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street-smarts00 · 2 months

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Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

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WC: 7.3K

Summary: After recently joining the team, you and Spencer could never get along. What started off as you two ignoring each other turned into bickering at work. What happens when a stressful moment for you turns into an opportunity to get to know this fascinating coworker of yours?

tags: enemies to lovers, fluff, brief mentions of crime/murder at the beginning (talking about cases/kidnapping), reader is shy and anxious, reader looks young for her age. (reader might be female but i don’t think i specified)

A/N: I haven’t written anything in years and I’ve been on a criminal minds kick for a while. I had this idea loosely based off a prompt I saw on cai by (ApolloTheBoykisser) so thanks babes ;) also for once I had a fic of mine beta read lol my bestie beta read this for me. This is also posted on my AO3 page.

You had been working at the BAU for the last few weeks. You tried to get to know most of your coworkers and it seemed like you were making great progress. You had heard a lot about the team before you joined and were pretty intimidated by them at first. Okay- you were still pretty intimidated by them. But you pushed through your quiet exterior little by little and slowly but surely tried to get to know them.

All except for Spencer Reid. It seemed like he was trying to avoid you. He was always very quiet and would barely talk to you. Being a shy person yourself, you thought maybe he was just shy or a quiet guy. However, he continued to ignore you except for when he had to acknowledge you for work.

His coldness towards you was increasingly annoying as time went on, and your perception of him had slowly warped. The things about him you once found endearing, you now forced yourself to hate about him. If he rambled for too long, it could potentially make your blood boil. However, you could never stop paying attention to when he rambled on about facts or statistics. You didn’t want to admit it, but you found him fascinating.

It didn’t take that long for him to start acknowledging you, but this soon turned into the two of you bickering like children. When you were discussing cases or profiles, you both would argue over motives, victimology, crime scenes- literally anything about the case- you two could turn it into an opportunity to contradict the other. You both still kept a level of professionalism to not let your rivalry affect your job.

But there was always this tension between the two of you when you were in close quarters for too long.

And at some point you both reached your boiling point.

Last week, while the team was on a case, you and Spencer had gotten into a little spat once again. This time it went beyond the slight bickering or contraction. In the middle of the local precinct, you two were at each other's throats.

“What was that?” You asked after you and Spencer left the interview room that held a victims family.

“I was working off of the profile . . .”

“You mean the profile we haven’t finished?” You interrupted. “The one we are still currently working on and have yet to disclose?”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t work off of the information we already have,” he objected.

“You told her information we are still unsure about. We don’t know for a fact how long he keeps them alive,” you accused while placing your hands on your hips, trying to conceal your frustration but failing.

“Guys.” Someone tried to tone things down. Neither of you heard who and you weren’t backing down.

“If I remember correctly, I heard you discussing this very subject and inputting your thoughts . . .”

“You still shouldn’t have told her! Especially when you don’t know for sure if her daughter could be alive,” you seethed stepping closer.

“Would you rather me hide everything from the mother who’s suffering from the disappearance of her daughter?” He asked, matching your tone and taking a step forward.

“I didn’t say that!”

“It sure sounded like it.”

“Reid. Y/N.” The two of you turned your heads to your boss like two deer caught in headlights.

“With me, now.” Hotch demanded and led you to an empty interview room.

You could tell how angry he was- despite the fact that his stoic face represented almost every emotion in the book. But by the tone of his voice, you knew you and Spencer had messed up.

“You two do not only represent this team, you represent the bureau. These cops are already not pleased with the idea of their boss calling us in and I do not need you arguing in front of them and giving them a reason to take us off this case. You must learn to respect and cooperate with one another or I will take you both off this case. Do I make myself clear?” He lectured.

You both replied with a monotone “yes.”

“Good”

Ever since your argument, you both had been relatively quiet towards one another. Like it had been in the beginning when you were ignoring each other. But that didn’t stop you from letting him invade your mind at every waking minute. It almost saddened you in a way there was no more bickering or quick remarks with him. With how much it annoyed you, you never thought you would miss it.

The team had just finished a case and before everyone packed up and went home, Rossi announced that tomorrow everyone should come over for a little ‘get our minds off work’ get together. Your coworkers all thought it was a great idea to relax after the last few very stressful cases.

As excited as you were to finally go to one of Rossi’s house parties, you were also scared shitless. Parties with relatively new people in your life were hard. You were so quiet around new people and were scared to approach others; you often waited to be approached. To you, being a profiler was easier than having a social life.

But, maybe this time would be different. There’s not that many people on the team and you’d already started to familiarize yourself with them.

The next day, you were pulling up to Rossi’s house. If there was anything else to be intimidated by with this man- besides his years of experience in the BAU- it was this giant house. You were greeted by the man himself at his front door.

“Y/N, glad you could make it.” He opened the door and welcomed you in.

He led you inside to where everyone else was gathered. Everyone was cheery at your arrival. Penelope with her clicky heels ran up to you and greeted you with a hug. It was refreshing to be around people who were so welcoming. It made it a little bit easier to really let your walls down.

Well, almost everyone. Spencer gave you a small wave from where he stood.

The night continued on and you would occasionally engage in conversation with the team. At this point, you were off to the side- standing in the kitchen and occasionally sipping some wine that Rossi had been bragging about and was just so excited for everyone to try. You were a bit too overwhelmed to go back to talking. The music was getting a bit loud and the lights seemed to be too bright. You opted for sitting on the barstool next to the counter and observing everyone around.

They were all off in small groups or pairs around the house. All except for you and Spencer. He was another outlier and standing away from all the commotion. You looked over in his direction and he caught your eye. You both glared at each other and you quickly averted your gaze away from him. Your thoughts started to race and you began playing with your hair.

After a moment, he glanced over in your direction again when you weren’t looking. He was unintentionally profiling you and noticed you getting overstimulated. Your eyes laser focused like you zoned out, your foot tapping against the chair, and your hand anxiously playing with your hair.

While he wasn’t exactly your friend, he did understand what it felt like when social gatherings got overwhelming. He made his way over to you, careful not to make you more nervous or uncomfortable.

“You okay?” He asked you. You were pulled away from spacing out. His voice sounded a bit concerned- which took you by surprise. You were partially relieved someone approached you to help bring you back down to earth. That someone noticed something was off. What confused you was the fact that person was Spencer.

“I’m fine.”

He was well aware of what it meant when someone was “fine” and you were clearly not fine. He felt bad that you were so quick to shut down his attempt to check on you. After all, it was his fault and he knew that.

“Do you wanna step outside?” He asked.

You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be outside alone with him, but at the same time, you needed some time away from everything. Maybe it would help calm your nerves.

“Maybe for a bit.”

You followed him outside onto the back patio. You took note of the fresh air and the muffled sounds from inside. It all felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders. Pretty soon though, you realized how awkward it was to be outside alone with him.

Spencer cleared his throat and spoke to break the silence, “Sometimes these parties can be . . . a lot.”

“A little bit. I was doing fine for a while but I think my social battery is running low.” You confessed to explain your discomfort.

“Yeah” he replied. He appreciated the fact that you felt comfortable enough to express this with him. He tried to relate to you. “It’s the same with me. Sometimes I just need a moment to collect myself.”

“Exactly.” You were relieved to hear that he felt the same way. “Plus it doesn’t help that I'm so new to the team.” You crossed your arms and slightly closed yourself off.

“I was the same way when I first joined.” He told her to try and ease your concerns. You were just like him at some point. The new guy and just trying to figure out how you fit in.

“It’s difficult at first, but you settle down after a bit. Once you get to know everyone.”

“Yeah it’s just the whole getting to know them part is a bit . . .” You abruptly stopped, hesitating to reveal too much to him.

“A bit what?”

“Intimidating,” you confessed, avoiding his eyes.

He obviously noticed your hesitance and avoided his usual behavior with you. You were always so strong and quick to banter with him. But now you seemed vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of that.

“It’s not just you, I promise.” He was being honest. This was the calmest and most genuine conversation the two of you had ever had. “I find them all pretty intimidating.”

Your eyebrows raised at his confession. How could he possibly be intimidated by these people?

“Really? But you’ve known them for so long. You all are so close.”

“Close doesn’t mean you can’t be a little intimidated,” he replied. It might not make much sense, but it was the truth.

“I mean Hotch is always stonewall and silent, no matter what you say to him. And don’t even get me started on Morgan.” He joked, knowing you would understand.

You lightly chuckled at his joke. “I get what you mean.” You were starting to understand him more. You thought it was ironic that one of the team members you were first intimidated by was also intimidated by the team. Now he was starting to seem less intimidating or annoying and more approachable. You kinda liked seeing this new side of Spencer.

“I guess I’ve always been like that. Worried to get to know people or open up.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were telling him this, but you knew he would understand.

"I think when you're afraid of being hurt or judged or misunderstood by people, you try to keep your guard up." He told you, speaking from experience. From a young age until now, he's always felt misunderstood.

"And I think...maybe that's why you're on edge with me? You're not sure what to expect from me."

“Are you profiling me?” You asked jokingly. Spencer however thought you were serious and you noticed him tense up.

“I’m kidding.” Your expression softened to let him know you weren’t actually accusing him of profiling you. “I’m gonna be completely honest, I’ve been on edge with you cause I thought you didn’t like me.”

He was a bit taken off guard by your statement. But at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He didn't dislike you now, but at first, he wasn't exactly fond of you. And now he was ashamed of that.

"I didn't like you." He admitted. "I thought you were pretentious, too eager to be accepted. I think I saw you as competition."

Spencer’s comment did sting. It was never sunshine and rainbows to hear someone doesn't like you. However, you did take note of his language. He said “didn’t,” “thought” and “saw,” all past tense. Does this mean he doesn’t dislike you now? What you did appreciate was his reciprocated honesty. You both were making some progress in your relationship and you wanted to continue it.

“I was eager to be accepted. I wanted to feel like I belonged.”

“I know how you feel.” He expressed his sympathy. “I regret not giving you a chance. You’re not like I thought you were.” He also appreciated seeing this different side of you.

“You’re not like I thought you were.” You admitted.

A little smirk tugs at his lips, “So I’m not as pretentious and selfish as you thought?”

You lightly chucked, “I never thought you were selfish, but I did think you were a ‘know-it-all’ and trying to show off.”

Spencer really didn’t want you to think he was a show off. Sure- he had a vast amount of knowledge, but he never wanted you to think he was bragging or that he knew better than you. “I do know a lot but I promise I’m not trying to show off. I just have all this information in my head and I want to share it with people or I’m really passionate about something and want to talk about it.”

You understood that feeling all too well. There were so many times you wanted to ramble on about things you cared about or had knowledge on, but for the most part just stayed quiet. Meanwhile, he didn't keep quiet. He would go on and on. And while almost everyone else was either rolling their eyes or trying to shut him up, you were listening intently. You didn’t want to admit it back then, but now you were feeling up to it.

“I will admit, while I did think of you as a know it all, I found a lot of your tangents interesting.” You admitted.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. He was so used to people dismissing him. It was nice to hear you often would listen. “Really? You didn't mind me babbling on?" He asked, relieved with your response.

"I mean, it is something I have trouble with. I tend to talk too much.”

“Oh Dr. Reid I am very familiar with rambling and being worried about talking too much.” You paused for a moment- considering how much more you wanted to share with him. “I know it may not seem like it because I’m always quiet around the team but.. once I get comfortable around people, I actually get very rambly”

"You do?" He asked, sounding surprised. “About what?”

“Really anything. Mostly things I’m passionate about like you. I’ll also tend to go on tangents about memories or just things happening in my life.”

You made your way to a bench on the patio as you spoke. Spencer followed and sat down on a chair adjacent to you. You brought your attention back to him and noticed his focused gaze on you and he quickly licked his lips, a habit you noticed he did all the time.

"You really are a lot like me. You're just quieter at first." He added, teasing you a little. While he was not one for social cues, he had the sudden urge to be bold and make a joke. "Maybe next time I see you rambling, I won't immediately contradict you."

You dramatically dropped your jaw and placed your hand over your heart. “Wow, you really know how to give a compliment,” you said, pretending to be offended.

He laughed with a bright grin. "I'm sorry. Let me rephrase. The fact that you're so silent and reserved makes it that much more thrilling when I find out how much of a chatterbox you actually are." He joked, being playful as before.

Your cheeky smile slightly falters for a moment. You hoped he wouldn’t notice but he did. “I think you won’t be so thrilled once I actually turn into a chatterbox around you.”

"Actually I think I would find it intriguing." He told you, looking directly into your eyes. "The quiet ones tend to be the most interesting and complex when they do end up talking."

“I’m not that interesting.”

“I beg to differ. You’re very interesting. Probably the most interesting person on the team.”

Did he really say that? Did he mean it? Or was he just being nice? You tried not to profile him, but couldn’t help it. His body language expressed he was being honest. Uncrossed legs and arms, open palms, eye contact. The only thing you didn’t notice when studying his body language was his dilated pupils.

“Thank you,” you smiled at his compliment, “I doubt I’m the most interesting though. You maybe, Mr. Three PHDs and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

He smiled back at you, “Just because I'm well educated doesn’t mean you can’t be as interesting as me, if not more.”

You couldn’t believe he was saying such nice things to you. This was the first time you guys were actually making some kind of connection.. and it felt wonderful.

“I still can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long but are just now talking. And by talking, I mean not getting into a spat after speaking for more than 3 minutes.” You confessed with a hint of playfulness in your voice at your joke.

“Yeah, I feel like I barely know you.”

“What would you like to know?” You asked.

He thought for a moment trying to think of a question to ask. You noticed once again that he licked his lips, trying to concentrate.

“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

“Wow, I think that’s a bit too personal.” You said, voice laced with sarcasm. You tried your hardest to contain your amusement but started to smile. He smiled back at you. At first, he was always confused with sarcasm and social cues. To be honest, he still was. But he could just tell with you. He knew when you were joking and when you were being serious. He found your sense of humor amusing.

“Yellow.” You answered. “What’s yours?”

“Purple.” He replied.

You intended to leave it inside your head- but a quiet “huh” made it past your lips as an idea came into focus.

“What? Is it my choice for my favorite color?” He tried to joke with you but was also a little bit serious.

“Oh no, it's just I thought it was interesting because those are complementary colors. You know how they are opposite on the color wheel?” You asked even though you figured he knew.

He nodded his head, “Yes! Because they are on opposite ends of the color wheel, when they’re used together it creates a vibrant contrast and enhances visual appeal. The two colors almost balance each other out and support each other's intensity. Complimentary colors are a key component to color theory.” He suddenly noticed how long he was talking and his posture stiffened. He pressed his lips into a thin line and avoided eye contact. “Told you I talk too much.”

“And I told you that I find your rambling interesting.”

His head perked back up at you. You genuinely wanted to listen to him. It was refreshing to talk to someone that didn’t cut him off or zone out.

“That’s kinda like us though, don’t you think?”

“What’s like us?” He asked confused, still thinking about the fact that you actually enjoy listening to what he has to say.

“How our favorite colors are complimentary colors. Like you said, they support each other's intensity. When you first see them they’re opposites, but the more you look the more they compliment each other.”

He softly smiles. “That does sound like us. The more we learn about each other, the more we find we have in common.”

There was a short pause where you both considered his statement. You did want to know more about him. You wanted to know all of him.

“Can I ask you a question this time?”

“Of course.”

“So, you're always reading. Like everywhere you go, you carry a book with you. I wanna know: what’s a book you could read over and over again and never get tired of?” You wanted to know beyond his favorite color. You wanted to get to the various building blocks that made him the way he was.

Spencer considered your question for a moment. Trying to go through the near infinite list of books he’s read in his life. You could tell he was concentrating on his answer because licked his lips. “Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.”

“Is he one of your favorite authors?”

“Yes.” He said almost immediately, confident in his answer.

“How come you like that book so much?” You asked.

You could see this sort of spark enter his eyes the more you asked about it. Giving him the chance to share his passions. ”Oliver Twist was one of the first books that used satire to deliver social commentary. Particularly in this book the social commentary was aimed at poverty in 19th century England. The book also quickly gained attention after its publication due to the scandalous subject matter in which crimes, such as murder, were depicted in detail.”

Spencer finally stopped rambling and almost looked as if he caught his breath from the endless talking. But what he was met with was your undivided attention.

”That sounds really interesting, maybe one day I should give it a read.” You say with a soft smile.

“You should,” he matched your smile, but it seemed a bit more sheepish due to his brief tangent. “Have you ever read Charles Dickens before?”

You shook your head in response. “I’ve never read anything by him. I actually don’t read much. But I used to in high school.” You revealed.

“What have you read?” He asked. He leaned slightly forward and unconsciously mirrored your body language and placed his right hand on his leg like you did yours.

“Pretty much the same books everyone else had to read for school.” You paused and tapped your fingers trying to refresh your memory.

“To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, 1984, um.. a few Shakespeare books.” You answered with the few books you could remember.

“Which one did you like the most?”

“I’m not sure”, you sighed and thought about his question, wanting to give him a genuine answer. “Maybe.. Macbeth. I remember finding the story interesting and I did a group project on Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Like the scene where she’s hallucinating the blood on her hands.”

Your voice started to pick up speed and volume ever so slightly. He could tell you were getting more passionate the more you spoke. Subtly displaying how you could ramble once you opened up to someone. He smiled as you continued, happy to see that you felt comfortable enough around him to let a hidden part of yourself out into the open.

“I guess that kinda explains why I wanted to be a profiler and learn about psychology and forensics. I was interested in how Lady Macbeth's guilt manifested and caused her delusions. I wanted to understand why people did the things they did.”

“I can tell, you have this curiosity. You want to understand. Know the ‘why’. He mentally recalled the times you would express your curiosity during work.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

He pressed his lips in a line. “Is it- is it my turn to ask you something now?” He stuttered slightly.

“I mean you don’t have to. It’s nobody’s ‘turn’ but you can if you want.”

“I do.” He replied immediately. The corners of your mouth perked up into a small smile. He mirrored you.

“I may be stealing your previous question. Like you said you don’t read much. But I have noticed you listen to music a lot. I want to know a song you could listen to over and over again.”

He was right, you often listen to music. Mostly on your way into work or on the jet, you would be wearing your signature headphones and have some playlist on. It was your own way of coping with the stress of your job. You looked down at the ground as you recalled the songs in your favorite playlist.

“Dreams by The Cranberries.” You brought your eyes back up to face him. But what you saw was confusion in Spencer’s eyes. He tried to hide it but you knew better. “Have you heard that song?”

He did that little sideways pout you often saw him doing when he was in awkward situations.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. Spencer broke eye contact, embarrassed he didn’t know something from pop culture.

“It’s okay. Remind me next time I have my headphones and I’ll show you.” You spoke calmly to reassure him there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

He brought his attention back to you. Relieved to hear your gesture instead of a quip about his lack of pop culture knowledge like he was used to.

“I will.”

“Alright my turn.” You shifted your weight and brought your legs up to your side so your whole body could face him. “Um, it's kind of a personal question though. I’m curious about something.”

“Go ahead. What is it?” He asked, giving you his whole undivided attention.

“Does it ever bother you when people question your age when you say how educated you are?”

He was somewhat thrown off by your question, but something told him you've wanted to ask him this for a while.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t say it bothers me. Considering I have had such an extensive education so early in my life, it’s completely understandable that someone would question how I did it at a young age.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. He knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked before asking his real question. He appreciated your concerns about potentially pushing a boundary and he reciprocated it. He didn’t want to break this newfound friendship- if he could call it that- by making you uncomfortable.

You nodded your head, silently telling him it was okay.

He slightly fidgeted with his hands. “Did you ask me that because people question your age?”

“Yes,” you answered hesitantly. “I’ve never looked my age.”

He thought about his next question before asking. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just trying to understand. Why does that bother you?”

“It bothers me when people don’t take me seriously. I mean I’m in my late 20s and some people still think I look fresh out of college. It hasn’t happened as often since I joined the BAU but so many people in law enforcement don’t take me seriously. People tend to think I’m too innocent to have a job like this.” You confessed to him as you avoided looking him in the eyes.

"I wouldn't say you're innocent.” His comment brought your eyes back to him.

“But you do have a soft demeanor. It makes you approachable. If anything, those qualities are an incredible asset to this job whether it be when you're speaking to victims or their family members.”

Even though he would often throw snarky retorts to you in the past and try to get under your skin, he always admired how good you were at your job. Of course, you were an amazing profiler and had no trouble standing against dangerous unsubs. But the way you handled incredibly sensitive situations with such calmness and comfort with others was admirable. During cases with children, you were able to ease their worries and provide a safe space.

“While you are very sweet and shy, I would never call you innocent.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at his compliments. You felt understood hearing his affirmation. It also warmed your heart to hear that he thought so highly of you. Especially since the last few weeks, you thought he hated your guts. Although- his comment did make you more curious about how you were perceived. “Half the time I don’t realize how shy I am or how I present myself,” you weakly chuckled.

“There were actually a lot of ways to deduce that you're shy,” he matched your lighthearted tone but also kept a sense of seriousness to prove he was being genuine.

“Was it the fact that I was sitting by myself and scared to talk to them?” You half joked as you figured that’s what he was going to imply.

"That was part of it, yes. But besides that, it was the way you often avoid direct eye contact, and the tone of your voice. It's gentle and low, as if you're afraid of coming on too strong.” He was too caught up in his thoughts and observations to realize how much he was divulging. “You keep your distance and your words are always measured or not overly assertive. Almost like if you do come off assertive you will receive backlash."

When he met your eyes again, he noticed how frozen you were. On the outside you didn't reveal much, simply had a stoic expression. He knew you better than that. He knew that he had hit a nerve and started to panic that he went too far. He had finally wrecked this slowly growing friendship like he thought he would, by being himself.

“Wow, yeah that sounds pretty spot on,” you agreed. You sounded soft spoken and played with your hair again, of course without your knowledge.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He abruptly spattered in a panic.

“No it’s okay really,” you interrupted trying to reassure him. “I just didn’t expect you to be so ... correct.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, relieved he didn't mess things up, but still slightly worried he had left you feeling exposed. "I guess I'm just good at noticing things about people,” he shrugged.

“You forget, we get paid to notice things about people,” you joked with him, trying to make him feel better by lightening the situation. Of course, it worked.

"That's true." He chuckled and paused for a moment to consider. Then he continued with his profile of you.

"It's just the way your voice softens whenever you become uncomfortable, almost whispering or lowering in tone. Or your nervous habits, like when you play with your hair." It was a gesture he was pretty keen on catching.

You suddenly were very aware of the fact you were playing with your hair. You quickly dropped your hands and crossed your arms.

"It's not bad that you do that, you know,” his voice had a slight crack in it. “It's just something you do subconsciously." He told her, trying to be comforting.

“Do you wanna know something you do subconsciously?” You asked, your voice with a hint of teasing. You decided that if he was going to profile you, you were going to profile him back.

He noticed your tone and that you had gained a bit more confidence. "Sure, hit me." He said as he awaited your reply with curiosity and interest.

“You poke your tongue out a lot or lick your lips. Most of the time when you’re concentrating or lost in thought. Which means you definitely need to start using chapstick. I’ve seen you do it a lot since we’ve been out here.” You explained.

"So, are you telling me my lips are dry?" He replied playfully, his grin widening.

“They probably are,” you lightly laughed at the silliness of his question. He laughed along with you and subconsciously went to lick his lips again, but caught himself.

“I'm gonna be thinking about this so much more now,” he confessed.

“Consider it payback for pointing out how much I play with my hair when I'm anxious. I don’t know what to do with my hands now,” you remarked as you dramatically waved your hands in the air.

“Sorry,” he awkwardly apologized.

“I already told you it’s alright. You're not the only one who analyzes behavior. I’ve noticed plenty of things you do and why you do it.”

“Like what?” He furrowed his eyebrows, curious what particular things about him you had profiled. He noticed something though. The confidence you once had, had washed away after you collected your thoughts.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you stated.

"You won’t make me uncomfortable,” he responded almost immediately. “I promise. I really want to know.”

You took a deep breath before explaining your observations. “You desperately want to be heard. You love to share the endless knowledge you have, but when someone walks away or cuts you off your reaction is almost that of deflating. And when someone does show a bit of interest in what you have to say your voice perks up and almost cracks with excitement. Then you talk a lot faster, probably a mixture of excitement and as a way to keep the other person engaged and to not lose their attention.”

Spencer carefully listened to every word you said. Not a single deduction was false. You had read him like a book in the short time you knew him. You noticed something about him that most of the team couldn’t pick up on.

"You're right about everything,” he said with a soft tone. Almost everyone interrupted him, you never did. This got him thinking. Of course everyone on the team made observations about each other, they’re profilers of course. However, he wondered why you had made so many about him.

"Are you always this observant about everyone? And I mean everyone. Or is it just me that gets the special treatment?" He asked his last question with a hint of a teasing tone.

You scoffed, “yeah right, like you get special treatment.” You thought about your response, not wanting to reveal too much.

“I guess I might have paid attention to you because you were the only one who was so closed off to me. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know who you were even if you weren’t going to tell me.”

He was right, you were paying him special attention. The fact that you wanted to know who he was despite his closed off nature revealed enough.

“So you admit it, I get special treatment?" He cheekily asked.

“Oh shut up,” you retorted.

“Make me.”

Your lips pursed, holding back a smile.

Spencer noticed you were trying to hold back a smile and found it endearing. He also noticed something else about your reaction. You were blushing. You blushed as a result of his taunting. He got lost in the thought of you blushing from him.

“Something you wanna share with the class?” You teased.

He didn't want to admit it, not yet at least. He wanted to make you sweat just a little bit and get a reaction out of you.

"I'm curious about something. Could you tell me what would cause someone's cheeks to flush?" He tried to seem genuine but of course he came off with a hint of cheekiness.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You were completely oblivious to your red face and were confused by his random inquiry.

“Are you questioning my profiling skills?” You lightly scoffed, not knowing what his true intentions were.

"No, not exactly. I just want to know what you think.”

Your expression changed to one of confusion but also amusement. You decided to play along with his little game.

“Well psychologically blushing could mean a multitude of things. Embarrassment, stress, anxiety, attraction.” While your voice stayed consistent, he noticed the change in your breath and how your eyes darted away from him. It was a brief expression, but he caught it. He got the answer he was looking for.

"And which one of those can explain why you’re blushing?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he leaned closer to you.

Your stomach dropped and eyes widened. You shifted your weight in your seat and touched your cheeks. “I’m not blushing..” You ignored his question.

"You are.”

You sighed and stood up, “Well if I am it’s probably because you just pointed it out and I’m embarrassed.”

"Oh, really?" He taunted and followed you. "I think that you might be blushing for a different reason."

You bit your lip out of frustration and crossed your arms. “Are you profiling me Spencer?”

"Maybe I am,” he smirked. "I would say that maybe you've been so interested in me that you've been paying a lot of attention. That's why you took note of so many of my habits and behavior."

Your face got redder and you started playing with your hair again. You huffed, “I told you before, the reason I paid attention to you was because I didn’t know you.”

"Sure, but you pointed out how you kept noticing I licked my lips. Why were you looking at my lips in the first place?"

You were caught between a rock and a hard place. “Why are you so interested in why I’m blushing or looking at your dumb face anyway? Why do you care so much?” You asked defensively.

He couldn’t respond, he froze up.

“I mean, you question why I pay so much attention to you but here you are doing the same thing to me. Trying to read me like a book,” you accused.

He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're both curious about each other."

“I guess we are,” you responded. You saw his cheeks turn pink in reaction to your questioning. “Look who’s red now.”

If his face could even get redder, it did. For a man that could probably say a thousand words a minute, it seemed like none of them could fall from his lips.

It was your turn to smirk. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to leave you speechless. Never thought that would happen.”

"Shut up,” he sheepishly scoffed.

“Make me.”

Spencer felt his stomach flutter, he smiled bashfully at your mimicking his own teasing. The seconds passed and neither of you spoke, neither of you had words. Both of you in your own heads. In your head, you got a stroke of confidence. You didn't know where it came from, maybe the teasing, maybe the fact that you had him speechless. But you took it and ran with it.

”Maybe the reason you wanted to know why I was blushing so badly, is the same exact reason I was blushing,” you mumbled.

The realization hit him in waves. You just admitted to the very thing he was trying to get out of you in the first place. He was speechless once again, but this was different. He stared at you with a stunned look, not knowing what to do.

You took his blank expression as a negative reaction, thinking you came off too strong. You slowly backed away from him, regretting putting yourself out there.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget it.” You turned around to go back inside but felt something on your wrist. You turned around and saw Spencer had grabbed your wrist to stop you. His eyes wide and breath heavy.

"No. Don’t,” he begged.

"Really?" You whispered softly.

He smiled, "yes. Please don't take it back."

You smiled back at him bashfully. Spencer’s reaction make your stomach do backflips, but it made you wonder.

"Can I ask, why did you pay such close attention to me?

He released his light grasp on your wrist and instead placed your hand in his. "I couldn't stop analyzing every single detail about you. I wanted to know you inside and out. There was something about you that felt intoxicating. After every time I spoke to you, even if it was just us bickering or arguing, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

He looked down at your joined hands and started to rub his thumb over your hand. You looked up at him and smiled, glancing at his lips. “Well you definitely must be thinking about something now, you licked your lips.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You made him feel like he was on full display, like he was a book that only you could read.

He slightly blushed at your comment. “I am. Can you guess what I'm thinking about?"

You grabbed his other hand with yours as a smirk grew on your face, “How close we are. How it’s probably driving you crazy..” You nearly whispered the last part as you leaned closer to him, “how I’m making you crazy..”

"You do.” Spencer wrapped one of his arms around your waist and placed his hand on the small of your back. A shiver ran down your spine as his hand touched your back. Of course, he could tell and was light headed by the effect you had on him. He’d never felt so intoxicated by someone before. “You’ve made me a mad man ever since I met you.”

Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

“What about you?” He asked. “Do I make you crazy?”

You glanced between his eyes and his lips.

“Yes..”

It was like you both were on the exact same wavelength. You both dove in at the same time and slammed your lips together. Both of you just so desperate to get a taste of the other. The kiss was tender and passionate, with no single person in control. You both moved together in synced motions. All of the arguments, all the tension that had been slowly building up could be released.

When you finally parted, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. You felt his airy breath as he tried to come back down to earth. You placed a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he breathed.

“I can tell,” you chuckled. “what’s stopping you from doing it again?”

“Do you want me to?” He asked desperately.

You placed your other hand on the back of his neck, “I love hearing you talk.. but shut up and kiss me.

Before today he never liked the idea of you telling him what to do. But now, he was at your mercy. He didn’t hesitate and locked your lips with his once again. You both melted together like lovesick teenagers. But moments like these of course don’t last forever.

The sound of the patio door opening fell deaf on both your ears. It wasn’t until you heard Derek Morgan that you both pulled away from each other.

”What’s going on out here?” Derek questioned with a smirk.

You and Spencer couldn’t speak, too frozen to react.

His grin only grew, “My man,” he chuckled as he glanced at Spencer.

“Don’t kill each other while you're out here.” Derek left the way he came and closed the patio door.

You sighed, “He’s gonna tell someone isn’t he?”

“Yup”

He made his way back to his coworkers with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “What’s got you all happy?” Emily asked.

“Looks like our two angry birds are now two love birds,” he answered.

“What? What are you talking about?” Penelope sprinted over as fast as she could with her heels.

“How I just caught Reid and Y/N making out.”

The room exploded with chaos at the reactions to his news.

JJ, who was standing off to the side with Hotch, furrowed her eyebrows, “I thought they hated each other?”

Hotch glanced towards the patio door and saw the light shadow of two figures. “No they don't. Not really.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds headcanons #enemies to lovers

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joeloverture · 3 months

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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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lovelytsunoda · 8 months

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glad I crashed the wedding // oscar piastri

summary: she needed a wedding date. he wanted a reason to spend time with her. but of course, the inn only has one bed, and oscar makes her feel alive in a way she's never felt before.

pairing: oscar piastri x female! reader

warnings: sexual tension, one bed trope, difficult sister relationship (though they love each other very very much), eventual smut, fake dating (I’ve been reading too much Ana Huang lately)

“so let me get this straight,” she began, swirling the coconut-mango-pineapple icy drink in her hand, leaning back against the photocopier. “you, the great oscar piastri, wants to come home with me to be my date for my sisters wedding, and you don’t want anything in return?”

oscar nodded, a wide grin on his face as the copy machine continued to churn out waivers for the hot lap guests to sign. “that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“but why?”

oscar shrugged, trying to come up with a convincing lie. “because I’m your friend. and this is what friends do.”

y/n sighed, sipping her drink before turning away from the driver. keeping eye contact was dangerous when it was with oscar piastri. when it was with the man who set her nerve endings on fire, who made her stomach churn like the rising tide with a gesture as small as a wave, or an offer to buy her a drink.

who had an accent that made her core throb, soaking her panties right through when she thought about how his voice would sound in her ear if he was whispering some less-than-holy things to her.

“I don’t want to subject you to the insanity. you might not want to be friends after you meet my family. we can’t even be in the same room sometimes, it’s like dropping a match onto a pile of dry leaves.”

oscar laughed and she tried to ignore the shivers the sound sent up her spine, the rising goose flesh on her arms as she counted the waivers, having to start the count over again more than a few times.

“I’m sure they’re not that bad.” oscar reasoned, taking the file folder from her, insisting on lightening her load. “I just want you to feel at ease.”

she rolled her eyes, grabbing her drink as she started to walk out of the motorhome. “I’ve been living in delias shadow since I was fourteen. she’s a well respected medical professional; and I went to a three year college. everything she does is perfect. hell, she’s getting married this weekend and here I am, convincing myself that letting you tag along is a good idea so I don’t look like I’m going to die alone.”

it’s not like she wasn’t successful. she was a part of the legal team for one one of the biggest racing names in the world. when Oscar’s contract dispute started, she had been the one who served otmar his papers (and to this day, saying the words “otmar szafanuer you have been served, see you in court” was still one of the finest moments of her career).

it’s just that delia always brought out the worst in her, every insecurity, every flaw she hated about herself. their childhood has been fraught with insecurity and competition.

she sighed, leaning against one of the paddocks scratchy palm trees, bark digging into the skin on her arms. oscar was still trying to plead his case, and she wondered why she was fighting it.

this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? oscar on her arm, making her feel like she was wanted, loved, even?

she took another sip of her drink before she spoke again.

“we’ll probably have to share a hotel room, and my dad might threaten you with his antique saw collection. you’ll also have to stop me from killing delia with my bare hands before the big day.”

oscar chuckled, handing back her file folder. “I think I can handle that.”

that goddamn smile. that’s where it all started, when she first started to think about his lips on hers, his hands in her hair, his mouth wrapped around her nipples.

why on earth was she agreeing to this?

“you’d better be up bright and early tomorrow. it’s a long flight and my dad is meeting us at the airport. as far as everyone knows, I’m not bringing a date.”

the feeling of his hand against the small of her back burned into her skin. she could feel his body heat through the thick fabric of her papaya golf shirt as he started guiding her towards the garage where the hot laps were being conducted.

“oscar, what are you doing?”

he grinned at her, baring his pearl-white teeth, in their slightly uneven top row. “if we’re going to convince your dad that we’re together, we’d better start practicing.”

god, this man was going to be the death of her.

————

she regretted inviting oscar along the second they got off the plane.

from the moment they passed through airport security, it was as if a switch had been flicked in her brain, converting him from the serious, driven race car driver she met at the track, to a man straight out of the romance book she had been listening to on the flight. his hand was rooted to her back protectively, and he wouldn't let her carry any of her luggage on her own.

she could get used to this, she thought, watching his t-shirt ride up over his defined abs as he reached into the overhead cabin to pull down her two small suitcases.

they walked peacefully through the terminal, oscar pushing the baggage cart with one hand, his free arm looped over her shoulder.

"you know you don't have to act like my boyfriend until we see my father, right?" she said hesitantly, running a thumb over his knuckles. "my feelings won't get hurt if you don't want to pretend when nobody else is around.

oscar acted like he was about to say something, but he was cut off by a shout across the airport.

"y/n!" the voice shouted. "there's my girl!"

"dad!" she shouted, breaking away from oscar's side to launch herself into her father's arms. the constant travel that came with working in formula one took it's toll, and she didn't get to see her father as often as she liked. she'd had to move to england to work with mclaren, and her family had stayed behind.

she never said she loved that part of her job, but a little space away from her family often made her appreciate them a little more.

"dad, i want you to meet someone." she started, waving at oscar, who lumbered over with the weighed-down baggage cart. "this is my boyfriend, oscar." despite the lie, and how foreign the words were, saying them almost felt right.

my boyfriend oscar.

"i'm carl, nice to meet you." her father said, his voice a slight bit more gentle than his usual grunt.

oscar shook carl's hand, a bit of weariness on his face as he slipped his smooth, dainty hand inside carl's larger, more calloused one. "nice to meet you, sir."

carl raised an eyebrow. "australian? you'd better not be giving my daughter any of those australian kisses."

"dad, what the hell!?" she whined, hiding her face behind her hands as a blush began to coat her cheeks. if there was one thing she definitely was not getting from oscar piastri, it was australian kisses.

oscar thought she was cute when she was flustered. it was such a shame it took him an hot minute to figure out why.

australian kisses are like french kisses, just down under. it was mark who had said it to him first, in an attempt to be funny. as the meaning set in for oscar, he found himself silently cursing mark webber.

but it didn't mean he didn't get half-hard thinking about having his head between y/n's thighs.

________

"you've got to be shitting me."

she knew they would be sharing a bedroom. all of the plus ones were rooming in the chic, trendy motel with the guests who had invited them. and that would have been fine.

except that this hotel only had a queen bed, done up with plush white sheets and a small turquoise blanket draped over the bottom half.

a queen bed that she would have to share with a man that she wished would fuck her brains out.

"i can call the main office if you want." oscar suggested softly, reaching for the door handle. "i can see if they have another room, or they could bring a cot in for me?"

she sighed, raking her hair over her head as she looked around the room. "don't bother. the motel only has fifteen rooms, and it's booked solid for delia's wedding, between her bridal party and the fiancée's family, i doubt they'd even really have a cot. we can manage, right?"

oscar nodded, hands buried deep in his sweatpant pockets. damn those gray sweats.

"we can make a towel barrier, and the bed is more than big enough for both of us. hell, we could probably have a threesome on that bed and still have space."

did oscar piastri not have a single drop of shame?

she shook her head, trying to forget the thought of a half-naked oscar hovering over her, whispering things in her ear. she made a grab for her suitcase placing it on the bed and grabbing a handful of clothes and a travel bath and body works bottle.

"i'm going for a shower, can we talk about this afterwards? i'm jet lagged and i really just want to sleep."

"sure." oscar shrugged, spreading hismelf out on the bed, arms over his head so that his shirt once again showed off his stunning lower torso.

she tried to stop herself from staring at the happy trail dipping under oscar's waistband, but she failed miserably, her eyes following the small trail of hair down to the waistband of his jack and jones boxers, to the impressive lump underneath his jeans.

if his cock was that big when it was soft, how would it feel when it was hard, throbbing and inside of her. just the mere thought was making heat grow between her legs-

nope. we're not going there today.

she squeaked out some kind of muffled statement, clutching her clothes to her chest and making a mad dash towards the bathroom door. a cold shower should fix this, right?

when oscar heard the shower turn on, the music clicking on soon after, he sat up on the bed, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. he knew he should shower as well, but the fatigue of air travel was beginning to set in. a small nap wouldn't hurt, right?

he got up from the bed, socked feet sliding against the laminate floor as he reached for the wheels on the bottom of y/n's suitcase. all he needed to do was close the suitcase, move it out of the way, close his eyes, and then drift of into a peaceful slumber.

all he had to do was hope that he didn't wake up hard, or moan her name in his sleep. it should be easy, right?

wrong. the suitcase slipped out of his grip, almost sliding off the bed before he thanked god for his reflexes, stopping the suitcase from hitting the floor, save for a few articles of clothing.

he leaned down picking up the black busted tour shirt and denim shorts, his breath catching in his throat when he saw what was resting on the area rug underneath.

it was a mass of bright peach lace, the color so close to the mclaren signature papaya, his heart hammering in his chest as he picked it up and unraveled the halter bralette. he bit back a moan as he stared at the lace and mesh that left very little to the imagination.

he started to think about his mild-mannered co-worker wearing it, her perky nipples pressing against the bright, skimpy fabric.

the mere thought sent all the blood rushing straight to his cock.

god, he was down so bad that it should be criminal.

he shouldn’t be thinking about whispering dirty sweet nothings against her skin, or sucking a hickey into her thigh before he plunges his tongue inside of her.

he shouldn’t be thinking about anything that would make his boner worse.

and that was when he heard the bathroom door open. and there wasn’t enough time to hide the sweat seeping from the pores on his skin, the tent in his sweatpants, or the fact that he was still holding the offending lingerie in his hands.

“it’s not what it looks like!” the driver sputters, turning around to face her, and bitting his lip to stop himself from losing whatever composure he has left.

she’s wearing booty shorts that barely cover her backside, the ass emblazoned with the acronym for the college she attended, her top half covered with a loose-fitting muscle tank sporting a skeleton on a surfboard, the sides of her bare tits just barely visible through the arm holes.

“oscar,” she breathed, voice raspy when she saw the tent pitched in his pants. “do i turn you on?”

“you have since the day I met you.” he admits, dropping the bra and slowly moving closer, hesitantly running his hands down her still-warm sides. “tell me, y/n, do you touch yourself when you think about me?”

“i could ask you the same.” she shot back, her voice wavering as she pressed her hand shakily against oscars clothed cock. “your boyfriend act didn’t feel like an act this morning.”

they shouldn’t be doing this. it was crossing so many lines. but when oscar looked her dead in the eyes and breathed out a single word, all thoughts of self control went out the window.

"yes."

she pressed her lips against his, nipples springing to attention as she pressed her front against his, his hands moving from her sides to squeeze and caress her breasts, her mouth falling open in a moan against his lips. oscar took that chance to slip his tongue inside her mouth, his hands migrating to her hair as he maneuvered their bodies towards the bed.

she took the lead once her back hit the mattress, practically ripping her tank top off and casting it aside, hands making a mad grab for oscar's plain white shirt while he kissed and marked up her neck.

she whimpered under his touch, and would have been embarrassed had she not been so turned on.

"oscar, please." she begged, spreading her thighs as she tried to grind her core against his thigh. "i need you. i need your cock so deep inside me that i can still feel it three days later."

oscar practically growled at the admission, pulling his lips off her right tit. "are you begging for me, pretty girl? do you want me to make you feel good? hm, want me to treat you right?"

"yes." she breathed, tucking a hand underneath his boxers. "please, oscar."

god, his name sounded so sexy rolling off her tongue. he couldn't think straight when she had her slender fingers wrapped around his cock.

"are you sure you want this? because once i have you, i won't let you go. i'll need more."

"i'm sure, oscar. and i'm not just saying that because i think your mild possessiveness is kind of hot."

oscar smiled, a small, imperceptible blush forming on his cheeks. "you think i'm hot."

"since the day i met you." she hummed, sewing her lips to his, her fingers tugging on his hair, a small moan leaving his throat.

"oh, so pretty boy likes it when i tug on his hair." she giggled. "i learn something new every day."

"keep talking like that, and you won't be able to walk in the morning."

"i look forward to it."

oscar looked around, his eyes settling on the mirror hanging opposite the bed, right next to the bathroom door. he felt his dick throb as an idea formed in his head, pulling away from the body lying prone on the bed.

"shorts off, all-fours on the bed facing that mirror." he ordered, trying to keep a gentle tone in his voice as he clambered off the bed, stripping out of his sweatpants and boxers, hard member jutting straight out as her touched himself, trying to find some kind of release from the pressure between his legs.

she shivered at the command before making a show of dropping her shorts to show off the cream coloured cotton thong she was wearing, laughing to herself when oscar's eyes rolled back in his skull, a moan escaping his throat.

"god, you're going to be the death of me, sweetheart."

she couldn't deny the excitement in her bones as she settled herself on the bed, arousal literally dripping down her thighs when she looked in the mirror and saw oscar looking at her, mounting the bed behind her before slapping his cock against her ass.

in a more tender, loving action, oscar leaned over her, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine.

"you're so pretty." he whispered, the compliment sinking into her skin like tattoo ink before he sunk into her, gripping her hips and closing his eyes to try and show some restraint as she got used to his size.

it was a sinful picture in that motel room mirror as he began to rut into her, watching her tits shake in the mirror, listening to her sweet whimpers and whines and pleads for more.

"god, yes, oscar! feels so-so fucking good, oh my god."

he met her eyes in the mirror, sweat running down his chest and dripping onto her back as he kept thrusting, the same relentless pace. "you're so good for me, pretty girl. so stunning, so sexy with my cock inside you like this. god, you're prefect. perfectly mine."

he practically growled the last word, knowing damn well that he was ruined for any other woman.

-------

they woke up in a tangled heap of limbs, not knowing where one body ended and the other began, lazily exchanging kisses as the sun rose outside.

"oscar, we have to go to the rehearsal." she whined as he kissed her neck. "if we're late, i'm never going to hear the end of it."

"don't care." oscar hums, running his hands up and down her sides. "i would gladly stay in bed with you all day and order room service so we don't ever have to leave."

"osc." she warned, sitting up in the bed and pulling the duvet over her chest. "we're going to the rehearsal. i'm a bridesmaid, remember?"

fifteen minutes later, oscar was in the bathroom steam-cleaning the wrinkles out of his suit while she tried on the bridesmaid dress, caramel fabric falling over her skin as she stared at herself in the mirror.

the same mirror where, just twelve hours before, she had watched oscar piastri fuck her brains out.

she felt heat on her hips, and didn't even need to look up to realize that it was oscars hands, gently caressing her skin through the satin. he gently kissed her shoulder blades, his hands moving to do up the zipper she couldn't quite reach.

"you look beautiful." he hummed, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "you deserve better than me."

she giggled softly, tugging his arms away from her hips and around her waist, sinking back into his arms. "no i don't. you're exactly what i want, oscar. you're funny and you're sweet and you make me feel like the best version of myself. you're also really great in bed."

oscar laughed, kissing her softly. he would never get tired of feeling her lips against his. "the boyfriend stuff was never an act. and i volunteered to come with you this weekend because i wanted to get to know you off the track. who you are when you aren't serving legal papers to team principals."

"i only did that once. i missed out on the chance to fight with chip ganassi since arrow has a different legal team." she laughed. "i really like you, oscar."

"and i really like you too, y/n. my perfect, beautiful girl."

-------

the wedding came and went, marking the end of y/n and oscar's dream weekend, the reminder that very soon, they would all be going back to their real lives.

that she and oscar would need to figure out where they stood with each other.

but she didn't want to think about that. not while she was dancing with her sister, the pair of them finally getting along as they screeched the words to an old tove lo song.

oscar watched from the table, sitting next to y/n's mother and making polite conversation as his lovesick eyes found her under the disco lights.

"someone is feeling lovesick tonight." mrs. y/l/n hummed. "we heard you two last night. the motel walls aren't as thick as you think."

oscar blanched, coughing on his drink. "you heard all that?"

y/n's mom laughed. "her father had to leave the room and get a coffee before he walked in there and strangled you. y/n is always going to be his little girl. but she's growing up, and i think if she has you in her life, she'll be okay. you're good together."

oscar was about to say something else when a shout rang through the room. "delia is doing the bouquet toss!"

all of the members of each wedding party gathered in the middle of the floor, y/n's sister standing on the dj stand, her white dress brushing against the floor and picking up specs of dust and dirt, as she lifted the bouquet over her head.

y/n mother rested her hand on oscar's forearm, staring at him with a knowing look, hoping her other daughter would be the next to tie the knot.

sure enough, it was almost like fate as the boquet of white roses soared into the air, nailing y/n right in the face and tumbling into her arms as the other bridesmaids cheered. her face was pink and she was trying to hide behind the bouqet as delia came to pull her into a hug.

"i love you, sis. and i'm sorry i didn't know how to show it when we were younger." delia gushed, kissing her baby sister on the forehead before nodding her head at oscar. "you've got a good one. don't let him get away."

"i won't." she laughed, wiping at the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. "i love you, deels."

the song changed, a slow kesha ballad humming through the speakers as the singer crooned about her old flame, and how they couldn't hold a candle to her current love. she turned away from her sister, who had just gone to find her new spouse to dance with, only to see oscar, looking dapper in his black suit and bowtie.

"can i have this dance, my love?"

she smiled, leaving her bouquet with her mother before stepping into oscar's arms, wishing for nothing more than to wrap herself around him like a woolen sweater. she rested her head against his chest, allowing herself to fall into him while they swayed to the music, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead as dolly parton began to sing the second half of the song.

man, she could really get used to this.

get used to oscar.

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cowboykento · 19 days

Text

cw: somno, brief/vague mention of prior consent, but tagged as dub con just in case. i wrote this half asleep and high sorry if there’s typos

cowboy!nanami wakes up with a problem one morning. specifically, he’s so, painfully hard, his dick pressing against your ass. your back is pressed against his chest, your slow, steady breathing soft as you sleep peacefully.

fuck, he’s so hard and the pressure of your body against his is doing things to his head—distracting him, serving only to turn him on more. his arms are wrapped around you, his hands resting under your shirt. he thinks it would be so easy to just move his hands up to grope your tits. god, if he could just pinch your nipple…

his desires are cut off by you, shifting in his arms. his eyes roll back in his head when your ass presses harder against his erection. a groan slips from his lips that he can only try to quiet.

he doesn’t want to wake you up just to take care of his problem, but he just can’t bring himself to let go of you.

but fuck, he needs to cum. he needs you.

cowboy!nanami has always prided himself on being a gentleman. someone people could trust, rely on, love. and he’s always been that to you.

but right now, he thinks of every time you’ve ever looked up at him through your lashes, telling him he could do whatever he wanted to you… it was too much.

he reached his hand up to palm one of your tits, rolling the fat in his hand greedily. he can’t help his hips as they shallowly rut against you.

you let out a soft sigh, but continue dreaming as kento lets himself get a little more carried away.

his other hand sneaks down the front of your body, to the waistband of your panties. of course you hadn’t worn anything but a t-shirt and panties to bed—it was like you were asking him to fuck you.

his finger finds your clit and he gives it a soft pinch, just enough for your body to squirm against him. fuck, he thinks, he just needs to fuck you right now.

he shuffles out of his boxers, his cock aching and flushed from how desperate you made him.

he pulls your panties to the side and rubs his cock against your folds, moaning at how wet you were. he just lazily thrusts against you like that for a while, his hand gripping your waist and keeping you still, occasionally reaching over to rub your clit.

“mm,” you moan out softy, eyes barely fluttering open. “ken, wha-“

“shh, baby, shh, just let me use you. please, need you so bad, darlin’, you have no idea,” he groans, his voice coming from a well of desperation within him.

you smile and shuffle back against him, grinding yourself against his cock.

“fuck, princess, just go back to sleep, let me use you for a bit. such a perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

“put it in, ken,” you whisper, and he’s sure his heart is exploding with love for you.

“whatever my baby wants,” he replies, his tip catching against your entrance.

slow, deep thrusts have kento groaning deep in your ear as you teeter on consciousness. he swears your pussy it’s just sucking him in, making it nearly impossible to leave your snug walls.

“‘m so close, darlin’, so close. gonna cum right in your pussy, keep you stuffed nice and full so we can go back to sleep. ya want that, baby?”

only a small whimper comes from you in response, and kento takes it as his permission to wreck your cunt.

his thrusts become a little faster, a little sloppier as he approaches his orgasm. his mind is clouded with thoughts of you, you, you.

he feels the coil in his tummy wind tighter and tighter, becoming so taught that it has no choice but to snap. kento cums with a loud groan of your name as he fucks himself through it, pushing his thick load into your pussy.

his hips slow down as his cock softens, a warm blanket of contentment resting over both of you.

kento kisses the back of your neck reverently, a silent thank you for trusting him enough to let him use your body like that.

like he promised, he keeps his dick in you, keeping you stuffed full of him.

his lips press against the shell of your ear, “i’ll return the favor when we wake up, darlin’. let you feel good, like you deserve.”

the aching need and desire he’d felt gone, and replaced with something much more gentle and tender. he presses a few more kisses along your neck before drifting off to sleep with you.

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totalswag · 26 days

Text

bar fun — DREW STARKEY

authors note thank you lovies for 700+ followers!! forever grateful for you guys and the support you give me. here's a little/not so little drew fic teheh.

summary going out in charleston with the cast after a long week of filming and enjoying your friday night with your friends.

requests open

warnings mentions of drinking, going to a bar, kissing, cussing, and drew being a sweet boyfriend.

"If you start to feel uncomfortable just let me know, baby" Drew whispered in your ear, placing his hand on your thigh and tapping it a few times as the car drew to a stop in front of the bar.

Turning back with a modest smile on your face, you say, "I will, don't worry," before kissing his cheek.

He smiles. Such a beautiful smile.

Drew's willingness to make you feel at ease is one of the many things you appreciate about him. No matter where you are, he wants you to be comfortable rather than uncomfortable.

After a hard week of filming season four of Outer Banks, the cast decided to spend the evening at one of their favorite bars in Charleston and unwind. You're not a member of the cast, but you tag along whenever there’s an outing.

Downtown was incredibly busy tonight, so the cast will be spotted by many. The plan was to keep close together in case something happened. Security informed Chase that they would have security inside to keep an eye on everyone.

"I can't wait to have a drink," Carlacia groans as she steps out of the SUV and fixes her hair.

"I feel you on that one," Maddie agrees.

Drew pushed you in front of him as he walked through the crowded bar, grabbing your waist with both hands. He made sure to keep you near to him since he didn't want you to leave his sight or be pushed back at random.

Second outing with my very well known boyfriend and I’ma shit my pants.

The moment you walked inside the bar, everyone turned their heads. This is nothing new. When fans greeted them or spoke with excitement, everyone smiled and waved in response which made fans even more excited.

Once you guys got your drinks, you guys started talking about various topics. The guys were in their own little group and girls were in theirs.

You and the girls were talking about going on a week-long girls' getaway this summer. Carlacia brought it up first a few days ago; she always has great ideas.

"I think it would be a lot of fun, and we'll be laying by the beach," Carlacia says, moving her hands in ocean wave motions that make the rest of the girls giggle.

After talking about the girls trip, Madison breaks the silence asking you about going out with Drew in public.

"So, Y/N, how does it feel being in your second outing with Drew?" Madison asked as she swirled her straw in her drink.

“Ooo good question,” Carlacia nudges Madison’s arm softly.

"It's still nerve-racking, but I think the more we go out as a couple, the less nervous I'll be," you explain to your friends, then look in Drew's way; he's chuckling at something JD said.

Drew and you have been together for three months, and the relationship is still fresh. He’s everything you ever dreamed of. The first time you went out as a couple was last month in Los Angeles, to one of your favorite cafes. This is your second outing together.

"I mean, that's completely understandable, Mariah and I were in the same boat when we first started dating," Madison says with a reassuring smile.

“Plus, you two make each other very happy and we all see it,” Maddie nudges in with complete honesty in her voice.

Hearing other people mention how Drew and you make each other happy undoubtedly makes your heart flutter with joy.

"Aw thank you, we always tell each other that we're each others person and the timing of us meeting was perfect" you continue to say.

After forty minutes, you've had two beers and are enjoying your time with your boyfriend and friends. Everyone was having a wonderful time. Fans came over and took pictures with the cast and a few of them took some with you too.

Conversations regarding filming were brought up, but the cast simply said what they were expected to say because Maddie had informed everyone before arriving at the bar that she would not be announcing the release date for season four.

We all know how that went the first time.

Drew's tall body stood behind you, one hand around your waist and the other holding a drink; your back rested on his chest, drink in hand. Every now and again, you'd sway to the music and chuckle.

“How are you feeling?” he asks you softly, only for you to hear.

You raise your free hand to his neck, bringing him down so you can whisper in his ear, "feeling quite great, you?" The sensation of his breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine.

"That makes me feel better, and if you're feeling great, I'm feeling great," he chuckles in your neck before giving you soft kisses, which caused you to giggle in response, so he kept doing it.

The feeling of phones in your direction, capturing the sweet moment between you and Drew.

As Drew pulls away, a bunch of fans appear in front of him, beaming with joy. Everyone then hugs the girls and asks how they are doing. They even requested to give you a hug, which surprised you because this never happens. It felt nice.

"Y/N right?" A fan asks with a smile, putting out her phone to take a picture with you. She wanted to make sure she got your name right, so she asked in this way.

"Yes, that is me. Would you like a picture? You inquire as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. That’s the first thing you asked because typically fans come up asking for pictures.

She quickly nods, smiling, then pulls her phone out. You take a couple pictures together and start a conversation.

While having a great talk, you discovered that her mom and your aunt are really close friends. She was even more thrilled to hear about it. A few of her friends joined the chat, and they were all quite nice to you.

Drew appeared behind you, causing the girls to glance up in surprise that Drew Starkey was actually standing in front of them. Drew grinned, waved, and hugged them.

“How are you girls doing? Being safe I assume?” He asks with honesty, wanting to make sure they’re making good choices.

They answered with the same response.

"Oh get this, Taylor," you add, pointing to her so Drew understands who you're talking about, "mom is best friends with my aunt," chuckling with delight. Drew's jaw fell in surprise.

Eventually, the group of girls returned to their original spot, allowing you to enjoy the remainder of the night. They were really respectful throughout the entire process.

You spent the remainder of the night close to Drew's embrace, drinking more with friends before returning to your apartments for a nice night's sleep.

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@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @chenslucy @brooklynscherry-z @johannelis2302nely @rosezza @solanathascientst

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew fic #drew being the best boyfriend ever!#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #drew starkey/rafe cameron 🍒

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yorshie · 8 months

Note

Hello, fellow raccoon here 🦝 If it’s not too much trouble, could you write about sharing a bed for the first time with the Bay!verse turtles?

Ah! Another raccoon! Thank you for the request, I had a lot of fun writing this one! I went with head canon style.

Bayverse x reader, SFW other than bedshare, set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

Tags: @jackalope-in-a-storm @tmnt-tychou

MICHELANGELO

This sweet turtle got his nest all ready when he heard you were finally spending the night. Brought in your favorite snacks, hunted down all his extra pillows from around the Lair, and restocked his mini fridge in case you got thirsty.

So when the time finally came and you go drop your bag off in his room, there is not a free spot to be found. His bed is a mountain of pillows and blankets, the small coffee table shoved in front of his tv has everything from pizza, microwavable food, and what looks like three different flavors of cookies piled on top of it.

Not gonna lie, its a bit intimidating. You might even have faltered, if sunshine boi wasn't right behind you with your toiletry bags, happy go lucky energy rubbing off until it felt like the spotlight wasn't directly on you.

the rest of the night is spent in typical Mikey fashion, a.k.a. a game and movie marathon. His brothers occasionally wander past his open door to say hello and to see what the two of you are up to. They might have a bet running on how much Mikey smothers you and how long you'll allow it. Even Splinter is in on it, thought the old rat refrains from making an appearance so his youngest doesn't feel like he's doing something wrong. He wants to marry his sons off eventually, after all.

When you eventually get tired and it's time to delve into the towering abyss of pillows that have taken over his bed, Mikey's territorial side makes an appearance. The door gets shut and locked to avoid anyone that might think it's a good idea to pull a prank (none of his brothers would but Mikey is paranoid because he is the prankster), and he wastes no time diving in after you for some cuddles.

oh. ok, maybe there's too many pillows, because now he can't find you! He's lost his significant other! Cue a mini chase where most of his bounty ends up in the floor in his search. You are not getting out of cuddles. No amount of wiggling or hiding will save you.

the actual cuddling is quite nice. Mikey's warm and his bicep makes for an excellent pillow. He likes to lay face to face, with your head tucked under his chin, limbs entangled and churring up a storm that you knew would have his brothers wincing in second hand embarrassment if they ever heard all the turtley noises he made when it was just the two of you.

He definitely snores, though. And farts in his sleep. Fact of life, don't get mad, because we all do it sometimes, most of us just aren't a mutated turtle man with a noxious gut fueled by pizza and sour patch kids. Dutch oven him with his own farts as payback.

in the morning you'll definitely wake up first, though as soon as you start to move Mikey will be alert. Call it sixth sense, but all the turtles are hyper aware of their own personal spaces and who's in them. I hope you weren't planning on getting an early start that morning, because now that Mikey's awake he's ready to continue the movie that you getting sleepy paused the night before. While getting more cuddles and eating breakfast in bed, of course.

LEONARDO

he internally started creating lists as soon as you accepted his sleepover proposal. Panics a little and moved the date once to make sure his sheets are washed the day before. Everything in his space has to be perfectly so. If someone interupts his cleaning and prepping, they better expect to have their head bitten off. Will have a literal panic attack if you arrived early.

You, of course, notice nothing out of place when he presents his room for your inspection. Yes, you read that right. This turtle will practically sweat as he waits for your verdict on whether the nest is good enough. No, he doesn't realize what he's doing. If you pick up on it don't tell him or else he might start panicking again.

The two of you will actually not spend too much time besides sleeping in his room, most of your time will be hanging out in the main living area. This serves two purposes: as the eldest Leo wants you to get along with all his brothers, and two, the thought of his bothers coming by his room to say hi to you absolutely drives is reptile brain crazy. So you'll eat and hangout with everyone else, and try not to laugh at the subtle teasing you know your turtle is going through with the whispered jokes and laughter that seem to stop every time you turn around.

When it gets late enough and everyone starts peeling off to do their own thing, you'll have to let Leo know you are ready to go lay down. Hilarious if you think He's going to suggest it's time to head to bed to you, he's trying his hardest not to think of the words "you" and "nest - BED! he meant bed!" in the same sentence.

when you finish your nighttime routine and make your way back to Leo's room, don't be surprised to find him on a makeshift pallet on the floor. There is no way you couldn't have seen this coming, but don't worry, there's an easy fix. Simply get in his bed, close to the wall, and start shivering. Loudly. Ham it up. In no time flat you'll have a turtle sneaking up next to you to keep you warm, though at first he will be hesitant. Cuddling you in the privacy of his own room with the expectation of sleep is very different from just chilling with you.

despite Leo trying to be a gentleman during the beginning, leaving you a bit of space and trying his hardest not to crowd you, by an hour in he will be wrapped around you. As he slowly gets tipped closer and closer to the edge of sleep, the more loose he will become. And once he gives in and gets used to the cuddles, he will never want to stop.

He clicks and chirps in his sleep sometimes. You woke up thinking there was a baby bird or something in the room, only to discover the high pitched noises were coming from him, before he transitions into deeper churrs from his chest right in front of your eyes. If you keep very still and quiet he might not wake up, but he will be traumatized if he does and discovers he makes these noises

There is very little chance of you waking in the morning before Leo. This turtle gets up early, but maybe just for today he can slip back next to you, after morning training, just to feel close to you for a bit longer. When you wake up you could just spend the morning talking, he won't mind being lazy as long as it's with you

You'll most likely be the one making breakfast if the other brothers aren't up yet, as Leo is banned from making anything other than tea or using the strict guidelines Mikey placed next to the microwave. But, he is an excellent sous chef, and after you're both fed he will be quick to suggest an activity so the two of you can hang out longer. Just know he's already weighing his chances of getting you to spend the next night as well.

DONATELLO

Dee had about 50 reminders set in the days leading up to your first sleepover, and a mental list he was practically grappling with in between projects. Anytime he'd focus on what was coming up too much, the butterflies would start going haywire in his stomach and he was likely to drop whatever it is he's holding at the time

Needless to say, he was in a bit of a panic by the time you showed up. Technically speaking, logically speaking, he knew his bed and room where both clean. And he knew you liked spending time with him, so why the anxiety? Why the nerves? He's so nervous, he doesn't even realize you've arrived, moved around his habitual pacing to set your bag on his bed, and now you're simply watching him with fond curiosity.

He shrieks when he finally notices you. Practically has a heart attack and knocks over at least four stacks of meticulously arranged cds and various technological components. Eventually joins in your laughter after he's calmed down enough to see the humor in the situation.

Just this once, Donnie has cleared his timetable of various projects to focus soley on you. That isn't to say that before he's blown you off or ignored you, but by now you are well aware how hard he has to work to contain his wandering mind, al lthe little tips and tricks he uses to keep his focus on the here and now and not bouncing from idea to idea.

The two of you will not be spending too much time out in the main area. The time it takes the two of you to procure dinner is more than enough brotherly interaction for the tall turtle. Not to mention, it turns almost awkward as the other's try desperately to not make prolonged eye contact with anyone else. They learned a long time ago not to tease the brother that controls all their devices and the access to the wifi.

Once Donnie and you are comfortable back in his room, the true hang out will begin. You'll play rock-paper-scissors to pick a movie, Donnie always lets you win, but he gets to pick the music that plays in the background. If you want, he'll access his computer and set up the program to make the lights in his room dance to the beat. Curled up in his arms, it is the easiest place to fall asleep, surrounded by fluttering lights that mimic being underwater.

Donnie may not actually sleep, but he stays with you the entire night. If you wake at all it might be to the idle scratching of pen on paper as he writes, his hand moving in your hair or along your back, or to his soft breaths caught in a light doze, a soft churr rumbling in his chest. If you're also the type to burn the midnight oil, you both might stay up talking long enough that the morning slowly creeps up on you before you both pass out.

Splinter often stops by the Lab in the morning on his way to meditate, if only to wrap a blanket over his son's shoulders and move his glasses to a safe spot. It's an ingrained habit, so much so that it doesn't even register that you spent the night until he quietly opens the door. He takes on look at the two of you holding each other close, and turns away with a smile.

Dee can cook, but most likely he'll order from the diner one block above their preferred manhole cover, and the two of you will sneak out for eggs, bacon and pancakes before secreting it away in his room so you don't have to share.

RAPHAEL

If the two of you are close enough for a sleepover, Raph is going to be the calmest of his brothers about you being in his personal space. Sure, he'll clean up, make sure all his dirty clothes are in his hamper and all the drawers actually shut on his dresser, but don't expect much in the way of fanfare.

He doesn't care where you wanna hang out in the evening, as long as you're comfortable. If you're out in the Lair proper however, get ready for some brotherly jockeying. Mikey almost can't help teasing Raph about having a guest over for the night, but the bigger brother will take it in stride as long as its only Mikey. Donnie tends to stay out of the limelight when it comes to teasing, but you better hope Leo doesn't so much as raise an eye ridge in Raph's direction. To be fair, the blue turtle is likely only drawing attention to how soft for you Raph is, but the two of them earning a trip to the Ha'shi might put a bit of a damper on the sleepover.

Leo's right though, Raph is completely soft for you. You want something to eat? He'll go get it for you without even a huff. You want popcorn for the movie? He'll bring back soda as well. You ask how much he can bench? He'll toe the line between showing off and making sure he can actually handle the weight. You neck hurts from having to crane around him to watch the movie? He'll lay on the ground and let you splay across his shell. You blink at him and sleepily ask to be carried? You're already up in his arms before you can even finish the sentence.

When it comes time to sleep, Raph will insist you take the inside of the bed, close to the wall, but he's thought ahead and gotten you your own pillow so you don't have to share with him. Yes, technically its from Mikey's room, but don't worry he disinfected it with a shit-ton of Lysol and Frebreze and washed the cover. This doesn't mean he doesn't want to cuddle, but of all the things Raph understands in his life, the very first few are the difference in size between the two of you, just how much he weighs, and how strong he is. So he'll tuck you against the wall and lay out on his stomach in one of the few positions that makes it hard for him to tip over. There's just enough room between the lip of his shell and the mattress for you to slot yourself against him, and he'll take the opportunity to slide his arm around your waist and bury his snout in your hair.

He'll hold you there throughout the night, breath slow and even. If you wake, be prepared that any movement will rouse him. He can't exactly help it, and he tries not to make you feel guilty over it, but you can always make out the green shine of his eyes peering down to make sure you are ok before he drifts back off again.

This turtle churrs sometimes in his sleep, but it's not the cute or soothing churr of contentment. No, someone parked a diesel engine in his man and is revving it like he's driving up an inclined gravel mountain road. The only way to get him to stop is to poke the thin strip of skin along his side, repeatedly, until he snorts and shifts. 50/50 chance the shifting will stop the churring. If not, you'll have to repeat the process.

In the morning, he'll dip before you wake, and come back to the room with warm pastries and whatever he's seen you drink in the morning. If you want your breakfast right away however, you might have to bribe him with turtle smooches as he tries to steal back his spot and catch up on the cuddles he's missed being a good boyfriend. Yes, he's holding you hostage, unless you want to try climbing over him. You might succeed if you make him laugh.

At some point in the day, after breakfast and whatever morning routine you keep, Raph will ask you what you want to do. If you want to go home, decompress, he'll take you home, but if you want to stay again and hang out some more you'll get to see the sweetest, softest smile break across his face.

#bayverse tmnt fanfic #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt x reader #TMNT leonardo #TMNT raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #bayverse donatello #bayverse leonardo #bayverse raphael #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #my writing requests

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luvring · 1 year

Text

PHOTO OF YOU

suna x gn!reader | rin comes home and sees the new photo of him you've gotten

note from nia: if anyone does another character w my idea i am humbly asking u to tag me because i think it's fun and silly

“what the hell is that?”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean why is my face on the back of your phone?” suna asks, laughing in disbelief.

you turn your phone to look at its back with the photo of him sitting in a pink photo holder. he’s mid-laugh, head resting on your lap, and plushie under his chin. your aforementioned boyfriend stands above your spot curled up on the couch, and waits with a tilted head for an explanation. “you don’t like it? it’s a photocard.”

“it—” he snorts before reaching for your phone to inspect it. you hand it over and his lips twitch into a smile. “am i a k-idol now?”

“maybe. you tell me.” you shrug. rin carefully takes off your phone case to look at himself, even moving so the light from outside would give him a better view. you gesture to the photocard with an accomplished grin. “i even got a sleeve and decorated it.”

“mhm, i see that, baby,” he replies breathily. you watch as he rubs the different stickers and tilts the holder, letting the sparkly stickers reflect back at him. if he had passed your desk he would have seen the sticker sheets you bought specifically for this, alongside the different layouts you had planned out. “where’d you even get this printed?” he asks.

“i have my ways.”

rin shakes his head, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before looking at you. “no, i need to know so i can print one of you.”

“what?” he only continues to look at you, a smile growing on his face.

you squint at him in return. "rintarou." he bends down to place your phone and photo on the coffee table, then moves to join you on the couch. if there was something you knew about suna rintarou, it was that he’d always, always go through with a bit. if you didn’t stop him now, he’d start ordering photocards of you and pretend to unbox them, saying something about always managing to pull the rarest ones.

you groan at the new weight on top of you as he shifts to lie down properly. “rin, oh my god, you’re going to smush to me. and also no way are you getting one.”

he hums and wraps his arms around your waist, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his laugh against your skin. “why not? i want a photocard of you.”

“no, you don’t deserve my photocard.”

“but we could match, babe. don't you think we’d be cute? i could decorate my sleeve, too.” rin looks up at you with an exaggerated pout. you pinch his cheek and snicker at his unamused frown. “no, you’d pick an awful photo and i’d have to kill you out of principle.”

“uh-huh, just don’t get blood on my picture then,”—he turns his head to bite onto your finger and grins as you pull it away—“it’ll be the one and only copy, worth your rent in just a year.”

“so you admit you’d pick a terrible photo?”

“no, i’d pick a good one,” he says plainly. the look you give him is so obviously mistrusting that rin laughs loudly. he shifts up to plant a kiss to your jaw and counters softly, “i would, it’d be the one i have as my lockscreen. promise.”

his lockscreen had been the same photo of you for months; it was a selfie you had taken on his phone, close up and face smushed against his pillow. the first time you asked about it, rin had told you he’d look at it when he was away and didn’t want to wake you, and imagined you were there beside him.

he looks at you expectantly, waiting for approval. your own expression softens and after a second, you sigh. “god. yeah, okay. i can’t believe we’re going to have photocards of each other.”

“seriously? you did it first.”

“as a joke, and you’re going with it.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re cute and i love you.” you stutter and he smirks, deciding to give you the small mercy of not commenting on it. “i’m gonna print a bunch and start a collection, y’know.”

the idea makes you groan. “can you just make your own and sell them so we can be rich?”

you feel his laugh before getting his agreement. “i can do both of those things. i'll even get the team on board and spoil you with our incredible profit.”

“oh, wow. will i get credit?”

“yeah. something, something copyright law or whatever.” you're 100% sure that was bullshit, but hum despite it. “m’kay. that’s the plan, then.”

and you think that’s the end of it, and quietly ask rin to hand you your phone again. even if it was as a joke, you spent more time on decorating the sleeve than expected and wanted it back in your case. he manages to grab and pass it to you but the sight of himself gets rin's mind on his own photocard again. he looks at you sheepishly. “...can i seriously take your stuff to decorate the card sleeve, though?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtc @kuroaka @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou #x reader #haikyuu fluff

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r6shippingdelivery · 2 years

Text

There’s been a lot of talk about AO3 and censorship lately, due to one of the candidates to the OTW board. And I realised I have very strong Opinions:tm: about censorship and the freedom AO3 stands for.

Censorship is not a solution. It doesn’t work and it’s not even easily agreed upon where the line should be drawn. What some people might deem as immoral or reprehensible is not the same others will consider so. For example, you and me can agree that sexual stories about minors turn our stomach, yet other people would also include LGBT+ content there, even the sfw ones, and others might decide that any sexual content at all is immoral. So, how do we agree about what to ban, when nothing of it is even illegal?

because let’s be honest, it’s all fiction. As in, not real. Things like incest, rape and pedophilia are illegal irl, but not in fiction. Cause they’re not harming anyone. Really. You can find it disgusting, I certainly do, but I also recognize no person, no actual human, is harmed in the making of those stories. Because they’re made up and about made up characters. I won’t seek it out, and if I see someone making that kind of content I will most probably avoid them/block them (without harassing them), but they have the right to create any kind of fiction they want.

It always baffles me how readily understood that is when it comes to murder and violence in fiction. Nobody thinks that someone who writers murder mysteries or procedural shows really wants to go out and kill people. However, as soon as it’s about sex, people are up in arms ready to believe that those make believe scenarios are an indicative of someone’s real desires. Why is that? And since we’re on the topic of double standards: why are people clutching their pearls about fanfic, but literature gets a free pass, more or less? You go into a library and you’ll find lots of books with shocking and distasteful topics, including those that contain pedophilic content (like Lolita, to put a famous example), incest (Game of Thrones, among many others), rape, murder, etc. But they want me to believe that fanfic, the medium with severely impaired social acceptance and magnitudes smaller reach, is the actual problem that will “normalize” those ideas? Nah fam, I smell a moral panic, and people finding fanfic writers easier to bully into submission. Because this is all about controlling what forms of creative expression are deemed acceptable. Fanfic IS a form of art, popular art if you will, but still art. And by virtue of how AO3 is designed, it’s ridiculously easy to never see the kind of stories that you find objectionable.

Tags are a wonderful thing. I can specify what I want and what I don’t want in my story results when searching! Tags are the author being responsible and giving due warning. Especially the “dead dove: do not eat” tag, it lets you know that the content of the story will have questionable content, proceed at your own risk or keep scrolling. Same as the “chose to not use archive warnings” that one is a warning in itself that the story might contain triggering/upsetting content, and it’s the prerogative of each reader to decide whether they’re comfortable continuing reading or not. Ultimately, it’s all about taking responsibility for one’s decisions. People who are in favor of censorship in AO3 either don’t know how to control and curate what materials they access, or feel entitled to everyone else taking their morals into account instead of taking responsibility for their own experience in the archive.

None of the stories on AO3 is illegal. Fictional stories are not illegal, not even those dealing with unsavory topics. The archive makes people agree to continue reading whenever you click on a story with a certain rating (or without any rating at all, just in case!), so the reader is giving their consent to continue reading, they’re making an informed choice. Same as with the tags. They’re there, they’re a warning. If someone reads the tags, finds them displeasing and still continues reading, that’s on them. If I find a story with tags about rape/non-con, for example, I keep scrolling. Cause I know I will find the story displeasing and upsetting. The people clutching their pearls and going “but think of the children!” are, mostly, people who refuse that responsibility and ask the world to accommodate them and their morality. And then throw around words like pedohilia and accusations of “kiddie porn” careleslly, watering down the seriousness of such accusations. No, an explicit fanfic of twin, underage siblings going at it is not CSA. Cause there’s no real children involved in it. It might be disgusting for a lot of people (me included), understandably, but you can 100% avoid reading it and interacting with the people who write those.

Finally, let’s not forget the recent history of fandom spaces, shall we? LiveJournal and Fanfiction.net both had purges of content, after some campaigns for censorship gained traction and popularity. So now everything relating to certain topics is eliminated! Well, except that also includes communities of support for survivors of sexual abuse (it happened in LJ). Well, except that the people pressuring for censorship weren’t happy with the gay smut either, so a lot of LGBT related stuff is now also gone! (happened both in LJ and ff.net). Except, in some countries anything sexual at all, is frowned upon, so why not ban that too? Censorship supporters will always move the goalposts, forever shifting their aim whenever they accomplish something. Because it’s easier and more comfortable to make others conform to their standards than accepting some artistic expressions will be uncomfortable to some people. And trust me, none of them will care if the dark fic in question was written by a survivor of similar experiences trying to cope with their trauma or raise awareness, or if it was done simply for titillation or to safely explore different scenarios in fiction. And the topics that were banned in those websites didn’t disappear at all, they just weren’t properly warned for/detailed in the summaries, so anyone could stumblre upon them by accident. The complete opposite of what happens in AO3.

AO3 was created by people who lived through those censorship events in different fandom spaces, as a response to it. To seeing whole communities and swathes of fan content being unceremoniously deleted overnight. AO3 is an archive and an online library, not a social media platform. It’s a safe haven for anyone to host their fan creations, but that doesn’t mean it’s a safe space as people understand the term in other platforms. In AO3 you make your safe space by using the tags. Because that is the only real way we can have a safe haven for EVERYONE.

The thing about freedom of speech is that sometimes, you have to defend things you dislike (that, I repeat, are legal in this case), because experience has shown time and time again that as soon as you give an inch to the censors, they take more and more. And today they’re up in arms about “pedophilic fanfics”, but once that is done? It might be all nsfw content, it might be trans related content, it might be something else. But it will happen.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #censorship #freedom of speech #anti anti #okay I'm entering the discourse I'm sorry

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munsons-hellfire · 26 days

Text

Lost Part 1 | Cassian

SUMMARY: You were the princess of the Spring Court. But you no longer wanted to follow behind your brother. When Feyre decides to leave, she takes you and Lucien. But with the discovery of your mate and a war on its way you start to feel so lost.

PAIRINGS: Cassian x Tamlin!Sister!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse, mfw, part 1, I might have missed something but I don't think this really has a lot of warning in this part. Enjoy!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I ended up turning this into a few parts. There are a few points I want to touch and I don't think it would've been a good idea to do one whole part. If you wish to be added to the tag list for this please let me know down in the comments. The sumary will most likely stay the same I'm not sure yet.

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

It felt like forever. The torture you faced under your bother’s ruleing. It wasn’t protection as he liked to call it. It was a prison, Tamlin had taken over after your father had been killed. You hadn’t been able to shed a tear when it happened, you always assumed that you weren’t meant to be in the Spring Court. When Feyre arrived as a human, you knew she was your chance for an escape.

So when she took the opportune moment to leave, you followed right behind her. Currently you didn’t understand how you had found yourself in this situation. You, Feyre, and Lucien had been on the run from the Spring Court. Little cuts littered your chest, arms, neck, and face. It was so cold, you didn’t know if you could hold on any longer. One of Lucien’s brothers was on top of you, holding you against the ice.

He lifts your head up and slams it down into the ice hard. Stars are dancing around your eyes, as you struggle to keep the blade from going into your throat. Your hand was on the blade, blood dripping onto your neck. A whimper escaped your lips as he stared down at you with a malevolent smile.

“You make such pretty sounds, I wonder what else I could get out of you.” He whispered, his tongue licking up the side of your chin all the way to your pointed ear.

You tried to push the male of you but it was no use. He was far stronger than you, and right now you were too weak. You couldn’t access your power considering you were drained. There were plants all around you even in the Winter Court but that was the last thing on your mind. It also didn’t help that you had never learned to fight. Tamlin had thought it was best you learn how to be a housemaid, how to be a mother, how to take care of your future husband.

Whatever the case may be you learned everything except how to fight and how to use your powers in a situation like this, it was biting you in the ass. Where Tamlin could shape-shift, you could manipulate the plants around you. But your brother didn’t know that, you knew better than to tell him your secret. Just before he could do further damage to you another male flew into him knocking him to the ice.

You turned to your side, a wince leaving your lips as you watched that same male throw a punch into his face. He continued to do so, he hadn’t been able to stop until someone had pulled him off Lucien’s brother. He wasn’t dead, you knew that he was knocked out cold. Your breath was shallow, as the male turned towards you red siphons glistening in the darkness of the night. He was leaning over you, hazel eyes searching you.

He gently picked you up, resting your head to his chest while he cradled the rest of your body. You stared up at him, when he looked back down at you, it snapped. Just before you closed your eyes you felt the gold thread tied around your heart. The mating bond had snapped, you were tied to the male that had just saved you. Now that you were safe you could close your eyes and that’s exactly what you did.

☾

Rhysand stood next to his brother as Madja worked on you. Cassian had his arms crossed over his chest, he was leaning against the door. The male was trying his hardest not to hover over Madja while she worked on his mate. But it was excruciating not to be next to you to hold your hand while she healed you.

“Are you positive?” Rhysand asked again, finally looking over at his brother. Feyre was at the end of the hallway, with Azriel as well. Lucien was also there but Cassian didn’t care much for him, his brother was responsible for the injuries to his mate. He wanted to kill him so they were standing guard in front of Lucien.

“Yes. The Princess of the Spring Court is my mate. I know she felt it too.” Cassian explained again, saying the same thing he’d consistently said when they had arrived back home. Cassian paused, staring briefly at his brother. “Do you really think she has powers?”

“Feyre believed it, and I know what I saw when we were under the mountain. Tamlin didn’t see it but Amarantha did. She protected herself in a cocoon of vines. Whatever she can do, she’s more powerful than she believes herself to be.”

Cassian had heard mentions of the story about how you’d protected yourself to avoid the affliction of pain at the wrath of Amarantha. She loved your older brother, but she hated you. So she’d made your torture just as cruel and wicked as Feyre had gone through. She even locked you up with Feyre, keeping you distanced from the only family you’d ever known. Tamlin. Lucien.

Rhys had told Cass that he had done everything in his power to keep you safe. But when that happened, everything changed. He knew eventually you’d be in his court. Tamlin would destroy you, and it looks like he’d already done just that. Finally Rhys looked back at Cassian again.

“We need to keep her safe.”

“She’s my mate, I won’t let her go back to that bastard of a brother. She’s safe here.” Cassian stated calmly. He caught Rhys looking down the hall to Feyre who gave a nod.

“Then you both need to accept the bond officially, Tamlin will demand her back. And if it isn’t accepted we have no choice but to hand her back over.”

“I’ll discuss it with her when she’s awake. Until then I can’t do much.”

Rhys gave a nod of his head as Madja walked up to them. “She is healed, though she might be out for a few days. Everything was drained, powers included. She needs time to rest.” Madja explained.

“Thank you.” Cassian said, stepping past the healer and walking into the room. He grabbed a chair and set it next to your bed. Then he reached for your hand, holding it in his. Cassian would wait days for you to wake up, as long as you came back to him.

☾

You held onto that thread when you thought you might die. Slowly you blinked open your eyes, a groan escaped your lips. You looked around the room noticing that you weren’t in the Spring Court. Then the memories of what had happened came flashing back into your mind. Panic started to rush through your body, however a hand gave you a comforting squeeze. You turned your head to see the male that had saved you holding onto it.

Just like you remembered he had red siphons on his body. Seven of them to be exact. His black hair was shoulder length, some of it was tied back in a small bun. He looked sexy with his hair that way. A smirk covered his lips, he must have seen what you were thinking was plastered on your face. His golden-brown skin made him look just as handsome. You could see some tattoos peaking through his shirt.

It was a gray shirt and was fitted perfectly to his upper body. You wondered what everything looked like underneath his clothes. Your mind started to drift, thinking of what he’d feel like against you, naked. His pulling of the chair brought you out of your thoughts, you decided to pull yourself up slightly so you could lean against the headboard. You felt the golden string that connected you to him. It was such a pain to not be closer to him. You needed him closer.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice was soft as you asked the question. He stared at you, the confusion was there only for a moment before it switched to understanding. You watched as the male stood from the chair, removed his boats and climbed into your bed. He leaned you forward gently, sitting behind you.

When he settled down into the bed, he pulled you towards his chest. You had noticed that somewhere in between him joining you on the bed he'd taken off his shirt so you could feel his warmth. You rested your head back on his chest, and closed your eyes feeling the bond shine brightly at the touch.

“I’m Cassian.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence.

“Y/N.” You paused, pulling his large hand into yours and entangling your fingers together. You didn’t understand how you’d gotten so lucky to be blessed with a mate provided by the Mother. “So you really are my mate?”

You questioned finally. Maybe this was all a dream, and you’d wake back up in the Spring Court. You didn’t want that though, you’d known you had finally gotten away from your brother's temper and you couldn’t go back to it. Things had gotten worse for you when you’d all returned from under the mountain.

“I am.” Cassian’s words were so comforting as he said them.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get a mate. I… Tam said I’d never experience this. That I’d be marrying off to someone who would never be my mate.” You felt your mate tighten his grip around your waist, his jealousy was evident but you didn’t mind it. Oddly enough it felt comforting, you’d been missing something like that for a long time.

Cassian clenched his jaw at the mere mention of what your brother had in store for you when the time was right. He nudged his nose into your hair. “I can assure you mate, that’ll never happen. I will not allow your brother to take you away from me.”

“But Tam, he’ll try to get me back. I am the princess of the Spring Court after all. He’ll try to call a meeting, to call for a battle against this court.” The worry was evident in your voice as you spoke the words that Rhys had mentioned a few days ago.

“If we accept the mating bond, your brother can not do anything about it. We can accept it then see a Priestess.”

You wanted to reject the idea of accepting the bond so quickly, but you knew that was a lie. Cassian was your mate, and you were his. This had to be done, and it had to happen now. A war loomed over your heads because of your brother. He’d chosen the wrong side and you wouldn’t stand by anymore. Not with what you could do.

“Let’s do it.” You spoke finally. “I need a day, and we need somewhere where it can be just the two of us. When we come back we’ll see a Priestess.”

“I have a place in mind for privacy.” Cassian said, a smirk on his lips. “I can give you a day as well. But after that you’re mine forever, princess.” You only gave a nod and closed your eyes leaning further into Cassian’s chest. It wasn’t until you were finally asleep, breathing evenly that Cassian called to Rhys in his mind.

“How is she?” It was the first question he had asked when the conversation started.

“She’s fine.” Cassian paused, he glanced down at his mate. “She wants to accept the bond.”

“Good. That’s excellent news brother. I think we could all use that right now.”

“We’re gonna head to the cabin for a few days, then we’ll see a Priestess when we come back.”

“Sounds like a plan. When you both come back we’ll discuss what to do in case Tamlin does try to do something. I want to help her learn her powers if she’ll let me.”

“I think she’d be more than willing to learn. I think it would be great to start training with her as well even if we don’t get far into it.”

“Good idea, brother. Both of you get some rest. I’ll let Feyre know she’s doing better.”

With those words Cassian felt his High Lord leave his mind. When Cassian looked back down at you he noticed that you were asleep. The fae lights in the room dimmed down allowing only the moonlight into the room. Cassian held onto you tightly as you slept on top of his form. This wasn’t the best of circumstances, how he found you. But he was so glad that he’d found you when you needed him most.

#cassian #cassian x reader #acotars #cassian x you #reader insert #x reader #tamlin #lucien #feyre #rhysand #mates #azriel

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strawberrysturniolo · 2 months

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can you please write Chris x kinda emoish/ grunge girl thanks bae 🙏

grungy love

summary: chris has a new interest in wearing eyeliner. super soft and adorable

“Baby? You ready to go?” my boyfriend, Chris, called out to me from his bedroom.

We were celebrating an anniversary tonight, a fancy-ish dinner that both of us wanted to bask in, but neither of us had wanted to fully dress up for.

I wore a tight black dress, skull tights lacing up my legs, and a pair of chunky platform black boots. A pair of white socks peeked out from the top of my shoes with a dainty pink bow on the back calf of both.

“Almost,” I mumbled in response, far too focused on perfecting my thick winged eyeliner, and my voice reaching any octave higher would be sure to strike a flaw in my work.

When my response wasn’t heard by Chris, despite my efforts, he entered the bathroom, seeking an answer.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I was just focused. I answered but I guess you didn’t hear.”

“Oh. That’s my bad.”

He crept up behind me, resting his head on my shoulder from behind. He watched my gentle movements across my eyelid, silently to make sure he didn’t mess something up by interrupting.

Finally, when I looked up and paid close attention to the artwork on my eye, he said, “You look so pretty.”

I turned my head slightly and pressed a kiss to his nose.

“Can I have a real one?” he asked next, puckering his lips once more.

I met his lips with mine, closing the space between us before returning to the final touches of my makeup routine — some lip gloss and setting spray.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” he said, analyzing my art. “I don’t know how you do that every day.”

“Practice,” I smiled. I watched as he looked at the tube of my eyeliner, interest sparking his gaze. I waited for the question that I knew he was thinking, waiting for him to want me to hold his face in my hand and let me decorate his own eyes with black ink.

“Whatcha looking at?” I asked, smiling.

He nearly tossed the eyeliner down like he was embarrassed. “Nothing.”

I took the makeup from his hand. “Do you want me to put some on you?”

His lips parted, then closed almost instantly like he was regretting beginning to say anything.

“Sit down,” I motioned to the sink. “I’ll do just a little bit on your waterline. Just enough to make your eyes look brighter with the blue. No one will even notice.”

He nodded, shyly, then sat himself on the counter.

I cupped his chin in my hand, holding his cheeks lightly as I instructed him to look up. I pulled on his under eye gently, just enough for me to get full access of his waterline without him flinching.

“This feels weird,” he mumbled, afraid to interrupt my work.

“It’s not,” I assured him. “Is it the feeling of it or the idea of wearing makeup that’s weird?”

“Both.”

I stepped back, looking at one of his eyes, now decorated in black ink below the bright blue center. “Well you look handsome, so you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave me a soft smile before letting me complete the other eye. He looked into the mirror, inspecting the finished product.

“Do you think… could you make do a little on the top? Just a bit more?” he asks, hesitating a bit.

He was adorable, his shyness regarding this new thing making me blush.

“Of course,” I nodded, making sure to make him feel confident in case this was something he wanted to continue to do.

His fingers danced on my thighs as he waited for me to finish with his eye makeup, and once everything was done, he let me smudge it out a bit, keeping it a bit messy, smoking it out until he approved.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at me with excitement over this new interest of his.

tag list: @luv4kozume @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @st7rnioioss @flowerxbunnie @gamermattsgf @christinarowie332 @nicksbf @n6ptunova @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mattitties @mangoposts @sturniololol @sturnswift @sturniololoverr @sturniololol @sturnioloos @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @hearts4chris

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo

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cherry-leclerc · 1 month

Text

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series, angst, yearning, reminiscent

word count: 3k

cherry here!...you guys, this is it! while i am sad to see it end, i am also so happy for those who tagged along and read this little mini series; i love you all. and so i ask: can i break your heart one last time?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 6

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“I can explain!” you gasp, eyes frantically glazing over to where Charles messily packs his suitcase. “Please, just let me—”

“Sure.”

You come to a sudden halt, blink, and a single tear falls. The Monegasque smiles gently, though a red tint paints his cheeks from trying to not explode due to his fury.

Nothing but a squeak escapes, struggling to find the right words. You felt pathetic; like the worst person to ever walk earth because you were the worst person to ever walk earth. He almost wants to laugh and you can tell by how his lips tug upward in the slightest, and that itself makes you want to hurl over sobbing. This was all a joke to him, of course it was.

The brunette takes long strides over to where you stand in the kitchen, weakly leaning against a wooden chair to help your legs to not give out. You had been so surprised you were even able to run up to the house, clumsily twisting the knob and looking for him. He crunches down a bit, looking down at you with dark eyes, and grabs your face with his right hand. You wince.

“Let me make things easier for you; did you know who I was when we first met at the beach?”

“N-no. I swear to God that I did not know a single thing about you—”

“Did you ever truly enjoy my company as a friend?”

You breath hitches at him even considering the possibility that you never did, but he takes it the wrong way as his jaw clenches. “Of course I did! Charles, you’re the best thing that has—”

“And did your boss ask for you to write this article or was that all your idea?”

The light in his eyes have long dimmed, but your answer crushes the rest of his soul as you look down at his chest and then back at his stern glare. “It was all mine.”

It’s all a blur, and you’re sure you let out a yell when he disconnects from you and wipes his hand across the table, sending a singular plate flying before it roughly hits the floor and recklessly shatters. For a while, it’s complete silence; you can faintly hear the sound of crickets, the wind that sings, his ragged breath and your silent pleas. It’s both beautiful and ugly, all at the same time.

You’re sure to be careful and step around the porcelain dish, steadily making your way over to him. It kills you when he stumbles back as you inch closer; as if you were some type of toxin he knew best to stay away from. It took him a while, but he knew that now.

“The reason I came to the Amalfi Coast was to get away from work; the pressure, the—”

“You think you’re the only one?” he spits out sourly. “You’re not fucking special, we all have our own shit! Except some of us are decent human beings and don’t seek other people for our own benefit.” The twenty-six year old shakes his head. “Grow up.”

The room is spinning, and the walls are closing in on you, but you continue. “I never had the intention of hurting you and I swear I didn’t know who you were up until Nico. He mentioned enough for me to grow curious and that’s when I searched you up.” You release a shaky breath, chest tightening like a fist. “My parents never believed I could make a living out of journalism. No one did.”

Charles stands quietly, orbs tracing your breathless state. “I kept trying to be the best, but everyone was always five steps ahead of me, and I…” Returning your attention back up, you grimace, aware of what you’re about to confess. “And I thought having a Formula One driver as a friend might help get me there.”

When he doesn’t answer, it allows you to drown in an ocean of shame, finding it hard to face his guarded stare. As a way to pass time, you lick your salty lips, runny nose making you cringe.

“A-and then I got to know you.” Don’t do that, he warns coldly, but you push past it. The room is arctic almost, but you try to find strength and warmth in between the memories. “And for the first time in all my years of living, I felt at peace with someone who was my own reflection. You make it so easy; you’re kind, down to earth, funny in all senses, and you never fail to make my heart feel like it's going to fly out of my chest.” The rest of your words get stuck in your throat despite stupidly trying to say them out loud. Then again, he probably wouldn’t like it.

“At first I felt bad, but my hands were still able to move against my keypad; I was sure you would understand. But the more time we spent together and grew closer to one another, I knew that would never be the case. And my fingers felt stiff, they weren’t my own, but I had to do it—my job depended on it, Charles,” you whisper.

The Monegasque had never felt so conflicted in his life, not even when debating whether to resign with Ferrari. A part of him understood completely, and the other was torn. Okay, he murmurs, awkwardly pinching the tip of his nose and then releasing. “If you need this so badly, you could’ve been honest. I won’t be untruthful and say that I wouldn’t have been a bit thrown off, but not disappointed like I am now.” The blow punches a staggered breath out of you, fumbling back, dragging the chair along.

“That’s the thing though…you should have asked for permission,” he pressed, tone harsh, distant, venomous. “And yet you didn’t. You went behind my back, just like everybody else. I actually thought…” His voice cracks and he looks away, blinking rapidly as if pushing back his own tears. “God, I’ve been so stupid thinking you actually cared enough to get to know me.”

Somehow the ability to move re-enters your body, instantly drawing you closer but still giving him enough space. “I did—I do care. I care a lot. Because I’m like that—that is who I am! You’re it for me, Charles; I fucking care.” There. The words were right there once again, and yet you continue vowing anything but them. You’ve run out of breath, ran out of words, and you could only wish there was something there valuable enough for him to accept.

The brunette seems to understand your revelation, even if you think he doesn’t. It makes his heart palpitate as if he just ran a marathon and he hates it. He hates that it had to be this way. In some other dimension, he confesses first. He admits defeat because that’s how worthy you were to him. Because he loved you. And you loved him. But that’s somewhere else; somewhere far away—something far too unattainable.

“You’ve used everything against me, what more do you want?”

The waves must’ve heard your conversation because the once wild sound is now slow, gentle, soft. You almost wish they picked up for your own sake; to swallow the sound of your whimpers. “I told you about Lewis’ contract in confidence, but good for you—you’re the first one who will release the news, so, you got it. I’m sure everyone will congratulate you for that.”

“Drugs aren’t a joke, but did you really have to out me like that? It was my choice, sure, but did you even think about what will follow?” He scoffs. “You’ll get clicks, millions, but I’ll get looked down on by everyone around me. The media, my team, my fans.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind, God, why hadn’t it crossed your mind? You open your mouth and then snap it back shut. Charles runs a hand across his jaw. “But fuck, I don’t care about any of that—not as much as the pin.”

“Charles—”

“That was between you and me. My father was a clever man; a believer. I’m neither of those things, but I’ve tried my absolute best. And you’ve killed the last bit of it.” You suck in a breath; you can feel your eyes getting smaller, skin puffier. “Do you know how hard it is to have faith in yourself as a driver? It’s exhausting.” A beat. “But that golden horse was enough for me to keep going and now it’s tainted.”

There’s no more sounds flying past your lip, but the acid rain hasn’t slowed down, only intensified. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted to happen, Charles…I am so sorry.” Closing the gap in between you two, you thread your brows together softly. “If I could take it all back, I would. I would have never gotten an interview out of you without your knowledge, y-y-you have to believe me,” you plead. He only nods, green eyes flickering down to your rosy lips, then shut tight. When he opens them, it hurts, because you don’t recognize them anymore.

“You took it from me…But I would’ve given it to you.”

The atmosphere is something astonishing; the colorful fireworks, the deafening cheers, the cameras, the podium celebration—it truly took your breath away. And he deserved all of it.

It’d be half-witted to think he would agree to this; he had every right to turn you down. Rightfully so, he could have. He should have, you think to yourself as you nervously click your pen. You didn’t keep in touch after that summer, so it made perfect sense for you to think that he would look rather different.

But as he makes his way over, chatting with his PR manager, he looks just the same. Yes, he’s older; a bit more tired looking than the last time you saw him, much leaner, and his smiling crinkles have expanded like a beautiful sight. But he was still Charles to you.

“Congratulations,” you quip when he reaches you with a knowing look. Stuttering, you point over at the screen that replays his terrific race. “Y-y-you were incredible. World Champion, eh?” Complete silence. Can we get a minute to ourselves? The older lady hesitantly agrees, strolling away. You click faster, heart rate picking up as you watch her go.

The Monegasque licks his lips. “You showed up.”

Somewhere in the distance, you can hear fans screaming his name, the flashes shuttering brightly; you’re honestly impressed you were able to find a place to talk. “I said I would, no? I, um, also have this…” You extend your hand out towards him and his breath hitches,

Nothing would ever shine as bright as gold. His trophy is utter counterfeit compared to the prancing horse that winks back at him. His green eyes blink slowly for a while, almost as if he doesn’t recognize it, but that quickly dies as he reaches for it.

His simple touch grazes past you but it zaps you to the point where you jump up a bit, and he does too. The fireworks up in the open sky were doing a fantastic job at interpreting what you were feeling at that very moment. Charles clears his throat, orbs tracing his reward. His golden cup was great, but this?

“Thank you.” And it sounds so sincere that you almost release a cry. “I really appreciate you keeping your word. I know I didn’t keep mine.”

He hadn’t. But you understood. The wedding invitation had been sent to him and he never responded. He never showed up. You never figured out why you were so surprised, but you were. “You were busy. I get it.”

Tension lingers. “How’s work?”

Work was great; easier. You guess that's what happens when everyone finally applauds you. It took a lot of strength for you to publish the article, but you did it anyway. Do it, he mumbled that night as he walked out of your life for three years. Don’t let all of this be for nothing.

Running your sweaty palm against your dress, you hum. “I’m chief executive now.” The Monegasque lets out an impressed whistle and for the first time since you landed in Abu Dhabi, you smile. “Eleanor retired a while ago and apparently loves me now.”

“How could she not?” You grow stiff. “How is Grayson? I’m sure the wedding was great, by the way.”

His eyes flicker down at your ring and you beam. His heart breaks just a bit when your eyes stare down in adoration. “He’s amazing—he’s right over there, actually.” Your husband is far enough away, but he could still see it all. The little boy giggles up at his father and you laugh.

Charles smiles. “I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Thank you. But tell me, champ; how do you feel? This shit doesn’t happen everyday, now does it?”

“A lot of work and patience, but it all worked out at the end. Which I’m glad because I was close to blowing my brains out.” You playfully pout, red lips curling into a familiar look.

“Still going to stick around?”

“A couple years or so…” His gaze shifts over at the rest of the grid who eye you two suspiciously. Even to them it was clear that there is history that will always remain. “I think I could do it.”

You tilt your head, hair falling over your shoulder. “I know you can, Cha.” The newly World Champion freezes and then shakes his head, avoiding your vibrant eyes. “Question,” you mumble.

“Ears,” he retorts, voice painted with humor.

“Do you ever…” You’re too embarrassed to finish your sentence, too afraid to face the possible answer. The Monegasque chuckles, a single hand over his heart and it takes you back to your last day with him in Italy where the weather was perfect.

“No regrets.”

His confirmation shouldn’t have been enough to reduce your forever heartbreak, but it manages enough. Releasing a weak exhale, you curiously peek over to where he retreats a gem. Your gem. The shiny pearl radiates, nearly making you blind, but it's new look is something that tugs at your heartstrings.

“Where did you…how did you?”

He shrugs, slipping it onto your ring finger; but on the right hand as the left now had an owner you loved back. “A friend of mine proposed to his girlfriend a while ago and I had it laying around and I just…” You blink with glossy eyes. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” A wet laugh slips out, hugging him like a blanket. You chew on your bottom lip. “I’m so happy you kept it safe; thank you so much.” He blushes, large hands brushing his damp hair back. “You know, sometimes…sometimes I think about you.” His name is mentioned on the large screen, but he’s not concerned by any means. Green eyes are focused on you; they always have been. “It’s mainly in the shape of a nightmare, but hey…” He winces. You continue. “It’s not your fault though, I brought it upon myself. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“You shouldn’t have.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “But don’t worry about it anymore; I forgive you.”

You can’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders. You don’t even care how sweaty he is, you don’t at all. You’ve kissed him twice in your life, but this had to be the best interaction you’ve had. You didn’t deserve it—you were well aware—but he had always been kind. Even to people like you.

Hot tears slide against his red fireproofs and he doesn’t dare pull away. Your sweet scent was still the same, but more mature. Your body was just as he remembered, but he could feel the small belly forming; you’re someone's home. He swears he feels a kick and his heart stops. Alas, you pull away with a rosy nose and swollen eyes. You giggle, wiping your teardrops.

“I think about you all the time, too.” He fiddles with his fingers. “But mine aren’t nightmares; they’re dreams.” A heave leaves you, pursing your lips. “They’re blurry, but they’re my favorite. In them, you didn’t step all over my heart. In them, you’re mine. And in them, I’m yours.” The pearl glistens harder. “And in them, I tell the truth that’s stuck with me from the moment you stepped foot on stage, rusty microphone in hand.”

He must think you’re having a breakdown by the way you crazily stare at him, but you’re not. You practice the shape of his nose, his lips, his brows. You admire his freckles, his watercolor eyes. Since when did they have a pinch of gray?

Charles takes a step towards you, but gets caught by the gate that separates you both. It’s up to his hips and he curses for it even being there. But then again; it was a sign. You must realize that too when you sigh sadly, delicate hands tracing the cold metal. “I loved you then.” A beat. “And I love you now.”

A sob is all heard as your face disappears, pressed against your hands, hiding. They grow louder and everyone must assume he made the pretty journalist cry or maybe it was her pregnancy. Maybe it was both. Separating to look up at him, you smile melancholic. “Do I even have to tell you too?”

“You don’t have to,” he clarifies. “Because I know.”

The feeling was bittersweet; it was more than that, but you would survive. Everything will forever stay in the Amalfi Coast, and you will cherish it all.

The Monegasque knocked out on the beach. The bar. Nico. The AirBnB. The love. The heartbreak.

Both ends were content. You would never truly get over that last summer, but you had others to care for now. He would never truly heal, but for now his job kept him busy. You were both at your prime. Just not together.

Clicking your pen, you nudge your notebook with a weak smile.

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…Can I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

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