#but you never know! I’d write a book for you if you wanted one
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I actually kinda like the accidental pregnancy trope idk just two characters learning to coparent and then eventually falling in love is kinda cute 🥹 I’d love to see what you write for gojo I feel like he’d be scared but end being such an amazing dad
gojo x reader | accidental pregnancy trope [drabble]
little miracle. a gojo x reader story
a/n. ok anon i basically started answering this ask very minimally but i couldn't stop myself from writing and it basically became an entire story so enjoy i guess?? LOL my bad <3
warnings/tags. domestic fluff, angst, mentions of sick parent, mentions of death, pregnancy symptoms. there is happy ending!!
word count. 2.2k
gojo and you are in your mid twenties but you're both just barely getting by, you're a new writer living in a tiny apartment in a big city and gojo is the cute waiter at your favorite diner who's just saving up some money because he wants to go back to school and you're both kindaaa crushing on each other, flirting w one another. the restaurant gojo works at ends up starting meal delivery option, and you order some pizza to your apartment just so that you can see him on a weekday and he's soooo super cheeky with it leaning in the doorframe entryway of your apartment with the pizza in his hand like "it says here someone ordered a hot guy in some super sexy black jeans, well he's here now" and you're like "you're such a fuckin idiot" and you abandon said pizza to fuck him on your facebook marketplace couch.
fast forward the next day n you wake up, but he's not there anymore. he left you a little note that says he's going away for a month since his mom is sick and he needs to be w her. you're confused by the note, and you wish he left his phone number because you realize you have no way of contacting him. but that's ok, he'll be back soon, right?
in the couple weeks following the night you both hooked up, you're feeling like shit in the mornings, nauseous, you realize you've missed your period but you shrug it off because it was never really normal anyways. but one morning you throw up, confused as hell, wondering if you got food poisoning. but as you swing your legs back and forth in your paper gown, sitting high up on your primary care doctor's examination room bed, they tell you that you're pregnant and you act like you've never even heard the word before.
there's no doubt gojo is the father, you haven't slept w anyone except him in months. and a baby was just...you can barely afford to pay your bills, you're already living paycheck to paycheck since your book isn't even out yet and you're just surviving w the advance from your old job. what the hell were you going to do? and you can't even tell him that you're pregnant, because he's god knows where, stranding you with no phone number to contact him and you feel so left behind and alone.
the first person he comes to see when he gets back into the city is you. he looks tired, probably from his travels, or possibly from what he saw back home w his mom laying sick in bed. but he's still so happy to see you, and he kisses you and tells you he missed you and you stop him to tell him that you need to talk. for him, there was life before you told him you were pregnant, and then there was life after. and now he was living in the after. standing still in the tiny living room of your apartment when you tell him he's the father, and the words that leave your mouth afterwards are drowned out in his head because he can only focus on that one thought at once.
father. he's going to be a father? whatever heaviness he finds in his chest from the word is replaced with adoration when he looks at you.
keeping it, was what you had told him next.
it was tough at first, because of the morning sickness and the hormones and the yelling at him for not bringing you the kfc you craved so badly a minute before he did, and then the crying that follows suit when you realize you're being mean to him. but he does everything you want, everything he knows how, because he doesn't know how to be a dad, and he figures the least he can do right now is know what to do for you. and the thought scares him, to death every day. as he's driving you to your doctor's appointments, he's praying under his breath that you and baby are ok and healthy. while he's waiting tables at work, he puts on his best smile for an extra tip because it's extra money for the baby, because she isn't even here yet and he already wants to give her everything she's ever wanted.
yes, she. a baby girl. you were having a baby girl. you cried when your ob/gyn slipped and told you the gender, because you asked for it to be kept secret, but what hurt even more was that you told gojo he didn't need to come to this appointment. just a routine little check up, not a big deal. i'll just have my friend drop me off, you said. little did you know it was the one where you would find out you two were having a little girl.
oh, gojo knows nothing about girls. would it be different from raising a boy? can he play wrestle w her when she's a little older, or would he have to be gentle with her? would he learn how to make flower crowns for her with daisies from the field just to see a smile on her tiny face? how will he ever be able to deny her anything, especially if she looks just like you?
the second trimester, you two felt like a young married couple, and for once it felt like things were bright. like you two knew what you were doing. like it wasn't a mistake, but a blessing. you wanted him, desired him, and he'd never desired anything more than he desired you. it took you a while to come around to having sex again, it felt wrong, because that was what got you two into this mess in the first place. but those feelings melted away when you two moved into his little ranch together on the outskirts of town and you knew what it felt like to be hugged by him in the mornings, his sleepy voice drawling in your ear about how much more beautiful you look with every passing day. in those moments, all the regret melts away.
it all comes crashing down in third trimester. you're angry, he's tired, you're sad, he swears he's trying his best but he just can't seem to understand what you need from him. you say you wished this never happened, he says he didn't ask for any of this, and you're sobbing on the kitchen floor with your head in your hands because it all just feels like some cruel twisted joke. like a dream you should be waking up from any second from now. he sits down on the cold tile beside you, solemn in the face. he already looks so much older than the bright eyed boy he used to be, twirling a pizza box around on his finger in the doorframe of your apartment. his cheeks have sunk in, and he looks older. his hand reaches out to hold yours, and he kisses the back of it, and he says he'll never leave. not like how he left all those months ago, with nothing but a note. no matter what it comes to, one thing he can always promise you, is that he'll never leave like that ever again.
when your baby girl was born, nothing else mattered. it's like all the turmoil you faced in the past eight months was not even worth paying a moment's care towards when you cradle her in your arms. gojo had been fighting back tears the entire time, mostly provoked by how difficult childbirth had been for you as he watched feeling helpless, but the moment he held his little girl in his arms, he couldn't fight back the tears anymore. and he cried, and he cried, and he cried. few fathers could treasure their daughters as much as gojo did, and he knows it's a promise every parent makes to their child, but he vowed he'll never let anything hurt her. never let anyone upset her. for as long as he lives, he'll keep all the cruelty away from her, and keep her safe forever. you both named her yuki, for snow drifting outside of the hospital window when she opens her eyes for the first time.
you two make the tough decision that it's best for gojo to go back to school like he originally planned while you take care of the baby at home. it's hard having him away, and it's torture for him too, since he seems to breathe and live just to make yuki giggle and smile. but it's what made fiscal sense, since you knew what it was like to grow up in a household with little money to feed or fend, and the two of you wanted more than that for your daughter.
gojo's mother succumbed to the very illness that had been haunting her since he visited her for a month over a year ago, and he cried to sleep when he realized she only got to hold her granddaughter once before she passed away. and for the first time in his life, gojo learned what it really meant to be a parent, and it was only found in losing his own. there was no time to grieve in the capacity that he wanted to, because he needed to be there for you and his little girl. a year ago, he would've been broken, beaten, and bruised, but now he bleeds only in his dreams, then buries and braves the seasons for the sake of you two. as he slips his shoes off at the front door after a long day, then walks into the dark of the house, turning the corner into your shared room, he sees you humming peacefully while rocking his daughter to sleep. and he realizes his entire world is sitting in that chair.
gojo graduates from his two year engineering program, and lands a job in the city. the same city you left to go live with him when you were pregnant. it was tough to come back to the same city you fled, because all you remember of it now is morning sickness and fear of your career and falling in love with a boy that had a boyish charming smile you knew would ruin you one day. and now he's taken you back, moving the little family you've made together into a house. a house! he bought you a house. it was a little one, with no more than two bedrooms, but there was enough room in your hearts to raise your daughter with love, and that was all she'd ever need. she can walk now, mumble words. she said dada first, and gojo never stops teasing you about it. and when she finally says mama, you felt like your whole heart would burst.
he proposes to you on the waterline of the city's park, at the top of golden hour while the wind is subtle and tame but still ruffles the fabric of your dress. waiter boy, on one knee in front of you, years of waiting tables but he cannot even bare to wait one more second to hear your answer to the most important question he'll ever ask anyone in his entire life.
and you say yes. and he promises he'll love you for the rest of his life.
the wedding is small, because you two decided not to invite all of the family that had become estranged ever since you told them that you were pregnant with a man's child who you weren't even so much as dating. his family became yours after that, with his aunts and uncles congratulating you and yuki's cousins playing with her before she was to skip down the aisle as flower girl. it was sad to see your side of the church so empty, but you could never truly feel empty in this world anymore. not with what all that you've gained in the process.
there is fear in love, and in life. there was fear in gojo's heart when he learned he was going to be a father when he barely even knew right from wrong. there was fear in learning you were going to be a mother when you knew you cannot protect your child from the same hurt that has haunted you for a lifetime. but there was joy too. joy in seeing your baby bump for the first time, joy in holding your daughter in your arms for the first time, joy in seeing a sparkling stone in a tiny box presented to you on a sunday by the boy who still made your heart skip a beat just by looking at him, and there was so much joy in marrying him too.
but you find the real joy comes in the moments that you expect nothing from at all, but they happily surprise you with the feeling nonetheless. like now, as you sit on a picnic blanket at the park and you watch your husband running across fluttering grass in the wind, chasing after your daughter whose giggles and shrieks fill the summer air. he catches her, throwing her up into the air before spinning her around in his arms, and you tuck your hair behind your ear as you watch it happen. you expected nothing from anything life had given you in the past four years, and yet it gave you all the joy in the world. where you could've expected sorrow and sadness, it gave you something beautiful instead. you never would've thought that the boy you locked eyes with through a shy flutter of your lashes underneath warm restaurant lighting, the one that winked at you with no shame despite you being surrounded by all of your friends, you never could've imagined he'd be who he is to you today. but for certain, now, you believe in it. you believe in little miracles.
.
.
.
[the end]
a/n. what the flying fuck. i'm gonna go cry now lmfao.
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader angst#gojo smut#jjk gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#accidental pregnancy#gojo satoru fanfiction#gojo x you#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#humor#drabble#jujutsu kaisen drabble#jjk drabble#gojo x reader drabble
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Hi child :]
What about arle cooking for reader?
I think she can’t cook it’s hilarious but I’d love to see what you come up with if you decide to write it<3
Onions Are Her Weakness
(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)
A/N - Hi momma!!! I've been looking forward to this one, but I do my requests based on chronological order. Finally got to this one! Was waiting to write some crack :D Reader is gonna be gender neutral. I was so excited about writing about how arle can't cook, i forgot about the prompt and decided to have reader teach arle how to cook. hopefully this is okay
Content warnings / info - author attempts to be funny, author pretends that they know how to cook
Despite Arlecchino's best efforts, it had come to her beloved's attention that Arlecchino did not have much cooking experience. Like the loving partner that you are, you aim to correct that. After all, cooking is an essential life-skill that even children need to learn. How Arlecchino has yet to learn, you're not certain, but you suppose better now then never for Arlecchino.
For your sanity, maybe never was better.
Your husband is, archons bless her, talented in a number of fields. But archon, you will never allow her to set foot in the kitchen again.
It was clear that Arlecchino didn't just not have cooking experience, but she didn't have any experience, period. Neither did she have any cooking intuition, or the bare necessity, common sense. With how abysmal her skills are, you no longer find her fondness of raw meat all that surprising.
For the day, you banned the kitchen from the rest of the House of the Hearth; it was reserved for you and Arlecchino only.
You first started off with Fontainian Onion Soup. Easy enough, you naively thought.
“Okay, Arlecchino. First step is to ‘peel and thinly slice onions from–” You begin reading out, but before you can finish the instructions, a flash of black and red flies past your sight and then a crisp, wet, crunch that makes you cringe. You glance up from the book and to your utter horror, a gruesome murder scene lies in front of you on the cutting board.
You couldn't fathom what the onions did to deserve such a fate. Instead of the thinly sliced peel you're supposed to see suggested by the book, there is the sick, disgusting scene of the maimed remains of the once fresh onions. It’s like the onions are crying for death after that assault. Arlecchino stands besides you, unaware of the atrocity she commited on your counter. The knife next to you remains untouched.
“Arlecchino,” you say, as composed as one can be, though you already feel like you're about to cry–and it's not because of the onions. “You're supposed to use the knife to cut.”
Arlecchino looks at her claws for a beat of silence. “Thank you for the clarification, my love.”
She awkwardly picks up the knife, as if never having picked up a cooking tool before. Her entire fists grips around the handle, as if she continues to torture the already tormented onions. You set aside the mangled onions, and place the unharmed ones in front of her.
“Don't hold it like you're going to stab them,” you sigh, correcting her finger placement so that she was properly holding the knife. The poor onions had enough, you think to yourself. Your husband seems confused, but adjusts to the new position.
You raise the book to her eye level, pointing at the picture. “Okay, it's supposed to look like this. Cut it like that, yeah?”
Arlecchino nods, and attempts her best. Though not proportional, at least the cuts were straight. Improvement, right? The process is slow, her fingers keep returning to a stabbing position before you correct her again, reminding her that the onions do not feel pain.
Finally, she has sliced the last one, as terrible looking as all the others, but you give her some slack. You glance up at her expression, wanting to see how she felt now that she had completed the first step of the recipe.
Her face is wet. More specifically. She's crying.
“Arlecchino. You're crying.”
Arlecchino hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “No, I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Crying is a display of weakness.”
“So onions are your weakness?”
You don't stop cackling for a good while, imagining how the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, being defeated by cut onions. Maybe the next time Arlecchino decides to have a duel with her children, you'll inform them to bring some onions and chuck them at her.
“You speak of this to no one.”
Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet would benefit from this information. No, even better, this can act as blackmail. Oh, you need to engrain this into your mind. “Of course.”
You decide that you can't trust her enough to mince the garlic cloves.
The next step was caramelizing the onions in the pan.
“Arlecchino.”
“Yes?”
“What is the color of caramel?”
“It is brown, why do you ask?”
“Look at your onions, and tell me what color they are.”
Arlecchino looks down at the pan in her hand. She frowns. “They appear black.”
“And why is that?”
“Perhaps they are cursed like I am.”
“Arlecchino, no–”
You drag Arlecchino to the nearest market for more onions as a punishment for wasting your hard-earned money. Once you've returned, you impel her to cut and cook the onions again.
“Stir occasionally, okay? Don’t forget the oil and butter.”
This time, the onions aren’t turned to ashes, and you think, maybe Arlecchino isn't so hopeless. The next few steps are just adding the rest of the ingredients for the soup, and you make sure that even she can't mess that up. Wine, then the stock and herbs, and you get something that vaguely reminds you of puke.
Next comes the Fontainian bread. Nice crispy, cheesy bread is great with soap. This is the last step. Baking is easy. Just put things in the oven, and it'll be done.
“Take a pinch of the cheese and sprinkle it on the bread–no, Arlecchiono, that is not a pinch, that is a handful and a half. Put that back.”
“But you like cheese.”
“I like my bread with cheese, not cheese with bread.”
“They are the same thing.”
“No, one is bread with cheese, and one is a mountain of cheese suffocating the bread as if it was demanding its money back. I like being able to taste bread.”
Arlecchino pauses, likely confused by your comparison. “But you like cheese,” she repeats again, so sweet and so, oh confused. Archons, she's pouting.
“Arlecchino. I don't need this much cheese,” you quietly confess. “Put it back.”
“But–”
“Arlecchino, I love you, and I will always ask you to get me a fistful of shredded cheese when I want to. But it is not now. Put it back.”
Sometimes, you wonder how this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman of your husband was a Snezynayan diplomat. This is one of those times.
“Why do we have to wait for this long, when I can just use my vision?”
“Because you will burn them, now can you please set down the tray so we don't char our bread. The bakeries are already closed, and burnt bread does not taste good.”
Arlecchino sighs and places down the cheesy breads, sparing them from their painful fate.
“I'm sure charred bread tastes acceptable. Charred meat has excellent flavor.”
That explains so many things and it makes you want to cry.
After the bread is toasted, without the assistance of Arlecchino, you serve her the homemade soup and bread, the creation taking from noon to evening. Although you're starving, watching your husband’s eyes light up upon eating her creation makes all the hair pulling and teeth gritting moments worth it. In these moments, you forget that this hopeless, loving husband was anything but just that; not the Knave, not the Fourth Harbinger, just yours. You can forgive her for the slaughtered onions and the nearly burnt bread if it meant more domestic moments like these.
In the middle of her meal, however, she stops and comments something.
“This would benefit from raw beef.”
You don't have the strength in you to deny her otherwise.
#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact fic#genshin impact fanfics#genshin fics#edgeray.writes#edgeray.requests#arlecchino
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I can't believe The Silence and the Storm is over a year old! The first anniversary was May 27th (yes I missed my own fic's birthday in my defense I was traveling and forgot how time works).
I'm trying to compose my thoughts because this sure feels like a time a blog post would be fitting. However, my engrams are scrambled because...wow do I have too many feelings.
As some background, I've been a writer for a long time. And I've written 3-5 books (depends on how you count "completing" a book but it's 5 full drafts, 3 of which were heavily edited). I wanted to be a trade published writer (still do) and for a while I was feeling good about my chances! I got lucky and received some wonderful professional mentorship (and met one of my best friends during that program!). I took that guidance to query agents (a necessary step for access to most big/medium US publishers). I knew it would be hard and take time but...4 years later all I have to show are a few requests, hundreds of rejections, and one agent who asked me to rewrite my entire book only to reject me anyway (me, bitter? No not at all nooooo).
I'm a creative person and sharing my work feels like sharing a part of myself. Something that is not easy for me to do. After a while I just assumed I was missing something necessary. My work didn't resonate, but I didn't know how to fix it. I’d never reach anyone in the way I so desperately craved, and it was my fault for not being good enough. I felt broken.
During one of many major depressive episodes my spouse bought me a copy of The Infinite and the Divine. That book has changed my life. I was never much of a fanfic writer before. Either I thought the original work was too good and I didn't think I had anything to add or it was too bad so why would I bother with it when I could just go read/watch something better? 40k inspired me though. The ideas are incredible but underutilized enough that I felt like I had something to add.
So I started writing necron fic because why not? There wasn’t enough for me to read, and I needed more robot stories. Maybe I could rediscover my love of the craft, make some friends, make some robots kiss. Distract my mind from the horrors. So I posted a little OC fic and actually got some nice comments. Hey! Positive reinforcement! Hadn't had that in a while.
Emboldened, I continued in the most normal way possible. Going from a 7 chapter OC story to a giant civil war epic including every named necron character I could find with 6 (then 7...then 9) POVs. It was the type of grand space opera I've always wanted to write but never did because I didn’t think I had the skill and it's harder to sell. Luckily AO3 is free. Ain't no playing to the market there!
Now, a 40k necron civil war space opera is...niche. So I wasn't expecting much. I would have been happy with some kudos, some comments. Fan art felt like a pipe dream, but what are writers if not dreamers? The main goal was to enjoy myself. It was low pressure fun, I love the characters, what could go wrong?
Nothing, but I was wholely unprepared for things to go as right as they did. Y’all have been amazing. So many great comments and ideas exchanged, gorgeous art, fun asks, a lot of screaming (it’s fine probably don’t worry). I’ve never had such a strong outpouring of support for my work. It feels incredible. But also sometimes confusing. I’ve trained myself so well to handle rejection that I kind of forgot how to handle acceptance. Especially for something so personal. This is a weird story about undead space robots, there’s a lot of politics, sometimes the robots have sex. It’s got out there head canons, and 99% of the tyranid parts are pulled out of my ass because nobody knows how the space bugs work okay. My weirdness being embraced on this scale is one of the greatest feelings of my life. But it’s also new, and way out of my comfort zone. I’m being seen and adjusting to that.
Still, writing in this space has been one of the most consistently joyful things in my life for…well, over a year now! It’s changed how I view my art. I actually can create stories that touch people and make them feel things. I can take risks and have them pay off. I know not everyone will love this, but some people really seem to love it. That is mind blowing to me.
It’s making me reassess a lot about how I approach my art. Writing and other. I still plan to pursue publication. I want to get paid for my work, but this is making me consider alternate paths that might fit my style (and psyche) better. I don’t know what the future holds, but if you’d told me a year and a half ago that a big part of it would hinge on an AO3 gay robot skeleton space opera…I would have thought you were nuts, but also hoped you were right because that sounds rad as hell.
So in conclusion, thank you all so much for reading <3
#Personal post#very very personal post#The silence and the storm#happy one year anniversary folks#Thanks again
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so I was just Thinking some Thoughts, as one does when one cannot sleep, and i was wondering about the saddest book I’ve ever read (either The Raven King [Sakavic, not Stiefvater] or The Sunshine Court) and the book that I was told was super super sad (A Little Life) and now I have to rant.
for those of you who have read A Little Life, the book was probably advertised to you in a similar way that it was advertised to me: “this is America’s saddest book”.
and while it is true that ALL is very sad, i have some thoughts on it that I’d like to share. if you haven’t read it but you want to, this is your time to back out and avoid spoilers. also: tw for SA and abuse, and whatever else is in AFTG and ALL.
as I read ALL, I kept wondering about the amount of foreshadowing around Jude’s trauma. when I was finished, I was floored by the writing (impeccable) and the plot itself (???). i constantly felt like Jude’s trauma would vary from place to place, but it seemed like the only form of trauma that the author even considered including was that of sexual assault and abuse. and while these are topics that should totally be discussed and written about in the literature world, it seemed so unrealistic that as Jude went from state to state and place to place that his trauma would only relate to sexual assault and abuse.
and while I do realize that thousands of people across the world have suffered immense amounts of trauma from SA and abuse, when I read Jude’s past I couldn’t see his trauma as anything but exploitative and used for shock value. it also seemed like the author did surface level research on PTSD from SA. before anyone in the notes says that they thought it was accurate, I myself am a victim and it only ever felt like a Hollywood-type piece of media wherein everything is written to gain revenue. there was also very little trauma related to anything BUT sexual assault and abuse. none of it was tied together in any way (I.e., brother Luke didn’t know/wasn’t related to Dr. Traylor in any way).
one thing I truly despised was how Jude responded to all of his trauma. no im not talking about his SH. i’m talking about his half-assed thoughts of, “oh woe is me I’m the worst example of a person ever.” i say these thoughts were half-assed because it seemed like they were never really taken anywhere other than to the people around him, who responded, “no you’re not!! stop hurting yourself!! we’re trying to help you get better!!”
and Jude never got better. there were honeymoon periods, but the author always threw in something new to make his trauma resurface. he also never truly threw himself into getting better, he only ever seemed to make empty promises and then continued to wallow. and in other characters’ povs, it never seems like Jude does anything wrong EXCEPT FOR WHEN HE’S NOT ACTIVELY DOING SOMETHING TO BETTER HIMSELF. it’s only when he is not taking care of himself that others get mad at him in any way, other moments of anger are fleeting and eventually just lead to absolutely nothing.
to sum that all up: there was no moral related to trauma responses or PTSD or healing. there was no true resolution for Jude’s trauma. and the feelings that Jude seemed to have around his trauma always came back to, “I deserved it, I’m the worst person ever, I hate myself,” even when the things that he experienced were so egregious that I had to put the book down. everything was so cliche to me, to the point where I didn’t ever notice if Jude even had a personalized response to his trauma, if there was anything that wouldn’t be found in some clout-fishing TikTok about battling depression where you can practically see the person reading lines off of a poster behind the camera.
of course, take what I say with a grain of salt and don’t let my opinions of the book influence whether or not you read it and enjoy it. many people loved it and I admire the author’s use of words and her writing style, I just think her use of sensitive material for plot value was mediocre at its best.
now: The Sunshine Court.
made me cry. i have only praise for this book and so many thoughts surrounding it, but I’ll try to only talk about Jean’s trauma because that’s what my rant on ALL was about.
in TSC, Jean also experiences some very extreme trauma, and he also resorts to SH, and he also thinks that he deserved it. in my opinion, the difference between him and Jude is the authenticity.
Jean’s trauma mostly stems from his time at the nest, and I say this because his backstory has not been discussed in detail yet. but his trauma is brilliantly discussed and here’s how:
one: he is a person outside of his trauma. he makes fun of people to himself! he does the dishes and cooks!! he’s honest and brutally so!!! not much else to say on this, but I loved that every pov with Jean didn’t always talk about his trauma.
two: the two biggest triggers for him (biting and water) don’t relate!! they are two separate points of concern. biting comes from getting assaulted comes from Grayson. water comes from water boarding comes from extreme punishment comes from Riko.
three: his SH isn’t cutting himself. i realize that cutting is the most common form of SH, but there are other ways that people choose to hurt themselves that aren’t talked about at all. Jean claws at his throat, he tries to scratch the feeling of getting bitten off of his skin. he doesn’t go for the knives in the kitchen.
four: last but most certainly not least, he starts getting better!! he doesn’t just make empty promises, he actually tries to be better! and his line of recovery is. not. linear!!!!! recovery is never linear, and I thought that Nora showed that wonderfully in TSC. he goes back and forth between thinking of the Ravens and being at peace in the present, his past and present aren’t one big flashback.
overall, TSC can be summed up like this: it has a moral about healing. it doesn’t exploit trauma for shock value or revenue, it utilizes one person’s specific response to his own trauma to show how healing and recovery can happen sometimes. and the character actually tries!! he doesn’t wallow, he tries to get better!
anyway. if you made it all the way through, I appreciate you. and if you haven’t read one of these books, I strongly suggest both of them so you can form your own opinions and come to your own conclusions.
#Aftg#aftg#jean moreau#hush up ophelia#a little life#jude st francis#trauma recovery#trauma#books#sorry for the rant
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Italian Dreams Ripped At The Seams
Author Chat: The first "chapter" of whatever I'm going to name this series. I'm not entirely sure yet, haven't settled on a name. BUT I have been DYING to post and get the ball rolling. I am in nursing school and I am writing almost everyday when I get home. the ideas are within my notes app, it's just the struggle of sitting down to do it.
Featuring: DarkEra! Dazai Osamu
Summary: Silence, it's something to fear in an already unstable world. In yours, it could mean anything. Your thoughts race as you think to yourself what the silence, the lack of communication, could actually mean, especially when that silence is caused by Dazai.
word count: 3k, fem!reader, pm!reader, sfw (light cursing), reader is occasionally called "Izanami" a nickname given to her bc of her ability (I'll let you try to figure that one out, until then stay tuned), reader is described as having violet eyes bc of her father (mentioned within this chapter)
warnings: mentioned of self-harm, suicide attempt
The ceiling of the Italian Villa’s on-suite bathroom was one that could rival the Sistine Chapel ceiling, or at least, you think so. You’d never actually been or had even thought about it while living your life in Yokohama. Perhaps, now with your excruciatingly long stay in Italy, you would find yourself wandering into the building to admire another country’s history and artwork.
But that is not why you were staring at the ceiling, instead you were mulling through your thoughts of the past week or so. The shortened phone calls, now completely devoid of them, between you and… well he wasn’t exactly your boyfriend. Or was he? You two had openly expressed your feelings, you two fucked around without a care, but was he even exclusively yours?
You scrunched your nose at the thought. That wasn’t exactly the part that irked you. What bothered you was that he had abruptly stopped calling and sending his sweet letters to you six months into your “study abroad” trip that Mori had all but shoved you out for. He was always honest with you, and you with him, so what would change his perception of you now? Was he tired of you? Was he simply that bothered by your leave that distance does not, in fact, make the heart grow fonder?
You splashed more water onto your chest, resting in the warm bath, hoping it would alleviate the migraine that had accumulated while working today. Your last phone call with him wasn’t long enough. It was so short you could remember every syllable that fell from his lips.
“Mori gave him the Silver Oracle, but of course I told him I’d help him even without it.”
“Well, you’re his friend. Did he not believe you?” You brushed your hair, hoping the smell of formaldehyde had been washed away with your evening shower.
“You know he did, but I could still hear some reservations when I spoke to him. Also, you really gotta talk to him about his ‘no killing’ policy.”
You breathe out a laugh, “Look, he’s been wanting me to read those books for the longest. His mantra is his. I’m just gonna let him do him.”
Dazai sighed, knowing far too well that even if your friendship with Oda rivaled that of his, not even you could persuade him. “Oh, I also had to work with your fath- I mean, Hirotsu. I tossed him my game and he totally fucked up my win streak.”
Your eyebrow twitched at hearing the intentional mess up. “Osamu, just commit to the bit next time. Also, why would you even toss your game to him.”
Dazai chucked on the other side of the receiver, “I had work to do.”
“Oh yes, big mister executive had to go clean up my father’s mess. I see.”
You didn’t hear anything from him for a moment. You knew he was smiling, but it was a solemn one. He knew how much you wanted to be executive. You were born into the mafia, he wasn’t. While it wasn’t technically a birthright, the two of you felt like it was meant to be yours. Pushing back to the previous topic, you spoke again.
“Tell Oda that I’m looking forward to getting a letter from him. He didn’t pick up the phone the last time I called, but it sounds like he’s quite busy with whatever Mori has tasked him with.”
Dazai hummed to you in response, picking his next words carefully. Slipping into rough Italian, as if he couldn’t let anyone know, and spoke, “I’m worried about him.”
Your mouth curled into a frown, placing the brush down on the vanity. You picked your phone up, taking it off speaker, and placing it to your ear.
“How so?” you reply back, your Italian just as rough.
“He’s…” You could tell Dazai hadn’t had as much experience in the language, having only learned it to speak with you while you were in Italy. It was much more help than he could realize, as you were barely able to converse with your mentor, with your native tongue being Japanese and only knowing basic English. Dazai attempted to keep speaking, “He’s up against a skill rival to his. I just don’t foresee any outcome with this group going well.”
You hum back to him this time, unsure of what to say. You had heard through your contacts about this rival group, Mimic. Now, they had taken Ango, one of Dazai’s friends, your acquaintance. You knew dealing with any foreign group such as this always resulted in death, something you were intimately familiar with, so the thought didn’t plague you too much. Rather, the tone of Dazai’s voice and his words meant that it was Oda who could be the one at the center.
You cease speaking Italian, “I’m sure, whatever the outcome, the four of us will end up at Bar Lupin, clinking our drinks together and laughing about all of this in…” You think to yourself how much longer this sentence is, “three and a half years?”
Dazai puffs into the receiver, whining, “That’s too far from now. I’m gonna have to tell Mori I require a much-needed vacation to Italy real soon.”
You laugh, flopping down onto your down bed with satin sheets, “I would like that very much.”
The two of you fall silent, your eyes growing heavier and heavier. The silence was common toward the end of your phone calls. Sometimes, you could swear he would stay on just to hear the sound of your soft breathing. You would have, if that insomniac would ever fall asleep.
“Bella, you can go to sleep. You’ll get my letter tomorrow. Just imagine I’m reading it to you.”
“It’s not the saammme.” You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I get why Mori would send me here but fuck for four years?! I would serve the organization better if I was there!”
Dazai was silent, almost as if he didn’t want to agree or disagree with your statement.
“He said it was to hone your ability now that he couldn’t focus on you anymore, so I suppose it’s for the Mafia’s benefit more so than yours. You know where I stand regardless.”
“I know.” You voice was light, emphasizing your feelings.
“I’ll be the one that picks you up from the airport, though. I’ll even sweep you up and spin you around if it gives you something to look forward to.”
You roll over, smiling into your pillow.
“You’re definitely going to be dreaming about that now.” He laughs, possibly daydreaming about it already himself.
You chuckle, smothering your flushed face.
“Get some rest, cara mia. I’ll talk to you again in a few days.” His voice was soothing and low in tone, as if he knew his voice was lulling you to sleep.
“Talk to you soon, mon cher.” You sleepily say, waiting for him to end the call-but he doesn’t. You knew he was waiting for you to fall asleep, your eyes closing until you found yourself opening them again in the morning.
You open your eyes once more gazing upon the painted ceiling above you. It had been a week since then, placing you back into your thoughts on why he hadn’t called, written, or at least attempted to contact you in some other form. Even Oda and Mori hadn’t spoken to you. Which placed you in even more confusing thoughts. Surely, you thought to yourself, surely Mori wasn’t eliminating you from the Mafia. If that were the case, you would have already been killed and disposed of, and the mistress of the Villa, nor your mentor were acting anything out of the normal.
You gaze down, pinching the bridge of your nose. Any more thinking on this topic and surely your head would explode, which would be an invited reprieve at this particular moment. Your eyes dance down to the water, noticing your scar, which was deformed by the refracting water. One on your arm, you reached over to touch, remembering how you and Dazai had taken a knife across your arms hoping for it to be a beautiful double suicide, but alas, Mori found the two of you. He stitched up Dazai, forcing you to stitch up your own wound. You could feel a tear breech and slide down your cheek.
The great Izanami does not cry.
You grab onto the porcelain tub, pressing yourself deeper into the water, forcing your neck, then your face into the water. You open your eyes underneath the water, holding yourself there. Perhaps, if Dazai is done with you-if Oda is done with you-then maybe this is how you should go. You release some air from your lungs, allowing you to sink further under the water. You release your hands from the sides, submerging them, too.
Your lungs begin to burn, screaming for you to go up for air, but you refuse. You blink as you hear a garbled voice within the bathroom. If it is the mistress, there was nothing she could do to stop you. One touch and she would be gone. She knew the rule when it came to you. You blink again, seeing a dark outlined figure standing above the tub. You think to yourself, maybe it is him. However, if it is, he would have already pulled you up. So, it couldn’t be.
You find yourself gasping at fresh air as someone pulls you up from behind, their small hands snaking under your arms.
“Honestly, could you please not kill yourself? I’ve invested too much into you.”
You blink as your eyes burned slightly from the water falling from your lashes. A hand towel is handed to you, and you wipe your face roughly before looking behind you.
“Thank you, Elise.” Mori says sweetly to the girl. She rolls her eyes at you, annoyed that she had to soak her dress to retrieve you.
“What are you doing here?” You say in a harsh tone, irritated that he has interrupted yet another attempt.
“I can come and go as I please, since I am the one funding this education of yours.” His voice returns to the irritated, tired tone that he always uses with you. He’s taken a seat at the chair beside the tub, placing a medium navy-blue box tied in gold ribbon on the side table along with a tan file folder.
“I haven’t heard from you in a week. So, I ask again, what are you doing here?” You become irritated by his intrusion, and deviation from your original question.
You sit up within the tub, not caring for his gaze upon you. He was your technical guardian after all, and you knew his interest in young girls. However, you were unbothered by his now as you neared adulthood, his interest had wavered in you increasingly. The only thing that bound the two of you now was his ownership of you and your ability.
“I suppose you were going about your days here in the villa, wondering what the outcome was with Mimic, since I suppose he told you a bit about the issue.”
Mori was visibly irritated, testing to see how much Dazai told you via your late-night calls. The two of you knew it was very risky to converse about such delicate matters, regardless of what form they were put into. However, you longed to be home, so Dazai had frequently indulged you.
“I just know Oda was involved. That’s all.” You tone was steady, you had lied to Mori countless times before, this time was evidently no different.
He arched his eyebrow, studying your face. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s resolved anyway. We got the permit.”
He closed his eyes in thought. You in turn began to study him, curious as to why he would come to the villa just to inform you of the Port Mafia’s success.
“That can’t be the only reason you’re here.” You turn in the tub, your legs folding into your chest as you cock your head. “To what to I truly owe this intrusion, Mori?”
He slowly opened his eyes to look at you. His eyes darted between your violet ones, formulating his next words. “Sakunosuke Oda unfortunately passed during the fight against Mimic.”
Your eyes widen as you lean forward. You breathe out the only word that can formulate against your thoughts. A broken, “No,” escaping your lips.
Mori closes his eyes once more, leaning his head forward slightly, “And Dazai has disappeared. We do not know his whereabouts.”
“What?!” You spring up from the tub, water splashing about the floor and onto Elise and Mori. Elise groans, reaching for a bigger towel and tossing it to you. You wrap it around your body, attempting to create your next sentence against your pounding headache. “No, he… he would have said something. He would have contacted me. He wouldn’t…”
Your words trailed off as if they couldn’t follow your thoughts.
“Therefore, I came here because you needed to be informed of your new position. Or rather, the one you will take on once you finish here in Italy.”
You could barely hear him over your last conversation with Dazai playing out once more in your head.
"I’ll talk to you again in a few days… You’ll get my letter tomorrow.”
You hadn’t actually received the letter, which is what triggered your incessant thoughts. You had gone up to the mistress, day after day, asking if the letter had arrived, yet nothing came.
“While I am completely optimistic that Dazai will return.” Your eyes narrowed, anger seething from your gritted teeth. “I am leaving his executive position open for his return. In the meantime, you will assume a specially made executive position, and I have the documents to a club and a casino I would like for you to have control over to start with.”
He tapped to the file next to the navy-blue box.
“What’s the box for then?” Your eyes glance to the beautifully decorated box, curious to what could be contained within it.
“Dazai passed it to me a few days before he left, wanted me to send it to you. Instead, I thought it would soften the blow of the pervious news.” His hand fanned over the box in a presenting motion. “It’s been screened of course. Couldn’t have a defected member sending you something that would cause my newest executive to defect too.”
He gave a sly smile. He knew of your relationship with Dazai, but he also knew you feared a life without the Mafia more.
You sneered at him, “Why would I want that from a defected member?”
Your words were merely show, something to appease Mori since you had just been given your prize, however, it wasn’t for all your hard work of the past years. Rather, it was desperation on Mori’s part to hold you closer within his clutches.
“My, my… I didn’t expect you to be so cold when it comes to Dazai.” Mori stood chuckling but leaving the box behind anyway.
He began to walk toward the closed bathroom door, Elise opening it to escape the humid air within the room. He turned on his heel, however, before breeching back into your private room.
“I expect greatness from you, Izanami. Do not fail me.” It echoed within your head as more of an order, rather than a statement.
You emit a low growl at the name, hating to hear it from him of all Mafia members.
He smiled, pleased by your response, and closed the door behind him.
You wait for a moment, listening for the next click of the door being closed. Once you heard the faint noise of Mori’s departure, you scrambled, nearly slipping, from the tub. You grabbed the plush robe from the chair, donning it instead of the towel you had been holding up. Once you had tied the robe, you tear the gold ribbon from the box, haphazardly letting it flutter to the floor. Your hands hesitate with the lid. What if he knew he was leaving? What if…?
You sit down in the chair, placing the heavy midnight box within your lap. You take a deep breath, lifting the lid and placing it upon the file. Your fingers gingerly graze the gray tissue covering the contents, trembling. You notice a splash of darkness appearing on the gray paper. You harshly rub the remaining tears from your cheeks.
Why are you so afraid to look? To see the last thing he’s left you? Because it’s the last. There is no more Dazai. He’s dead as far as the, now, executive you are concerned, but the young girl in you? The one who’s lost the one person on this God-forsaken earth that could touch you without consequence? She was afraid.
You began to peel back the tissue paper, first noticing the maroon color peeking out within the box. Your finger grazed upon the soft material as you remove the right covering paper. Your fingers go to touch your lips, a small choking gasp escaping through them as your tears now forcefully fall from your eyes. It was a scarf he had bought because you had remarked how it complemented his eyes, yet he could never bring himself to wear it, stating it reminded him too much of Mori. You attempted to pick it up from within the box, but you discovered the additional contents that had been wrapped within. Three books, all too familiar to you shifted underneath the scarf. You could hear yourself begin to sob as you picked up the last remaining things of Oda’s clutching the items to your chest. You pressed your face into the scarf, hoping to find some comfort, smelling burnt gunpowder and a faint woody scent, reminiscent of him.
You could barely see through your tears, almost missing the final present that graced you.
In Italian, evident that he attempted way too many times to write the note, Happy Birthday, Bella. All my love. ~O <3
If I forgot to tag anything, or forgot to mention anything in the warnings, please let me know! I'm still just trying to figure all this out after using Wattpad for so long.
Thank you to everyone who reads this though! Hope you enjoy and look forward to what's to come!
#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x y/n#bsd dazai#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs#bsd x you#darkera Dazai
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I really like the idea that one of the weird lurkers of your blog (like me) just hangs around looking for inspiration to write papers about. Like I realize that's not how it probably actually went down, but 2017 to 2022 seems like a pretty reasonable lead time from reading your post to conducting the research to writing and publishing the paper.
In reference to this:
It’s amusing that the original post only got 22 notes (likes), but when I looked at it again it had 19, which I’m choosing to interpret as the authors sheepishly withdrawing their likes in order to preserve their anonymity.
I think they probably just googled the phrase “friends to lovers pathway” before using it as the title of their paper and pulled up my post, or the other alternative being that the post popped onto their timeline when they were in the early stages of manuscript prep, and it was a moment of academic serendipity. I definitely don’t think I inspired the work in any way - just the quote and title. But it’s funny to imagine being studied.
I should say that I don’t necessarily expect permission to be asked if people intend to prosper or advance their careers from my words or art. However, I do appreciate the courtesy of being told that it’s happened. So far I’ve been quoted in a published book, quoted to name an academic paper, a person is actively selling plushies and other merchandise based on a post of mine while claiming that it’s their intellectual property actually, and screenshots of my work are regularly considered hilarious enough to steal but not pay me for. (the cricket post in particular was screencapped, went viral on Twitter some years ago without reference to me, was shared around BBC journalist twitter, and hundreds of people in the media industry said things like ‘lol we should pay this person to write’ …. in the apparent ignorance of the fact that if they had asked I would probably be open to…. Being paid to write……… and all the other times my posts have broken containment to go viral on other platforms for other people, with comments about how I should be commissioned to write a book; obviously that’s a normal part of online journalism and media, and I’m not naive about it, but it’s a bit much to for these people to be enriching their platforms with screencapped content, without the OP’s knowledge let alone consent, and joking about how they should pay for it or would read a whole book about it, when they’re the only people who could actually do something about it in the nightmare media landscape.) And nobody told me about any of these examples, I always find out by trying to retrieve links to my own stuff, or by friends telling me that someone else has gone so viral with my recognisable work that it got around to them.
Anyway if you do use my stuff in your own stuff, do let me know! I’m not here to prosper, but I am here to connect, and I’m quite willing to link your paper (and write a lay summary for free), buy your book or art, make your acquaintance, promote your work, or just add it to my portfolio - because if I ever DID want to prosper from my work here, which I wouldn’t usually consider except that it is evidently peer-reviewed good-enough-for-others-to-prosper-from, all of that would be valuable and helpful for me to know.
#elodieunderglass#at gmail#I’ve always said that if I wrote a book it would be a nonfiction book called something like THE SECRET LIFE OF MOSS with a linocut cover#stacked with all the other eco-unreadables on an unwanted desk in Waterstones#next to WALKS WITH MY HAWKS and THE HIDDEN LIFE OF MOSS and BEES FROM MY HEARTHSTONE#A YEAR OF HONEY AND WALKS#THE LOST WORDS OF NATURAL WISDOM#MOSS: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY#but you never know! I’d write a book for you if you wanted one#I’m just more of a journeyman writing to assignments and prompts than someone who wants to make up plots#and I believe my CHOSEN TRAINED career SERVES SOCIETY#far better than a novel going THE BOOK OF BONKS AND BLOSES#but fuck if someone was like#the world needs a book about walking with moss that fixes their mental health somehow#I’d be like sure. not to worry. the world does need that.#I am a workhorse who does work. I will do that work.#not the twitter marketing promotion stuff but writing is work and I do it on command.#anyway this has spiralled a bit
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Reading an actual published book that is really, confidently bad gives me more confidence in my writing than just about anything actually
#before you ask; no i will not be saying the title or the author’s name#because 1) i did get this book for free (stuff your kindle day back in june) and 2) as the past sentence would imply; it is an indie author#so i don’t want to put this person on blast#HOWEVER. it still doesn’t make sense to me that this book was so bad#like i know it didn’t go through as many rounds of edits as a traditionally published book would have; and i know this author probably#doesn’t have the resources to seek professional editing. but STILL. even if it’s just you and a screen…… you’re telling me you can’t edit#better than that?? you can’t WRITE better than that????? i don’t know what to say#it read like a bad first draft. it read like something i would write drunk or sleep deprived or ill or a combination of the three#and come back to a month later and question whether i’m actually literate#the thing that really stood out to me was the run on sentences. plus the misuse of punctuation#they were using full stops where a comma should be… there were insubordinate clauses that just got abandoned#but then the next line would be a massive run on sentence and i’d be like….. my friend; when am i supposed to breathe?#if you’re not sure if it flows; read it out loud. if you’re running out of breath or tripping over your words It Does Not Flow#it just felt very very stilted; the grammar was bad; it was confusing; i kept getting the characters mixed up because they were both male#and names weren’t used often enough so i was like ‘wait… which one is this again?’#at least they didn’t go in for the epithets like ‘the blonde man’ ‘the demon’#that being said……. i can’t picture either of these characters because there was no description. they full on had sex and i couldn’t tell you#why they were attracted to each other or anything. like. i have read some real trash romance in my time and i am not ashamed to admit it#but i have Never; not in well over a decade of reading smut; had to question why two people were attracted to each other#even if i don’t agree with the reasoning. even if the attraction isn’t exactly coming off the page. i have some details#other than ‘he’s beautiful’. but HOW is he beautiful???? you never EXPLAINED#it was also probably the least passionate sex scene i’ve ever read. and that is impressive#it did bolster my confidence in my own writing lol so i have to thank it for that#i hope this author buys a grammar book and keeps at it. they had good concepts.. the execution was just so bad#and a lot of it could’ve honestly been fixed by fixing the sentence structure & invoking the five senses to set a vibe#personal
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This isn’t a question, but I want to thank you for your books and how they’ve impacted my life.
Over thirteen years ago, I read Neverwhere for the first time and it changed what kind of writer I wanted to be. I went on to read more of your books—my other two favourites were The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.
About 11 or so years ago, I asked you on Twitter if I could read Stardust on a Twitch livestream, and you responded, “Fine by me”. It was one of my best streams, and while life got in the way of me doing more, I still remember it incredibly fondly.
Ten years ago I had a baby, and while he was an infant, I read him, Fortunately, the Milk, in an attempt to read him a book. He didn’t seem interested. I decided I’d try again some other time perhaps. But I did resolve to get him to read The Graveyard Book someday.
Nine years ago, when I was a mother of a one-year-old, I posted a status on Facebook simply saying, “We do not forget.”
Two years ago, I went on holiday, and I downloaded the audio book version of The Graveyard Book from our local library. My eight-year-old son listened to it as he fell asleep, though he ended up missing some parts, and we shelved it.
Last year, he read Coraline and didn’t like it. That isn’t your fault. He read Charlotte’s Web and didn’t like that either. He just didn’t quite have the understanding for them.
This year, he read Coraline and liked it. I told him it was from the same author as The Graveyard Book. He lamented that he never finished The Graveyard Book, and I said he could always download it from the library again.
Then about a month ago, he and I went through a tough time. I was really stressed about life, he wasn’t doing so well either, and our relationship got strained. I was angry with him all the time. I needed a break from him, or I thought I did. But one day when he was at his dad’s I realised that I wouldn’t get this time back. That I needed to fix it. So I asked him if he wanted me to read to him at bedtime. Just like when he was little. And we settled on The Graveyard Book.
On nights when he got to bed on time, I’d read a chapter. It often meant stretching past bedtime, but I could never stop halfway. It had been years since I’d read it too, and I found myself remembering things I’d forgotten. I’d watch his dark eyes widen whenever things got exciting, and I loved when he would interrupt me with an important revelation. “It’s Scarlett! His friend!” he’d say. “The dog! The grey dog!” “I know what Silas is!” He would tell me that I did the voices so well, that it seemed to match each character so perfectly.
We didn’t read every night, but it was a treat when we did. One night we had an argument and he told me he hated me. That he wished I was dead. And that he wanted to be with his dad. I told him to go take a shower, and that I’d ask his dad to come get him. His dad said no, but agreed to talk to him on the phone. After the shower, my son apologised for what he said. I said okay, and told him to call his dad to chat. After their call, he asked if we would still have story time. I asked if he preferred that or to have some space. He said he wanted both, but wanted story time more than space. So I read to him. It was the chapter when Bod and Silas argued, and then apologised to each other. Halfway through that chapter, my son asked for snuggles. I said, what happened to space? And he said, “I want snuggles more than space.”
We were sad when it ended. We finished it last weekend. I cried as I read it. But it was a beautiful sadness. We’ve talked about it a bit since then, to process it. He says he would like to read more about Silas and Bod’s adventures and asked if there was fan fiction about it. I told him to look, and to write some if there wasn’t. Perhaps I’ll write some too, just for him.
Last night he was at his dad’s and I was browsing Facebook and sent him a couple of his old pictures. Then I found an old post. From exactly nine years ago. And so I sent it to him.
It brought tears to my eyes. I did not remember making that post, and I’ve forgotten a great deal over the years, but I hope I do not forget these little moments with my son. But even if I do, I have them written down here to remind me again.
And thank you. For the words you’ve written and the impact you’ve had on our lives and hearts. I hope that your life holds the same amount of joy and love that you’ve given to others with your words.
That made me so happy. Thank you. I hope you and your son keep growing together.
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hi! i just remembered a scene from friends where chandler says to monica it's ok she's high maintenance cause he likes maintaining her and i think this is soooo spencer and bombshell!reader coded. you're ok with writing this as a request? love u jadey
ty (ily)!! fem!reader
Spencer’s feet ache dully with each step he takes, but you have your hand in his, and you’re pulling him along with a smile. Your smile could cure anything, he thinks stupidly. It’s completely outside of his beliefs, goes against every book on medicine he’s ever read.
“Why are you frowning?” you ask, swinging his hand as you turn the corner together.
“I’m not.”
You step closer, arm stuck to his arm, nearly one body walking together against the summer breeze. “You’re frowning, Spence. You have a very obvious pout. It is so so cute.” You lean in to kiss him quickly, his heart turning to a pitter-patter under his ribs.
“I’m tired,” he explains, not wanting you to think his bad mood has anything to do with you.
“You’ve had a long day, that’s why. When we get back to your place I’ll give you an incredible foot massage and everything will be okay again.”
“I don’t want a foot massage. My feet don’t even hurt,” he lies.
“Don’t bother.” You untangle your fingers from his and wave him away. “I know all your tells, baby boy,” —he laughs through a wrinkled nose— “nothing gets past me.”
“Why’d you choose a dry cleaners so far from your apartment?” he asks. You could’ve picked the one beside work, which has a yellow pages worth of fantastic reviews. The one second closest to his place is new but raved about at length. This dry cleaners is nearly twenty-five blocks away.
“They do things exactly how I like it, I guess. I never have to worry about it when I give them my best clothes, and it’s kind of expensive if they were to accidentally ruin something, right?” You have expensive taste; you like things sturdy, fitted, and fashionable.
“Do you think I should get someone to do my laundry?” he asks.
“You can afford it. But maybe not. There’s nothing wrong with your own washing machine and a steamer.” You side eye him carefully. “Maybe I’m over the top.”
“You’re high maintenance,” he agrees. “Is it expensive, getting your clothes dry cleaned all the time? I could pay for that.”
“What? Why would you pay for it?”
“‘Cos we’re together?” He’s more worried than dry about it. “I’d like to pay for your manicures and your hair, too, but I didn’t think you’d let me.”
“And I won’t… s’kind of nice you want to though. Really nice, um.” You’re blinking funny. “I think that’s more of a husband thing. You really want to pay for me to get manicures?”
Spencer pays for lots of your stuff because he loves you. Good food mostly, but treats, clothes, anything he might think you’re interested in, actually. He likes to spoil you. You tend to spoil him back, if not with money then affection. “I like maintaining you.”
You curl your arm through his. “That’s a funny way to say it.”
He laughs at your obvious delight. “I like taking care of you,” he admits. “You like being high maintenance, it makes you happy, and I like making you happy.”
“Thank you very much,” you say, softer now as your hand works up his neck and you turn his face to you, the sidewalk and the streetlines melting away under your warm touch. “You make me happier than you know.”
His cheeks turn pink. He doesn’t need to see himself to confirm. It’s a high statistical probability.
“Kiss?” you ask, voice still soft.
Spencer walks you back nearer to the side of a building and out of the way, his hands at your neck and waist as he leans down just a touch to close your gap. He acts selfishly, perhaps, taking your hand from his face in order to hold yours in both of his without anything in the way of it. He kisses, he breathes you in, his head tilting more heavily to the side as the kiss lengthens, lingers. You’re like a flower in his hand, blooming slowly under the effects of a little heat.
“What if you pay for my dry cleaning,” you begin, a smile evident in your voice though Spencer keeps his eyes closed. Tracing the hill of your cheek with his fingers just a moment longer. “And I pay for yours?”
Spencer thumbs along your jaw. “I don’t want anything from you, just you.”
“Well, what if I treat us to some Indian takeout tonight?” you ask. “Would you eat that? Or am I enough to sustain you, my love?”
He could enjoy being taken care of in turn, he thinks.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 10: Treat Me Gently
Summary: You and Price take your relationship to the next level. It might be the best decision you've ever made.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral, first time sex, unprotected(ish) sex, reader has an implant, creampie, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, the author is a bit rusty writing smut.
A/N: It's finally here. It's finally arrived, the moment we've all been waiting for! Uh, yeah, it's mostly badly written smut with just a little plot thrown in there. So...I hope you enjoy!
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
Your attention is pulled from your book as the couch sinks on either side of you, two bodies joining you. You glance up from your book as an arm drapes itself across the back of the couch behind you. Your eyes flicker between Gaz and Johnny, mischievous grins on their faces.
“We heard you have a date this weekend.” Gaz says, leaning in closer.
Your face warms at his words. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a date...”
“What are you wearing?” Gaz asks.
“Do ye have anythin’ to wear?” Johnny asks.
Their questions give you pause. The most formal thing you have are jeans and, though you doubt Price would care if you showed up in sweatpants, you would like to have something nice to wear.
“Come on.” Gaz says, slapping your thigh before standing. “We’re going shopping.”
“What?” You glance between him and Johnny as they stand over you.
“Already got permission from Price.” Johnny says. “So come on.” He grabs your hands, lifting you to your feet easily. “Let’s get goin’, kitten.”
Your cheeks warm at the pet name, Johnny’s hand settling on your lower back to steer you from the rec room. You don’t have much of a choice but to follow, grabbing a couple things from your room before you leave the barracks with them to a car parked outside. It’s different from the car you and Price had taken to town last weekend. Of course, they probably all have their own vehicles, or at least a few at their disposal.
“I’m driving.” Gaz says, plucking the keys from Johnny’s hand.
“Aww, ye never let me drive!” Johnny pouts.
“Yeah, because with our luck you’ll traumatize her so badly, she’ll never want to leave again.” Gaz says, opening the driver’s side door.
You can’t help but giggle at the dejected look on Johnny’s face as you get into the back, Johnny muttering the entire way to the passenger side.
“I’m no’ that bad of a driver.” Johnny says, buckling his seatbelt.
“Yeah, but both you and Simon seem to be in agreement that the speed limit is a suggestion, not a law.” Gaz says as he turns on the car. “I’d like to make it there and back in one piece, thank you. Besides, Price would have both our heads if anything happened to our girl on our watch.”
Your cheeks warm as you meet Gaz's gaze through the rear view mirror. Your heart flutters at the look in his eyes, the dedication and protectiveness shining in them.
“I wouldnae let anything happen to ye.” Johnny says, reaching back to squeeze your knee for a moment.
You stare out the window of the car as Gaz drives towards town, half listening to the conversation in the front seat. You're beginning to recognize landmarks, buildings, areas between the base and town despite it only being your second trip. They'd be proud of you, you think. At least if something happened, you'd be able to give a landmark.
The farmlands fade into the city and soon Gaz is parking on the street in front of a shop. You take Gaz's hand as he helps you out of the car, lacing your fingers together. Soap holds the door to the shop open, letting you and Gaz walk through first.
It's a nice boutique filled with all sorts of formal wear. You wonder how they even knew about this place, or if they had done some research beforehand. Both make you feel honored that they would even go to those lengths just for you.
They are going to be your pack soon.
Packs do this sort of thing for each other. They take care of each other, spoil each other, make each other happy. It’s hard to be a good pack if one member is unhappy.
“Good afternoon.” One of the workers approaches you. “My name is Emily. Is there something I can help you find today?”
“Our omega has a date with our alpha this weekend.” Gaz says, smiling down at you. “She needs something to wear.”
The worker, Emily, smiles at you. “How exciting! Did you have anything in mind? Style, color, anything like that?”
“Probably nothing too fancy,” You say, eyeing the racks. “And, probably a dress.”
“Alright, we've got lots of options for that. Let's take a look and you can try some on.” Emily says.
Gaz keeps hold of your hand as you follow Emily through the racks, looking at some of the options. Johnny goes off on his own, perusing the racks himself.
“Is there a certain color you have in mind?” Emily asks you.
You hum in contemplation, looking at the many racks. You're not sure what color Price would like, or if he even has a favorite.
“His favorite color is blue, like a dark navy blue.” Johnny answers for you. “Though, I think he'd like you in any color.”
You can't help the way your cheeks warm a bit at Johnny's words. You realize you don't even know their favorite colors. There's still so much about them that's a mystery to you.
“What's your favorite color?” You ask, looking up at Gaz.
“I don't think I have just one.” He says, running his hand over a sequin covered dress on the rack in front of you “I like warm colors. Reds, oranges, purples.”
“Like a sunset.” You say, looking at a tag on one of the dresses, nearly choking at the price.
Gaz gently removes the tag from your hand, giving you a look as you meet his gaze. “Don't even worry about it, love.” He says quietly, leaning down to kiss your cheek.
“My favorite color is green.” Johnny says, appearing next to you suddenly.
“Let me guess, Ghost’s is black.” You say.
Johnny's mouth twitches. “Now how'd you come to guess that?”
You shrug, unable to hide your grin. “Call it intuition.”
Emily takes you to the changing rooms, the boys taking seats outside to wait for you to try on the dresses you've chosen so far. You pick a sleeveless, blue, knee-length dress first with a ruched skirt. You already don't like it, but you know the guys will want to see it regardless.
You feel nervous, strangely exposed as you step out of the dressing room and make your way to where the guys are sitting. They both straighten up as you approach, Johnny’s eyes immediately on your legs. Gaz let's out a low whistle as his eyes scan your figure, ending on your legs as well.
“What?” You ask concerned as you stare down at your own legs thinking the worst, like how you might have missed a spot shaving or something.
“Nothin’ love,” Gaz says, unable to lift his gaze from your legs. “Just never seen you in anything but long pants before.”
Your cheeks warm at his words. It's true, the climate had yet to allow for anything but long pants. Even to sleep, you found yourself too cold without long sleep pants.
“Christ, you've got gorgeous legs, kitten.” Soap says, letting his eyes trail your form. “Keepin’ those hidden from us?”
Your face feels like it's on fire as they stare at you, and quickly turn to face the large mirror across from them in an attempt to steady the butterflies in your stomach.
“What do you think?” Emily asks, stepping up next to you.
“It's a little too...churchy for a date.” You say smoothing your hands over the skirt. “Definitely need something fancier than this.”
You try on a few of the others, but none of them are right. Too short, too long, too formal, not formal enough. Johnny brings you more to try, a couple sticking out, but you're not sold on any of them.
The last dress you have yet to try on catches your eye as you pull it off the hook. It's a deep blue color, almost black. It's long sleeved and covers your front entirely, but the back is open. It's short, the skirt hem long enough to cover your ass, but you wouldn't dare bend over. It hugs your figure, accentuating the curves and lines of your body.
Your cheeks are warm as you step out of the changing room, both Gaz and Johnny going slack-jawed as they stare at you. Even Emily looks in awe as you stand in front of them.
“I think you've found the one, love.” Gaz says, his eyes trailing your form. “Give us a spin.”
You do a slow turn, not missing the way their eyes widen in the mirror when they see the back, Johnny still frozen as you turn back to face them.
“How do you feel?” Emily asks, stepping up to you.
“Good.” You say, your face still warm. “Really good.”
“Yeah,” She says, looking you over. “I think you've hit the mark with this one. Let me grab shoes and we'll put the whole look together.”
You turn to face the mirror as she steps away, your eyes meeting Gaz's as he steps up to you.
“You look fantastic, love.” He says, leaning in close over your shoulder, his breath fanning your ear. Goosebumps form on your skin as his fingers slowly trail up the line of your spine. “Price is going to want to devour you instantly as soon as he sees you in this one.”
You shiver at his words, biting your lip as his fingers splay out across your upper back. “You think so?”
There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “He won't be able to keep his hands off you. Gonna drive him insane, making him sit through dinner looking like a delicious dessert.”
You fear you might start smoking from how warm you feel, glad for Emily's reappearance. You try on the shoes she brings, opting for the shorter heels for the sake of your own dignity.
Johnny distracts you as Gaz pays for the items, spending far too much on you but neither will let you complain. It's what they're supposed to do.
They are your pack after all.
“What about lingerie?” Johnny asks, turning to look at you as you sit in the car.
Your face burns at his question. You hadn't thought about that bit.
“Gotta dress up the whole fit.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.
“Lay off her, perv.” Gaz says, smacking Johnny's chest. “He's right though, gotta make sure the whole outfit matches.”
You feel like you might implode in the backseat. You might not make it to Saturday at this rate.
You wake early on Saturday. You don't have to be up early. There's nothing going on until tonight, no need for you to rise earlier than the sun. Yet, you can't help the anticipation burning in your stomach, the nervous fluttering in your chest. Tonight you're going to sleep with Price for the first time. Tonight you'll allow him closer than you've ever allowed anyone.
You have an outfit, you have fancy underwear, even new shoes. You're not sure how you want to wear your hair. You're not sure on makeup either, though Price has seen you plenty without it and has yet to offer any complaints.
You grab your phone, laying in bed and scrolling hair tutorials until the sun comes up and you start hearing movement in the hallway. You don’t bother changing, pulling on shoes before stepping out. You are hungry, even after spending half the day in town and eating dinner out with Gaz and Johnny yesterday. You slip out the door, coming face to face with Ghost. You tilt your head back, staring up at him.
“Didn’t expect to see you.” He grumbles. “Figured you’d be busy getting ready.”
“I’ve got like ten hours until I have to be ready.” You say, blinking up at him. “It doesn’t take that long.”
He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”
You follow him out of the barracks, but you find yourself not having to speed walk quite as fast to keep up with him today.
“Are you upset?” You ask, kicking up your pace a bit so you can walk side by side with him.
“About what?” He asks.
“Price and I.” You say.
“Why would I be?” He sounds genuinely baffled that you’re asking him.
You shrug. “You’re an alpha in the pack too, and I didn’t really ask anyone but Price.”
“Price is your alpha.” He says, as if it’s the most straightforward thing in the world. He’s not wrong, Price is the only one that really matters when it comes to you, since he’s the pack alpha, and he’ll be the one claiming you.
“Would you ever want to be?” You ask, looking up at him.
He meets your gaze as he opens the door to the mess, not answering as you slip into the hall. He stands closer to you than he normally does as you get in line for food, tailing you like a shadow as you find Johnny among the drowsy and hungover soldiers in the mess.
You take a seat across from him, Ghost taking his spot next to Johnny. You can feel the nerves beginning to take hold as you eat, thinking about your date tonight. It’s not like you really have to impress Price much, though you suppose you could make him dislike you rather easily. You’d rather avoid that situation, as there’s no getting out of mating and being claimed by him. You’re going to be part of his pack whether he likes you or not.
What if he finds you boring? You’re not even sure what you could talk about. It’s not like you do much, and he already knows most everything he can about you. The only thing you have to talk about are things you’d rather not discuss during your first date. You’d prefer not to discuss them at all.
“You’ll be fine.” Johnny says as you walk back to the barracks. “Just get ‘im talking, and ye won’t need tae worry about gettin’ a word in yourself.”
Johnny’s words do make you giggle. You’re sure Price has so much more to talk about than you do. You barely know anything about him in general.
It’s ironic that you’re more nervous about dinner than you are about the fact Price is going to take your virginity tonight.
You did ask for this. It’ll be good, getting to know him before your heat starts. The idea of going through your heat with a virtual stranger is terrifying to you, and Price had so willingly offered to do this so that doesn’t happen, so you feel more comfortable with being mated and claimed by someone you at least somewhat know. This is your chance to get to know your pack alpha, your alpha before you’re forced to. This is your chance to make your own decision, to have some control over a life that’s been dictated for you this far.
You spend the morning in a nervous panic, looking up tips online, tutorials, possible questions he might ask and thinking up answers that will make you sound interesting at least. Answers that won’t just be parroting things that he already knows. Gaz brings you lunch, letting you continue to prepare for your date, knowing the chances of you having a breakdown if you’re forced around people are high right now.
You give yourself ample time to get ready, showering and moisturizing, making sure you smell clean and look nice. You do your hair, taking your time to make yourself look decent. You opt for minimal make up, wanting to make yourself seem like you at least put a little effort into your looks.
You're strapping on your shoes when the knock comes at the door. Six o'clock sharp, just as you expected. You take a deep breath, adjusting your dress before you open the door.
John is standing on the other side, dressed in a button up shirt and slacks. You look him over, the fresh scent of cologne reaching your nose. His eyes rake your form, his scent slipping through the cologne as his gaze darkens a bit. Gaz was right. He does look like he wants to devour you.
“You clean up nicely.” You say, looking him over again. His shirt hugs his muscles nicely, his pants obviously tailored to fit him. You haven't seen him in anything but fatigues and civilian clothes so far.
“Was going to say the same to you.” He says, lips pulling up into a smile. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
Your cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”
“Hungry?” He asks, offering you an arm.
“Always.” You say, taking his arm, letting him lead you towards the rec room.
The lights inside are dimmed, the table usually reserved for games set up with a tablecloth and candles, along with two plates covered with cloches, and a bottle of wine. You're not sure when he managed to procure the wine, or maybe he had it saved and decided this was as good a time as any.
“Wow.” You say, impressed by the effort he obviously put into everything.
“I bribed the boys out of here for a few hours.” He says, leading you to the table. “Wasn't easy.”
“I bet.” You say, sitting down in one of the chairs, letting him push it in for you.
He pours you both glasses of wine before taking the cloches off the plates. You blink in surprise at the meal on the plate. Spaghetti, a salad, and bread. It's so simple, yet it takes you right back to weeknight dinners at home.
“You made this?” You ask as he takes the seat across from you.
He nods. “I've amassed many skills over the years. I'm no five star chef, but I can throw things together in a pinch.”
“Well it looks good.” You say, picking up your fork.
It tastes good too. It's so simple, yet it's one of the best things you've eaten in the last month. You miss a lot of things about America, and the food is starting to be one of those.
You and John make small talk as you eat, the wine warming your body and easing your nerves.
“How long has it been,” You ask him as you clear your plate. “Since you were with an omega last?”
“Two years.” He says, taking a sip of wine.
Your eyes widen in surprise. You know they've been with omegas in the past, taking advantage of barrack bunnies and the swaths of willing omegas you know populate near military bases. You just hadn't thought it would be that far back in the past.
“Right around the time the task force was created.” He continues. “We were too busy bonding and working on the task force, by the time we had a moment long enough for anything like that, we didn't need them anymore.”
“That must have been torture.” You say, staring at him wide eyed.
“We're trained for that sort of thing.” He says with a smile. “How to fight off those urges, those needs. When you're in the field, something like that could get you killed. You don't pass selection into the SAS until you can show mastery over those skills.”
“Damn.” You say, taking a sip of your wine. “Still, it couldn't have been easy.”
“It can be hard, once you've been with an omega, to go without. But that's just part of the job.”
“Well, I suppose that's partly why I'm here.” You say, huffing out a laugh.
“Perhaps.” He says. “I'm certain we're not getting the full story.”
The double meaning isn't lost on you. There's a lot they don't know about you, things that are safer buried deep where they can't hurt anyone. Things you'd like to keep buried for the rest of time.
“It’s nothing...bad is it?” You ask, searching his gaze.
“I’d like to think not,” He says.
But...
You don’t need to hear him say it. You know it’s there, lingering at the end of that statement. You wonder how many times he’s been in these situations, forced to place blind trust in someone and hope they have the best intentions in mind. You’re all too familiar with those sorts of situations. Putting blind trust in strangers was your life purpose as soon as you presented as an omega.
“We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He says, staring at you with such conviction you can’t help but believe him. “You’re part of our pack, which makes you part of this team, even if bureaucracy says otherwise. We take care of each other, and that includes you. You’re our omega, regardless of whatever the endgame is for this initiative.”
You feel almost breathless at his words, at his declaration of loyalty to you. You know how much loyalty means to someone like him, the kind of promise words like that uphold. They’d give their lives to defend you. You’d fight to defend them too, if it came down to it. Not that you could do much, but you’d try.
“You’re my omega.” John says, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “I take care of what's mine.”
You nod, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes. “I know. You've...you've been a better alpha than I could have ever hoped for. Despite everything you've been kind and caring and understanding. I know some things we learned at the institute weren’t right, but...I was expecting a lot worse.”
His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, his fingers gently squeezing yours. “I'm glad I could prove that wrong. I know this situation is weird and less than ideal, but I fear I'll have to tell Kate she was right. She did pick a good omega.”
You smile, preening a bit under his praise. “That’s all I can try to be.”
“You can be so much more than that.” He says, lifting your hand to his lips. His beard tickles your skin as he presses a line of kisses across the back of your hand before turning it, kissing across your palm to your wrist. He presses his nose against the skin there, inhaling deeply. “You’re sure, about tonight?”
Your fingers brush his cheek as he holds your hand against his face. Your heart is thudding your throat at the proximity, those nervous flutters starting in your stomach again. He’s giving you an out, a chance to take back what you had asked for. You know he wouldn’t blame you. He was more than willing to wait for your heat to start, for when you had no choice, when it would mean less because you would be desperate and needy for him.
You don’t want that, though. You want him to want you before his instincts tell him he does. You want to know he’s not just fulfilling a duty, scratching an itch that’s been tickling him for two years now. You want him to want you as you are now. You want him to choose you.
“Yes.” You say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. “Just...be gentle with me?”
“Of course.” He says, kissing your palm again. “You change your mind at any time, you tell me, yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He takes your hand in his again, standing from his seat.
Nerves mix with excitement as he pulls you to your feet with him, stepping up close to you. His hand lifts, tilting your chin up. Your stomach flutters as you meet his gaze, his eyes warm and soft as he stares at you. Affection shines in them as his thumb brushes your lip before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours.
The kiss is short and sweet, like the ones you’ve shared with him before. Yet, at the same time it feels different. There’s warmth beginning to blossom under your skin, the kiss not just a simple sign of affection this time. It’s the overture, the appetizer, just a teasing taste of what’s to come.
You hold his hand as he leads you down the hallway, heels clacking on the tile floor. It makes your face warm, the thought that they all know what it means, they can hear it and they know what’s about to happen. They know where you’re going, what you’re about to do.
John opens his door, motioning for you to enter. You haven’t been in any of their rooms yet, you haven’t invaded their own sacred spaces. Your steps are slow and cautious as you breach that barrier, John’s scent washing over you as you step into his room.
It’s neat and tidy, just as you expected it would be. It’s not laid out all that differently from your own, though perhaps a bit more organized and clinical than yours. There’s a shelf next to his nightstand, stuffed with books and what you can assume are souvenirs from places he’s been. There’s stacks of papers on the desk, his clothes and shoes tucked away neatly in their places. His bed is slightly bigger than yours, and you wonder if that’s a perk of his status, or if he pulled some strings once he learned he was getting an omega.
The door clicking shut draws your attention back to John, the click of the handle a finality. You’re doing this. There’s no going back now.
Not that you want to.
John steps up to you, staring down at you. You stare up into his eyes as his hand comes to rest on your waist, his touch hot through the thin fabric of your dress. “You’re sure you want to do this?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest.
You nod, your hands slowly sliding up his arms, feeling the muscle hidden beneath his dress shirt. “Yes.”
His lips meet yours, beard tickling your skin as he kisses you. You let him lead, leaning into him as he pulls you closer against his chest. He’s so warm, so firm under your hands as you grip his shoulders. His hand slides from your hip to your back, a gasp parting your lips as his calloused fingers touch the bare skin of your back. Goosebumps raise on your skin, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. He tilts his head, taking advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue into your mouth.
He tastes like wine, a quiet sound leaving your throat as he pulls you tighter against him, pressing your body into his. You can feel all of him, the hard ridges, the strength in his body as he cages you in his arms. Your head is spinning, intoxicated purely by the smell and taste of him.
Something rumbles deep in his chest, your entire body shivering in response. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your hips pressed flush against his. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach. You’ve been able to smell the musky tinge of arousal in his scent all evening, and you wonder how long he’s been hard. Has it been since he saw you? Or has he been thinking about this all day?
The thought thrills you, makes your omega preen in the back of your mind. You did this. Your alpha is all worked up because of you.
A whimper leaves your lips as his hand slips lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass. He mumbles a curse against your lips before they blaze a path down the line of your jaw to your neck. You tilt your head, bearing your throat for him. A low rumble of approval vibrates through his chest, his hand squeezing your ass. The sound has your omega practically belly up, the dampness between your thighs intensifying as your scent gets heavier in the air.
John groans against your throat, teeth nipping at your neck just over your scent gland. “Such a good girl for me.” He groans, his hand on your ass guiding your hips to grind against his. “Such a good omega.”
You whine at the praise, hands blindly sliding down his chest to pull at the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers are trembling slightly from excitement, fumbling as you attempt to get his shirt off. You need to feel him, his skin against yours, the warmth of him pressed against you.
“Easy pup.” His voice rumbles against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin before he pulls back, hands taking over to strip him of his button up and undershirt.
You lick your lips as his skin is revealed to you, your hand automatically lifting to touch him. You hesitate for a half a second but he makes no move to stop you. Your eyes trail over his form, over the many, many scars that decorate his skin like some kind of macabre painting. Lines and jagged slices, the telltale star shaped marks of bullet wounds. Cuts and nicks from knives or bullets, you can’t tell the difference.
Your fingers settle on a rather large scar on his side, starting at the base of his ribs and curling around his side. It’s an old scar, but the skin is still rough and uneven. Whatever had caused it, it took a chunk out of him. You don’t want to think about it, about how every scar could have been a close call. How many times he’s been on the brink of death.
“I’ll tell you about them later.” He says, taking your hand in his and lifting it to his lips. He kisses your fingertips, his beard tickling your skin. “Tonight is about you.”
He pulls you close again, leaning down to press his lips to yours. His hands are warm against your back as he wraps himself around you again, trapping your hands against his bare chest. Your nails dig into his skin as his hands sink lower, grabbing handfuls of your ass. He groans, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. He presses you backwards, and you trust him to guide you until your legs hit the side of his bed.
“Gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?” He growls, his voice rough around the edges as his alpha slips through.
“Yes, alpha!” You gasp against his lips, your head tilting back in submission.
“Always such a good omega for me.” He praises you, teeth nipping at your throat. “Good omegas kneel for their alphas.” He says, pushing you backwards so you plop down on his bed. “But a good alpha,” He slowly lowers himself before you, dropping to one knee, then the other as his hands wrap around your ankles. “Kneels for his omega.”
Your face warms as you stare down at him, unable to do anything but watch as his hands make quick work of your shoes, setting them neatly beside the bed. His skin is rough against yours as his hands drag up your legs, slowly parting them. He moves himself closer, kneeling between your parted thighs. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he reaches up, pushing on your stomach until you're laying flat on his bed. He can see up your skirt now, and you're silently glad for the lacy panties Johnny had insisted on.
“Do you trust me?” His lips brush your inner thigh as his hands pause just at the hem of your skirt where it's ridden up almost to your hips.
“Yes, alpha.” You say, lifting your head to stare down at him.
He meets your gaze as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his hands continuing to press upwards until your dress is hiked around your waist. Your heart is fluttering rapidly in your chest as you stare down at him, his gaze leaving your eyes to stare at the soaked lace barely covering your most private parts.
His hands leave your hips to curl around the lace, giving it a sharp tug. The fabric snaps easily, the shreds falling to the floor. Your lip part as you stare at him in shock.
“I'll buy you a new pair.” He says, his hands gripping your thighs to pull them further apart.
The cool air in the room hits your slicked folds, making you shudder. He's barely touched you and already you can feel how slick you are. His lips press against your inner thigh again, blazing a path upwards. His gaze meets yours again as his hands shift to grip your hips, adjusting your position on the bed before he leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds.
You gasp at the foreign sensation, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders. His mouth is warm as it closes over your pussy, his tongue licking another slow stripe up your folds until he reaches the spot that has your inhale turning into a gasp.
He focuses his attention there, dragging slow lines across your clit with his tongue. You let your arms give out, laying flat on the bed again. Little whimpers leave your lips as he teases your clit, your thighs already trembling. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself. Not since before you left the institute four months ago.
You don’t last very long.
Your thighs squeeze around his shoulders as your orgasm is ripped from you suddenly. You let out a cry that’s probably too loud, but you don’t care who could have heard you as your back arches off the bed, pressing your hips closer to John’s face. His hands hold your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue continues to tease your clit, working you through your orgasm.
It’s not until you’re writhing in his grasp, letting out little whimpers that he relents, lifting his face from between your thighs. His beard is shiny with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It’s obscene and yet, it has heat pulsing straight between your legs again. He lets out a chuckle, the scent of your arousal washing over him.
“Fuckin sweet as sugar, love.” He says as he pushes himself up from between your legs, his body folding over yours on the bed.
His face presses into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him claiming you now, sinking his teeth into your skin to mark you as his forever. He could. It would be so easy for him to do it. His tongue laves over the skin covering your scent gland, a shiver running through you. Your arms wrap around him, holding him against you as your scents mingle, musky with arousal.
“Alpha...” You whine, your hips pressing up against the bulge in his pants. He’s fully hard now, the fabric of his pants providing delicious friction against your folds.
He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your throat before he pushes himself up over you. “Soon, love.” He says, moving until he’s standing in front of you. “Think you’re a bit overdressed still.”
Your eyes dart down to his pants. “So are you.”
He smirks, his hands dropping to your waist, slowly pushing your dress up higher. You let him slip it over your head, lifting your arms to help him. You’re bare before him, warmth spreading through your veins as he stares down at you. Your hands lift, coming to rest on his thighs. You can feel the muscle through the fabric, the strength of him beneath your hands. How easily he could take control, pin you down and take what he wants with little regard for you or your pleasure. How easily he could hurt you, snap your bones like they’re toothpicks, bruise and batter your body without even straining a muscle.
Yet he stands here, patiently watching as your hands move closer and closer to the prominent bulge in his fitted pants. He doesn’t even twitch as your hand cups his hard length, your breath stuttering at the sheer size of him. He’s big like most alphas are, or so you’ve heard.
His eyes stare into you as you undo his belt, popping the button on his pants open. He finally moves as you pull down the zipper, helping you tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, almost as stiff as he is. You stare at his veiny cock with wide eyes, the tip flushed almost red with how hard he is.
“Christ.” You breathe, staring at him in awe.
You did that.
“Easy, love.” He says, leaning down to wrap an arm around your waist. “I said tonight was about you.”
He moves you so you’re laid out on the bed, your head hitting his pillow. The scent of him floods your nose as he joins you on the bed, the frame creaking as he kneels between your legs. Nerves twist in your stomach as you continue to stare at his cock bobbing between his thighs as he runs his hands along your legs. It’s going to hurt, you know that. It suddenly seems daunting, this request. At least during your heat you’d be so out of it with need you wouldn’t really feel anything. And you’d have plenty of slick to help.
“None of that.” He says, squeezing your thighs gently. “I told you I’d take care of you.”
You nod, swallowing thickly.
“We’ve got more work to do before we reach that point. I’m not just going to stuff my cock into you like some needy pup.” He stares at you. “You tell me and I’ll stop, alright?”
You nod again. “Yes, alpha.”
Your breath hitches as his hands reach the junction of your thighs, one moving to your stomach, the other dragging through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingers. They’re so much thicker than your own, your pussy clenching as he presses against the entrance.
“Relax for me, love.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your stomach with his thumb.
His finger presses into you and your lips part at the intrusion. You clamp tight around his finger, making him groan.
“Easy.” He says, his thumb moving to circle your clit.
A breathy whine leaves your lips as his finger presses deeper into you, reaching further than you ever could. Your hand reaches up to thread through his hair, letting the short cropped strands slide through your fingers. It’s softer than you imagined, though you expect he too had spent the afternoon preparing for tonight as well. The mental image of him lathering himself in moisturizer would have made you laugh if his finger hadn’t brushed against a spot inside you that has your hips lifting off the bed.
He leans down, lips blazing a path up your stomach, between your breasts to your throat. He swallows your moans as he works you open with his fingers, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into your wet pussy only adding to the pleasure coursing through you. You can feel it building within you, heat burning through your veins. Price groans against your lips as your nails scratch his scalp, his cock leaking against your thigh. You want him, need him inside of you. You need to feel him, you need to be close to him.
“Alpha, please.” You whimper, tugging at his hair.
He stares down at you, eyes blown with lust. “Please, what?”
“Need you.” You whimper, grinding against his hand. “Please, sir.”
Price closes his eyes, letting out a groan. His cock twitches against your thigh, his fingers slipping from you. He breathes out a curse, shifting to open his nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube, sitting back on his knees to squirt some into his hand. You’re plenty slick, but you watch as he rubs the lube on his cock, tossing the bottle back into the open drawer.
He kneels between your thighs again, staring down at you as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. You feel intoxicated, your head spinning from the intensity of his scent around you and the knowledge of what’s about to happen.
Price folds his body over yours again, the head of his cock brushing your folds. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, parting your thighs further for him as his tip catches on your opening. Your hands grip his shoulders as he presses into you, the stretch stinging a bit as he works you open. This is it. There’s no going back now.
You don’t want to.
You whimper quietly as he pushes into you, nails biting into his skin. It’s too much, yet you can’t get enough of it as he sinks further in. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from your lips staring down at your face.
“Alright?” He asks, stilling where he is.
You nod. “Just need a moment. You’re really big.”
His lips twitch up into a smile, a pleased growl rumbling through his chest. “Don’t start talking like that, love.” He says, leaning down to press kisses to your face.
“Or what?” You ask, your nails digging harder into his skin.
“I might not be able to control myself.” He growls, his alpha slipping out around the edges of his voice.
Your pussy clenches at his words, walls clamping down around him. He lets out another growl, hiking your leg up over his hip. It forces him deeper into you, your breath catching at the feeling of him spreading you open.
“Fuck,” You breathe, rocking your hips to take him even deeper into you.
John’s arms frame your head as he presses his body against yours. Your arms slip around his back, legs locking around his waist as he begins to move slowly, working himself deeper and deeper into you until he’s pressed flush against you. He stills for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as you both breathe. You’re trembling just slightly, overwhelmed with being so close to him, to your alpha. The pain and discomfort is gone, replaced by burning heat as desire pulses through your veins.
“Please, alpha.” You whimper.
He shushes you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you, omega.”
Your skin is slick with sweat already as he begins to rock his hips into you. Your hands press into his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex as he moves. It feels good, the friction of your bodies, the way he stretches you open with every thrust. Your head is spinning with pleasure at the thought of being so close to another person, being so connected with someone else.
Not just someone else, with your alpha.
The wet squelch of your pussy as he thrusts into you is loud, the mattress creaking as he picks up speed. You’re trembling, your thighs squeezing around his hips as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. You’re not sure how he’s lasted this long, especially without any sort of release for himself yet tonight.
Perhaps it was the training he spoke about earlier.
You’re not sure how he manages it. You couldn’t have that kind of control. Not after this. Not after knowing how good it can feel, how good he can make you feel.
“Fucking feel so good.” He grunts, his breath fanning her ear. His own skin is slicked with sweat, muscles twitching under her hands. “So fucking tight and warm.”
“John!” You gasp, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades as he picks up the pace even more, his hips snapping against yours.
“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum like a good omega? Need you to cum for me.” He grunts, staring down at you.
You let out a whine, arching against him as you seek your second high of the night. His cock brushes that spot inside of you, stars nearly erupting behind your eyes.
“Right there.” You gasp, thighs shaking around his hips. “Fuck, right there!”
You’re being loud but you don’t care, nails dragging down his back as he focuses his thrusts right at that spot inside you. You cum with a cry, pussy squeezing around him. He lets out a loud groan, his hips stilling as he twitches inside you. His muscles go lax, his body falling on top of yours. He manages to keep himself from squishing you beneath him, his face pressing against your neck.
The smell of sex, arousal, sweat, and your own combined scents are heavy in the air. You’re shaking, still wrapped tightly around John as he lays on top of you. He’s breathing heavily, warm breaths fanning against your neck. You don’t want to move, your mind buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm still.
“Alright?” He murmurs, lips pressing a gentle kiss against your throat.
You nod, slowly unwinding yourself from around him. “Yeah. ‘M good.”
“Fucking Christ, a man could get addicted to that.” He says, lifting his face from your neck. “Sweet little omega.”
Your face warms more than it already feels, and you lean into his touch as his fingers brush your cheek.
“Let me go get something to clean this mess up with.” He says, pushing himself up so he’s kneeling.
You can’t help but giggle as his joints pop and he lets out a groan at the effort. “Need a break, old man.”
His eyes flash playfully, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Going with the old man insults again, huh?”
You give him a look. “You’re the one grunting while getting up.”
You let out a surprised yelp as he brings his hand down on your thigh, the skin tingling as he gets up. “I’ll show you old man.” He murmurs as he heads for his en suite.
You bite your lip as you begin to feel his release slipping out of you, the feeling causing desire to stir in your stomach once more.
John tsks as he comes back, wiping the mess between your thighs. “Needy little thing.” He practically purrs, stepping away to toss the rag into the bathroom sink before he returns, climbing back onto the bed.
You press as close to him as you can, nuzzling into his neck. Your limbs are still twitching a bit, your mind buzzing from the aftermath of what had just transpired. John wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. You press a gentle kiss to his neck, earning a rumble in response. Your own rumble starts up as you purr contently, tossing a leg over his hip to allow you to get as close to him as possible.
He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Comfortable?”
You purr louder in response, sleep beginning to fog the corners of your mind.
“Good girl.” He says, pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep. Alpha’s got you.”
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#call of duty#call of duty fic#cod fic#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#tf 141 x reader#john price x reader#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#x reader#a/b/o#omegaverse#alpha beta omega dynamics
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Astarion would never admit it, but the charming lines he uses as a constant attempt to seduce you are not all his own.
He’s talented, he knows, at coming up with the heart skipping lines, describing in detail the massive amount of so-called ‘adoration’ he says he can give. He knows how to flirt, and he knows even better that despite the way you roll your eyes, he’s starting to wedge his way into your heart.
But sooner or later, ideas come to an end. And he’s starting to think you’re incapable of falling in love if he’s used all his lines and you still haven’t approached him. Perhaps you just don’t do romance. But hope wavers. Why he’s so adamant on wrapping you of all companions around his finger, he doesn’t know. He knows you’re the most difficult to seduce, yet he can’t help himself.
You’re almost like a drug to him.
So, unable to quit, he turns to his books. They’re sappy romances, and many of the lines even manage to make him scrunch his nose, scoffing at the sheer disbelief of how unrealistic some of the scenarios are. But hours upon hours later, he picks out some of the most upfront lines, because he’s sure you’ll just ignore him otherwise.
He knows you have little interest in romance, but he wants to entice you. He wants to be good enough for you to look at him.
“I must confess that the moment I laid eyes on you, everything in my body and soul told me you were the one.”
You stare at him, eyes lidded and barely fazed. Puzzled, he has no choice but to continue.
“My heart beats terribly, my beloved, whenever I see you bathing in the glory of the sun. My breath quickens, but vanishes when you get a step closer. My very existence, it seems, is meant to yearn for you,” he rattles off the lines of the book, as enticingly as he can, with eyes so seductive that they almost appear to glow. “Your beauty is unmatched with any other. If you asked, I would die—“
“—a million times in the thorns adorning my own desire,” you cut in, and his eyes widen. “The skies could fall and I would use my bloodied body to hold you up again, against the starry nights as a star gleaming brightest in its competition.”
As you finish the line, he blinks, completely and utterly confused. “How did you-“
“It’s my favorite book,” you confess sheepishly.
Astarion, for the first time, sees you as you are. He sees you as the being who yearns for love, just as a young maiden would yearn for their prince—perhaps even more innocent. He’s read you completely wrong, and he feels his throat close up. “It’s…it’s a childish one.”
Your cheeks burn, and he thinks you almost look cute. He rips away from the thoughts though, appalled at what he just considered. “I think it’s romantic.”
“No kind of love is so ideal.”
And while your face falls, you lift your head to look at him with squinted eyes. “…next time, just make your own lines—-or, at least, don’t choose ones that don’t fit you.”
“Don’t fit me? How so?”
“I doubt we would’ve fallen in love at first sight. You had a knife to my throat.”
“A loving knife.”
You stifle a laugh, and he swears he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Well…if you want, I have other books in my tent if you want to see…I have a few you might like, or at least, help.”
He just stares at you, only realizing moments later that you were awaiting an answer. “Ah, of course, darling. I’d love to accompany you. Perhaps I’ll learn a new line or two, though I doubt any writing has as much charisma as myself.”
You smile softly, nodding. “Okay then. Come over tonight after dinner, and I’ll show you.”
And as you walk away, he thinks that rather than him doing the charming and you falling irrevocably in love with him as it should have gone, your interaction has left him charmed instead.
It seems the romance novels are more than just effective at their jobs.
#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#baldur's gate astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion x tav#astarion#astarion x reader#bg3 x reader#fluff#bg3
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Hi!! If you know the reference where the person A says the moon is beautiful without noticing the Person B saying yes beautiful while staring at Person A (//∇//) can I have that with the batboys? I know it’s corny lol thank you!
I hope this was what you envisioned but idk.
‘The moon is beautiful tonight.’ You said.
Jason who’s eyes never left you for a single second, seeing no point in staring at anything else when everything he’s ever wanted was right next to him, smiled at your need to bring attention to the beauty of other things others may walk right past by without a second thought.
‘The moons always has been beautiful, and it will only grow more beautiful as time continues.’ He replied.
You looked over at him, only to see that he was staring at you fondly and with a dopey smile spread across his lips, and immeditly felt very exposed by the way he looked at you as though you had intricately hung the very moon and stars above by hand. It was a look you weren’t use to being on the receiving end of -having only heard of similar looks being talked about in books or seen in movies- but now that you were you were at a loss on what to say or do.
‘You really mean that?’ You asked, finding a loose bit of fabric on your clothing extremely interesting all of a sudden.
‘I’d gladly say it a million times over if it makes it more easily believed.’ Jason said as he moved closer to you until your shoulders were touching, he then gently grabbed your hand away from fiddling the loose bit of fabric of your shirt and intertwined your fingers together, not once had his eyes left your person the entire time.
You smiled at him as you leaned yourself into him, leeching off of his warmth as you tried to go back to looking at the moon, but found it hard once you were made aware of the fact that Jason was staring directly at you as though he found something much more interesting to focus all of his attention on. ‘It’s hard to not believe it when your eyes look at me like that.’ You told him.
Jason tilts his head. ‘Like what sweetheart?’
‘Like I’m special.’ You replied.
Jason then chuckles before kissing the top of your head softly as he then rests his head against the side of yours. ‘I could write an entire essay on how special you are to me and still it wouldn’t be enough, so yeah you are special, more than you could possibly imagine.’
Dick smiled as he propped up his head in his hands as he watched how the moonlight practically illuminated you in your entirety.
It was almost as if a spotlight had shone down on you, making Dick unable to look elsewhere but you and that gorgeous smile that blossomed across your face, not that he needed to be forced to look at you when he could be doing so for the rest of his life if he was allowed that simple luxury.
‘The moon sure is beautiful indeed, can barely take my eyes off them.’ Dick said softly in response.
You then looked over at Dick, only to see him looking at you in a way that made your heart flutter and your face become warm. ‘You can stop looking at me now.’ You tell him.
Dick leaned against the railing with a cheeky smile. ‘Why? I was enjoying the view.’ He replied.
‘Oh so I’m the view now?’ You asked, putting your hands on your hips.
‘You always were the view babe,’ Dick said, ‘a view so beautiful I could barely take my eyes off of and I’m lucky enough to get to see it as often as I do.’ He adds as he pushed himself off the railing and walked towards you and held you by the arms.
‘You’re a sap.’ You laughed, feeling your cheeks grow even warmer.
Dick watched as you laughed and took the time to mentally engrave this moment to his memory, from the way your mouth opened to laugh, to the way your whole face practically light up and the way you stood out amongst the rest of the bright, vibrant lights. ‘Yeah but I’m your sap.’ He retorted as he held you against his chest as you both soaking in the moonlight together, all the while only ever looking at one another.
Tim
Was speechless, the words he had preplanned earlier within the day to say to you had long left him as he could only admire you as you basked in the moonlight and looking ethereal amidst the artificial city lights.
This was a state he often found himself in whenever you were just standing there and it was a little embarrassing for him because it only made him think of how obvious he had been about his feelings this entire time. However he couldn’t exactly blame you for being the epitome of perfection and beauty simply just by existing, Tim didn’t know it could be possible to feel this strongly about someone but here he was, unable to speak his mind in your presence without admiring your every feature as though he was seeing you for the first time again.
You furrowed your brows when you didn’t hear Tim say anything, becoming worried that he might’ve passed out from the lack of sleep he’s had recently and went to look over at him, only to see him looking at you with a wide eyed expression and flushed cheeks.
‘Tim, are you okay?’ You asked, moving towards him.
‘The moon is extremely beautiful tonight yes, even when they are within close proximity.’ Tim blurted out and you stopped when it hit you that he wasn’t talking about the moon, but more so about you and now you were both stood in silence and extremely flustered.
‘That’s, that’s really sweet of you Tim.’ You said, breaking the prolonged silence between the two of you as you felt butterflies within your stomach and a warmth spread throughout your chest.
‘It’s- I was only speaking the truth.’ Tim scratched the back of his head as he looked away from you for a split second before looking back at you, gauging your reaction as a positive one and took the chance to shuffle closer to you.
Tim had been in dangerous situations before but being this close to you, sharing a heartfelt moment between the two of you was enough to have him unable to think properly, his emotions were running rampant within him as his heart was unable to remain at a steady and consistent pace the more he was near you to the point he couldn’t help but be hyper aware of it.
‘Well I appreciate you being truthful,’ you tell him, flashing him a smile that almost ended him with how sweet, kind and loving it was, ‘it’s one of the many things I like about you Tim.’ You add as you then rested your head on his shoulder as poor Tim could only stand there stiff as a bored, but that didn’t matter as a smile grew across his lips and rested his head atop of yours, not wanting to say anything else incase it ruined the perfect mood.
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#tim drake x you#tim drake x reader#tim drake imagine#Tim drake imagines#nightwing fluff#nightwing imagines#nightwing imagine#nightwing x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood imagines
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hey! I really really really like your writing very much!
can you do one where the reader and spencer reid are both nerds but different kinds of nerds. so the reader's more of a literature/ language nerd and spencer's basically an expert in LITERALLY everything. so she has a major crush on him but always hesitates to make a move on him cuz she thinks that she doesn't stand a chance because she struggles with basic math and physics chemistry make her head hurt
and so when spencer asks her out she's all baffled like you don't think I'm dumb?!😭😭
Hi, thanks honey!
Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words
It’s one of those rare days where you can actually afford a lunch break, and you’ve decided to take it outside with your book. Every day lately feels like it could be the last nice one you get before the cold weather comes in, and you’re enjoying the crisp breeze and warm sunshine on your face as you get settled on the bench outside the cafe where you work.
The book you’ve been reading for the past week is good but not great, and you’re sort of pushing yourself to finish just so you can say it’s over with and tell the friend who lent it that you gave it your best. Still, you’re very nearly lost in it by the time a pair of black converse comes to a stop in front of you.
You follow them upward. “Spencer!” you say, probably with a touch too much alacrity. Too quickly, too. You might’ve at least pretended to have to think about the name of the sweet-faced doctor looking down at you. But it’s not your fault; you’ve gotten used to calling it out from the counter when he comes here to pick up his lunch at least three days out of the week.
“Hi,” he says, teetering on the edge of bashful. “I’m surprised to see you out here, you’re almost always working when I come by.”
It’s embarrassingly gratifying that he knows that. You’d never hold it against him if he didn’t, but you’ve come to enjoy the little bits of conversation you grab with him when he comes by, and it’s nice to know that he’s noticed you too.
“It’s a slow day,” you reply by way of explanation. “I figured I’d grab a break while I still could.”
Spencer smiles like he totally gets that. You imagine he does. “Good idea. Can I sit?”
“Of course!” Again, way too eager. You’ve got to work on controlling your tone around him. You move your discarded jacket into your lap.
“Thanks,” he says, sitting in the space you’ve made for him. His legs are so long he looks like he’s squatting on the bench, knees high enough for him to set his elbows on. Which he does, tilting his head to see you. “What’re you reading?”
“Oh, um, it’s nothing. I mean, I wouldn’t really recommend it,” you laugh. Christ, you don’t want him to know what you’re reading. Spencer probably reads astrophysics textbooks for fun. “It’s not very good.”
Spencer puts his hand over yours, far from forceful as he tips the page toward him until he can see the cover. Your brain is short-circuiting so badly it’s a wonder you don’t drop the paperback onto the pavement.
“I haven’t heard of it,” he says, which surprises you. Spencer seems so knowledgeable it’s difficult to believe there’s anything in existence that’s not stored somewhere in his hard drive. “Why are you reading it if you don’t think it’s good?”
He doesn’t ask it in any unkind or judgemental way, but something inside you tenses nonetheless. You know perhaps too much about Spencer Reid. It’s not like you’d gone out of your way to figure him out, but the facts had presented themselves to you almost serendipitously and you’d put the pieces together. You know that he’s in the FBI, not only because of the laminated identifier he sometimes leaves clipped to his shirtpocket when he comes in, but also because of the coworkers that occasionally come with him. From those coworkers, you also know that he’s a doctor, and you gather that he’s generally respected and admired as well as cared for by his team. He seems a bit awkward, but sure of himself where it matters, and he goes into every interaction with a kind curiosity. Most of all, you know that Spencer is smart. Like, expert in everything smart. You’d caught a few jokes from the people he’s brought in about an eidetic memory, his multiple PhDs, and the nickname “boy genius.” No matter how shy and sweet someone is, that’s intimidating.
And it’s unnerving to have someone with an IQ higher than you can probably fathom asking about your intellectual habits.
“Well, the plot doesn’t actually have much movement, so it’s pretty boring,” you say hesitantly. “I guess at this point I’m mostly in it for the prose. Plus my friend recommended it, so I have to finish it to keep her happy.”
Spencer laughs at your little joke, nodding. “Wow, the prose alone is enough to keep you going? It must be pretty fascinating.”
You want to backpedal immediately, but settle for a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright. I’m kind of a nerd for that stuff. Rhetorical devices and all.”
Spencer tilts his head, something igniting in his brown eyes. Interest. “Rhetorical devices. You mean like metaphor and personification?”
You nod. “Yeah, like those, but also anadiplosis and polysyndeton and anastrophe.” Spencer’s eyebrows move slowly upward as you speak, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks despite the slight chill. “I just like that there’s things that affect the emotion—or the pacing, or whatever—of writing that we as readers pick up on almost subconsciously, but were so intentional for the writer.”
Spencer’s nodding, eyes going somewhere just slightly distant. “Yeah, that’s a good point. I mean, I know writing is a very intentional process, but I never really think about the tiny, word-level decisions authors make to influence readers.”
“It’s so cool,” you agree. “Like, how long do you think it takes someone to land on the exact right word for what they’re trying to convey, or to structure their sentences in a way that builds momentum over the course of a paragraph? Like, so much goes into it.”
Spencer’s smiling at you, and you realize you’re gushing, geeky zeal bursting out of you like a soda bottle that’s been shaken and finally uncapped. “Sorry. Um, what’re you reading lately?”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says quickly, still smiling at you. “I actually just finished my last book, so I’m looking for something new. If this book has all that and isn’t up to your standards, I’d be interested to see what you really enjoy reading.”
Your cheeks are burning hot; you hope Spencer thinks the redness is from the cool breeze. “I’d be nervous to give you a recommendation,” you admit. “Too much pressure.”
Spencer waves you off. “I’ll read anything, don’t worry about it. Hey, have you ever been to that coffee shop on fifth? It’s in a bookstore.”
You blink. “No, I haven’t heard of it. That sounds cool, though.”
A bit of pink tinges Spencer’s cheeks; it’s probably from the cool breeze. “Yeah, well, you should let me take you there sometime. If you want, of course,” he adds hastily. “Don’t worry about it if not.”
It takes you a second to realize what’s happening. And then once you do, another second to make yourself believe it. “Like, as a date?” you ask, just to be sure.
Spencer’s smile is hopeful behind its timidity. “Yeah. Yeah, if you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah.” You can’t think of anything better to say, your brain filling with buzzing bees. “That sounds good. Thanks.”
He laughs, eyebrows coming together bemusedly. “Well, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”
It’s more a thanks for his taking action, you think. For making a move when you’d been too scared to, stagnant with months over your anxiety that he’d think you were too dumb or trivial to want to keep talking to you after he’d picked up his sandwich.
“Okay, great.” He stands. “Well, I have to get back, but I’ll, uh…I’ll see you? Friday, maybe? I can come by here after your shift.”
“You know when my shift ends?”
Now even his ears are turning red. “You…around four, right? I sometimes see you if I’m leaving work around then.”
You smile. “Yeah, four. See you then, Dr. Reid.”
“See you then!” he turns around, and you can see the exact moment he thinks to wonder how you know his last name. You don’t bother worrying about it.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fandom
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https://twitter.com/adultvide/status/1789610054754378177?t=-uye80G6jPXsyPbYaGE5KQ&s=19
Can you please write about divorced!Konig with babysitter!reader. He has a three years old son and he has to go on a deployment so he hired a babysitter, allow her to stay in his house because she's still in university. After months he comes back from his deployment. When he opens the main door and sees the babysitter is playing with his son. That scene is so warm for him 😩
The link has been removed BUT I did get to watch it before.
(It was a guy thigh f-ing his baby sitter before accidently slipping in)
The Nanny (fem)
MDNI🔞
Master List
>cw: fem/afab, oral, p in v, thigh fucking, age gap
1.8k word count
🍷
.
.
König turns his key in the lock, opening the door. Once inside, he kicks off his boots, dropping his bags. In the distance, he can hear Jakob giggling, followed by the little pitter patter of his feet. He walks forward into the home more to see you hiding behind one of the chairs while Jakob runs around looking for you.
Your beautiful eyes meet König’s, putting your finger over your lips as if asking him to not give you away. A beautiful smile on your full lips as the sound of Jakob calling him draws his attention away.
“Were Momo at?” Jakob put his arms up in confusion.
“Momo?” König seemed confused until he realized that was what he was calling you. “Oh, I don’t know where Momo is.”
Jakob looks around the room before walking the opposite direction of you. König watches as you crouch, sneaking up behind Jakob, wrapping your arms around him and spinning him around. Loud laughter emanates from the both of you. He can’t help but to chuckle to himself as he watches how the two of you have bonded.
His eyes drift down to how your ass looks in your gray leggings before thinking about how perfect your stomach would look round with his child. You’ve already proven yourself as being a capable mother. He snaps out of it once he hears your voice.
“I was going to tuck him in if you wanted to say goodnight now.”
“Ja, Danke. Come here.” He wraps his arms around Jakob and kisses his face all over. “Have a goodnight and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Ich liebe dich.” Jakob kisses him back.
“I love you too.”
You grab Jakob's hand and walk him upstairs to his bedroom. He jumps into his bed as you grab his favorite book. Snuggling on the bed with him, you open to the first page and read. While reading, you can hear König moving around downstairs. As Jakob falls asleep, you close the book and kiss his forehead.
“Good night, Jakie.”
As Jakob sleeps on the bed, you quietly make your way out of his bedroom door. You make your way downstairs to clean up the mess left behind from the wild day of playing. Yet, once downstairs, you see everything is cleaned up already.
“Would you like a glass, Hase?” König holds up a glass of wine to you as he takes a sip from his own.
“Oh,” you look from the glass in his hands to his eyes. “No, thank you.” You politely reject.
“Come on, you’re old enough, no?”
“I am…” You blush and slowly accept the glass of wine.
König watches your lips apart and takes a small sip as he smirks. He takes a sip of his own and walks to the couch in the living room, leaning back, and stretches out his long legs on the coffee table. He pats the spot on the couch next to him.
You sit next to him, keeping a small space between the two of you. You’ve never been this close to him before, or really spent any time at all with him other than when he hired you.
“Thank you, for everything you do. Caring for Jakob, the house, my plants. I’d be lost without your help.” His Austrian accent is as smooth as butter.
“It’s no problem, really. Thank you for giving me a place to stay.” A nervous giggle in your voice.
“Not an issue at all, Hase.” He gently moves his hand to your knee and strokes the soft fabric of your leggings. “How are your classes going?”
“They’re all going well.” You look down at his hand on your knee before you take a bigger drink from your wine glass.
“Gut, I’m glad to hear that.” His thumb rubs back and forth, sliding his hand up to your thigh ever so slightly.
There is a lull in the conversation, causing you to turn your attention to your wine. König takes a moment to let his eyes drift over your body, taking in the way your body curves as you sit.
“Are you talking to any boys? I know Austrian men would love a woman like you.” His eyes drift from your breasts to your eyes.
“Uh, no boys.” Your nervous laughter only gets worse so you cover it up by drinking more.
“No? A beautiful young woman like yourself with no boyfriend?” His hand gently squeezes your thigh. He notices how you finish your wine quickly. “Are you wanting a refile, Hase?”
“No, I should get to bed. Jakob still likes to wake up before the sun rises.” I smile.
“Here, I’ll take your glass for you.”
“Thanks.” You hand it to him, standing up. “Good night, Herr. König.”
“Just König is fine, good night.”
He stands to walk to the kitchen, his eyes following you as you go upstairs. The way your hips sway is hypnotic. Continuing on, he lets out a sigh and leans against the counter. It’s been decades since he was single so he has no idea how to flirt with women anymore, let alone one as beautiful and young as you are.
In your room, you take off your leggings and shirt, tossing them into the laundry basket. You reach behind you to unhook your bra, placing it on the back of your desk chair. Since it was a warm night, you slip on a night gown. Just as you are about to get into bed you hear a knock on the door.
König waits for you to answer the door, his arm up and resting against the door frame. Once you open, his eyes instantly drop down to your breasts. Your nipples are hard and he can see them clearly. The dress barely reaches your mid-thigh, you look absolutely divine. He has forgotten everything he was going to say before seeing you.
The hand resting by his side comes up and cups your face, “You…are so…beautiful.” The words leave his lips slowly as if he is trying to be cautious with them. After all, you’re his son's Nanny and he doesn’t want to chase you away. He pulls you towards him as he leans in and kisses you deeply. His other arm comes down and wraps around your waist and lifts you up into his arms, your legs wrap around his waist causing your dress to come up even more.
As he walks into your room, he kicks the door closed with one of his feet. His mouth opens against yours, nipping at your bottom lips so you open your mouth. You do, and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He swirls it around, taking in the way you taste as he groans.
König gently lays you on the bed, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress. Your hands caress his muscular arm as his hands pull up your nightgown, he is desperate to see what you look like underneath it all.
Once your dress is up enough, he breaks the kiss to pull it off of your body. Gently, he touches every inch of you as he drinks you in. His fingers run gently over your nipples. He leans in and begins to flick his tongue over one while rubbing circles over the other.
“You’re stunning, Hase.” He whispers into your tender flesh before he continues. Slowly, he undresses himself. Lips occasionally coming back up to kiss yours.
You stop him once he reaches for your panties, “I’m not on birth control.”
“Oh… I don’t have condoms.” König whispers, thinking for a moment. “I won’t fuck you tonight.”
König quickly gets back into kissing your down your neck, down your stomach, and to your thighs. He pulls down your underwear to expose your beautiful pussy. A groan escapes his lips once he sees you fully nude. It’s like a dream. Without realizing he began to play with his cock, he’s never seen such a beautiful woman before.
Small moans escape your lips as you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch his lips make their way to your pussy. After every sloppy kiss he gives you a small bite that makes you tremble every time. Once his mouth reaches between your legs, he wastes no time. He quickly wraps his lips around your clit and begins to suck.
You jerk forward as you begin to moan, his bright eyes looking up at you. Letting go he laps his fat tongue over your clip rapidly. He grabs your legs and folds them back, knees by your head, and begins to swirl his tongue around your tight asshole. You’ve never had this done before; a gasp escapes you as you watch him.
His eyes flicker from your pussy in front of him to your surprised face. He smirks and moves one of his hands to your clit and begins to rub it. Your face begins to turn into one of pleasure, his cock twitches wishing to be inside of you.
König lowers you again, moving his face to kiss your side and stomach as he slips two of his fingers into your pussy. His fingers are so big they feel better than your toy. Your moans get slightly louder so you grab the blanket to bite on to. A wet trail of kisses trails back down to your pussy, his tongue moving in circles around your clit.
“König! Too much!” You try to push his head away but he shakes it.
“Not until you cum.” He feels your fingers pull his hair as your moans slowly escalate. Your hips begin to rock into his tongue so he holds it still for you as his fingers curl up and rub back and forth on your g spot.
You close your eyes as a strong wave of ecstasy crashes over you, feeling the wetness of your orgasm on your thighs. The blanket in your mouth doing little to silence your moans as you cry out for König. He moves his face away, withdrawing his fingers and rubbing them on your wet thighs.
“Lay down on your stomach with your legs closed together.”
You do as he says without question, looking over your shoulder as he moves his body over yours. He slips his sensitive cock between his thighs, using your cum as his lube. A shaky breath leaves his lips as he thrust himself between your thick thighs. Your legs twitch when the tip of his cock rubs past your clit.
“Fuck you’re so soft.” He moans. He watches your ass jiggle with every movement, driving him wild. There is no way he will last very long.
“I’m going to cum.” König whimpers. Getting lost in the sensation of you, he begins to fuck your thighs in a quicker pace. His cock accidently slips into your tight little cunt, instantly wrapping around him as he thrust almost all the way in.
“Oh fuck!” You cry out from feeling your cunt stretched out suddenly. König’s cock throbs deeply inside of you. He doesn’t pull out, what’s done is done. Instead, with his knees he spreads your legs apart, grabbing you by your hips and pulls you to him.
#konig#konig x reader#könig#konig cod#konig x y/n#könig x reader#konig smut#könig smut#könig cod#könig mw2#konig x reader smut#x reader#konig x you#könig x you#könig x y/n#konig x female reader#smut#cod smut#könig call of duty
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Could you do SMAU for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she is a huge bookworm and he always so supportive about her passion And the Internet has gone crazy about it. Thanks :))
Bookstagram - Toto Wolff x BookwormWife! Reader
Plot: Taking a look through your bookstagram and how supportive Toto Wolff is of your love for reading. Encouraging you to pursue your dream of writing.
Credit to multibabydoll for the GIF
You loved reading and books. Before you met Toto, you used to be a bookseller and then worked for a publishing house. You actually met Toto because of the influx in Motorsport Romance's that made your company send you to a race to get some ... hands on experience and you ended up having your own sort of Motorsport Romance with a Team Principle.
You ended up marrying Toto and at first it was hard, but when COVID came and you ended up working from home since then so coming to the races had been much easier.
y/user
Liked by lucyscore laurenroberts and mercedesamgf1
y/user: My reads of the month! Really loved both of these and I can’t wait for book to from Lauren!
Book 1: Things We Hide From The Light by Lucy Score
Book 2: Powerless by Lauren Roberts
Tagged 2 People
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lucyscore: I’m glad you enjoyed this one!
-> y/user: it’s really good!
fan1: i love these!
toto.wolff: Is this the book you were reading on the plane?
-> y/user: Yes, the other one I read at the race track!
laurenroberts: babe! I’m glad you enjoyed! Come to a book signing and I’ll get you a proof of Powerful!
-> y/user: no stop! I’d love that!
DM’s
laurenroberts: Hey Babe, got an event on 29th November, in Florida. You want to come as my special guest?
y/n: id love that! Thank you so much for the invite! I’ll just need to talk to my husband. I’ve never travelled solo and I’m a nervous traveller!
laurenroberts: That’s fine! Just let me know as and when babe!
“Babe, can we talk for a second” you asked your husband as you walk into the kitchen where he is sat with his morning coffee.
"Yes honey what is it?" he asks looking over at you, pushing a glass of orange juice towards you.
"Well, one of the authors that I really like invited me to a book signing.."
"Oh that's amazing sweetheart. Are you going to go?" he says checking his emails not fully paying attention.
"Well, thats the thing. It's over a race weekend... and" you start but his head bolts up to interrupt you.
"You better not be asking for my permission for if you can go, you know you don't have to ask!" he says almost as though he's offended you with think that of him!
"No, no of course not. But I'm scared to go alone, you know how I am!" you explain and he nods remembering the last time you guys flew.
"Well, how about I buy you a nice first class ticket and make the experience worth it. I'll pay for a fancy hotel and a spa evening for when you land ... how does that sound" he grins pulling you into him kissing your forehead.
"You don't have to do that for me!" you exclaim feeling bad!
"Ah no honey, I do this all for you!" he smiles pulling you in for a full kiss.
y/user
Liked by stephaniegarber and ashleyposton
y/n: What do you guys prefer, Romance or Fantasy. I love finding quiet corners at the race track!
Tagged 8 People
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stephaniegarber: Did you enjoy it?
-> y/user: It was so good! I moved straight onto Legend! And Toto brought me OUABH!
ashleyposton: I see those outlines! Thank you for your review on goodreads!
olivia_blake: ahhhh, i hope you enjoy it!
fan1: Y/N is definielty a motorsport romance girlie considering she literally lived one!
->fan2: i forget about this!
"Baby, you have to stop packing so many books!" Toto laughs as he gets out his card to pay the extra bagging expense where your bags had ended up being overweight.
"I'm so so sorry! I didn't realize how many I'd take back with me, American Books are so much more floppy than the ones at home... even though I prefer our covers!" she answers, going to get her card out.
"I'll pay baby don't be silly!" Toto laughs tapping his card as air port staff come over and help you guys take the bags away.
"You are my little book worm aren't you!" he grins pinching your cheeks like an older lady.
"Stop!" you say swatting his hand away.
y/user
Liked by toto.wolff and others
y/n: Toto helped me rebuild my book nook AND took me out for a book haul! It's up on my YouTube now!
Link
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sarahjmaas: looks amazing!
toto.wolff: I'm happy to help baby!
-> y/user: BEST HUSBAND.
You and Toto had spend the day putting up the swinging chair, and making the room cozy with fairy lights.
He had started to organize your shelves in colour coordination order making a rainbow. You felt so bad when your need to have them in genre and alphabetical order took over.
"Baby, as incredible as this looks, I'm never going to find any books!" you argued and he looks and pulled out Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros.
"See I found you current smutty dragon book!" he smiles handing it to you and your eyes widen at the lingo he was using.
"Have you been... watching my videos?" you ask in shock.
"Mmmm yes honey. i find them very amusing!" he admits and you just stare at him in shock.
y/user
Liked by lewishamilton and toto.wolff
y/n: He looks like this so that I can look like this …
I LOVE MY HUSBAND
Tagged One Person
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fan1: shes so unserious ... lmao
fan2: and you look fab!
You were thankful that Toto worked as hard as he did, he treated you all the time and you treated him in return.
Your husband was so supportive and was without a doubt the best thing that had ever happened to you.
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1#formula one#formula one fanfiction#toto wolff team principal#toto wolff fluff#toto wolff fic#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff imagine#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff#toto wolff x you#toto wolff x y/n#bookstagram
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would you consider writing the time when max realized that he loved yn?
i remember that he was like in a mindset of idgaf what happens with her im js happy being best friends and having her in my life but i wonder how he got to that point
The way this came out…idk I hope you like it 😂 I really wish I’d retconned this whole situation but I stayed true to the fic timeline.
I just…I really hope you don’t hate it 🫠
✨Set after Max wins his 3rd championship in Qatar✨
Honestly, who (is he) to fight the alchemy?
Max has been in love before. He knows what it feels like. It felt like winning a race. The adrenaline, the elation, the satisfaction, the sliver of relief. He didn’t think there was a better feeling, and if you feel that when you’re with someone, then that must be love.
He never felt like that with you. So he wasn’t in love. He loved you, but he wasn’t in love. Thank God for that, he’d always thought to himself. Max didn’t put effort into games he wouldn’t win and the games you played with men didn’t have a rule book. He was just so lucky, to have you as a friend, and a roommate, and a feline co-parent, and that’s how it would stay.
Except, when the journalist had asked him if you were going to live with him after he retired, he didn’t know what to say. Of course you would, except, how would your boyfriend feel about that? And of course he wanted you to, but he wanted a family, too. But you were family, in some complicated way that he’d never realised before that moment might mean that you wouldn’t always be…with him.
And he didn’t have the desire or the language skills to explain that to a random German journalist. He’d rattled off some answer about how he never knew what the future would bring. It was true, he didn’t think much about the future. But he should have, because when he did it always had you in it.
He wanted a house, and a wife, and kids. It wasn’t like he envisaged doing all that with you. Except, he hadn’t envisaged doing any of it without you, either. It was always you imagined having breakfast with, you he imagined would teach his kids to ski, you he thought about when he thought about buying one of those mansions in the hills above Monaco. Naively, he hadn’t imagined either of you with partners that would mind you and Max living your lives together. It sounded fucking stupid when he thought about it. But, it’s not like he was going to marry you, because he’s not in love with you.
It’s not like I’m in love with her. He’d said that before.
Aren’t you, Max?
Isn’t he?
Is he?
So now here he is, at this totally-not-a-party party, celebrating his this third world championship, wondering if he’s in love. Wondering if that even matters. The music is loud, not enough to drown out his thoughts. He can’t even drink too much because he still has a race tomorrow. He feels lightheaded enough.
He doesn’t know why he’s questioning himself. He has an answer. He knows what being in love feels like, and he doesn’t feel that about you. How he does feel about you, is…not quantifiable. Except he’d really like a name for it right about now. One that’s not going to spin his whole world off its axis. But then, he’s not exactly the axis, is he? Not really.
He should feel like the centre of the universe tonight. He’s lost count of how many times he’s received praise and congratulations, plaudits, and pictures, even gifts. Everyone wants to be in his orbit, everyone wants to talk to him, everyone except you.
You’re leaning against the balcony, bopping along to the music, talking to his dad of all people, your flushed face and lazy grin telltale signs you’ve had too much to drink. Jos is as close as he ever gets to smiling, a telltale sign he’s had too much to drink, and the two of you are, as usual, talking over each other. His eyes linger on your long legs and gentle curves. It would be cutting a corner, to say he’s in love with you, because how can you not be at least a little bit infatuated with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? But that’s not love, exactly. Even half drunk, with all this talk of spinning and the party beginning to blur at its edges, the only thing he can see clearly is you. You don’t even notice him looking, because you’re so used to feeling eyes on you.
No, being around you has never felt like winning much of anything. It actually feels a bit like he’s fighting for his life. It feels like…driving, he realises, as the gin starts to hit.
Being around you was like being in the RB19. Like being behind the wheel of something that could kill you, but fits you like a second skin. Like the illusion of having control of a force of nature. It was like living on a knife edge, but building a home there. Comfortable with the uncomfortable, they’d called him, and nothing had ever made him as uncomfortable as you.
If that was being in love, he’d probably been in love with you for as long as his dad said he was.
You don’t notice him looking, but Jos does. He waves Max over, and Max is glad for an excuse. His body gets up before he’s decided to, and he blinks furiously as he walks, trying to focus his thoughts enough to hold a conversation with you when he’s beginning to think he might-
“Maxy,” you say, grinning like it’s the first time you’ve seen him all night.
Fuck. Fuck.
Oh, fuck. The gin’s coming back. For a second he feels like he’s either going to ask you to marry him or vomit all over you.
“I’m leaving. She’s all yours,” Jos says, and Max steadies himself. His dad leans over and gives him one last hug before switching to Dutch. “Get her to bed. And yourself, also. You’ve still got to race tomorrow,”
Max nods and waves him off, closing his arms around you when you wobble, leaning into him for stability. Jos gives you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and you teeter again, pushing you further into Max. The extra weight is like a balm on what is now a gaping, raw wound, with the nerves exposed. He will never recover from this.
You turn in his arms, scrunching your nose in displeasure as you look up at him. “I hate this hat,” you flick the brim of his World Champion cap. “Worst hat they ever made you. Next year, we do a better one,”
“Okay,” he says, chuckling as the hat leaves his head.
“Can I have this?” You’ve already put it on.
“Sure,”
Take it. Take my Valkyrie. Take the trophy. Take my last name.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He doesn’t know how he’s looking at you. Is it different than he looked at you two hours ago? Different then when you were 19?
He just shrugs, tipping the hat back for you, since it’s so big. “You’re drunk,” he yells over the music.
You lean in, so close that he’s intoxicated by the scent of your perfume, champagne, and Red Bull. He turns away from you slightly, because he’s had too much to drink to be this close to you.
“I know,” you whisper to him, your lips grazing his cheek as you talk. That’s not helping. He turns back to you, finding your eyes searching his. For the first time, he’s worried what you might see. Because you’ve always seen him too clearly. It was awful, then exhilarating, now it’s just fucking terrifying. Your eyes narrow and Max thinks you’re about to outright accuse him of wanting- “You’re supposed to be drunk, too,”
He laughs. He laughs at your pout, at getting away with it, for a little while longer, at least, and he laughs because on the night he’s won a world championship he realises he lost his heart a long time ago.
Loving you didn’t feel like a winning a race, it felt like driving in one. And after all, isn’t driving all he ever wanted to do?
“I am, Engel,” he says, “trust me, I am.”
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