiet hum of approval. “You do realize you don’t have to keep trying to woo me anymore, right?”

You blink up at him, your brow furrowing slightly as you process his words. “What are you talking about?”

Lando nods towards the pillow behind him, gesturing vaguely. “The flowers. The race win. All the coy banter and teasing.” He grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed at this point, love.”

You continue to stare at him with a blank look, like he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues. The lack of comprehension on your face is so unguarded and genuine that it makes Lando’s grin slowly slip.

Hold on … could it be that you actually don’t realize-

“Hey,” he asks slowly, hardly daring to breathe. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but … I thought after the whole flower thing, we kind of … you know ...”

He trails off helplessly, not sure how to broach the subject in case he’s somehow misread everything completely. Your brow remains furrowed, making him abruptly hyper aware of the fact that your lithe form is literally kneeling at his feet while wearing very little clothing.

A pregnant pause stretches between you, thick with confused tension. Then-

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, your eyes going comically wide as the pieces finally click into place. “Did you think we were … dating? All this time?”

Lando chokes on his own tongue, too stunned to respond right away. He simply gapes at you, feeling like the world’s biggest moron for somehow operating under the wrong assumption for … how long, exactly?

Now that he’s thinking back, neither of you ever explicitly defined what was brewing between you two ... you just sort of started spending more and more time together, growing more and more intimately intertwined until … well ...

Suddenly he’s laughing, helpless peals of mirth bubbling up from his core as the truth dawns on him. All this time, you two have essentially been a couple of awkward teenagers muddling through the beginning stages of a relationship, the wires of communication getting hopelessly crossed along the way.

But oh man, of course it somehow ended up going down like this between you two. Why would he have expected anything less idiotically convoluted?

You’re chuckling too, the laughter rippling through your body in delightfully unreserved waves as you sway back on your heels. And just like that, the last lingering hint of tension dissolves from the air as you surrender to the hilarity of it all.

“So … I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a no then,” Lando finally manages to gasp out between wheezing chuckles.

“Well that would depend,” you shoot back, your eyes bright with mischief. You shift forward onto your knees, leaning in close enough for him to feel the teasing rasp of your breath against his lips. “Because according to you, I’m already spoken for.”

Lando’s laughter cuts off with a soft groan as your nose brushes teasingly against his thigh, his palms finding their way to your hips as if by muscle memory. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” He accuses without any real heat.

“Nope,” you agree matter-of-factly before capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He loses himself in the velvet glide of your mouths for endless minutes, his fingertips tracing maddening patterns across the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting softly, gazes locked in a heated stalemate.

“So ...” Lando murmurs at last, his lips brushing deliciously against yours with every word. “If we haven’t actually been dating this whole time, then what would you call … this?” He sweeps one hand up in a languid caress, hinting at the incredible tangle you’ve both willingly stumbled into.

“Hmm ...” You press another series of featherlight kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, leaving him shivering. “How about … badly in need of remedial communication skills?”

Lando bursts out laughing again — because really, is there any more succinct way to sum up the two of you? He tugs you up onto his lap, cupping the back of your head and crushing your lips back to his in a heated clash of teeth and tongues.

You willingly arch against him with a throaty sigh, hands roaming possessively across his chest. The two of you are a whirlwind of tangled limbs and shared laughter and scorching friction.

It’s all so achingly, impossibly right that Lando can hardly stand it. But as you meet his heated gaze, chests heaving and eyes sparking with unspoken promises, Lando finds he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when the payoff is stealing heated moments like these, all tangled up in each other with boundless laughter and blazing passion.

“Y/N ...” he murmurs reverently, tracing the curve of your smiling lips with the pad of his thumb. “I adore you. You incredible, impossible woman.”

You lean into the caress with a soft hum, covering his hand with yours to hold him there. “So what now?” You arch a playful brow. “Are you officially wooed or do you need some more convincing?”

With a low growl, he abruptly flips you both over onto the mattress in one fluid movement. You let out a startled squeak quickly swallowed by his questing mouth as he settles between your parted thighs, pinning you to the sheets.

You arch up to meet him in a slick glide of fevered skin, clutching him close. Through it all, your soft laughter never ceases — bubbling up in breathless peals of delight that Lando hungrily drinks in.

Yeah, he’s pretty damn wooed all right. But from this moment forward, he’s going to spend every second making damn sure you never have to ask again.

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[nereidprinc3ss]

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you. 

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough. 

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement. 

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them. 

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up. 

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you. 

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie. 

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can. 

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks. 

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy. 

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft. 

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly. 

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait. 

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest. 

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back. 

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow. 

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly. 

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.” 

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you. 

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features. 

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table. 

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness. 

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum. 

Spencer doesn’t respond. 

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy. 

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks. 

You do it again. 

Another squeak. 

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can. 

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark. 

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won. 

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding. 

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one. 

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile. 

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you. 

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him. 

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you. 

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago. 

But you don’t bring those up. 

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth. 

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face. 

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?” 

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently. 

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that. 

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Give Into The Temptation

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Norris!Reader

warnings: ‼️‼️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS FOR TWISTED HATE BY ANA HUANG ‼️‼️⚠️⚠️, cursing, SMUT

Thank you to @forevercaffeinated-lee for this idea! I hope it meets your expectations <3!

Slight enemies to lovers

When I first met Oscar I thought he was cute and he is but my god was he so full of himself.  

Now don’t get me wrong, I love a man who’s confident and knows what he wants but Oscar was not that.

Oscar was cocky, full of himself and sometimes downright disrespectful. I usually let it slide because I didn’t see him often so I didn’t have to deal with it, emphasis on the word usually.

-

I’ve been on the road with Lando so far this whole 2024 season because he had asked me to tag along, he something about missing his twin sister or some bullshit like that, in reality everyone knew that I was here because he liked the way I made his meal preps and not the person that’s currently doing it now.

This is the week of the Monaco Grand Prix and Lando has been out all day with his trainer all day doing whatever the trainer made him do all the while I’m stuck at the condo alone.

I was chilling out on a pineapple floaty in the pool when I heard the front door open. I'd decided that I wanted to play a prank on Lando so I snuck out of the pool and quickly dried myself off before quietly sneaking into the condo. I'd heard rustling coming from the bathroom and that gave me the perfect chance to scare him. I waited against the wall for about 45 seconds before I heard the door open, I waited for a second until I saw a taller figure step out the bathroom and with a big leap I screamed 'Boo' at the man in front of me.

However, I didn't get as much joy from scaring Lando as I thought I would and that was only because I didn't scare Lando. I scared Oscar.

"Ah! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Oscar screamed as I still stood in front of him, placing his hand on his chest as if to slow down his heartbeat.

"What are you doing here?!" I screamed back in total shock and anger that he was here. I mean how did he even get the key? Only Lando and I had a key?

"I'm staying here this race weekend dipshit. You know this." His attitude evident, as always.

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm JUST NOW FINDING THIS OUT!" I shout. I'm so frustrated, I wanted to have a nice weekend to support my brother and hopefully only see Oscar when needed, but turns out I'm gonna be spending the WHOLE weekend with him.

"That's it, I'm going back out by the pool." I scoffed while I dragged my feet dramatically out to the backyard.

-

Back out by the pool, I was laying on one of the lawn chairs and I decided that I was going to try and finish the book I was currently reading 'Twisted Hate' by one of my favorite authors Ana Huang.

While I was reading, I was so deep in thought that I hadn't heard the patio door open and Oscar come out. At least not until I heard a big splash in the water and felt drops of it land on my legs.

"You muppet! I'm reading here!" I shouted as I took the towel I brought out to dry my not-so-wet legs. Oscar looked displeased with me as when I looked up I saw him rolling his eyes at me.

I continued reading in peace and quiet for about another 15 minutes before my timer went off indicating that I should go apply more sunscreen before I get too burned. I let out a annoyed groan because my book was just getting good so I quickly got up and went into the air conditioned condo to the living room to grab the spray on sunscreen, applying it before walking back outside.

Opening the back door, I was quickly met with a sight of Oscar with a towel around his waist and my book in his hand.

"Oscar, put my book down now!" my face just as red as a tomato at the thought of Oscar reading the previous page of the two characters fucking. Part of me didn't want him to know what I read on my free time but part of me wanted him to have read it so that he learns not to pick up and read random books.

"Twisted Hate? I think I've heard of this book." if my face was red before, it must've been a shade of hell right now. How did he know about this book? Maybe someone said it was a good series? Did he know about the pure sex written in it? So many questions flooded my head but before I could question what he meant by what he said he continued talking

(THIS NEXT PART CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK SO PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING UNTIL YOU SEE THE BOLD WORDS! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!)

"Yeah, Jules ends up telling Josh that she was the one that took the painting. Josh was mad at her at first but then they had make-up sex. Turns out he didn't forgive her and 'broke up' with her mid orgasm and kicked her out." My face fell in shock. There's no way this bitch just fucking spoiled this book for me. No, he's making shit up. There's no way he'd know what was going on in the book, someone could've told him about the 'break in'. Oscar loves to get under my skin and this would be a good way he could do it.

A scoff left my lips as I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Yeah fucking right. That's a good one Piastri, and to think I almost believed you. Wow, this is a new low for you." I laughed as I snatched my book from his grasp and gathered my stuff. I was going to finish my book in the comfort of my well air conditioned room until my brother comes back and we go out to eat.

(OKAY NO SPOILERS AFTER THIS PART)

-

It had been about 30 minutes since my last interaction with Oscar and I was sitting against the headboard of the bed under the covers reading. I was having a good time in the quiet of the room while reading until I got to a part that eerily started to sound like what Oscar told me was going to happen between Jules and Josh.

I kept reading because I didn't want to believe that Piastri was THAT disrespectful to actually spoil my book for me. Sure enough that Aussie dipshit did in fact spoil my book for me. With an angry grunt I peeled myself away from the book and left my room. I was going to find Oscar and kill him.

I searched the house with so much anger in me I felt like I was going to explode. I finally spotted Oscar still out by the pool except this time instead of being in the water, he was sun bathing. Lord knows he needs it because of how pale he was.

Swinging the patio door open I started yelling " OSCAR JACK PIASTRI!" The volume of my voice and the slam of the door startled Oscar and he quickly locked his phone before chucking it on the lawn chair next to his. "YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING BASTARD!" A slight smirk plastered on his face as he saw how mad I was.

"Finally get to the part I spoiled for you?" he looked so cocky right now and all I wanted to do was to punch him right in his sexy face. No, stop Y/N don't think like that.

"You're a cunt Oscar. I want to never see you again!" I stomped my foot. I looked like an angry toddler when they wouldn't get their way.

"Oh that's cute. We're rooming in the same house this weekend and in case you forgot, your brother and I are on the same team so that's not happening." I watched as a small laugh left his incredibly sexy and slightly plump lips.

As much as I wanted to be mad at Oscar I couldn't help but want to swoon for him right now. He'd gotten out of the pool not that long ago because his body wasn't wet anymore but his swim trunks and hair were still damp. That nasty smirk still plastered on his sexy face, his damp curls laying in every direction, his perfectly toned chest on display, the damp swimming trunks sticking to his hard cock. Wait, is he hard? Was he watching porn before I came out??

"As much as I'm flattered that you're checking me out, my eyes are up here princess." Oscar called as he snapped his fingers at me before pointing to his eyes when I finally looked up.

Did I just get caught checking out the man I hated the most while I'm trying to be angry and yell at him?

"As if. I- I would never check you out. You- You're the last guy I would want to find attractive." I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched Oscar slowly start to walk in my direction stopping right in front of me. He was so close I could feel his breath on my face, none of us moved and I don't think either of us wanted to. Oscar raised his hands to rest on both sides of my face, leaning in but stopping right before our lips met.

"Really? So why aren't you backing away from my touch?" He was so close to me and all I wanted to do was have the most rough and dirty sex with him right now. "You hate me right? You know they say there's a blurred line between Love and Hate."

"I" need you "I would never love you" I'm trying so hard not to give into the temptation of falling for Oscar but it's so hard. Oscar might be harder but I don't want to be the first to give in. I left heavy calloused hand on my waist and gave it a small squeeze which caused a pathetic small moan to escape my lips.

"That moan that left your mouth just now says otherwise," Oscar and I made eye contact just before he turned his head to whisper in my ear "just say the word and I'll fuck you 7 ways to Sunday before your brother gets back" His hand slowly sliding down my front before they got to my bathing suit bottoms, stopping right above the elastic.

A whimper left my lips before I could stop it. "Is this fine?" Oscar said as he grabbed my chin to look up and face him, a small nod of approval was what I gave him but that wasn't enough "No princess, I need words. Is this okay with you?" Even when we're so deep in this intimate moment he's getting on my nerves.

"Yes," I said breathlessly as I placed my hand on his and guided him underneath the fabric of my bikini bottoms "I need this, I need you so fucking bad." I whispered as I had leaned into the crook of him neck to leave small and delicate kisses.

A heard a groan leave Oscar's lips as I started to suck the skin of his neck to litter his gorgeous skin with hickies.

"Mmmm, fuck. I need you right now." Oscar moaned right before he smashed his lips to mine. The kiss didn't last too long before Oscar picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and started to make his way to my room and slamming the door once we were in. Oscar placed a hard and firm slap to my ass before tossing me on the bed.

"You're so sexy, did you know that?" Oscar started talking while slowly crawling towards me leaving kisses in his wake, started by my feet "I've always dreamed of fucking you since I met you" left a kiss just below my knee "I've jerked off to the thought of me fucking you in my drivers room, making you scream my name so loud they can hear you in the grandstands" kissed my clothed pussy, causing me to jerk my body up "and the thought of filling you so full you're carrying child." kissed my stomach "I've thought about taking you at so many events." kissed my breasts "I thought about us getting caught while I'm fucking your mouth." kissed the under side of my jaw before looking in my eyes "I thought about us getting married and just fucking like rabbits everywhere I can take you" He kissed my lips before biting my bottom lip

"Do it." I said breathless as Oscar leaned down to kiss my cleavage, the second those words left my mouth I felt him freeze.

"Which part?" He searched my face for an answer

"All of it." In 0.2 seconds flat his lips were on mine in a hungry kiss before he licked my bottom lip for entrance which I happily granted him access to. Our tongues fought for dominance but his ultimately won, as we made out I felt an ache in my core that I needed to get rid of. I bucked my hips up to rub against his hard cock, it didn't last long though as one of Oscar's hands pressed firmly on my low stomach pressing my lower half into the mattress.

"Impatient are we?" A small moan left my lips "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take good care of you" Oscar took the hand that he had pressed against my stomach and moved it to take off his swim trunks before moving that same hand to undo the knots on the strings on the sides of my bathing suit bottoms. Undoing two double knotted knots with one hand was supposed to be hard but Oscar made it seem easy, and hot. Super super hot. Oscar peeled the bottoms off of me and chucked it to God knows where in the room.

Oscar grabbed his cock and fisted it a few times before lining his tip to my entrance before looking in my eyes once again asking for permission

"Oscar, please fuck me. I can't wait anymore" I whimpered. At this point I don't care how pathetic I sounded, I had a hot man in front of me about to fuck me and I needed him.

That was all the confirmation he needed before he slid his cock so deep in my cunt I felt like I could feel him in my throat. He was big and thick, not too big but my god was he thick. My walls stretched in a delicious pain as I adjusted to his size. A quick tap to Oscar's bicep told him all he needed to know before he pulled out and slowly slid back in. He kept going at a slower pace before I spoke up.

"Oscar," I moaned

"Yeah baby, what do you need?" He leaned in to kiss my collarbone

"I need you to fuck me faster" without a second thought Oscar pulled out and slammed into my pussy, easing the aching throb thats been there for a minute.

My walls stretched with each hard and rough thrust of his cock and I enjoyed every minute of it. Oscar had one hand on my hip and used it to guide my hips up to meet his every thrust. Oscar kept fucking me raw and rough for about another 2 minutes before he abruptly pulled out.

A disappointed groan left my lips at the feeling of being empty but that didn't last long because Oscar ended up flipping me around and forcing me on all fours. I turned half my body to face him and I watched he stood on his knees and aligned himself with my entrance again and grabbed my hips and thrusted his cock in me.

A loud moan left my lips as I felt so full of him again. Oscar set a blistering pace as he rocked his hips in and out of my dripping pussy. Oscar slowly withdrew his cock from my pussy before slowly pushing his girthy cock back in making sure he'd bottom out. Even though Oscar was bottomed out he kept pushing himself deeper in me which caused me to reach behind me to attempt to grab ahold of his thighs in hopes to pull him closer to me to make him go impossibly deeper in my cunt.

Oscar finally started his thrusts up again and was fucking me so hard I'm pretty sure the bed was moving. Each thrust sent my body jerking forward and I felt like I was on fire. I could feel a familiar tightness in my tummy as Oscar keeps his merciless pace going.

"Gonna cum for me sweet girl?" Oscar's hand brushed up my back and rested on my shoulder.

"Mmhmm" was all I could muster, Oscar was fucking me so good I couldn't form coherent sentences. I felt Oscar pull out of me before quickly flipping me untilI I was on my back and he thrusted right back into be with so much force.

"I wanna see your pretty face when I make you cum. M'gonna ruin you for any other man." I can't focus, I'm so close to cumming and I need this release.

"I don't want any other man" I murmured "Oscar, I'm so close. Choke me"

I didn't have to ask twice and the second his calloused hand gripped the flesh of my throat and gave it a gentle and slight squeeze my walls clenched around his cock and my body shook as my orgasm washed over me. Oscar kept fucking me through my high as he chased his own orgasm. I could tell Oscar was close just by the way his hips stuttered against me. I was going to tell Oscar to pull out and to cum on my stomach but before I could say anything he spoke up

"Can I please fuck your mouth and cum in it? Please I need to cum so bad" Oscar whimpered

"Please" was all I said before I watched him pull out and quickly made his way up to my face before he shoved his cock in my mouth and started to roughly fuck it.

He didn't last that long and after a few thrust he shoved his cock to the back of my throat and used my used his hand he had placed behind head to shove my face closer to his body until my nose was touching his skin as he spilled his cum down my throat.

Oscar pulled out of my mouth and watched me as I swallowed all his cum. He placed a kiss to my lips before having to pull away due to my phone ringing.

I picked up my phone and looked at the caller ID "Oh shit, it's Lando" I pressed the answer icon and placing it on speaker "This better be good, I'm reading" I said into the phone

"I'm gonna be back at the condo in 20 so get ready for dinner and while you're at it wake up Oscar, I called him 4 times but he isn't answering. He's a heavy sleeper." I had to refrain a chuckle from leaving my lips

"Okay, I'm gonna wake him and then take a shower. Bye, I love you too." I hung up before turning back to Oscar

"Yeah, I forgot I threw my phone on the other lawn chair." he said as he rubbed the back of his neck "And no I wasn't watching porn, I was watching videos of you being interviewed at movie premieres. I can't help it, you're just so hot." Oscar mumbled as he leaned in to kiss my lips again.

"We have to get dressed Oscar" I mumbled against his lips as I pulled away "I smell like sex and I want to wash my hair so I gotta go now." I got up from my bed and was about to walk towards my bathroom before I felt a firm slap on my ass causing me to jerk forward with a yelp

"I'm gonna fuck you so good when we get back, I hope you know that"

-

I MISSED YOU GUYS (I just posted two days ago) I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti@dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy

#f1 #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri scenario #oscar piastri series #oscar piastri smut #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fic #lewis hamilton #lando norris #logan sargent fluff #mclaren #lando norris smut #smut #norris reader #lando norris fanfic #brother lando #monaco gp 2024 #max verstappen #carlos sainz smut #lewis hamilton smut #oscar jack piastri leclerc #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine

[bueckers]

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄 - 𝐏𝐁

a/n: heavily inspired by that clip of caitlin & gabbie LOL. kind of a blurb

summary: paige gets caught looking at you a certain way on camera while you’re practically fuming during a game.

warning(s): just sexual tension & out of pocket comments, suggestive

pairing: paige bueckers x teammate!reader

The game against NC State was remarkably close, an unexpected challenge for only the second game of the season. As the third quarter dwindled to its final minutes, a sense of frustration began to set in. You found yourself doing everything in your power to gain composure.

The same girl had been targeting you all night, her aggressive play becoming increasingly blatant as the game progressed. Your patience was wearing thin, and when she charged at you once again, a surge of anger propelled you forward, ready to confront her. However, before you could react, Paige, Aubrey, and Ines intervened, stepping in to hold you back before you did something you’d regret.

Geno had benched you, which only added more fuel to the fire. When the other team called a timeout, the rest of the team was sent to the benches, but Paige was quick to run over to you. As soon as the whistle blew, you got out of my seat and jogged over to the referee, determined to explain that he had made the wrong call. He had been the entire game. Your frustration, however, got the better of you, and my words came out heated. The referee was clearly unimpressed with your complaints and wasn’t budging.

Paige stepped in front of you, concluding your one-sided heated conversation with the referee. She grabbed your arm with one hand and placed the other on your lower back to guide you away. “C’mere,” she mumbled, steering me back to the bench. You sat down, a little calmer than before but still huffing and puffing that you hadn’t gotten to say everything you wanted to.

Paige sat next to you, her entire body turned in your direction as she nearly fell off the seat. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and she knew exactly what to do to get you to calm down. “Talk to me,” she threw out huskily, knowing you had to actually get what you had to say out before calming down. You were already on it.

“That girl has been all over me all night,” you began, words tumbling out in a rush. “Do you know how many fouls I’ve been cheated out of? It’s like she’s got it out for me. And the refs are fucking blind to it—this is bullshit..”

As you rambled on, Paige couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. She was perplexed at how you could look so good even while angry. Her eyes darted between yours and your lips the entire time, her lips slightly parted. Though you were loud, she barely heard a word, her ears blocking out all of the trash talk you let flow. Paige was captivated, caught between her desire to comfort you with reassuring words and letting you take her in the locker room after the game, which seemed to intensify with every fiery word you spoke.

Her head rested in one of her hands, and just as you finished speaking you turned to her, catching her lingering gaze on your lips. This out of all things made you crack a smile. “Paige,” you snapped her out of her short daze, her eyes averting back to yours.

“Yeah?” she mumbled, sitting up straighter now as she reached her hands behind her head to adjust her ponytail.

Your eyes followed her without your head moving for a moment, your smile only growing bigger as you realized why she was staring at you that way. “What?” she questioned, her smile being heard through it, faking her oblivion as she looked at you.

“You’re so fucking horny, bro.” you shook your head, smiling bright at her as she threw her head back, laughing, but she didn’t disagree. What you didn’t know, was that your interaction was caught on camera being televised—and of course screen recorded.

user1. lip readers get on this 😭

user2. Paige is down bad CONFIRMED

user3. The way she’s looking at her omg I physically can’t

user4. PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS!?!?

user5. are they dating?

user6. No

user7. I hope so

user8. nooo way this is real LMFAOOO

user9. her eyes shifting between her lips and eyes ohhh she’s so down bad

user10. FRIENDS DON’T LOOK AT FRIENDS THAT WAY!?!?

user11. wouldn’t be surprised if they’re fucking

user12. these comments are crazy as hell 😭

#paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #lgbtq #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Stalking, blood, non con—he goes down on you without you knowing, fem reader, perverted and lewd behavior, again he’s weird and so delusional, mentions of violence against women.

*Happy Pride month!!! 🫶🏻This fic is influenced by You—specifically season one. I’m trying to give him a joe goldberg vibe. This is also part two, and check out part one! Your stalker doesn't have a name, and this fic is in his point of view. This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: Your stalker decides to celebrate one year of staking you by giving you a little visit.

What’s more dangerous than a lustful and starved man?

You wanna know what’s great about New York? That every apartment seemed to have a fire escape. Yours is tastefully decorated with a rug, and a small chair that has a plaid blanket draped over it. What's also so great about it is that it gives me access to you. You live on the fifth floor of this red-bricked building. It’s somewhat old but has a nice rustic charm. You seem to have an eye for knackered and worn-down things, as I’ve seen you pick up a used vanity and refurbished it. Inside, there’s a lobby with a doorman that is barely awake half of the time, he picks up a huge breakfast and clocks out after having a food coma. He's old, flabby, and not nearly ready to protect you like I am.

I seriously doubt he could jump over his desk and grab the throat of any danger coming your way. It's quite concerning, you know? You often sleep with your window open, and with the current rise in crime...you could get stabbed, kidnapped, bound and tied, and thrown into the back of a truck in a matter of seconds. Trust me, I have seen it happen before.

Don't get me wrong, it's understandable. It’s a hot spring day, and even if the moon gave the city a bit of a break from the sweltering heat, the lingering humidity continued to have a tight grip on everyone. Every crow resides in the trees for shade, every stray cat hiding in the alleyways, and even the rats seem content with steaming away in the sewers. The pavements are hot, the wind is hot, and you can see and smell the stench of people's BO in the air. I mean, c'mon... have they heard of deodorant?

June is just a month that comes before my favorite season.

Summer, and in other words: “An excuse to wear more revealing clothing.” There’s something amazing and titillating seeing you in tiny, tight tank tops, walking around in flip flops with freshly painted nails, and your hair up so I can see a bit of your neck.

And today marks one year since I first saw you. I know how you drink tea since coffee makes your head hurt, how you dance around your apartment after having a good day, and how you always leave your apartment at 12 p.m. for lunch.

I memorized the exact time you close your curtains for bed, just before I catch that perfect glimpse of you in your robe after a hot and steamy shower. I want to be your bath mat so badly. Step on my ribcage for all I care, and let droplets of water from your body fall onto my face. Let me see up your towel and gaze into what I consider to be the gates of heaven itself. Let me lift my head up so I can suck the remaining bathwater on you. Let me get all of my questions and prayers answered, and let me see all of you.

I have reached the top of the steps, my hand gripping onto the window to push it up higher, and I duck down to crawl into your bedroom. The floors seem to creak with every step I take, yet you haven't woken up. A heavy sleeper, are we?

My eyes adjust to the lack of lights. My pupils expand as I drink in your nude form. You look so serene with your soft snoring, your arms splattered, and my gaze traveled over the peaks of your tits rising and falling with your breathing. Your blanket was just thrown to the side, clearly disregarded with a bit of anger, and I could see the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

Your legs were already sprawled wide open-- a reward for my tremendous bravery. I lick my lips. I notice a white string sticking out from your underwear, and I reach out to gently tug on it. It looks stuck, and I wrap the string around my finger and give it an extra hard pull.

What could that be? I know you’re on your period, and I still have your pad that I grabbed from the trashcan earlier. I sort of understand what a period is, and all I really know is that the sight of your blood causes my head to spin. I pushed your panties to the side, and my curiosity piqued as I slowly removed the feminine product out of you.

I inspect the hygiene product I haven't really seen before. It looks different from a pad, and in my opinion it looks like a sperm— well the shape anyways. I put the tampon in my mouth, gently suckling it as if I were an infant. You taste salty, copper-like, and your plasma is warm. It's almost soothing. I then let the tampon fall out of my mouth. I tug on your underwear, pull it down from your legs, and stuff it into my pocket.

I rub my hands on your thighs, and I can feel the slight stubble on your legs. My fingers graze over your sex, and it follows the outline of your pussy. I put your legs on my shoulders, my head then leaning down so my tongue can lick stripes on your slit. The tip of my tongue touches the wet curls of your hair, and a frisson of pleasure runs down my spine. Your cunt is an eesome sight, the hair dampened by my saliva, and it covered your core like it was protecting the most precious jewel. And in a sense it was. I become more brazen, a single finger pushing inside you, and my jaw dropped at the sight of you sucking my finger in. You welcomed it so nicely, and there was a nice pressure of tightness.

I curl the single digit, intently staring at your face for any reactions towards my fingering. I use my thumb to circle your clit. I have read that some women can't come based on penetration alone. Hopefully, my tongue and fingers can help bring you to the brink of an orgasm.

I also hope that you never wake up. How else am I supposed to memorize your body? Would you even think that I am worthy of you? Or would you run away just by seeing my face alone? Would you think I'm crazy, or would you be flattered by the way I devour your cunt like it's my last meal? I hold your hips down firmly onto the bed, you're slowly squirming around and starting to gain consciousness.

It's like I'm drowning in a never-ending pool of crimson, and no matter how many times I swipe my tongue, it just oozes out of you so effortlessly. Your aroma is intoxicating, and it's like your body lured me--the prey-- into your little trap of ...

"Where are you going...?" I instinctively mutter as I miss the presence of your warmth against my mouth. You seem to crawl away, your limbs trying to save you from the repeated administrations of teasing.

My eyes shoot open as I realize that you're screaming. I immediately reel back, my ass landing onto the hard floor and I wince. "Shit-- I'm sorry!"

I scramble onto my feet and I try to duck every pillow you throw at me. I trip on my way out, and the wind gets knocked the fuck out of me as my bottom half got stuck in your window.

"This is literally my worst nightmare...!" I grunt as I try to wiggle my hips. I feel pain coming from my crotch, it's compressed against the window sill, and of course my dick had to be as hard as a rock.

You continue to hit whatever you see-- which means my ass. I yelp as you put your hands on my bottom, and you muster as much strength as you can to get me out of your house.

Why is this oddly arousing?

With one final shove I landed onto my face.

There's nothing dignifying about walking down the street with a clear boner and a bloody nose. I just look like a pervert that got punched after leering at someone. Wait.

No, that's not what I was doing. I'm not a pervert. I just have wandering eyes that are glued to whatever you're doing. I just happened to notice how your chest bounced around when you were running late and had to run out of the house. I happened to carry a tiny vial to collect any fluid and essences that dripped out of you after our encounter. My hand reached into my pocket, and I sighed in relief as I am comforted by the soft material of your panties and of the long plastic tube. I feel a sense of relief knowing that they didn't fall out as you kicked me out.

Am I crazy? No. Am I the only man you'll ever meet that has done this to you? Probably. I am one of a kind, after all.

Allure: Someone slap some sense into him.

#Allurilove yandere writing #Allurilove—YANDERE STALKER X YOU PART TWO #tw yandere #tw stalking #cw blood #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere writing #yandere oc x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #smut writing #smut fic #yandere male x you #obsessive love #yandere fic #yandere oc x fem reader #yandere x fem reader #yandere drabble #smutty smut smut #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc fic #delusional yandere #yandere stalking

[bekolxeram]

I'm late to the party I know, but I need to learn how to make gifs first. I actually find the Bucktommy dinner scene a bit awkward, but not because they "lack chemistry" or the "flirting is problematic". It's not supposed to be just a cute bonus scene, it's engineered to stuff as much information as possible into mere 55 seconds. Here is my read on it:

The good old always at the hospital joke, probably just Tommy trying to lighten the mood after such a hectic day for the 118, but mainly a set up for the next part.

Buck does not see the humor in it, he seems upset.

Tommy has apparently gotten to know Buck enough at the stage to immediately clock it, and under all the dark humor and sarcasm, he does actually care about Buck's feelings.

The scene of Buck and Eddie in the hospital room with Bobby ends up on the cutting room floor, we've only got that one shot of teary eyed Buck when he breaks the news to Eddie at his house, so this is the first time in the episode Buck gets to express his fear of losing Bobby, his father figure.

And here we are, controversial moment number 1. There isn't much context attached to this line, so viewers interpret it differently. I'm in the minority camp that thinks Tommy is being serious here, Lou's delivery makes it seem like Tommy says this out of concern. I believe it's a call back to this line from the medal ceremony:

Here Buck is talking about Phillip the same way Tommy and Chimney (possibly Hen too) talk about Gerrard: like he's dead. Tommy is probably wondering if Phillip is another Gerrard situation, and he invites Buck to talk about it if he wishes to.

Buck gives a humorous but one word answer, so Tommy gets that he doesn't want to get too deep into it.

From this line on, it's a set up for the Gerrard reign of terror in S8. Tommy reiterates the jealousy he mentioned in 7x04, that he wants to become a part of the 118 family, which he only had a little taste of before he left to become a pilot.

Tommy backstory crumb. Buck and Phillip at least see each other at family functions, Tommy doesn't have a relationship with his dad at all. Judging by the medal ceremony, he doesn't seem to have any family left.

It confirms Gerrard as the anti-Christ anti-Bobby. Buck becomes the person he is because of Bobby, while Tommy behaved the way he did in the 3 begin episodes because of Gerrard. It acknowledges Tommy's toxic ways back in the days, but as we can see by the time Bobby became captain of the 118, Tommy was already on friendly terms with Chimney and Hen, we might have a chance to see the transformation in between next season. I've heard that season 7 is supposed to be a soft relaunch of the entire series, so maybe Gerrard is a good plot device to make new viewers understand the positive influence Bobby has on the firefam.

Classic deadpan humor from Tommy, Buck gets the message that he wants to keep the conversation lighthearted.

Now Buck has the power to decide which direction he's leading the conversation into, and he gives us controversial moment number 2, he brings up daddy issues and makes it horny. Look at his smirky face, he's definitely not trying to have a serious chat about father complex. He's the one who starts flirting, not Tommy, and it shows us unlike the nervous fumbling at the beginning of their relationship, Buck is now comfortable enough to initiate flirting.

Tommy can't say no to that face, so he flirts back, but it can also be interpreted as him being in denial of his obvious daddy issues. More conflict and angst for S8?

More flirting. Boy's got rizz towards all genders. He basically admits he might have "daddy issues" in a sexual connotation.

Now comes THE controversial moment of the scene, if not the episode. I've seen people online bashing Tommy for "making it sexual" (Buck did), "interrupting a meaningful conversation to satisfy his daddy kink" (no one is actually talking about any kink), or even "exploiting Buck's trauma to put him in an inferior role in a dom/sub relationship" (What? That's not what d/s is about).

I raise you the point that the word "daddy" is no longer some kind of kink exclusive lingo. This word has entered the popular zeitgeist the last couple years, and now it basically just means a sexy older man. I bet the daddy kink thing doesn't even cross the mind of most of the GA, they just take it as Tommy hoping Buck find this older man sexy. I think we might have collectively read too many smutty fanfics, that's why we all immediately jumped to the very extreme of the kinkiness spectrum when it comes to this scene.

Conclusion, the dialog in this scene may not sound natural, but that's not the point. This scene is in fact, an infodump. Kudos to the actors for making it cute.

#still suck at making gifs #just my own two cents #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #tevan #kinley

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you. 

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted. 

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you. 

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother. 

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar. 

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.” 

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned. 

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes. 

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned. 

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

“So…”

You went silent again. 

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with. 

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups? 

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him. 

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you. 

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean. 

“Come on!” Dean urged you. 

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered. 

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked. 

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?” 

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man. 

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture. 

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed. 

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh. 

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!” 

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention. 

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up. 

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s. 

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly. 

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently. 

��Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her. 

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded. 

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it. 

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.” 

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates. 

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered. 

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow. 

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse. 

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body. 

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body. 

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it. 

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again. 

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison. 

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door. 

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case. 

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said. 

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling. 

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply. 

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

[the-other-art-blog]

Why Benophie season is the perfect way to finish the first half of the Bton stories?

Now that Benophie season is unofficially confirmed, I've come to the conclusion that this was the greatest way to end the first half of Bton. It needed to be s4.

In the ton, marriage is about status. And while all Bton marriages are love matches, they are also incredibly beneficial for their position in society. The ENTIRE family's position in society.

Anthony is a viscount, an influential one, but in the nobility hierarchy, he's second to last.

Daphne climbed up 3 steps when she married Simon and became a Duchess.

Francesca will climb one step when she marries John.

Kate didn't have a title or wealth, but a married Viscount is an improvement over a rake Viscount.

Colin is only a Mr., but I will be surprised if the Featherington baby race doesn't end with Pen having a boy who will become Baron. He's going to be the father of a Lord thanks to Penelope.

So you can see how these marriages are extremely beneficial to them and elevate the entire family. Daphne understood this when she said that her marriage would set the prospects for her sisters. Anthony also knew that his choice of viscountess would affect the family.

So, by the time Benedict meets Sophie, the family will have a viscounty + relations with a duchy, an earldom, and a barony. They just need a march to have the full set.

Enter Benedict who will fall in love with a servant AND an illegitimate daughter.

If he marries her, he risks undoing all the work his siblings have done to maintain the family in good standing.

The book doesn't address this, but I wish the show would. It would add another dimension to Benedict's reasons to not marry Sophie. He would be thinking of the family. What would happen to Eloise, Hyacinth, and Gregory? They will no longer be siblings to nobles, they will be related to an illegitimate child and servant. Who will want to marry them? Is it fair to affect their prospects when they haven't even had a chance at society? (Read The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy) Perhaps it hurts the already-married siblings too.

I'm thinking about Ben and Violet's scene. Sophie refuses to be a mistress and Ben has already decided to marry her. But there's still this issue lingering. Is it right to drag the whole family to get what he wants? Wouldn't that be the most selfish thing anyone could do? In the book, Violet says this,

Imagine if she adds, "and your siblings will support you too."

EDIT: The thing about this scene is that Benedict was ready to leave if the family didn't support him and Sophie.

This is also a great way to bring back the Sharmas' background. Mary was cast out for marrying a clerk, leaving Edwina in an unfavorable position. If the Queen hadn't named her the diamond, it would have been very difficult for her to get a good match. Not to mention that Mary's parents considered hated Kate and insulted her parents for being common people.

You can see why Benedict is afraid of the family's reaction. The Sheffields said that after Mary left, they couldn't show their faces in London for years. He wouldn't want to do that to his family. Sophie wouldn't want that either.

This is why it is so great to have Benophie come in s4. Not that a duchy and a viscount wouldn't have been enough, but this way is much more dramatic and LEGENDARY.

Despite the risks, the family will support Benedict AND Sophie. They'll support her too cause they know her and they love her even before they knew about Ben's feelings.

It's a test, not only for Benedict but for the family.

#benophie #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #kanthony #polin #franJohh #violet bridgerton #aofag

[novalizinpeace]

we reached half of the year ladies and gentleman

let make a summary of events here

First the obvious, the blackouts hadn't stopped, and at this point i stopped trying to work in the Au since half may 'cause i was getting frustrated by how much process i was losing, yeah, 'm still thinking in work on it, i practically have all 5 chapters of the ARG fully write and the full season of the critters cartoon also write, 'm not losing my work 'cause my country's electrical system is shit.

Funny enough, due all the time that had passed and me still drawing others things to calm myself from the stress, my art style had improve since then, so you all are gonna probably see a little change in some design, not big thing, just my style got more firm on some parts

Second, things on my home hadn't been great, i don't want to explain all the drama i had here like last time, so 'm going to resume it:

Basically, i had been trying to save for a new computer since the one i got (that was old and used when i got it, but better that my last one) is starting to give me a lot of problems, and i almost got my goal with all the commisions i had been doing lately (and thanks to a really amazing donation i got in ko-fi, Nadd if you're reading this your donation make me cry, i swear 'm going to do something big for you, 'm just still thinking what, your big support deserve something as big)

But then a operation my mom was supposed to get on 31th got reschendule due a problem with some tests, and now she had to retake those tests, the cost of more medicaments, more revisions...

Basically, i gave my mom almost all my saving to ensure she get her operation done this month, and now i barely have for my own monthly medicaments, even less a new computer.

So, i have some YCHs prepare for this month to get my saving back up quickly, my plan was to keep trying work in the Aus, but if i end up without computer, there's no way i get to work in anything anymore. If everything goes right 'm gonna post them tomorrow, so stay tune for it.

BTW, during all this there's special posts schendule in the other blog, back in april i actually planned all this month, since the original plan was to post the Au during may and work in commisions during june, there's some drawings schendule in there to keep the other blog moving, i didn't expected to no been able to make chapter 3 on may, but at least past me prepared something for the rainy days.

So, in resume, this month is kinda chaotic for me, more that usually is (the people that know me knows that this specific month is always hell to me), but 'm going to do my best to keep moving, thanks everybody for still support me even when i hadn't been active this whole past month, i promise 'm going to do my best to keep giving you all good times here. Now let survive this month together.

#this count as a vent? #idk how to tag this #nova is working hard

[moonshynecybin]

what would you consider essential marc and rosquez watching? i don’t mean races but the stuff happening around it, there seems to be so much and idk where to start 😭

BIG ass question. i think it depends what you want outta this and how you best interact with content slash consume information. for me (not to brag but. winner of multiple historical essay writing competitions in high school. for context on the kind of freak i am bringing to the table here.) the research is kind of the fun part ! like i just started googling shit! i would go to inactive blogs and just search 'marquez' on them to see what would happen ! a lot of the times that works ! but it also takes a lotttt of time lol so i'll chuck some good resources your way, why not...

okay im not sure how basic we're talkin here but um. background. so the documentaries are, i think. the best place to start. theyre entertaining and offer a good amalgamation of clips to provide context for the actual racing. and like i know you de-emphasized racing (which is fine lol who cares) but it really is like the most important thing in the world to these fools and its a pretty visual sport so i think its at least helpful. like yes sepang IS about the press conference, but its also about the conversation they have ON the race track using their motorcycles. which is also somewhat a conversation that they HAVE been having all year long...

i'd start with hitting the apex (2013), its a GREAT introduction to the "characters" that does a lot of legwork to contextualize everything. lays the scene for where vale is at coming into his relationship with marc (both personally, wrt to marco simoncelli, and career-wise concerning his flop at ducati), and also how insane marc's whole deal is in general. the second half is. materially a study on what him entering the premiere class did to the sport as a whole. the introductory chapter in many respects

marc marquez: all in. MY introduction and blissfully free online. marc comma in his own words, with all the implications of that. a self-produced documentary where he is giving feedback about the edit of said documentary straight to camera and no less vulnerable because of it which is very marc imo. revealing both intentionally AND unintentionally about his whole deal with injury, vale, and his image.

motogp unlimited. im gonna be real kind of boring. like i would still watch it ! but do it kind of later, once you know the major players so youre automatically more invested. it doesnt really give you more than marc says himself in all in tbh, and i get the sense him and vale were NAWWWT interested in doing more than the bare minimum for it.

marc's rookie doc. free and subtitled on the youtubes. the first half of this is deadass just him wanting to fuck vale so bad while every comment from vale has me saying GIRL. out loud because the foreshadowing would be genuinely shocking if this was fiction. anyways the laguna seca of it all....

next i would hit up PODCASTS ! i think it makes sense after the documentaries, because these are all podcasts that arent strictly about rosquez (even if they are in many ways the main characters lmao) and personally it helps to put faces to lesser known names that might pop up before i listen to a purely audio product and get lost in the soup of sounds. the paddock pass podcast has two retrospective episodes about the 2015 season that are really good at context, oxley bom pod has a fun recent episode on valentino that i love, again just poke around a lil

videos. these guys have never filmed a lot of content together tragically. what i wouldnt give for someone to make them do an escape room. anyways ranch visit HERE (post explaining the ranch visit here). sepang presscon (sowwy) here. vale unhinged podcast interview the month after marc's documentary came out here. vale retirement interview where he gets asked about marc here. vale talking about asking marc to the ranch here. vale postrace at argentina 2018 here. UCCIO postrace at argentina 2018 here. theres a lot moreeeee just go on my blog archive and filter for rosquez and vids its easier lol

journalism. hello. okay so you should genuinely spend some time reading through mat oxley's stuff he can write (theres a paywall but you can run that shit through wayback machine). he also loves an insane comparison which i do enjoy.... again this is one that can be solved by googling his name and tacking on 'marquez' or 'rossi' or a specific time period or race it will probably reap some dividends. in terms of specific ass articles this one is kind of load bearing in terms of sepang and some of the interpersonal competitive tensions at play. that being said there are manyyyyyy crazy interviews and snippents of articles from other journos floating around motogp tumblr (like literally too many to link) adn its fun to dig around to find them, but mat oxley gets a shoutout because i was reading this article TODAY !

other content. honestly one of the best resources I'VE found for plotting out the arc of their relationship is @kingofthering's everyrosquezpodium series. you can REALLY see it play out lol. also her tagging system rules she very neatly lays out years and races... so if something jumps out at you, CLICK ITTTT ! also all of @ricciardoes fave presscon moments series. insane.

all this to say a small little rpf fandom like this rewards some digging! i would just recommend following narrative threads that interest you ! its also a small fanbase that is pretty research oriented, so if youre ever confused about somethin, just shoot an ask or run a search on someone's blog (@kwisatzworld has endless vale resources and @batsplat is one of the most thorough researchers ive ever seen, for example) like for real theres so much... i also have a primer that i made forever ago that has some links on it so you can peruse that if you so wish. but frankly a lot of it is just using those research muscles and being sufficiently deranged enough to be screenshotting reddit threads at one am so you can post them to tumblr because they mentioned marc and vale in the same sentence and that lit up some of the neurons in your brain

(and i know you said outside of races but i think theyre good benchmarks as turning points soooo you should do some diggin on laguna seca 2013, jerez 2015, argentina 2015, ASSEN 2015, sepang 2015 obvi, argentina 2018, and misano 2019. those are the big tentpoles of insane rosquez relationship drama imo. i mean theres many more but. im limiting myself.)

#i also. found stuff bc i did a lot of digging around in blogs archives from 2013-2015. but this was because i was unemployed #and my migraines made reading books (my FAVORITE THINGGG) kinda hard for like 6 months #so i was acting like a border collie that hadnt been walked in two weeks but like. mentally. and we got here. #tumblr didnt hurt my head so much NOOOO idea why #motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez

[malk1ns]

Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

-

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet—Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

-

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his noise into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

-

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

#sidgeno #my writing #a/b/o

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

(Chapter 1)

Chapter 2

Jude * female reader. No warnings.

……………………………………………

A few hours later that evening, when Jobe checked his phone, he found two notifications from his brother.

Two messages sent, 15 mins apart, but both deleted shortly after. He decided to ping him to check in.

Jobe: Hey wassup?

Jude: Hey. Just about to crash.

Jobe: Anything playing on your mind? Nervous about tomorrow?

Jude smiled at his screen before answering. The answer was yes, in more ways than one.

Jude: A bit, yes. Yet, I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. It’s strange but, y’know what I mean?

Jobe: It’s warranted I guess. First Classico of your life, that too at home. Would be intense. But exciting too.

Jude: Hmm.

Jobe: Should I ask Mom to call you? She would anyway call tomorrow morning, though.

Jude: Nah let it be. Let her take care of Aunt Tracie. I know she wanted to be with me here for this but that’s important too. I am anyway gonna crash soon.

Jobe: Good luck for tomorrow. Kill it.

Jude: Thanks mate, need the luck. Talk to you soon.

He put the phone down, dimmed the lights and pulled the blanket all the way over his head. After tossing and turning for 10 mins, he checked his Whatsapp again.

No message from her. But she was online. Her DP was super cute, he thought. A sun-kissed photo on a beach in a yellowish floral dress.

Jude: Reached safely?

He went with the only segue he could think of. 45 seconds later, blue tick.

Ananya had reached just a few mins ago. One hour’s work took over two coz she just couldn’t focus. And she actually ended up getting stuck in the rain, just as he had predicted.

Just then, his name flashed on the phone. Reminding her that she hadn’t hallucinated all this. Her roommate was blasting music loudly in her room, in the weekend spirit. If only she knew what happened, she would die. Roma was an Indian American, who had never really lived in India. She was her colleague at work and as big a Madridista as her. They had hit it off instantly during the internship last year.

Ananya: Hey, yes I am home. Thanks for checking in :)

Jude: Super :)

She tapped her thumb on the phone screen, thinking whether her next question would make her look silly. But she decided to ask anyway.

Ananya: Is there some of..dress code for players box? I see a lot of people dressed in suits and formals.

Jude: No no, those are the corporate / business guys mostly. You can wear whatever you want.

Ananya: So, I can wear my jersey?

That brought a big smile to his face.

Jude: Ofcourse, dove! In fact, I would insist you do that :)

Instead of asking which jersey, rather whose jersey she was gonna wear, he tried a different tactic.

Jude: I could get the latest season’s one sent to you before the match.

Ananya: Nice try. But I have a favourite one I am planning to wear. You can guess whose it’s gonna be.

Jude: Can I change your mind?

Ananya: From now to tomorrow evening, I highly doubt it.

Jude: Is that a challenge, dove?

Ananya: Don’t you have an important match to focus on tomorrow?

He sighed.

Jude: I do. Really should have crashed by now.

Ananya: Think about how dreamy tomorrow would be. Even the ride through the training ground to the stadium would be nuts - thousands of fans on the streets. We need you well rested and charged up, and I am speaking on behalf of all fans when I say this. Close your eyes and get your beauty sleep now.

He chuckled over how quickly she switched from her own self to a fan representative.

Jude: Are you working for Carlo on the side and not telling me?

Ananya: Maybe, who knows. Good night, Jude. Sleep well. You would be amazing tomorrow.

Jude: Thank you. And Ananya?

Ananya: Yes?

Jude: I can’t wait to see you in my box tomorrow, cheering for me. Good night, dove!

With that, he finally put his phone down, snoring softly in a few mins.

But she ended up staring at her phone for a good 15 mins. The last line. Him calling her dove. Dear lord, what even was happening? This made no sense. They had nothing in common. This was not logical at all. The surrealism of it made her pinch herself a few times. She looked back at his DP - hugging his mom during his signing, both with a big smile. It was so sweet. Everything about him was so sweet. So normal. How could it be?

She shook her head and went to her roommate to break the news. Roma didn’t believe her at once but when she saw the passes, and a few messages from him as she practically snatched the phone away from Ananya, she jumped around like a 5 year old girl on a sugar high.

Ananya just laughed at her friend’s antics. She kept her anxiety on the Jude situation aside for a moment, at Roma’s insistence, and the two just celebrated getting to watch a Classico tomorrow. And, to see Zidane up close. The joy of the moment took over the nerves and they both jumped on the bed, hugging each other. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Next evening, they reached well in advance, not wanting to take any chances with traffic or queues. The players box and the attached lounge were luxurious - the girls checked out the place thoroughly, sampling the appetisers and drinks. 30 mins later, when the girls went back to their seats, Ananya found a few unread messages popping on her phone. They were from him. She held the phone close to her chest, so others don’t see the name, and clicked on the messages.

Jude: Reached?

And then, a from few mins later.

Jude: Came out for warmup. Didn’t see you in the box. Stuck somewhere?

She quickly typed the response.

Ananya: We are here. Sorry, lost track of the time while checking out the place and trying to get Zizou in a selfie frame. Not so much a selfie but us trying to get an angle with him included, while he was having his croissant far away.

Blue tick. Immediately.

Jude: Haha, he’s a nice chap. You could just ask him for a selfie.

Ananya: Considering I ran away when he looked in my direction, don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.

Jude: (laughing emoji)

She was still feeling guilty for missing the warm-up, so she decided to send him two photos. The first was the half selfie with Zidane, and the second was her in the box with her three friends, with the field as the background.

There was silence for a bit. She thought he must be getting ready to come back on the field, so she started checking her insta and added the two photos. The fan groups she were a part of would go nuts at this, she already knew.

Two minutes later, his name flashed again.

Jude: Who’s that guy in the picture with you?

Ananya looked back at the picture in question. It was her, Roma and her two work colleagues. The girls had invited them too. They were all standing next to each other, hands casually around each others’ backs as they posed with big smiles. Jude must be referring to Arjun, she figured, as he was the one right next to her.

Ananya: He’s my colleague. Well, they both are. You had sent 5 passes so Roma and I asked them. Is that a problem?

She wondered if she had overstepped the invite somehow and bit her bottom lip as she nervously saw him type.

Jude: Is he with you?

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

Ananya: I mean, I just said all three of them came with me.

Jude huffed in frustration, staring at the photo again. He could tell it was meant to be a casual photo but the guy’s hand was too comfortable on her back and too close to her waist. Something about him immediately irked Jude. He just hated his guts.

Jude: But he’s not WITH you right?

It was her turn to get annoyed now.

Ananya: Jude, seriously? Right now?

She jumped when the phone rang. It was him ofcourse. Roma looked at her curiously and Ananya rushed back into the lounge to escape from prying eyes. She found a quieter corner and answered the phone.

‘Before you say anything, I have 30 seconds after which I have to rush into the tunnel. You have every right to be mad but can you pls answer my question now and I will make up for this behaviour later? I don’t wanna go to the field like this.’

The mix of earnestness and child-like hope in his tone somehow assuaged her annoyance.

‘Please?’

She sighed audibly on the line and he looked at his teammates who had already started exiting the dressing room.

‘No, he’s not WITH me like that.’

She could practically hear him smile at the other end.

‘Thank you. I knew it but just needed to hear from you. And like I said, I will make up for this. Gonna score for you, dove. And later tonight, gonna apologise when I see you.’

His teammates were calling him in the background now, everyone was in the tunnel. He got the last sentence in before he absolutely had to hang up.

‘After the match, meet me in Pavillion 2 Parking lot, Pillar 4. It’s only for the players, no media or fans would be there. It’s a private exit from the back so no one would see us together. Then we can have a quiet dinner. Come down when I ping you. Yes?’

Another long, audible sigh at the other end.

‘Ok.’

She could again hear the darned smile.

‘Won’t wish me luck?’

‘Good luck, Jude. Now go, please. The anthem has started playing.’

‘Keep your eyes on me. See you soon. Bye.’

With that, he hung up and rushed to join his team, and got some looks which he totally deserved. But that was a small price to pay.

Ananya ran back to the box, not wanting to miss the anthem. She was a fan, first and foremost, and this was a big match. Hala Madrid Y Nada Mas blared at full volume. The girls stood up and sang along, waving to the beautiful melody.

Just then, the team stepped out. Serious game faces on. Her eyes scanned the whole team, marvelling at seeing them all only for the second time. Finally, her eyes landed on Jude, who was standing at the end of the line. And Roma elbowed her in the ribs just then because guess what? He was looking up at the box.

When he spotted her, he gave a slight nod in her direction which only the two girls could decipher. But very quickly, the game face was back on. She could tell how focused he was for tonight.

It was a tough match, heavily competitive, like any Classico. Barca were marking Jude really well, given he had been the most destructive force of Madrid in the first few months. He was getting frustrated but kept at it.

The group soaked in the riveting atmosphere. And the girls fangirled over many notable people in the VIP box. Nadal was quite an animated viewer in person which they were amused to see.

But mostly, they sang along for every chant, every song that was reverberating in the stadium. And the view was just perfect, not like when she had watched from the stands last year.

She did find her eyes going to Jude many times. Gosh, he looked fit. And played marvellously. He really was a vision tonight.

And just like that, first half was over. The atmosphere was tense as Madrid was down 1-0. The coaching staff rallied the players back to the dressing room, to regroup and strategise for second half. They were definitely going to get an earful for the set piece defending. She couldn’t look away from Jude as he walked off - he looked disappointed, angry yet still determined. He walked with intent, already talking to the coaching staff on the way.

The crowd started discussing different nuances of the first half as the highlights played on the 360* screens.

She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick message.

Ananya: There is full second half to go. As they say, 90 mins at the Bernabeu is a long time.

There was a blue tick but no response. She figured he would be busy, as he should be at this time.

The second half began soon after. Both teams went at each other but Madrid was playing with more aggression now. More pressing, more tackles, more forward movement.

And 20 mins later, out of nowhere, from way outside the penalty box, Jude scored a long range screamer.

The crowd went berserk, as did the boxes. Nadal nearly stood on his chair and waved his coat. The girls hugged each other and screamed their lungs out. The whole squad and the coaching staff ran on the field and ambushed Jude.

Once they dispersed, he raised his arms to the fans, pulling out his trademark celebration. And the fans sang ‘Hey Jude’ with love.

As he was walking away, he did sneak in one look towards his box. Nothing too obvious for the cameras to catch, but she saw the slight nod again. He knew she could see him on the 360* cameras and would know it was meant for her.

Roma saw it too. And dug her nails into Ananya’s arm.

‘Girl, is this real or am I in a trance? Did he really just do that?’

‘Honestly, I am asking myself the same question.’

As it turns out, he wasn’t done scoring for the night. In the penultimate minutes, the man scored a winner from close range.

The noise in the stadium was deafening. Some fans pulled their shirts off while others cried with joy. The two girls jumped from their seats and kept jumping for a good minute.

The celebration from the team was worthy of a Classico winner. Jude and Vazquez did some mental dance and then Rudiger tackled them all to the ground. Later, Valverde jumped on Jude who caught & held him with just one arm.

‘Pretty boy is strong too, huh?’

Roma whispered in Ananya’s ear, making her flustered. She nearly wanted to retort saying if Roma was just realising that and not during the match when he outmuscled all midfielders in duels.

Before she could say anything though, he did that sign with both hands, looking towards his thighs. The crowd roared back at him.

Ananya found herself paralysed in her seat as Roma elbowed her violently.

‘Maybe he’s giving you a message’

Ananya buried her head in her hands as Roma continued to tease her endlessly. Even with her fluster, she couldn’t help notice how the arrogant confidence suited him perfectly on the pitch.

Soon after, the final whistle came and the fans roared again along with the anthem. The team took a lap around the stadium, thanking the fans for their support. As they were walking off, Jude looked up at the box and his gaze lingered for a few seconds.

He looked away just at the right time, before the cameras caught his gaze. Ananya sighed inwardly - she had been worried about this all evening but thankfully it didn’t look like anyone had caught a whiff.

The rest of the group went to the lounge to grab a bite before leaving. She stayed back in the box and took in the atmosphere some more.

When Jude managed to check his phone 10 mins later, it was buzzing with messages. He checked the ones in his family group first and pinged them that he would call soon. Their happiness and support was the biggest reason why he did what he did.

Then, he looked for another name, and giggled with joy to see an unread message.

Ananya: Congrats. That was a special performance. You guys made the fans very happy, especially you. Savour the accolades, you deserve them.

He smiled from ear to ear, re-reading the message a few times.

Ananya was in the washroom when her phone buzzed again.

Jude: Did I make YOU happy?

Ananya: Very much so :)

Jude: Am I forgiven for earlier, then?

Ananya: Mostly, but not fully.

Jude: Ooh tough crowd :)

He sneaked into the shower to quickly call her from there, as the dressing room had erupted with champagne and food fights and all kind of hip hop jazz performances.

She picked up instantly.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey, sorry for the background. The lads are losing it. I am gonna need 20 mins more to take a quick shower and meet you downstairs but given the mood outside, might become 30. But I definitely will make it down in 30. Would that be ok?’

‘Yes ofcourse. And hey, don’t cut down the celebrations. These are the moments to cherish. In fact, if you just wanna hang with the team..’

He didn’t let her finish.

‘Are you mad? I have earned, EARNED this dinner with my blood, sweat and tears. No way I am giving that up. Nu-uh.’

She giggled at his theatrics and he giggled back at her.

‘Ok. Gotta go now. The sooner I wrap up here the sooner I see you. Sending you the car number. Will ping you 5 mins in advance. The parking lot is a bit secluded but it’s meant to be that way. It’s perfectly safe so don’t worry when you walk down there. I will anyway pick you up in 30 seconds of you being there. Ok? See you soon.’

‘Cool, see you.’

‘Bye, dove.’

‘Bye, Jude.’

He hung up and rejoined the mad dances that Vini and Cama were leading, still keeping track of time.

While Ananya grabbed on to the washroom counter, looked into the mirror and stared at her own reflection.

It was really happening. In 30 mins, she was going to get into his car, go to his house, and have dinner with him alone for a few hours.

…………………………….

There you go, this was the second chapter. Tons more to come in this story, feedback / comments are very welcome. Would love to hear your thoughts 😊

#jude bellingham #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #bellingham #bellingham latest #real madrid

[nightgoodomens]

How do I love irony? Let me count the ways …

Yesterday GM couldn't be bothered to repost support for Staged on the Britbox Jumbotron, a show she co-produced and acted in.

Today GM asks followers to vote for Staged 3 for an NTA Award.

GM makes no mention that Good Omens season 2 (a much better show, sorry GM) is also nominated for an NTA.

GM makes no mention that her husband is nominated for an NTA for Doctor Who.

Yesterday, AL couldn't be bothered to repost support for Staged on the Britbox Jumbotron, a show she acted in.

Today, AL asks followers to vote for Staged 3 for an NTA Award.

AL says that if they win, there will be another photo of all 4 of them together AND

says "Do it so we can get another group picture where Georgia doesn't pretend like she doesn't enjoy our company." 8a. Pretend? 8b. AL means GM is smirking instead of smiling naturally. AL. Who cannot smile naturally for a camera to save her life, or more to the point, any potential career she might have had.

Since things were re arranged big time after Oliviers, the choices became very unsubtle and desperate because ladies have been cut off big time… GT and AL went through five stages of grief since Cali/Disneyland… From insane desperation to ugliness to snapping to asskissing to very controlled posting… I don’t have a single care in the world left for the ladies now that it became so clear who they are 😅 It is just embarrassing so I’m looking away in second hand embarrassment. They purely self serve now pretending these men aren’t the only reason anyone is interested in them and the reason why they had these jobs and why the show was popular in the first place 😂 I did note them pretending GO doesn’t exist and that DT was nominated for DW… Says it all really.

#NightGoodOmens talks PR #however I am laughing at people telling Michael to spend time with AL on Twitter #WISHING YOU SPEND TIME WITH HER #considering Michael refuses to talk about her it’s borderline demanding from fans at this stage hahahahaah #he didn’t say he wants to spend time with her #why are antis over compensating so bad #oh right because the dude acts like half of the perfect couple goals doesn’t exist #who’s parasocial here eh

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

I feel like the fandom is overlooking Adam.

I mean his power, personality and role is heavily mistaken by most of the fandom.

Power: Alastor is not stronger than Adam, yet people still try to find excuses about this.

“Alastor has a deal with Lilith that limits his powers for the angels!“ (As if they have the script of season 2 or something)

“Alastor mocked/mistook Adam that’s why he lost!” (Mmhm as if Adam didn’t send him to direct death by one shot)

“Nifty took care of him!” (Really?)

These annoy me so much. For people to think that someone who destroyed the whole Hotel with a single shot, is less powerful than Alastor.

Most are Alastor glazers anyway.

Personality/The trauma he went through: Even though maybe the show is going to take a different turn, Vivzie can’t deny this plot anymore. Lucifer ruined Adam’s life. Lucifer is not a saint. Yet, the fandom views Adam as if he is just evil for evil’s sake.

And I’m just stating the things we saw in the actual show, I’m not even talking about the trauma Lilith, and Abel and Cain situation gave him.

Role: Adam has… Too much potential to only be left as a “Jackass season 1 antagonist” Yet most of the fandom wants to see him like this.

His redemption arc would be nice to see, since we know Vivzie is planning to have 5-6 seasons this could be a good plotline.

Sorry for the little rant.

I agree. Because he's the bad guy people dismiss his.

He almost KILLED Alastor in a fight that didn't last very long. And yeah Alastor selling his soul to Lilith for power is a good theory but until the second season comes out it's just that a theory.

Adam was the first human soul into heaven so he would be the strongest one they got. Ten thousand years is a long time to get good at using your powers. And yeah he cut the hotel in half like it was a slice of cake.

Nifty took care of him....... Bitch snuck up behind him and got lucky. I guarantee that if Adam knew she was there, she'd be the one to have died.

Yeah Lucifer did ruin Adam's life and doomed humanity in one fell swoop. You can't deny that. Adam in Eden was made with Innocence and purity, I doubt very much he was an asshole back then but the book of Hell is made to make it look that way.

The trauma from everything that came after the betrayal and the apple, yeah you'd probably become a bitter person too.

There is SO much potential for Adam to come back on later seasons to get redeemed and have an actual character arc but I think it's like I've said before he was a one and done villain his purpose is done, so long see you never.

It's a waste if they don't bring him back but they likely won't.

It would make a great plot line especially if he came to care for the people at the hotel like family and saw the error in his ways.

It's okay! I had a rant of my own lol

#hazbin hotel adam #ask #rant

[ravilson23]

The Full Moon ep is finally here! Warning, this post has a ton of spoilers.

I think it may be the best episode of the second season. Though i feel like its still nowhere near as good as ep 6 and 7 of the first one. I like the starting song, the contrast is good and the emotions of characters are clear. Its also a nice set up.

I especially love how everyone interacts with each other in this episode. Moxxie and Blitz seem like friends and their talk about sex is hilarious cause of Moxxies attitude. "Fuck him good, sir " was a brilliant line only because he was the one to say it. He seems too proper for this, maybe too shy. Blitzos good mood and his cackle after teasing Mox was also good to hear. Maybe cause he wasnt offensive this time. Anyway it just brought a lot of joy since its quite some time since they had a moment like this.

Then we have Blitz and his shopping trip. I liked when he went to buy candles. I think it has really shown that for Blitz sex isnt and probably never was about intimacy. He understands mood just as "horny" and honestly its very fitting. Though its not shocking i heve never thought about it . We know he is afraid of intimacy, but i thought about it strictly as an emotional closeness. I didnt think that sex could be so... one-dimensional for him in general.

Next we have cherubs. Tbh i didnt like this part mostly cause i dont think like it changed anything. If they were killed, well that would be awesome especially since i see no reason why it didnt happen already. They had been beaten and yet the I.M.P. has just send them back. Makes no sense, they are assasins and the cherubs are their enemies. Unless cherubs cant be killed without blessed weapons then well its somewhat fine. But still nothing they did was interesting or suprising. It feels like they were there to fill half of the time so the ep wouldnt be too short. Unless its more of a set up. But if so it still was somewhat weak. Maybe as i was so interested in Stolitz i just didnt have enough patience to care about cherubs. The fight was fun though, as was their reaction to Blitzos shopping. I am glad the I.M.P. got a chance to shine too. Especially Moxxie and his bitch line.

So now one last thing left. The ending. Obviously the best part. I loved how confused was Blitz and honestly i think his anger was understandable. After all he had no idea how Stolas felt and how he planned to end their arrangment. Blitz was both vulnerable and safe thanks to their deal, he was in a position of a "plaything" but also didnt have to be emotionally invested. He clearly hates himself, is insecure and generally cant imagine someone truly wanting him. So its not suprising that he reacted the way he did. In a way Stolas once again was the one to decide everything. He started the deal and then ended it. Without talking with Blitz. And to be clear, i dont think its fair to really blame Stolas. He tried his best. But well, they both lack the understanding. Stolas isnt aware that Blitz didnt believe in his love because of his own self-hatred. He now believes that Blitz simply hates Stolas. And Blitz really didnt have time to comprehend anything that happened so he acted harshly and in the end didnt even get the chance to apologise. I would like to also say sth about music in this scene. The fact that it was very emotional right from the beginnig even when Blitz was still in horny mood, it just selled it. It felt like real life when sth is wrong, but u notice it a little too late and then u just kind of crumble, get down from your high way too quickly and get a whiplash. It made it painfull to watch. I didnt cry though i heard many people did.

Anyway i am rather excited to see what will happen next and i really hope the episodes will hold some standard. Cause boy, the second season failed me a little to often.

Thanks for reading, hope u found sth interesting and sorry for any grammar mistakes and such.

#helluva boss #english is not my native language #helluva disscussion #disscussion #helluva boss stolas #helluva theory #helluva boss theory #helluva boss blitz #helluva spoilers #helluva critical #stolas goetia #cherub #moxxie #blitzo #stolas x blitz #stolitz #full moon #blitzø #helluva boss criticism #helluva blitzo #helluva stolas

[blazinghotfoggynights]

If I am basing whether I think Buddie will happen on season 7 alone, I am going to have to say no. I think a lot of the last minutes rewrites were done to accomplish quite the opposite.

My take so far:

Tim seems to be in love with the Tommy Kinard character. Maybe he was originally intended to be a plot device, but it is obvious with the rewrites and forced in scenes that Tim Minear is really invested in Tommy and wants Lou on 911 much more. I believe that season 8 will be used to cement Tommy's place as a regular and even push him to the forefront, ahead of long-time recurring characters like Karen and Ravi. I think he will even get more time than Hen and Chim. I think the only way we don't get a big push for Lou to return and be the next breakout star on the show is if the main cast members all push against it. (Tim seems to be obsessed with the characters who made the 118 a racist, misogynist hellhole. 😒Ijs. Gerrard is back when anyone with RL corporate experience knows someone like him would be blacklisted by any organization that doesn't want to be sued into oblivion. I am sure DeLuca will make an appearance as well. I will probably write a meta about that entire situation.)

From 7 x 4 onward, in interviews and in the show itself, Eddie's heterosexuality has been stressed repeatedly. Buck finding his person has been heavily hinted at. Buck is chasing Tommy shamelessly. Tommy's problematic behavior is being ignored and justified by the writer himself. It is spun as positive, which fans are eating up. This is the setup to separate Buck and Eddie for good and start building up 911 to be the BuckandTommy show.

The absolutely loony arc of Eddie chasing his dead wife's doppelganger served it's purpose. It cemented Eddie's obsession with women. It placed a focus on Eddie's obsession with being with a woman, needing a woman, and being driven by a woman.

Christopher moving back to Texas is possibly the foundation for a Ryan Guzman exit. Christopher probably becomes comfortable in Texas and Eddie, the way he loves his son, will make the decision to go where he is. Maybe Ryan goes to Lone Star. Maybe he doesn't. But it will seal the coffin on Buddie for good, force all fans to accept BuckTommy, open the door the the new power couple, and set up Tim's boost of Tommy's character and Lou's more prominent place in the cast. I can actually see if 911 gets a season 9 and beyond, Lou being pushed to the front. With Ryan gone, and as Buck's partner, Lou could easily jump over every other member of the cast to become the second main focus. I think Buck will remain the primary focus in the foreseeable future,because he is a fan favorite. However, if the Lou fandom continues surging, even Oliver could find himself playing second fiddle.

I think Oliver is completely comfortable with portraying a queer character. But is Ryan? Just because someone did something in the past doesn't mean they are willing to do it now. I think there is a lot going on behind the scenes that is never going to be revealed while the show is still on. Maybe a few years after, someone will spill the tea, but not now. I know which members of the cast I am betting on speaking out first, post show.

Why is no one in that cast, other than Lou, bringing up Tommy or his relationship with Buck? Even the other half of that relationship talks about his coming out and realization arc, his growth, and being in a relationship, but he doesn't give the relationship itself the time of day. Buck and Eddie's dynamic was still being referenced a lot even when Buck is in a whole ass relationship with another guy. That's interesting.

I know the BTS clips are short and fun, but can someone provide one where Lou isn't obviously being ignored and if he is a part of it, it isn't awkward and forced?

#911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 buddie #eddie diaz #buddie #evan buckley #buddie 911 #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz