#as if there's not enough to be angry about

[twirlyleafs]

“Gold-digger.” (Pt2) (pt1 here)

Max Verstappen x reader

TW: nothing really, angsty? lol

A/N: oml so many of you asked for a part 2 and I’m just so happy you liked the first part!! thank uuu!!

~~~~

To say that you slept bad was an understatement. The moment Daniel let you in to his and Heidi’s hotel room you had started crying and it took almost half an hour before the couple got a sense of what had happened. They’d been at the dinner, hearing Maxs comments, and after piecing it together with what you were telling them now they began to see the bigger picture. Heidi sat with you on the balcony while Daniel made up the couch, insisting you should share the bed with his girlfriend despite your objection.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that much, and it wasn’t because Daniel’s snoring or Heidi’s tossing and turning. Every time you were about to fall asleep you could hear Maxs voice telling you what a shitty girlfriend you were, or you imagined him complaining to his friends that you used up his money like some sort of gold digger. You knew he didn’t think quite like that, and he definitely wouldn’t do any of those things but the knowledge of how he saw your whole relationship had you spiraling.

When Daniel woke, he was always an early riser, he found you already wide awake and anxious. The Aussie knew by the look on your face that you didn’t want to leave the safety of the hotel room alone and he quickly invited you to breakfast. Said and done, Daniel kissed his sleeping girlfriend goodbye before the two of you trudged out in the hallway. It was still early enough that everything was quiet and empty, the only sound being your yawn and Danny typing on his phone.

“You think they have pancakes?” You asked, rubbing your eyes as you walked. He hummed, looking up from his phone with a small smile.

“I hope so. I need some.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Me too. And I need them to practically be swimming in chocolate sauce and-“ You stopped, both talking and walking, when you saw a door open further down the hallway. Daniel walked a few more steps, glancing between Max stepping out of the room and you with an apologetic pout. He must’ve told Max you were coming. Asshole. You met his gaze and he mouthed a sorry, making you shake your head before carefully looking over at the man standing in the doorway. He offered an unsure smile. Daniel grabbed your arm, giving you no choice but to start walking again. When the two of you reached Max he gave you an encouraging squeeze and patted Max on the shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway. You should’ve known you couldn’t trust Daniel.

“Hey.” Max said softly, making you look up at him. You took note of the dark circles under his eyes and judging by the way his face fell he probably noticed how red yours were.

“Hi.”

“You wanna talk?” Max opened the door a bit wider and with a soft nod you snuck past him into the room. You heard him let out a breath of relief and you found yourself being almost grateful that he seemed to be just as nervous as you were. You sunk down on the edge of the bed, watching as Max sat down in one of the chairs. He rubbed his hands over his face before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and pulled your legs up under yourself, casting your gaze down on your fiddling fingers. “Not to good, I guess.” You answered honestly, Max answering with a soft hum, agreeing. Things were quiet for a while before he spoke up.

“Are you still angry?” You would’ve been annoyed at the question if it wasn’t for the genuine sadness in his voice. Instead you shook your head.

“No. Just a bit sad I think.”

“I didn’t mean to make you sad schatje.” His words were almost whispered. You looked up at him through lashes.

“Do you still believe we’re only together because you’re paying me?”

“That was never- that not what I meant.” He practically whined, shaking his head. “I love you.”

“You just don’t think I actually love you? I’m just using you for your money?” Max gave you a defeated look, shaking his head quickly.

“That’s not-“

“It’s exactly what you said Max!” You exclaimed, interrupting him. You felt the tears pressing behind your eyes again. “Do you know how much of a bad fucking girlfriend I feel like knowing that’s how you see us? Me?” His eyes widened slightly but he didn’t have time to say anything before you started talking again. “I mean, I would’ve paid for my own food, my own travels- everything! If I just knew you felt like that I wouldn’t have let you spend your money on me but you always insist and you’ve always told me you wanted to-“

“I do want to.” He intervened quickly.

“But you want to for the wrong reasons. You want to because you think you need to, because you think I want you to.” When your eyes met again you could tell Max didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed again, no words coming out as his gaze faltered to the ground. You reached up and quickly wiped a stray tear, sniffing quietly as the silence settled. It felt like forever before you heard Maxs voice again.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t either.” You agreed.

“Let’s just-“ Max sighed, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “Let’s just go home, yeah?” When you didn’t answer he leaned forward slightly, trying to get your attention. You slowly raised your gaze to met his, both your eyes portraying to much emotions to process.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah sure.” He nodded, swallowing harshly. “I’ll- eh, I’ll go down to breakfast and you can order up? If you want to? And then I’ll text you when it’s time to leave for the airport?”

“No, Max.” You shook your head, face contorting in a sad frown. He paused, offering an encouraging nod. He wanted you to tell him what you needed, how to fix this. He was willing to do whatever you wanted. Or at least he thought so. “I think I need to be alone for more than a few hours. Like, I think I should travel alone back home, maybe even back to my parents for a bit. Just to-“

“Wait.” You hated the look of panic mixed with pure hurt that flashed across his face as he sat up a bit straighter. “Wait, no, y/n please.”

“I’m not saying that we’re breaking up Max.” You assured him, watching with a heavy heart as he stood, quickly making his way over to you. The second he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed his hands found yours and you could feel the panic seeping through his fingers.

“I get that I fucked up. I get that. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I didn’t mean it. Liefje please don’t-“

“Max.”

“Please don’t leave me. You know I love you, right?” With every word his voice lost its steadiness and you could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. “I love you so much-“

“Max.” You interrupted him again, pulling your hand from his grasp to reach up and cup his cheek. “I know, alright? I know. I love you too.” His eyes flickered between yours, unconsciously leaning into your palm.

“Don’t leave.”

With a soft breath you leaned in to press a light kiss against his lips before shuffling closer, letting him wrap his arms around your body. When you placed your head against his chest he tightened his grip, terrified of letting go. The two of you sat like that, just holding each other for what felt forever. You thought back on the past twelve hours. The words that had been said, the insecurities that’d bubbled up. You knew Max never meant to hurt you, you knew that even before you entered his hotel room this morning but the conversation you just had cemented it. The man currently holding you tightly against his chest was the love of your life, no doubt about it, but that didn’t change the fact that all you could think about right now was money. His money, your money, how you could ever let him spend even one euro on you ever again. The thought had your insides churning and that’s why you knew you needed time. Time to process and figure this out before you could come back to him.

“How long?” You snapped out of your thoughts at Maxs voice, so quiet and gentle that you barely caught it at first. When you asked what he meant he let out a breath. “How long do you need? How long til you come back?”

“I don’t know Max. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

~~~~

Ten days. For ten days the only contact between you and Max had been an occasional phone call and a few pictures. He sent you updates on Jimmy and Sassy and you answered with pictures of your parent’s dog, Bongo. Other than that he gave you the space you’d asked for, no matter how much it hurt him not to constantly beg you to come home.

During your time at your parent’s house you’d spent your time just being. Going back to your roots. You hadn’t been brought up traveling the world in private jets or expensive boats and despite loving your life with Max it felt nice to just trudge around your parents backyard in your pajamas, throwing sticks for your dog to fetch. Your father was the most logical person in your life, he’d always been the one you’d turn to when you needed advice and this time it was no different. Your parents both loved Max and they were obviously upset when you came home crying, but after a few days spent talking and reasoning with them you finally saw the situation in a different light. Your dad’s words echoed in your head as you carefully slipped the keys into the door of your apartment, a deep breath leaving your lips when you stepped inside. You were relived to finally be home and you could almost feel yourself buzzing at the thought of seeing Max again. You spoke his name as you walked through the apartment, frowning slightly at the stillness of it. It took you a few minutes before you finally made it to Maxs office, stopping in the doorway when you saw him. He was in his gaming chair, one knee tucked against his chest and chin resting tiredly against it. The computer was turned off, instead his attention was on the toy in his hand as he bounced it slightly for Sassy to play with. You smiled softly at the sight, feeling your chest swell when you heard Max mumble something to the cat.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Despite your words coming out soft and quiet Max flinched, dropping the toy to the ground as he looked up at you. His eyes were wide and lips parted slightly as he took you in, trying to convince himself you were really there.

“You’re home.” He stated and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I told you I’d come back, right?” Max just shook his head, rising from the chair. In a few quick strides he reached you, immediately wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you tightly against his chest. Without a thought your arms snaked around his waist, feeling your whole body relax completely for the first time since before all this. You didn’t know exactly what it was that had you suddenly feel your throat closing up, the tears pressing behind your eyes as you turned your face even deeper into his shirt, but you knew they were good tears.

“Fuck.” Maxs voice was shaky, you could tell he was on the verge of crying too, and you squeezed him even tighter. “Fuck I missed you.”

“I missed you too Maxie.” You mumbled against his chest, breathing in his scent. You’d known you’d missed him while at your parents, but somehow you hadn’t expected to be quite this emotional reuniting with him. The two of you held each other for a moment, only separating slightly when Sassy pushed her way between your legs, loud noises leaving her small frame. As you leaned away from Max you chuckled down at the furry creature, softly assuring her that you’d missed her too, before your gaze moved up to your boyfriend. You found him already staring down at you, one hand reluctantly leaving your body to reach up and cup your cheek. When you leaned slightly into his palm you noticed him release a breath, finally a small smile making its way to his face. It disappeared too soon for your liking, a light frown taking its place.

“I’m so sorry.” He began, voice serious.

“Max-“ you sighed, but he shook his head and you pressed your lips together, deciding to let him talk. By the look on his face it seemed like he really needed to get this out.

“I realized a few days ago that I never actually apologized. I wanted to call and tell you straightaway but I didn’t want to disturb, I didn’t want to say it over text either but- baby I’m so sorry.” Max spoke slowly, he needed you to really hear him. “I never should’ve said any of that shit and even though I didn’t mean it like you think I did I should’ve realized how it sounded.” He paused for a second, hand slipping from your face to gently hold yours between your bodies. You nodded encouragingly, gently swiping your thumb across his knuckles as he continued. “For me it has always been sort of obvious that the things I have I’ve gotten because of racing. My dad always said that if I wanted something I had to be the best and I guess that just fucked with my head, fucked with the way I see myself and people around me. I’m used to people wanting something from me and somehow I applied that to you too, despite the fact that I’ve actually never felt like that with you. I fell in love with you because you made everything seem so effortless, like you just needed me and nothing else. You’ve never asked me for anything, even if you could and I’d happily give it to you, and I can’t for my life figure out why I would say what I said. I think it was my own insecurities, my fears, that had me place those thoughts on you and I can’t stress enough how fucking sorry I am for that.” He swallowed hard, bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he waited for you to answer. Your eyes trailed over his face and you contemplated carefully how to respond before eventually speaking up.

“I know you didn’t mean it like- like I thought in the beginning. I realize that now, after some time. I understand your point of view- or maybe I don’t understand it but I accept it. I know you Max, I know the way your mind works and your insecurities. But you also know me and it really hurt me to know that even the thought of me being with you for your money crossed your mind.” His gaze dropped down to your hands at your words, nodding. He was ashamed, you knew he was, and despite knowing he might deserve it you really didn’t want him to. Not anymore. With a soft breath you pulled your hand from his, reaching up to cup both his cheeks. When Max met your gaze again you offered a small smile, thumbs moving over his skin. “We all let stupid thoughts cloud our minds sometimes, that’s human. I’m not holding it against you as long as you promise me you’ll tell me if you ever actually feel like I’m somehow taking advantage of you. Or your money.”

“I promise.” He nodded quickly and you couldn’t help but let out a light laugh. Without another word you reached up on your toes, capturing his lips in a long awaited kiss. Despite the fact that it was supposed to be a short and sweet peck the both of you craved more, having been away from each other for way too long. Max deepened the kiss and it didn’t take long until he hoisted you up in his arms, lips instead attacking your neck and shoulder as he mumbled scattered declarations of love against your skin.

Later that evening the two of you laid curled up in bed, legs tangled together and Maxs head placed securely on your chest. As your fingers combed their way through his hair his drew random shapes against your skin, both of you enjoying the sounds of Jimmy and Sassy’s purring from the other side of the bed.

“I’d love you every time.” Max mumbled suddenly, making you pause for a second before continuing your movement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’d find you no matter what, I’d love you in every timeline and every universe. No matter what any of us were doing I’d find a way to be with you.” His words were almost a bit slurred, the sleepiness thick in his voice, but you heard him loud and clear and it made your heart swell.

“I’d find you too Max. Even if you worked at a gas station.”

~

Tagging ppl who asked for pt2 <33 @brod16 @spookystitchery @witchsbitchestime @bingussthirdtoe @itsjustkhaos @tylerstacobell @ironmaiden1313 @bitchreader @sp1rl @marvelfangirl04 @kravitzwhore @darleneslane @amberpanda99

#imagine #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #verstappen x reader #verstappen fanfic #verstappen #f1 writing #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 #redbull racing #formula one #angst #angst with a happy ending

[ohsuguru]

thinking about black panther! suguru who can never let his cottontail rabbit! girlfriend out of his sights

the only thing is that you don’t know you’re his girlfriend yet

he watches you bounce around the town square, wicker basket in hand, pretty ears pricked atop your head as it takes in the bustling sounds of the farmer’s market

but what he loves most is when your little cottontail wiggles and shakes every time you see something you like.

the sight sends shivers down his spine, so much so that he can’t help but imagine how much it would shiver when he bends you over and ruts into your soft flesh, his thick and angry length making you squeal and claw, trying to get away from the big, bad predator

and of course it doesn’t help that you’re all dressed in white, an angel ready for corruption, all wrapped up in a frilly sundress that he swears he can see your pink panties through if he looks hard enough

and almost as if the gods had heard his wish, a gust of wind lifts your skirt just high enough for him to see your lacy undergarment, pink and… is that a damp spot? all for him?

a surprised squeak leaves your lips as you immediately push down your dress, but it was too late — black panther! suguru who has already committed that sweet sound to his memory, knowing that’s exactly the sound you’d make when he rams his now aching and drooling cock into your juicy cunt

black panther! suguru continues to stalk you through the shadows, his footfalls silent as he follows your bouncy ones through the market

your naive demeanor is one he wants to protect but also one that he wants to steal for himself — the way your expression looks at everything with innocent wonder, gaze twinkling and glossy lips parted

oh, how he’d love to slot his cock between those pouty lips

black panther! suguru who feels his possessiveness flare when you approach a meat stall that’s being run by a cheeky, blue-eyed white panther! satoru

he watches his rival’s tail swish and swish, a tell-tale sign to suguru that he was just as interested in you like how the black panther was

the white panther showers you with various prime cuts of meat, almost as if he was showing you how good of a partner he could be. how good of a mate.

which makes suguru all the more possessive over his sweet, innocent cottontail girlfriend

black panther! suguru who decides then and there that he’s staking his claim on you before anyone else could

#li shen writes ˚ʚ❣︎ɞ˚ #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #jjk x you smut #suguru x reader #suguru x reader smut #suguru x you #suguru x you smut #anime smut

[hannieehaee]

Can you please make a seventeen reaction if a saesang hurt their s/o? lysm btw💙

a sasaeng hurting their s/o

content: mentions of an ambiguous attack on the reader (u can assume it was something like pulling at reader's arm/hair or a simple slap/punch), anger from the members, angst, fluff (kinda??), etc.

wc: 829

a/n: ily <33 i was kinda conflicted on this bc im not sure whether theyd react in an idol fashion in which they just kind of let their managers handle it or if theyd handle it themselves so i went for a mixture

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's super protective over his members, which also translates over to all his loved ones. i think he would get immediately exasperated and get all up on whoever dared hurt you, fan or not. if things got physical, he'd get physical too. however, he'd try to keep things civilized.

jeonghan -

he'd let his managers handle the sasaeng, knowing that despite how much he'd like to protect you on his own, head on, he had a lot of limitations as an idol. he'd feel extremely guilty about it and would beat himself up over it for a while. would do everything he could to make you feel protected and taken care of (even more than he already did) from then on.

joshua -

he'd be unfiltered in his arguing and his anger towards the aggressor. he wouldnt get aggressive or anything, but the venom in his eyes would be enough for a person to drop dead. would go as far as try to get the authorities involved right in that moment, promising that he'd be pressing charges on your behalf. when it came to you, he'd need you to calm him down lol.

jun -

he's so used to being mobbed and to people injuring themselves due to this that he wouldn't even be surprised at this happening. this wouldnt mean that he wouldn't be insanely angry though lmao. he'd curse them out in chinese and start a whole scene if necessary. this person was not going to leave this situation unscathed.

soonyoung -

his emotions usually take over him very easily and i believe in such an instance anger would show clearly in his demeanor. he'd protectively hold you behind him as he cursed and antagonized the sasaeng while his managers attempted to alleviate the situation. there would be anger in his eyes that you'd never seen before, but it'd turn into worry and regret as soon as he met your eyes.

wonwoo -

usually when he's being crowded or fans are too close, his body language seems closed off and unwelcoming to all the unwarranted attention, but in this instance i think his fight or flight mode would activate, making him physically place himself between you and the aggressor. rare instance in which anyone would see wonwoo genuinely angry.

jihoon -

he'd be too shocked to react, only realizing what had happened after the fact. kinda out of character, but i think he'd have to be held back from taking matters into his own hands. would be furious at the blatant disrespect to both you and him. how could a fan ever lay hand on you? he'd remain disappointed in his fandom for a while, keeping himself (and you) away from the limelight for a short period of time.

seokmin -

for once in his life, the only emotion taking over him was pure unfiltered anger. BUT he would 100% prioritize checking in on you and keeping his hands and eyes on you to make sure you were okay. would let his managers take care of the situation and simply stare down the perpetrator with venom in his eyes. would be extremely apologetic to you afterwards and express guilt over and over.

mingyu -

he's shown many times before he's not afraid to tell fans to mind their boundaries before, so i think that in a serious situation in which you were being put in danger, he'd become extremely serious to a scary extent. he would not get physical or anything like that, but he'd use his words and stance to intimidate the crazed fan.

minghao -

extremely serious and put off. the moment someone laid hands on you, his body would take control of itself and put himself between you and any danger. he'd yell and curse at whoever dared cross such a boundary and disrespect both you and him in such a way. he'd hold certain disdain for fans crossing boundaries from then on.

seungkwan -

he's too polite and media trained to actually participate in the altercation, but anyone could see the genuine anger trying to filter out of him as he and his body guards tried to deal with the situation. his first priority would be you and making sure you weren't too hurt.

vernon -

he wouldve been too shocked in the moment to do anything, but as soon as the short-lived attack ended and his managers were already apprehending the perpetrator, he'd scoff and curse at whoever hurt you. there would be this unknown craze in his eyes indicating uncharacteristic anger that could only ever be provoked by such a situation.

chan -

insanely angry and frustrated at the situation. in an ideal world, he'd take care of this situation on his own, proving to you that he'd never let anyone hurt you. however, he knew that the appropriate thing to do would be to let his managers apprehend the aggressor while he checked in on you and made sure you were okay and as far away from the situation as possible.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt angst #seventeen angst

[tayytayy12]

Off to the races | CS55 x Reader

Summary - When your father sold you off into a loveless marriage with a feared mafia boss, you knew it wouldn’t end well, the two of you hardly ever speaking, but one night when your husband promises he’ll start doing better, you cousins help but believe him.

Warnings - swearing, whatever you’d expect from a Mafia story really

Requested - No - Yes

Type - Written

Not been proofread

You knew from the money that your father told you about the little arrangement he had made with Carlos Sainz, the most feared man in all of Spain, that you’d be unhappy as the result of it. You’re whole life you’d grown up lacking the luxury of having a lot of money, but you had a loving family that were worth everything to you, so you was content, but apparently your father didn’t feel the same.

He done something stupid. Something so incredibly stupid and wrong, he borrowed money from Carlos Sainz, money he knew for a fact that he would never be able to able to repay, so when the man showed up at your family’s home, a gun pointed at your fathers head unless he could offer up some kind of repayment, your father offered you up to the man without a moment of hesitation.

Carlos’ men came and hit you the next day, no matter how much you screamed and begged your mother and father to make them not take you, to let you stay at home with your family, they didn’t listen and you was taken away and married off to Carlos at the next available date.

He didn’t love you, he didn’t care for you, he needed you for one thing and one thing only, an heir. One to take over for him when he wouldn’t work anymore, to keep his family name leading the mafia past his lifetime, that’s all.

You didn’t have fun at the wedding, you never had fun, you woke up, had breakfast, wandered around the halls of your home, and went to bed, you hardly ever saw Carlos, it was rare he even came home at night.

You sighed, flopping onto your back as the moonlight shone through the crack in the curtains, yet another night that sleep seemed like something far out of reach, another night where Carlos wasn’t home and he was out doing god knows what.

You could never sleep alone, back at home you shared a room with your younger sister, your whole life you’d never have to stay in a room all alone, it was too quiet and empty.

“Fuck this.” You muttered as you threw the blanket off of your legs and slipped some shoes and a robe on as you walked out of your bedroom, the two guard that were always near you following a few steps behind, another annoying habit of your husband, having guards follow and track your every move.

You went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, something your other used to do when you was a child and couldn’t sleep, and went to go sit on the back porch of your house, looking out onto the anchors of land that she now partly owned.

You groaned as you heard the door click open from behind you, “Mr.Jackson, I appreciate that you’re just going your job, but it’s a glass door, can’t you just look at me through it instead? It’s bad enough you’re always two feet behind me. No offence.”

“Is that how you talk to all my staff?” You instantly sat up straighter when you heard your husband’s voice instead of the British accent of your assigned bodyguard, you cleared your throat, “Sorry Mr.Sainz, I didn’t know it was you.” You whispered, your eyes still stuck on the land before you.

“No need to be so formal, cariño,” he said as he sat on the seat beside yours, “we are married after all.”

You scoffed and rolled his eyes at his words and muttered a quiet “Barley.” But he still heard you and turned his stare towards you, “and by that you mean?”

You rolled your eyes once again, “I see you four times a month if I’m lucky, Carlos. You’ve never wished me a happy birthday in two years of marriage. You see me as the key to continuing your family name. Nothing more.”

He didn’t know what to say, he was angry, not at you. At himself for letting you ever think the words leaving your mouth were true, “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel this way cariño.”

You shrugged and took a sip of your tea, the warm liquid gliding down your throat, “Don’t be. Our marriage is and always has been a business proposition, nothing more.”

He wanted to say so many things in that moment, how he picked you because from the moment he saw you, your enchanting eyes and sweet as honey laugh, he fell. He could get any woman from anywhere to continue his family’s legacy, but he chose you.

“Trust me, cariño,” he whispered as he moved from his seat and got on his knees in front of you, confusing you greatly as he took the warm mug from your hand and placed it in the ground, “you’re much more than a part of a business deal to me.” He whispered and he placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’ll do better by you, you’re my wife, my main priority,” he whispered, this side of him was new, so new you was scared to say that you liked it, “tell me what I can do to start making it better.”

You swallowed lightly, having no idea where this Carlos was coming from, “You can actually spend the night with me tonight.” Yous aid in a quite whisper, but he had no protest, he just nodded with a smile as he stood and picked you up, a,ing you help in surprise as your legs wrapped round his waist on instinct.

He carried you to your shared bedroom and placed you down into the bed and he went to change, when he tenured you was asleep against the soft pillows, the tea having worked its magic and your exhaustion catching up to you, he smiled down at your body as he got in bed careful besides your sleeping frame and pulled you into him, he was going to do better. He was going to be better, for you. He was.

—————

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x oc #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fluff #cs55 fic #cs55 smau #cs55 x you #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x oc #f1 x female driver #f1 x the internet #f1 x female oc #formula 1 x reader #ln4 one shot #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #lando norris x you #mafia!f1 #mafia fanfic

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

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

[nkjemisin]

Hello! I’ve been seeing a lot about your work on social media lately and would love to read your books. What series do you recommend I start with?

Thanks ☺️

That depends on your taste/interest. I don't really write the same kind of thing from series to series, because I get bored easily and often want to try new subgenres/styles/etc. So I'll just briefly list my series and you can pick the one that appeals the most.

There's the Inheritance Trilogy, (link goes to the first book) my first published novels. A secondary world that has enslaved its own gods deals with the repercussions of that, from the POVs of three mortals. There's an overarching plot arc for all three books -- and there are some side-stories for this trilogy, too -- but each has a different narrator and takes place at different times. First person past tense, if you care about that sort of thing. (I don't, but some people seem weirdly attached to/repulsed by particular persons/tenses, so I'm including that info here.)

Then there's the Dreamblood Duology, which were actually written before the Inheritance books but I couldn't get them published at first because publishing in the 2000s was hella racist, basically. (I know, it hasn't changed much... but that little bit of change was enough for me to break in.) These books are as close to traditional fantasy as I'm probably ever going to get, except that they take place in faux ancient Egypt instead of faux medieval Europe. The story follows priests of the dream goddess as they're forced to deal with a conspiracy that threatens to inflict horrors on their society. Third person past tense for both books.

Next up is the Broken Earth trilogy. That's my experimental one, with first, second, and third-person POVs, present tense, a completely non-Earth world, and some heavy themes. All three books form a single story spanning, oh, forty thousand years or so, but mostly they're centered on one incredibly angry middle-aged mother who is on a roaring rampage of revenge/revolution. Features earthbenders, anti-magic groomers, magic statue people, and the apocalypse (again). Lots of "dark" themes and horror moments (harm to children, systemic bigotry, people-eating bugs, more).

My most recent books are the Great Cities duology. Urban fantasy set in modern-day New York, third person multiple POV ensemble cast. Turns out cities come to life once they hit a certain point, and then they claim a human avatar to represent and protect them. New York turns out to have six. It's also got some very unwanted tourists in the form of Lovecraftian entities that are trying to destroy it, along with reality as we know it. I meant for these to be lighthearted and silly and I think they kind of are, but there are still some notable political elements in them. (I mean, it's set in modern-day New York, and I started them the year Trump got elected, so...) It's lighthearted for me, anyway.

So, pick your poison!

#answered asks

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: News from an old friend had you wondering if Eddie's sour mood had turned downright destructive. (4.9k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, coming out, vandalism, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter seven: offense and defense

Your version of a truce came in the form of wallpaper panels and a bucket of glue. 

You’d placed it on top of the canvas sheets that would protect the floor from any spills, though it wasn’t as if that was presentable, either. Still, you would be grateful for the splash of color rather than the stripped down walls that only highlighted the motel’s defeated aesthetic. 

Like lipstick on a pig, your cynicism taunted, but one that you’ve stuck on a spit to roast. 

Your fingernail picked at a small groove in the desk’s wood as if digging a hole to bury your anxiety. Despite the police sirens blaring in the distance, all you could hear was the sound of the mailbox clanging shut, trapping your acceptance letter and effectively sealing your fate. 

Your breathing sped up and sent your heartbeat into your ears, inching you towards a point of no return where the world became hazy. Suddenly, Eddie’s mood was irrelevant; you just needed a distraction, even if that meant contending with his strangely defensive attitude. 

But when eleven o’clock rolled around, a full hour into your shift. there was still no sign of him. You’d give him another thirty minutes before you knocked on his door; he had a job to finish, after all. 

That was all it was: ensuring he earned his keep, preventing him from becoming the deeply feared charity case.

In the end, there was no need to intrude on him. Eddie shuffled through the lobby not even fifteen minutes later, seemingly without the intention of stopping to greet you. He looked straight ahead as though any eye contact would burn his retinas from the inside out. His tattooed arms were on full display in a black tank top, the holes cut down nearly to the waist. A chain hung off the side of his jeans, gleaming even in the harsh lighting. The whole outfit was a far cry from the sweatpants he’d donned during the wallpaper removal.

“Eddie?”

He stopped but still refused to glance in your direction. There was no use ignoring the confusion in your voice; he didn’t even bother waiting for the formality of a question. “Y-Yeah, I, um…I gotta run some errands.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek at his pitiful excuse. 

Errands just before midnight? He certainly wasn’t dressed to make a last-minute dash to the corner bodega, nor would that take all night.

He was lying; that much was obvious. What evaded you was why. Was he embarrassed about his outburst at Eisen’s? Angry at you for freezing him out during the ride home?

“What about the wallpaper?”

“Oh. Right.” He softly chuckled, the kind that someone gives when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

He didn’t stick around for further questioning, letting in a cool evening breeze when he barreled out the front door. 

Aggravation clenched your fists. His lackadaisical approach to work was infuriating enough, but the way he’d attempted to sneak past you had you seething. Did he truly believe he could camouflage himself and walk out unnoticed?

The untouched wallpapering materials mocked you, taunted your optimism. Or perhaps it was naivety. You’d all but told him to piss off last night, yet you expected him to flounce into the lobby, eager to work alongside you–and only you–for the next few hours? The thought alone was so pathetic that you were glad no one else had been around to witness it.

You hoisted the panels and glue back to the supply closet, gripping them with palms slick from embarrassment and frustration. Tonight could have been an opportunity to clear the air about the Ben fiasco and resume your usual lighthearted conversations. His brusque laughter didn’t showcase the subtle dimples that pressed from the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, so unlike the genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Those warm eyes like chocolate chips on a summer day, except they melted you with each foray into his past, each glimpse into what made him, him.

Without them, the night was stagnant.

Amy’s Cafe was a favorite among the student population, especially during finals week. The coffee was usually burnt or weak, but it was cheap and conveniently located near campus, so it stayed afloat. Overworked baristas slid filled-to-the-brim mugs and to-go styrofoam cups to the edge of the counter, hissing espresso machines punctuating the pop music that was piped through the sound system. Exactly the kind of music Eddie would hate.

Eddie. He must have had an extensive errand list, because he still hadn’t returned when your shift ended. Your chest ached with a sadness that burned hotter than your curiosity. You no longer cared what he was up to, just that he preferred it to spending time with you.

Ben already sat at a small table when you arrived, the steam from his cup rising up and fogging his wire-rimmed glasses. He offered you a weary smile, one wrought with fatigue and a nervousness you couldn’t quite place. 

It wasn’t until you plopped into the seat across from him, careful not to spill your own coffee, that you noticed the gray crescents below his eyes that weren’t there on Sunday. Stubble coated his cheeks and chin, more five o’clock shadow than beard, and you were hard-pressed to remember a time he’d seemed this disheveled. 

“You look like shit.”

He raised his brows as he blew on his tea, sending tiny ripples through the citrusy-mint blend. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Between the usual end-of-semester stress and whatever issues were simmering between you and Eddie, you lacked the patience to beat around the bush. “Seriously,” you insisted, “what’s wrong?”

Ben’s sigh held immeasurable weight, and you quickly understood why. “Eisen’s was vandalized last night,” he said quietly. 

“What?!” Your blood ran cold. The mental image of the always-pristine shop abruptly destroyed marred your psyche. 

He nodded. “Yeah. We empty the register at night and put the cash in a safe, so they didn’t get any of that,” he explained, a small consolation. “But they smashed the windows and graffitied the place. All of the shelves, our whole inventory…covered in it.” 

“Is everyone…is your family okay?” If the alarm had sounded and Uncle Mo or Aunt Tam came running in…if the intruder was carrying a weapon…

“We’re fine,” Ben assured you. “I mean, we’re all pretty shook up, but no one’s hurt.” His bottom teeth scraped along his upper lip. “I swept up most of the broken glass after the cops left, but it’s gonna take a while to scrub off the spray paint.”

“I can help,” you volunteered without hesitation. “I can swing by on Thursday afternoon.” There were no formal classes this week; you just had to drop off your paper and then you could go to the shop. 

“Thanks.” Ben kept his attention focused on his mug, dunking the bag aimlessly through the hot liquid. “Um, was your, uh, boyfriend with you last night?” When you wrinkled your nose, he elaborated. “That Eddie guy. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

You shook your head and tried to ignore the internal fluttering spurred on by the thought of Eddie being your boyfriend. “No. He just works for us.” Thirty-six hours ago, you would have referred to him as a friend, but you didn’t know if that was still true. 

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because he seemed pretty…” He searched for the right word, “...territorial over you.”

Territorial. As if you belonged to him. The notion was almost humorous, considering his desperation to avoid you at all costs. If you were his property, he must be a very hands-off landlord. 

“It’s not like that. He just gets competitive.” You filled Ben in on the wasp nest saga, even managing to pull a few chuckles out of him. 

“Okay, fine.” Something in Ben’s tone informed you that he didn’t quite believe you, but he pressed on, both of you well-aware that your love life wasn’t the most urgent issue. “But was he around last night? Hanging the wallpaper or something?”

He wasn’t. You wished more than anything that you could offer an alibi, but you didn’t have a clue where he was. 

It’s a big city; there were millions of places he could go besides Eisen’s. And yet you couldn’t name a single one, your throat bone-dry despite just taking a sip of coffee. 

“N-No, but he wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying he did,” Ben interjected, firmly but not unkindly. “It’s just, I dunno, a little suspicious that this guy comes to our shop for the first time, hates my guts for some reason, and then the place gets destroyed the next day.” 

There was no denying how strange it was, especially coupled with his poorly explained absence. Something inside you insisted that it wasn’t Eddie, and you clung onto that hope. 

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” Bitterness churned in your stomach and crept up your throat, and you knew it wasn’t from the coffee. Was there anything about the way he’d been dressed that provided insight into his whereabouts? Anything he’d mentioned in passing?

Despite scouring the depths of your brain, you came up empty.

Ben exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut like he was actively trying to forget the memory of the break-in. “Everything was completely smashed. Like someone took a baseball bat to it or something.”

You flashed back to last week when Eddie went after the wasp’s nest with Phyllis’s bat. Did he ask her to borrow it again?

Stop it, you silently scolded yourself. It couldn’t have been Eddie. He might be hotheaded, but that didn’t mean he would destroy Eisen’s. 

Except he had trashed that hotel room because the manager issued a noise complaint. He’d seemed proud of it, laughing as he retold the story, like he’d carried out some meticulously crafted revenge plot. 

Shit. 

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Ben asked again, ripping open another sugar packet and dumping it into his drink. 

“Positive.” Certainly not now when you were barely on speaking terms.You didn’t have time for a relationship; school and work kept you sufficiently busy. 

Not that you wanted anything going on with Eddie. What would you even do together–go on dates at six AM after your shift? Hold hands across the lobby desk? Steal kisses in the supply closet? The two of you making out amongst piles of linens and a rusty toolbox? Your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips pressed to his; his hands gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly close? You couldn’t allow yourself to even consider it a possibility, to allow yourself to want it.

You noticed Ben giving you a wry smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and you snapped back into reality to volley a question back to him. “What about you? Meet any cute girls in dental school?” 

His unexpected cloudiness didn’t match your breezy, teasing tone. “No cute girls.” He paused, mulling over his words for a while before talking again, so softly you could barely hear him over the muzak playing over the café’s sound system. “There were some cute guys, though.”

The admission hung in the air for a moment while you slowly absorbed it. Cute guys, not girls. So Ben was—

A soft throat clearing grabbed your attention; he was anxiously awaiting your response. 

Reaching your hand across the Formica table, you draped your fingers over his and left them there. “How did you…know?” You winced at your own awkwardness. “Sorry, I meant, like, is this something you figured out recently? Or did you know back when we were kids?”

Ben laughed lightly, his shoulders sagging with relief. The worry of rejection left his eyes as he spoke. “Part of me always knew, I think. I just didn’t have a word for it.” He sighed, his breath trembling with residual nerves. “It’s not like we grew up talking about these things.”

He was right; you couldn’t recall a single time that his parents or yours discussed non-heterosexual romantic relationships. A man and a woman get married and have babies. The end. No mention of when two men or two women love one another. 

“Have you told your parents?”

“No.” His voice caught, throat blocked with emotion, and he cleared it again. “I wanted to wait until I finished school and got my own place. Y’know…just in case.”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence. 

“Would they really do that?”

He shrugged, his shoulders once again bearing the weight of the unknown. “I don’t think they’d kick me out,” he admitted, “but they’d definitely be disappointed. Like they did something wrong.”

“You know you can always stay with me if you need,” you said. “I’ll set aside a room for you.” Far away from Eddie’s, you added silently.

Ben’s smile was tight but genuine. “After all of these years, nothing’s changed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “Does it get exhausting, being the best person ever?”

He was joking, trying his best to shift to a lighter tone, but the accuracy of his question had you temporarily reeling. You weren’t the best person ever, but it was exhausting constantly trying to be. He must have sensed that he grazed a nerve, his eyes softening as he leaned in. “You okay?”

You nodded, your head suddenly acquiring the heft of a boulder. The sound of the mailbox clanging shut and sealing your fate reverberated in your ears. And then Eddie had seen, had cleaned your smudged mascara so warmly that your skin simmered at his touch. Those same fingers might have grasped a can of spray paint or and wielded a bat with the intention of ravaging an innocent business. 

“You always were a terrible liar.” Ben said. He knew you too well, a blessing and a curse. “C’mon—a secret for a secret.”

His permission had your own confession slipping from where it had been tucked away and spilling into the conversation. “I’m majoring in psychology and I’m going to study social work at NYU.” When Ben offered you a confused look, you humbly elaborated. “And, I mean, I know it’s not the same thing as your situation, but I haven’t told my parents about it either.”

The shame burned you, flames nipping at your neck. 

Ben drummed his fingers against the mug’s handle, his nails making a soft cling. “The motel…” he trailed off, mutual understanding replacing the rest of his words. 

Neither of you said anything else for a while, only taking small sips of coffee until you mustered up the energy to speak again. 

“I don’t think they’d kick me out either,” you said, “but that might not matter. Without me to take over, they’d have to sell the place anyway.”

Ben thought for a moment. A teardrop of coffee trickled down the lip to the base, staining the white porcelain with a hazel streak. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” It was his turn to hold your hand, enveloping it in the comfort that can only come from a lifelong friend. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always bunk with me. As long as Eddie won’t mind,” he added with a mischievous edge. 

You rolled your eyes as the heaviness evaporated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He raised his brows. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I hugged you. I thought he was gonna knock me into tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” you said evenly, swiftly pivoting the subject to his own romantic endeavors. But the image of Eddie getting upset when Ben hugged you tugged at your mind for the rest of the conversation. You’d initially thought he was irritated about Ben encroaching on his job, but the hug came well before the offer to help. 

Trying to figure out Eddie Munson, you realized, was like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong. He would remain an enigma until you found the right spot. 

Afternoon bled into night, the overcast skies resulting in a noticeable absence of stars. Rain had been threatening to fall all day, but the humidity still bogged down the clouds when Eddie walked into the lobby at ten-thirty.

“Hey,” he said, raising one hand in an enthusiastic half-wave. His eyes met yours for only a second before pulling away. “I’ll just grab the paper from the supply closet.”

You tossed him the key and he caught it, clenching it in his palm. He smiled, victoriously but fleetingly once he realized it wasn’t being returned. Defeated, he trudged over to the closet. You normally would have followed and helped, but you were held down by what you knew–what you might know, you reminded yourself.

“You, uh, didn’t set up,” he said, shaking out the drop cloth and positioning it against the molding.

“Didn’t know if you had another secret errand to run.” The retort left your lips before you could stop it, and you pinched them together in a belated attempt to quell your anger. 

Eddie bristled, his brush halfway in the vat of glue, but he quickly composed himself and got back to work. You focused your attention on your essay, scanning it for the millionth time in search of misplaced commas or missing words. 

Perfect. It needed to be perfect. 

Silence once again overtook the motel lobby, broken only by the sounds of Eddie slicing the wallpaper at the edges, not bothering to measure before adhering it to the exposed plaster, and the outside traffic. 

You were comfortable with the prolonged quiet, though admittedly less so than before Eddie arrived a few weeks ago, but it must have gnawed at him. He started humming after only fifteen minutes, an unfamiliar tune, smooth in some places and staccato in others. 

“Are you still mad at me or something?”

You loathed the way his voice startled you, your mind too deeply buried in your paper. It caused you to look up and lock eyes with him. His question was wrought with frustration, though you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or at his own inability to decipher the situation. 

“No.” Yes. 

Eddie sighed and continued working. “Well, if you change your mind, just know that I’m sorry.”

His apology brought back memories of his previous attempt—though ‘attempt’ might be overstating it, and you didn’t want to bite back your response. “It isn’t me you need to apologize to.”

He didn’t bother turning to you when he spoke. “You’re talking about that Bill guy?”

“Ben,” you corrected him, willing yourself to unclench your jaw, “and yes. You were rude to him for no reason.” You pushed aside Ben’s explanation, an improbability in itself. 

“I had a reason.” Venom dripped from each word. “Trust me, I could’ve done worse things than hurt his feelings.” 

And as his grip tightened around the brush, one bluish vein bulging in his forearm, you remembered how gleeful he’d admitted to trashing the hotel. How Ben had said that Eisen’s looked as though someone took a baseball bat to it.

“The store was vandalized last night.” 

All of the oxygen in the room evaporated. Eddie’s unamused chuckle, low in his throat, fissured the silent tension and made it palpable. Real. “And you think I did it.”

“I never said that.” 

But you and he both knew that you didn’t have to; the slight tremor in your voice giving away your true intentions. Even if you weren’t outright accusing him, your tone had too much bite to be conversational.

He threw the brush to the ground and it landed against the cloth with an audible thud. “Whatever.” Another grim laugh, each step towards the desk had your heart sinking further into your chest. “Y’know, I’ve already had a pretty shitty week, and I thought talking to you could turn it around. Should’ve known better.” He wiped his palms on his blue jeans and procured a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag. 

You could only imagine the restraint it took for him not to exhale a cloud of smoke directly in your face.

It was a replay of the situation with Izzy’s mother, the assumptions that steeled you against her before you’d ever met and had you painting her as a neglectful parent. Her palpable worry was a slap across your face, and you felt that same sting now with Eddie.

Ruined it. With one stupid comment, you’d obliterated all of the trust built between you. 

“Excuse me, but I have a very busy evening ahead of me,” he said, pointing the cigarette in your direction like an accusation of his own. “I’m supposed to commit arson in fifteen minutes, and if I have time, I might just murder someone.”

No doubt you were at the top of his list.

The realization of your mistake released an anchor of guilt down your stomach. You should have trusted your instincts, should have immediately eschewed any notion that he was the culprit.

You hated yourself for even considering it a possibility, let alone a probability.

“For a sophisticated city girl, you sure remind me of the small-town pricks I grew up with,” Eddie continued, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. “Guess none of those textbooks taught you how to ask questions, huh? Like, ‘Eddie, where were you last night?’ That might’ve been a good start.”

His words were submerged in a poisonous vitriol, purposefully launched with the intent to maim. And yet they weren't inherently aimed at you. Not all of them, anyway. 

In that moment, you were everyone who had ever accused him of a crime he hadn’t committed. You were the security guards who ‘kept an eye’ on him when he went shopping, the middle-aged women who scowled and clutched their pearls at his tattoos, the people in his hometown who wrote him off as a devil-worshiping freak. 

Guilty until proven innocent. 

The fingers on your left hand slotted between the gaps on your right and pressed into your palm, a distraction from the lump forming in your throat. Crying was not an option, it exposed your vulnerability and opened you up to further ridicule. The only thing worse than Eddie using your tears against you was if he took pity on you; there was no way you could handle that level of humiliation. 

“Eddie, I—” 

You’d finally found your footing in the conversation, and it was promptly clipped. “Just assumed that I was off breaking and entering. A little blue collar crime is nothing new for trailer trash like me, right?” He shook his head in faux disbelief. “Is this how you’re gonna treat your clients?”

That final comment was a lit match that ignited a powderkeg within you, and since you refused to shed a single tear, it exploded in the only other way possible.

“You,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, no longer caring about whatever professional boundaries you might be crossing. Those had flown out the window once he’d purposely dredged up your insecurities. “You are the one who bailed on your job with the lamest excuse I’d ever heard and expected me not to get suspicious.” Your heart beat double-time, pumping raw anger in lieu of blood. “And you are the one who bragged about trashing a hotel room when the manager had the audacity to enforce a rule.” 

Eddie took a small step back, your biting reply an arrow to the gut. Perhaps even he felt it, too; the way he’d taken his tirade over the line. Gray flakes fell from his cigarette and onto the desk, the ashy clump having grown too heavy for gravity. 

You weren’t done, despite his apparent surrender. “You’re not my client. And I’m not Nancy Drew, so don’t act like I’m responsible for solving your bullshit mysteries.”

His nostrils flared as he regained his composure. “Asking a question isn’t—” a door creaking open and subsequent irritated footsteps halted his retort. Both of you broke eye contact to watch as Phyllis padded up the hallway and into the lobby. Irritation accentuated her smeared-lipstick frown, and she pulled her robe across her body, tugging on the belt in frustration. 

“I don’t know what this little lovers’ quarrel is about,” she hissed through clenched teeth, dragging an arthritic finger between you and Eddie, “but it’s killing the mood. So if you could wrap it up, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

You nearly choked on your tongue, and pink splotches decorated Eddie’s stubbled cheeks. 

“We’re not—”

“It isn’t—”

But Phyllis had already stalked back to her room, never one to keep a gentleman caller waiting. 

Neither you nor Eddie said a word for a few seconds, the heat of embarrassment still nipping at your bodies. A lovers’ quarrel? Phyllis clearly had a convoluted sense of romance if she thought you and Eddie were lovers. 

Eddie shattered the silence first, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about needing an ashtray. The dam that restrained your snarkiness had apparently buckled and burst, because when he turned to leave, his back to you, you called out, “see how easy it is to tell me where you’re going?”

He stopped, the cigarette between his fingers now ash down to the filter, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was low in his throat, a slight tremor as he spoke. “That’s real rich, coming from the person whose parents think she’s going to school for hospitality.”

That was low, but unlike his comment about accusing your future clients, this one was true. There was nothing you could say in response, no rebuttal would suffice. You hated the way words stilled in your chest, wishing you could fling insult after insult about his failed music career, but you were simply too tired.

You managed to stave off your tears until he had fully rounded the corner, burying your head in your hands to muffle your sobs. Pathetic. That’s what you were: a pathetic mess, bold enough to start an argument but too cowardly to finish it. And so there you stood, elbows digging into the wooden desktop until splinters pierced your skin, the distance between you and Eddie growing with each passing second.

Holding your own with other guests was usually second-nature for you, but other guests weren’t Eddie. They weren’t hanging around the lobby and asking you about your hopes and dreams. They weren’t willingly offering up their most vulnerable selves just to reassure you. They weren’t tagging along on errands and turning ordinary subway rides into small adventures.

They also weren’t sneaking around and making watered-down excuses, then painting you as the bad guy for doubting their intentions.

Half of you ached to apologize; the other half wanted to toss him and his trash bag luggage to the curb and not look back.

Warm tears slid down the slope of your nose until you tasted their salt on your lips. Stopping them seemed an impossible task, your mind hovering above your body like a separate entity altogether. Your breaths were jagged and uneven, an irregular pattern of shallow inhales and strained exhales. 

There was no sense in throwing yourself a pity party, not when you got yourself into this mess. If you were going to wallow in your own misery, you could at least be productive while you cried. 

Eddie had barely started the re-wallpapering, so cleaning up was not a daunting task. You rolled the paper back around the tube, keeping it tightly wound for easier transport. It was clunky; you had to adjust it twice in the short distance to the closet, but you managed to get it there with it unraveling. 

A gentle scrape across the desk made you peek out from behind the closet door, your red-stained, swollen eyes landing on Eddie once again. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip, his fingers clenched around the jet-black lighter you hadn’t noticed he’d left behind.

He saw you, too, his lips forming a tense smile. 

“Forgot this,” he said, holding up the lighter with a little shake. The jaded lines of his face softened when he clocked your tear-streaked cheeks, and that minor show of sympathy had you eager to crawl beneath a rock. 

You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let his gaze fall to where you were twisting the lid back onto the glue. Tucking the cigarette behind his ear and covering it with a curtain of curls, he hoisted the bucket and brought it back to the supply closet.

“Thanks.” It was safe yet genuine, not an invitation for a conversation nor a dismissal. 

Eddie shrugged. “S’fine,” he lisped, the cigarette placed back between his lips as he lit it. “Needed to clean up anyway.”

Optimism—whatever you could muster up of it—rattled against your ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom. If he cared about cleaning up, maybe that meant he was going to finish the job another time. You didn’t dare ask him, only nodding your head in acknowledgment. 

Friends fight, right? Your nagging need for reassurance poised the question on the tip of your tongue, but your fear of looking desperate anchored it there. I didn’t ruin everything, did I?

The flick of the lighter sparked a flame, Eddie’s hand protectively cupped around it. “Well, um, g’night,” he said, giving an awkward half-wave. 

“Good night.” Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. But you didn’t manage that addendum, and Eddie retreated to his room. 

When you slept that morning, you dreamt that he turned back around. 

--

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

[kaycode1999]

For anyone who might be saying Bee is out of character in the trailer let me remind you of the batshit insane things he's done in the movies and TV shows

Drove up to the dealership parking lot as Sam was looking at cars and threw his door into the car next to him

blasted a frequency that shattered the glass on every other car in the vicinity scaring Bobby Bolivia enough to let them take it for $4000

Tried to wingman Sam by stalling his engine and pulling over to the side of the road while playing sexual healing

Threw a hissy fit about being called a crappy camero and scanned a newer model

Essentially relieved himself all over agent Simmons because he was rude

Drove to where Sam was at college and drove up onto a bush in front of the frat house where Sam was at the party before blaring the car alarm

Started going through different songs about how the “ girl” who got in with Sam was bad news and Sam was on the verge of being assaulted or cheating

Slammed what he thought was a human girls head into the dashboard before spraying what Im assuming is coolant on her because she insinuated she was going to get Sam to cheat on Mikayla

Threw himself out of a plane and used a dead Decepticon to soften his fall

Accidentally destroyed a major portion of Charlie’s house

Smeared egg all over the car of Charlie's bully before punching the roof and jumping on it crushing the car

Ran into a tree at high speed because he turned off his lights

Joined illegal street racing

Fought a modified human and lost

Used a random truck like a scooter to go after knockout because he lost his T-Cog and ended up going over a cliff

Drove off a ship and blasted a Decepticon ship in mid air

Did the dirty dancing chair thing in a paramount commercial

Joined an underground bot fighting ring to find Grimlock

Shot the tape for never gonna give you up out of his cassette player the second it started playing nearly taking Charlie’s head off

Angrily did donuts in front of the stinger prototype

Forced his steering wheel into Shanes's face when he called Bee’s alt-mode uncool

Got so angry when the stinger commercial called him old and ugly he kicked down the prototype

I’ll add more if I think of them but Bumblebee is just a tiny feral gremlin and I love him so very much. Each iteration of him is perfect

#transformers #bumblebee #transformers bumblebee #autobots #transformers one

[websterss]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝟏/? — 𝐀𝐙𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Even the healthiest flowers wilt one day. It’s nature's way of teaching us that nothing lasts forever. Azriel learns that the hard way.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): some fluff, no angst yet

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,107

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Azriel x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: I use any excuse to use flowers in fics lol. I hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Azriel wasn’t sure what the Mother was trying to tell him this year round. It was confusing. One minute he’d think he was feeling the bond snap in place, then the next, he was left watching his family display their love for each other in front of him. He had half the mind this year to even consider the possibility of meeting his mate, but he was still so sure that it was Elain till the end. Guided blindly by the three brothers', and three sisters' fate. It's too coincidental to not be true. It was his very own motivation to keep going on with his life. Though it wasn’t his sole purpose in life, his reason to breathe. He was more enraptured by the idea of wanting love in his life than actually trying to see love wasn’t something to be defined, it was something not to take lightly, nor for granted. He wanted it though, so why wouldn’t the Mother grant him his heart's sole wish?

He could have enjoyed spending the day in the markets, he never denied a stroll through the city, but the day appeared to be one that wasn’t going to be a happy occurrence. The one thing he refused to be for Elain’s birthday was angry and annoyed, but Rhysand had other plans for him, and it seemed his shadows were out of his control today. Zipping past shoppers and merchants. He’s had to pull them back five times now after they knocked a sack of fruit from a woman’s hands, almost ruining a stand, and dropped a child's ice cream.

“You know…It wouldn’t kill you to smile now and then. Just a slight upward curl to the corners of your mouth and you’ll be set.” Azriel snaps out of his troubled thoughts. A moment's worth of a distraction was enough for his walls to stay down long enough for Rhysand to sympathize with the Shadowsinger and his thoughts.

Azriel didn’t look at Rhysand as he replied with little care. “I have no reason to.” Azriel did smile, when wanted to of course, when his family butted heads, when they made a joke he found amusing. When a pretty female would glance his way. It was rarely suited to see one on his face in public but it wasn’t uncommon. You just had to simply be close to him and let him get comfortable around you. But today, he couldn’t keep his eye from twitching every few seconds. It was frustrating and he didn’t understand what was wrong with him. With his shadows. Azriel grits his teeth attempting to recall his shadows once more. “I have no reason to today, Rhysand.” He huffs as his shadows recoil back into him.

The peculiar entities seemed to grow in their frequency, moving around people more erratically than before. He just makes out a few words from their whispers in his ear too. Something about she's coming, she's here. Was that a warning or just part of his imagination? With the shadows distracting him more than usual, he almost didn’t hear Rhysand.

"Rhysand, ouch!" He chuckled, placing a hand over his heart in feigned hurt. “Smile.�� Azriel turned to him realizing he was starting to lose it for real this time.

“What on earth for?” He furrowed his brows at him.

“You're scaring my inhabitants." He gestures to the child who is still clinging to his mother. The adolescent sparing glances at him. A few passersby walk past the High Lord and Spymaster with haste. A few of the elderly stare with caution. "You okay there Az, your walls have been a little unguarded today. I haven’t had to use that amount of effort to try to get inside that head of yours.” Rhysand's boisterous laughter fills his ears. Azriel slaps away his hand that palms his scalp, messing up his hair. He staggers to the far side of the cobblestone streets as he pushes himself away. Rhysand only continued to laugh as Azriel threw him a glare and straightened himself out. The streets of Velaris were busy and crowded this afternoon much to his joy. His shadows didn’t find it bothersome as they continued to torment the people of Velaris.

Azriel cursed under his breath as he noticed his shadows continuing to go astray. This had been unusual behavior for them and he still couldn’t figure out the reason for the sudden change. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and scoped the busy market. Why? Why can’t I just relax for a minute on my day off? Why can’t these shadows just relax? What am I missing?

“Yeah, whatever…stay out of my head.” He grumbles as he lets his eyes wander around the market stands and shops. He was about to give Rhysand his full attention when he double takes. He straightens up when he narrows in on the littlest of his shadows dashing around a corner in a hurry. He tried pulling it back but it ignored his recall. The little whisp liked to ignore him any chance it was free.

Go get him. He thought to them. Watching as two bigger forms zoomed forward, carefully dodging and weaving through various bodies with ease and practiced skill after the small whisp of black. Once they catch up to it they’ll be able to merge him into them and bring him back, but no matter how much Azriel tries to keep the whisp at bay, he always gets out from the depths of his bigger shadows. He didn't miss the surprised yelps and curses of the citizens as the small whisp wreaked more havoc.

“Yeah, whatever.” Rhysand mocks him. “Quit sulking about your lonesome life and help me pick out a gift for Elain.” Rhysand stops at one stand and picks up a necklace, a flower pendant shining gold-like in the sunlight. A soft green tint was barely there but noticeable. He inspects it closer and then turns his attention to the grumpy bat, who is doing just about everything but providing his assistance to the High Lord. “You’re not even listening you useless male…Just this please.” He sighs and gives the merchant a few coins for the fee. The lady takes the piece of jewelry off his hands and wraps it into a pretty red velvet pouch. He bids her goodbye with a smile and walks back over to berate the male watching his six, surveilling the market as if danger lurks and waits in the shadows.

As High Lord, Rhysand was quite the male to keep a calm composure in public, but today wasn’t that day, so he didn’t care if the smack he landed on Azriel’s headside looked ridiculous to others.

“What the hell Rhys?” Azriel gapes at him as if he’d grown two heads. He groans as he grips at his ear. “I would never have agreed to join you had I known this is what would await me!”

“I’d say sorry but I wouldn’t mean it. Bought your gift. You’re welcome.” Rhys shoved the velvet pouch into his chest. Azriel barely caught it in time in question. Brows pinched together.

“My gift? But I already bought Elain a gift…What would I need another for? You said we were coming here to buy your gift for her.”

“About that…” Rhysand hissed.

“Rhys…” Azriel’s eyes darkened.

“I took your gift.” Azriel was met with a shit-eating grin.

“No, you didn’t…” His voice lowered.

“I did. Nice job on the custom rose pendant, quite the sentimental touch with the soft brush of pink on the E. She’ll love it.”

“You didn't...Give it back.” He growled.

“No.” Rhysand started walking away down the streets. More shops caught his eye.

“Rhys I’m serious!” Azriel walked after him, his hand reaching out and clutching his brother's shoulder. His grip tightened. Rhysand raised a brow eye at the hand creasing his jacket. Azriel huffed and let go. “Why the hell would you take it? I bought it for her.”

“And I’ll pay you back the fee.”

“No, I don’t want you to pay me back. I want you to give it back. Now!”

“You don’t like the necklace then? Fine, we can find something else if you’re not satisfied with it. Perhaps a new scent, or arrangement. How about a vase?”

“Rhysand—“

“Oh, why you little—look what you’ve done!” Rhys and Azriel stop and look at one another then hurry off toward the sound of the woman in distraught. When they rounded the corner they were met with flower pots scattered amongst the cobblestones. The dirt and flowers itself spread out and ruined. The pots were in pieces. When they approached, Azriel’s little whisp was floating in the air, above the mess. His eyes widened. Of the two shadows he sent after it, one was holding a broom trying to salvage the dirt and clean the mess up and the other was trying to absorb the little blob like a parent pulling and trying to scold its child. It wasn’t like anything Azriel had ever seen in all his years of life. He remained still not knowing what to do as he and Rhys balked at the scenery before them.

“Those flowers were the last of its bunch, I’ll have to wait until next year for them to bloom in season!” She sighed, disheartened at the thought of the flowers being flattened and their petals falling off. She bent down to retrieve a piece of the broken pot. Collecting the ceramics one by one.

Azriel wasn’t sure how to react. He was baffled by the wisp’s sudden behavior. This was never something his shadows did. He couldn’t make sense of it. Why are they misbehaving? Why can't they listen? Why was it till now they began to take on their own decisions, out of nowhere? He was confused by the whole scene that presented itself and he was even more shocked that he just stood there. No wonder the woman had lost her cool about it. It was just one disaster after another.

His shadows never behaved like this. He had no idea what to do with them. They were always calm and collected. But today they had been all over the shops, the tiny terror most of all. He watched his wisp floating above the mess trying to make itself appear smaller than it already was as the others attempted to fix the mess. He turned when Rhysand spoke to him.

“They're not listening to you…” Azriel was speechless and looked to his brother, who seemed equally perplexed by the situation as him.

“Madame I am sorry for the mess let me repay for the damages—“ Rhysand and Azriel then stepped forward. Azriel approached the steps into the shop and bent down to help clean as well. His scarred hands barely brushed against a piece of green ceramic before the other shadows that remained put, alerted him of someone's approach.

“Poppy?” Azriel’s head perked up at the sound of another voice speaking over Rhysands. “I heard something break. Are you okay? Better not be Sailors boy again. I warned that kid if he ever got his hands on another pot–" The voice was soft and airy, low but not deep, new and unfamiliar. He stiffened when two pairs of feet dawning red flats came into his vision.

Before his head snapped upwards, his shadows reacted faster. Rushing forward, they all wrapped the new voice up like a blanket, a harsh gust of wind broke out as they spun a whirlpool around the poor female. Poppy, Rhysand, and Azriel covered their faces, squinting at the shadows that began growing like a storm.

"Azriel what are you doing?" Rhysand backed up.

"This isn't me!" He pleaded.

"Oh my dear Y/n, help her!" Poppy exclaimed with fear.

"Enough!" Azriel's voice echoed out low and firm. The shadows halted their movement, growing eerily still as they dispersed from the female. Your frame came into their sights first, then your face, your arms were put out in front of you, shielding your face from the sudden wind that wrapped around you. "That's enough!" He repeated, recalling them back, you watched with curious eyes as they all flooded back to his side, dispersing into thin air. Azriel's shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension they were in. A few seconds passed before his eyes slowly trailed up your form, catching your softened eyes staring at him already. You were a wonder. "A-Are you alright?"

"Yes thank you…" You stood still as he spoke and watched as his shadows expanded out from him again. As if your presence somehow made them behave, they calmed, but still wanted a peek at you. You smile faintly at the Spymaster. "I'm just fine, promise. But I will admit they caught me off guard there for a second…" You breathe out, feeling the effects of what you just underwent. You opted to leave out the part where they exclaimed and expelled their excitement at you. It's you, you're here. It's you, we brought him to you. Your safe. Was it him they were referring to?

"They're never actually like this, my shadows..." He explained, rubbing his temple. His eyes never left your face, a small smile was daring to form on his lips, which he quickly hid. "They never misbehave. I can't explain what made them act in such a way toward you. I apologize." His brows pinch together. He brought his hand up to lay over his chest in sorrowed guilt. You had only come out to check on your friend, only to be put into a risk situation. He'd never let them hurt anybody innocent though.

"Do I unsettle them?" Your eyes shifted down to where they swiveled and smoothly circled and curled around their master's body. As if noticing and sensing your inner turmoil, they stopped their snake-like slithers. The little wisp zoomed forward, leaving the two bigger ones to continue with the cleaning and sweeping. Azriel flinched and reached a hand out as though that would stop its approach to you. Your eyes fell into a squint as the littlest one swiveled and swept in and out of your hair. Azriel thought to recall it back but stopped when your lips spilled bubbles of laughter. The sound was symphonic and melodious, he wanted nothing more than to entrap the sound into a music box. Your eyes crinkled with delight as the little wisp curled all over you in what Azriel assumed was a playful manner.

"Don't see that happen often." Rhysand chuckled lightly.

You laughed at the sight of the little wisp picking up the strings of your dress where they tied in the front. You wondered if Rhysand was right, maybe he doesn’t see this often or maybe he sees it all the time. You noticed when you looked at Azriel that he was already watching your interactions with the wisp. The edge of his lips curved ever so slightly upwards. You couldn’t help the soft smile your own lifted into when he directed a gentle look at you. “Unsettle isn't the term I'd use for what I'm witnessing right now." He dipped his chin. Letting out a breath.

You bubbled out a laugh once more before you shooed the poor thing back to its master. "Go on then. He's called you back, it'd do you good to listen to him..." You gently blew on the black air and watched as it reluctantly floated back to Azriel. He watched flabbergasted at its obedience to you. You laughed alongside him as he scoffed in disbelief, watching the little wisp do as it was told. Azriel looked more and more perplexed as the little shadow disappeared back into the bigger shadows.

To break and expel the shock, the two big shadows that cleaned up floated over. Extending the broom out to Poppy gently as if to say here we're done. Poppy bowed to them and took it gratefully. You couldn’t help the small grin that crept up to your lips as his shadows wrapped around her in their farewell, being polite. The shadows were behaving so oddly and it was intriguing. They got off her then coiled back against his body.

The shadows then disappeared, vanishing into thin air. Azriel sighed in relief as they did. He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes for a moment. And when he reopened them, your smile caught his attention and it was hard to pull his eyes away. You were breathtakingly sweet, good, pure, like the flowers that now lay scattered and crushed. “I don't know what just happened, the day has been rather strange...” He muttered softly, but it was loud enough for you to catch it all.

"If it's of any reassurance to you, I won't resort to a complaint towards the High Lord about this occurrence." You jokingly gesture to Rhysand. Who fights the urge to bite back a smirk? He was rather amused by this odd encounter. Amused by the way he noticed Azriel tuck his hands slowly behind his leather-worn pants. Just like he did as a youngling when he arrived in Windhaven all those years ago. He mirrored his younger self’s image. Timid under playful smirks, and beautiful females. But even Azriel knew how to play the game you took the lead in.

He rolled his eyes. “You could if you wanted to. No one would hold it against you.” The soft tone of his voice indicated he wasn’t angry. No snark, no annoyance dripping past his lips, just pure lightness. Azriel wasn't one to hide behind his words and it was rare for him to watch what he was saying. “But I know you wouldn’t file a complaint.”

“You seem so confident. How so?” You dared him, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn’t miss the not-so-subtle rake of his eyes over where your ties held your dress together, his eyes practically devouring you quietly. Your confidence faltered, your shoulders falling for a second before you cooled down your beating heart.

“Cause Rhysand here, our High Lord, is going to generously buy you out.”

“What?” You uncrossed your arms in surprise.

“I am?” Rhysand scoffed, though his eyes showed his amusement. His jaw slackened, as he pocketed his hands into his dress pants. He was going to kill the son of a bitch. He supposed this was Azriel’s payback for the stolen pendant. “Yes, I am.” He pitched in, stepping forward the shop's entrance where you remained.

“My mate's sister’s birthday is tonight and we are in dire need of flowers. She has quite the admiration for them you see, even gardens her own at home. It would mean the utmost world to us if we could make it special for her big night tonight.” His emphasis wasn’t lost on you or Poppy. You met each other’s gaze in amusement.

“We can most certainly assist you my Lord, but I’m afraid buying us out is not possible. We have many other orders we need to make sure are seen to. Perhaps we could accommodate your wishes and make a special arrangement for her in place instead? Does she favor a specific flower? Perhaps a certain color she gravitates towards often? Oh, is she familiar with flower symbolism, it’s quite an extraordinary part of flowers. See flowers hold certain meanings, for instance–“

“Roses.” Azriel’s voice cut off your excited rambling. “She favors roses….and she likes the color pink.” Your heart skipped. You’d have assumed such a male to be eligible but at last, your little crush was crumbled in an instant. A male as devoted to knowing a female's favorite color as well as her favored flower, was surely spoken for right? Mated and to have his boundaries respected, though the sudden hope for a chance with a gorgeous male was always one that was watered down. Many that came through the shop were taken and happily mated, in complications with a female, or simply attracted to the same fae. Your favorite by far had been a male buying two completely different sets of bouquets, the flowers in contrast to one another, two different favored interests, you and Poppy tethered the line of their being two different females in the man’s life. Or perhaps he had a mother, daughter, or mate, and he was trying to make them feel special. You hadn’t known, and you wouldn’t know.

Poppy liked to remind you it was never your job to settle in between the lives of those who walked through the door. Your only main concern was creating and giving. And you did, you loved working at Poppy’s shop. You loved seeing the way someone came in for an arrangement made for a loved one or someone special. It made your heart swell with the overwhelming feeling you received from a customer's smile. You loved the idea of someone showcasing their feelings, and their love through that of flowers. The only real part that connected you to your customers, the only real getting involved you did, was knowing what each flower meant and what they could be for. Yet on rare occasions, the customers would let you in on their orders. In who they were for. Just like Rhysand had now. A birthday party for the High Lady’s sister. You did your best to contain your excitement. Knowing the extra care and love you’d put into the arrangement.

"Roses...love." You smiled through a breath, lost and enamored in the idea of having someone who'd love you as much as Azriel did Elain. You weren't a stranger to Rhysands mate and her sisters. The infamous cauldron made High Fae's. Word spread fast around Velaris. Their existence was not lost on you. "Or perhaps..." You paused, really taking your time to observe Azriel. "A sense of courage? Feelings waiting to be unleashed..." You muttered softly. The shift in the atmosphere changing. Azriel tensed feeling exposed and naked under your keen attentiveness and your ability to read someone like a book.

“No. Just a friend.” He shook his head. He was still aware of your eyes upon him. Everything about him tightened to deny you the chance to read him like an open book. You were so good at that something he would come to know about you. He felt as if his whole life was laid in front of you, waiting for your eyes to catch every little secret that his shadows usually hid and protected.

"How about we get to choosing those flowers, Miss Y/n?" Rhysand clasped his hands together for enthusiasm. The hot tension between two strangers was unbecoming and he needed to move things along. He had promised Feyre to gather and bring something beautiful. She hadn't quite specified what that entailed as a present for her sister, but surely flowers could fall into that category, right?

You had put an end to your and Azriel's intense staring. You inhaled quietly as though at a loss for air. Then snapped out of it. You double-take towards your High Lord and nodded hastily remembering what the real purpose of their arrival had led to. He wanted an arrangement for his sister-in-law.

"Oh. Of course. Right this way!" You nodded, your cheeks burning slightly from the exchange with Azriel. You wanted to ask if he was taken, but you already knew the answer; of course he was. Surely he was? His eyes, the way he spoke, his devotion to knowing the things no typical male would care to remember. You'd be hard-pressed to find a male as kind as him with such a gift, with such attentiveness.

Your eyes shifted off of him one last time then you headed towards the door back into the shop. “I can't say I recall any roses in pink left in stock, but I can double-check to make sure,” You smiled timidly, as you ushered them to follow. Poppy was the last one in the shop. "Poppy can show you our book to help you decide on what you would like to add to the arrangement. I'll be just a moment." Rhysand dips his chin as you turn and walk past the opened peach curtains.

Rhysand steps up to the counter and gestures for Poppy to go ahead. "Shall we?" He smiles graciously.

Poppy nods and opens the book, laying it in front of Rhysand. "The flowers are organized by type and color alphabetically and the information about a flower's symbolism and message are listed just below each one. Feel free to ask me any questions you may have as you look through it. Or if you already have a few in mind I can direct you to their pages."

"What kind of flower would send the message of merely showing my brotherly love?"

"That would be our gypsophilia, my Lord. In simpler terms a baby's breath. A delicate white flower. It would be perfect as a filler in the arrangement."

"Yes, I've heard of them. My darling Feyre has spoken of them once with Elain. I can quite put my finger on its symbolism but I believe they'll be a wonderful addition." He agreed.

"Everlasting Love..." Poppy and Rhysand turned to catch Azriel peering down into an oddly shaped plant with spikes. He had reached his hand forward to touch it when you came out from the back again. He immediately let his guard down.

"Brushing up on your Floriography I see, brother." Rhysand gave him his best shit-eating grin ever possible. "Those lessons with Elain have paid off."

"Shut up..." He grumbled.

"So I did manage to find the pink roses. Though I wasn't quite sure whether you wanted more or less, so I decided towards a middle ground of 3 dozen. I hope that's alright." You hailed in a green bucket filled with three dozen pink roses. You cut their stems in the back room to make it easier for you and Poppy to assemble the arrangement. You huffed quietly as you set it down and stood straight to look at Rhysand. "If you want to add more just let me know!" Your smile was more gentle this time. Rhyand bit back his amusement as you turned to glance at his brother again, then double-take. A frown now adorning your face.

"Oh! I wouldn't touch her she bites— Your hand!" You warned hastily with worry over your features. You flinched.

"What?—Shit!" Azriel groaned as he peered down at the plant who had a grip on his forefinger. Shocked that this thing had life to it, he didn't register your hurried footsteps.

"Goddammit, Petunia!" You cursed as you tried to pry open her mouth.

"It's named?" He scoffed though you registered the laugh in his tone. He was flabbergasted by this whole situation.

"I almost— Got it!" You huffed as her mouth widened. Azriel retracted his hand and held it close to his chest. He watched as you took a vile from the apron with pockets around your waist and dropped a fly onto the flat surface of her mouth. You stumbled backwards falling into Azriels chest as her mouth shut with a loud snap.

"Don't see that every day." Azriel raised a brow of interest at the plant.

"Afraid not. For me, daily." You turned to look up at his hand. You pulled it down for closer inspection. You sighed in disappointment. Hoping she wouldn't have caused harm to the members of Rhysands court. But at last, she had. "I'm sorry. I should have made sure you were aware of her. Though in all honestly I try to forget her existence..." Azriel watches as you spin the apron to reach the back pockets. You dig into the one on your right side and pull out a bandaid. His heart warmed at the gesture, at the thoughtfulness. "May I?" You glance up at him timidly, perhaps embarrassed. How could he tell you no? He gave you the okay to continue and it was only then that he took notice of all the different-sized bandages that covered different parts of your skin on your hands.

He understood it now. Your want to forget her. She was a vicious creature who you were afraid to go near. He hadn't meant to reach forward, hadn't meant for his thumb to caress over the bandages. Some were newly placed, and some needed to be replaced.

"Finn our delivery youngling gets too scared to go near it, and Poppy won't even attempt to feed her. She pretends to have lost her hearing when I ask her to." You make a face at her.

"I do no such thing!" You roll your eyes at her.

"Anyway, no one wants to tend to her, so I take on the injuries." You laugh at how ridiculous your hands look. "She's got her moments though like keeping the pest away."

"Male or insect wise?" Azriel mused.

"Oh, both!" You smirk. Your eyes crinkled at his joke.

"So you're the only one crazy enough to take care of her huh?" He hummed in agreement. You looked like a mess. An adorable mess of bandages, but a mess all the same. He couldn't help the urge to reach out to you again but he kept his hands to his sides.

He smiled softly at you. This must have been a difficult task for the two of you. Dealing with this pet. If you could call the plant such a thing?

Your hands caught his curiosity. He hadn't noticed the wounds on your hands, nor had you said anything about his known. He would have to ask you about it sometime. As if aware of his attention, you pulled away and he let you. His eyes watched as you applied the bandage over his forefinger. "Who knew a precious thing could be so vicious?" He said calmly with his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes fixed on you.

"You don't know the half of it, Shadowsinger." You giggled softly. The sound had caused a stirring in his chest. A feeling so foreign he wasn't sure what it was. The way your voice was suddenly muffled and distant. He felt a panic settle within him as you gave him one more smile and turned back around to begin the arrangement.

"I thank you Y/n, I couldn't be without my ten-fingered Shadowsinger. Unfortunately, he needs them all."

"I wouldn't know what'd I do without any of mine, and there have been close calls, my Lord." You raised your battered and cut-up hands.

"I bet." His hearty laugh reached your ears.

It wasn't just your voice alone that felt muffled, that felt far. Azriel turned as he attempted to catch his breath. It felt like he was drowning.

What was this?

He watched as his shadows danced and bounced around him, almost cheerful and celebratory-like. His shadows were practically jumping for joy. As if they were thrilled with what was going to happen between you and him. He gasped as he heard your voice settle into its right tone and pitch again in his ears.

"Oh hello again?" Your giggles had him staggering backward when he turned his whole body to face you. "I hope you'll listen to your master this time. You just about gave him gray hairs a few moments ago and I personally like him as a dark brunette. Gray doesn't quite suit him." You turned your attention to him. Your smile widened from the corners as he caught your eye.

"You..." A calmness slowly overcame him, where confusion overtook you. A gentleness and a sense of peace. The shadows' jumping grew softer and softer until it became a gentle flutter. Something had changed. Whatever had been bothering and unsettling him, had now disappeared and had been replaced with a new feeling. A feeling he never experienced before.

The snap of the bond.

The bond that tethered him to you. His mate. The gasp he released unsettled the other three in the room, he felt your worry grow as he clutched at his chest, and stumbled backward.

"Azriel, what's wrong?" Rhysand straightened up, trying to reach for him. He hadn't made the connection of why flower pots were ending up shattered onto the floor until he looked back at his wings extended. He couldn't keep them tucked in any longer.

"Oh my goodness!" You reached out for him as he fell. His wings knocked down anything and everything in their vicinity. "Azriel!" Your concern had only made him more embarrassed. He had to get out of here.

"Azriel!" Rhysand called out to him, but his thoughts had given him away.

It's her. It's her. It's her. My mate. I need to leave.

"I need to leave!"

Rhysand's eyes widened as he stared at his brother in utter disbelief. In awe. He never imagined that his mateless brother would finally find his mate, but he'd be there every step of the way. "Az…" He stepped towards him tentatively. "Azriel, it's okay!" Rhysand had merely touched his shoulder before his brother was warped by his shadows and was gone.

You gaped at the mess and his sudden hurry to leave. You slowly took your eyes off the broken ceramic pots and over to Rhysand. "Is— He alright?" A small frown rested on your features. He couldn't have just left for no reason.

You watched as Rhysand stared over to where Azriel had stood. His concern was etched on his features. He hummed and sighed heavily. "He will be..." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He inspected the mess and turned to you and Poppy. "I'll pay for this. All of it." He reassured. He directed it towards Poppy more who was looking at Azriel’s empty spot with wonder. "Pink roses will do just nicely along with the baby breaths. I give you free rein to add to the arrangement as you wish. I wish I could stay longer but I must head home to help with the celebration. I'll see to it you have a ride to the house of wind. I bid you ladies a good day." Rhysand dipped his head, then snapped his fingers as he winnowed away. The mess was cleared and fixed seconds later. You were left standing flabbergasted and shocked. Things had been going so well. You hoped it wasn't your doing to cause him such a reaction.

"Well, that's not something you see often..." Poppy voiced her thoughts at the whole mess that unfolded before you both.

"Afraid not. Perhaps he felt an emergency with his mate. I've heard that the bond is strong in such ways that allows you to feel what your other half does. So perhaps he felt her get hurt and rushed off. I mean did you see the panic in his eyes, the fear? I couldn't imagine feeling such a thing. I hope she's alright..." You sighed heavily as you began picking up the roses from the bucket.

"Who?" Poppy gave you an incredulous look.

"Why the High Lady's sister that is. Elain. His mate!" Your eyes widen to emphasize the obviousness of the situation.

"The Shadowsingers mate?" She asked for clarification, hoping that she was hearing you correctly.

"Yes, Poppy!"

"Oh, you poor child!" Poppy looked up at your confused expression.

"What? What did I do?"

"At least you received your mother's beauty." She reached forward and patted your cheek.

"Her beauty? What does that have anything to do—"

"Now, now. Back to work, go and get me my good scissors and purple ribbon. Oh, we'll need some begonias, and irises too!"

"Anything else?"

"A new brain for that head of yours..." She tapped against your temple with her knuckles, ushering you away. "Go away, I can't look at you!" Once you were in the backroom, she began muttering to herself. "Back then the females weren't so incognizant. They knew right away who it was. I mean did she not see him practically fall before her? Even Petunia saw it. Right, my sweet!" She called out to the plant. Petunia turned her head and opened and closed her mouth. "Even the plant noticed it. I know I swore to you my dear Daisy that I'd look after each strand of hair on her head, but I am this close to pulling each one off if she doesn't come to her senses soon." Poppy pointed to the ceiling in false threat, but a mere reminder she would if you didn't realize how oblivious you were to your situation.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagines #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel series #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar azriel x reader #my edit #writings by juls

[sincerelyrki]

everyone should know

your boyfriend couldn’t just sit around and watch another man shamelessly flirt with you. he had to do something, even if it meant revealing your relationship.

pairing : idol!secretbf!sunghoon x fem!reader

warnings + genre : suggestive themes. secret relationship. jealousy. reader is said to have hair long enough to braid.

wc : 626

a/n : i struggle with writing drabbles but i hope this one turned out alright <3 i’m trying to update (almost) everyday whether it be a new miniskirt chapter or a oneshot (tmr it will be a miniskirt update, promise)

perm written taglist : @vousty

Sunghoon’s unmoving glare seemed to have no effect on his eldest member, his attention drawn to you like a moth. 

A flirty smile sat on Heeseung’s lips the entire time the two of you conversed, knees bumping as your body was bent toward each other.

The entire dinner Sunghoon had to listen to your cute giggles, watching as you playfully knocked your shoulders against the man sitting directly beside you.

He struggled with restraining himself, his legs almost shaking the entire table as they unrelentlessly bounced. 

His hands were in no better condition, knuckles ghostly white as he clutched his utensils tight in his palms. 

“Your hair is so pretty, did you braid it yourself?” The second Heeseung’s hand gently tugged on one of your braids, Sunghoon snapped.

The entire table flinched in shock as Sunghoon’s fork came slamming down, his plate chattering due to the force that suddenly came down around it.

Sunghoon rounded the table, his fingers wrapping around Heeseung’s wrist as he pulled his hand away from you.

 “I did it.” He declared a little bit too loud, looks getting thrown your way from the staff sitting around the neighbouring tables. 

Heeseung raised his hands in retreat, eyebrows raised as he matched Sunghoon’s look. “It looks good, but I think I could’ve done better.”

He gave you one more glance, winking at you as he finished his sentence, “much better.”

Everyone shared a look, their legs pushing their chairs out as they prepared to jump in between the two males before they could begin fighting in front of their entire staff.

“Oh really?” Sunghoon mused, head tilting to the side as he pretended to think about the possibility of Heeseung’s words being true.

Heeseung confidently nodded his head, his hands lowering to cross across his chest, his chin held high as he looked up at the two of you. 

Sunghoon moved his head to face you, his hand coming up to trace along one of the braids. “Now that you mention it, she was moving quite a lot.” 

Your jaw dropped at Sunghoon’s obvious innuendo, heat rushing throughout your body as everyone seemed to understand what he was referring to.

Sunghoon didn’t wait to see Heeseung’s response, turning his back to him as he gently entwined your hands. 

He led you back to his seat, his hand never leaving yours as he once again sat down.

He spread his legs, his knees separating as he slid his hips lower down the chair. “Sit,” He patted his thigh once, his hand tugging against yours as he pulled you forward.

Sunghoon helped you sit across him, his arms wrapping around your waist as he tugged your back taut against his chest. 

“Isn’t it so much more comfortable over here?” Sunghoon purposely breathed down your neck, his cocky smile growing as he felt your body shiver. 

“I guess he hasn’t realized that you’re my girl yet, I think we need to make it a little more…” He trailed off, his hands tightening around your waist before he began placing small pecks along the base of your neck, “obvious.”

“No one knew, they wouldn’t have sat me beside someone else if they did.” You almost started defending your close friend but automatically backtracked after realizing how angry Sunghoon was.

“That’s the problem, everyone should know.” 

“Should they?” Sunghoon knew you were just teasing him at this point, riling him up for your amusement. But he still took your words seriously, imagining the look on Heeseung’s face after he finds out about the sincerity of your relationship.

“They’ll all know by tonight.” 

It was safe to say that they all knew about the two of you by the time the sun set, Heeseung getting the hint right away.

#sincerelyrki #sincerelyrki : one shots #enhypen scenarios #kpop scenarios #enhypen drabbles #sunghoon drabbles #park sunghoon #enhypen suggestive oneshot #one shot #enha oneshots #park sunghoon oneshot #enhypen oneshots #kpop oneshots #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen park sunghoon #sunghoon fics #boyfriend sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x female reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #park sunghoon drabble #sunghoon #enha drabbles #enha x reader #enha scenarios #enha x you #enha park sunghoon

[flemingsfreckles]

Trying Again

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: based off of this request

Warnings: pregnancy fic (r pregnant), failed IVF (eventually successful), some angst, mentions of vomiting (morning sickness), minor player injury, cursing, lightly suggestive at the end,

WC: 5.8k

A/N: this ended up longer than I expected but oh well 🤷‍♀️ I promise it’s fuffy in parts despite all the warnings

You feel your chest tighten and your breath catch in your throat as you stare down at the test with the two letter word staring back at you.

Blinking hard you try to clear your vision from the tears building, hoping when your vision clears up the two letter word will be a three letter one. Unfortunately it’s not.

“I’m so sorry.” You voice cracks as you shake your head, not daring to look at your wife. Scared she’ll be mad, scared she’ll be angry, scared she’ll hate you. Of course those are all the irrational thoughts filling your mind, your wife would never be able to hate you.

“Shhhh. It’s okay babe.” You look up to Jessie she’s moving toward you to embrace you in a hug.

“I must be doing something wrong. I’ll do better, I’ll eat better, I also probably didn’t get enough sleep this round, training has been a been harder recently, maybe I should take time off”

“Hey,” Jessie’s hands come to grab your face, forcing you to look at her as she bends down next to you. “This”, she points at the negative pregnancy test, “is not your fault. You heard the doctor, you’re doing everything right, training is fine, it keeps you healthy and that’s what’s most important to have this baby.”

“Well it must be, the doctor also said a lot of people get pregnant on their first round, this is our third round Jessie!” You were yelling, not necessarily at Jessie but unfortunately she was the one person in the bathroom with you, causing her to be getting yelled at. You were angry, upset, disappointed. You felt like this was your fault.

“Babe.” She tried to comfort you as you go to stand up and leave the bathroom.

“Jess stop!” You push her hands off of you. Throwing the test aggressively into the trash bin and storming past Jessie out and into your bedroom, the door closing hard behind you.

That’s when the tears come streaming out. They’re warm as they leave two trails down your face. Not wanting to alert Jessie that you were bawling in your bedroom, you clasp your hand over your mouth muffling your cries. You and Jessie had been trying for months, wanting to have a baby of your own.

The first time it was disappointing reading the negative test, but you were both still eager to try again. You waited a couple of weeks before starting your second round of IVF. Another round of shots, appointment, and being poked and prodded, but all was worth it when you would see the excitement on Jessie’s face when she talked about your future baby. The second failed test was discouraging, you had cried a little bit, unknown to Jessie. You had waited until you were alone in the shower before letting the tears flow. You felt terrible, you really thought the second time would work, but it didn't and it chipped away at your positive demeanor.

Jessie was your rock through the second failure, she spent time reading and researching, despite the doctors already giving you all the knowledge you needed. The two of you waited a few weeks before starting up the third round of hormones and appointments. Jessie cooked meals that were supposed to help your body, she made sure you drank enough water, you were never too cold or too warm, she was making sure everything was perfect.

Except it wasn’t perfect, the two of you had just failed again for a third time to start your family. It was less Jessie’s failure you thought to yourself, it was yours, you failed the both of you.

A soft knock comes at your door, you don’t say anything, knowing you well, Jessie enters despite the silence from you. She doesn’t say anything, she sits down next to you, letting out a sigh before grabbing your hand, squeezing it tightly with her own. Her other hand comes up to gently push your head onto her shoulder. That’s how the two of you stayed, sitting in silence, your head resting on her shoulder, tears streaming down your face, only now you didn’t hold in the sobs. A small sniffle from Jessie indicating to you she was crying too.

You cry until you’re eyes hurt and your throat is burning. You and Jessie had slowly readjusted so that she was sitting with her head and back on the headboard, your head across her lap as she softly played with your hair. Neither of you spoke. Both understanding this wasn’t the time to have discussions about trying again, or taking a break from trying. The rhythmic strokes of Jessie’s fingers mixed with the exhaustion from crying overwhelm you and you fall asleep.

“Babe.” You wake to your wife’s quiet voice and her hand gently rubbing your back. “Babe, do you want to go to training? We don’t have to, we can talk with the training staff or come up with an excuse. But if we’re going we have to leave soon.”

You didn’t want to go to training, running around pretending normal was the last thing you needed after the morning you two had. But you also knew pretending to be normal was maybe what would help.

“Yeah let’s go.” You stand up quickly from the bed and move to the closet grabbing out your own and Jessie’s training bags. Jessie just watches, you can tell she’s worried about you, the way she’s watching you so closely, not saying anything, just observing.

Jessie watches you closely all through training. The other girls can tell you’re off as well, but you just shake them off, telling them you didn’t sleep well the night before and had woken up in a bad mood. Jessie confirms your story with everyone who asked her if you were alright. She was better at hiding her emotions, appearing the same as she did any other day, but you could tell she was in her head as well, missing some easier passes and you caught her staring off a few times.

When you get home you’re both already ready to go to bed, feeling emotionally and physically drained from the day.

“Hey babe?” Jessie’s sweet voice follows you down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk?” It’s a sentence that would send fear through everyone in a relationship and even though you know exactly what she’s about to come talk about, the question of asking itself gets your stomach churning.

You knew she’d want to talk to make sure you were okay. She’d end up lying awake at night if she didn’t know you were doing alright. You didn’t want to be the reason she couldn’t sleep.

“Yeah.”

“I know it’s disappointing, the negative test, but it’s not the end of the world. We still have options, we can try again.”

“I’m so sick of trying and failing Jessie.” You sit down on the edge of the bed, flopping back to lay down putting your hands over your face.

“You’re not failing.” Jessie’s hand comes to sit on your thigh comfortingly.

“I am Jess, I’m not pregnant.”

“What do you want to do?” Her hand starts moving, gently rubbing your skin.

“I want a baby with you Jess!” You sit up turning to face your wife.

She’s got the look of pity in her eyes, her look is apologetic, as if you’re an injured baby animal, you know she doesn’t mean it in a pity way, but her gaze makes you feel weak. “I know you do, I want one with you too.”

You don’t say anything to Jessie, just looking at her, blinking hard to stop the tears that are threatening to leak out.

“Would you be open to trying again, if not that’s okay.” Jessie asks softly.

“I want to try until we have a baby.” Your tears were starting to fall from your eyes. Your hands were still covering your face trying to hide your tears from Jessie but your voice cracking gave you away.

“Oh honey.” Jessie’s hand leaves your thigh to pull your hands from your face. “My love, it’s okay, I know it’s hard, and I can’t imagine to feel what you’re feeling, but we’ll be okay. We can keep trying.”

You nod, your hands still hovering in front of your face, fighting against Jessie’s grip as she tries to pull them away from where you were hiding behind them.

“Let’s try again after the international break. You’ll get a rest and that’ll give your body enough time between cycles.”

“Okay, we’ll try again, but Jessie if the next one doesn’t work I don’t know if I’ll-”

“Shhh” Jessie doesn’t let you finish your sentence “the next time will work.” She plants a kiss on the top of your head before extending her hand to guide you to the bathroom where she changed you, helped wash your face, brush your teeth, get all ready for bed before she got herself ready and tucked you both into bed.

A week later you were enjoying a few extra hours of sleep, recently feeling more exhausted than normal, not having to get up for training when your sleep is interrupted by the bodily urge to throw up. You throw off the covers and sprint, just barely making it to the toilet. Normally you’d hear Jessie following behind you closely, rushing to get you a washcloth, hold your hair back, or rub your back. Unfortunately she had an early appointment with the trainer before some phone calls she had to make for the upcoming international break. She’d be gone most of the morning until early afternoon.

“Ugh.” You groan to yourself, wiping your face and grabbing your toothbrush and mouthwash. You go back to bed after cleaning yourself up, it was the day after a game and you didn’t have training or anywhere to be. You wished Jessie was back to hold you and rub your back as you drifted back to sleep.

When you woke up you still felt exhausted and nauseated. You shoot Jessie a text letting her know you weren’t feeling well.

Another urge to throw up comes and you take off for the bathroom. This time there’s nothing to void from your stomach and you end up just spitting into the toilet. Still feeling nauseous you decide to just sit in the bathroom for a while.

As you sit on the cool bathroom floor, you noticed the wrapper of a pregnancy test poking out the bottom of the cabinet. That’s when the wheels started turning in your brain. The fatigue, the nausea, you hadn’t gotten your period yet but you weren’t phased by that due to the hormone changes from the IVF injections.

Fuck it, you thought, I’ll take it, it’s not like my day can get worse.

You sit up, grab the test and take it. You set your phone timer and wait. When your phone rings you grab the test, barely looking at expecting the same “NO” you had gotten over and over. You go to throw the test in the trash before you realize what you read wasn’t a two lettered word. You slowly lift the test back up to your face, the word YES staring back at you.

“Holy shit.” You throw the test into the trash in panic. You were pregnant.

You grab the test back out the trash realizing you needed that, you had to show Jessie. You then proceed to take every remaining test you could find in the house, 12 total pregnancy tests, all reading positive.

You run into the closet, rummaging looking for the small package you bought and hid when you first were trying to get pregnant. A small Canada jersey, England jersey, and Chelsea jersey, your last names across the back of all of them. You went a little overboard you’ll admit, but you couldn’t help it.

Finally you were getting to use them. You grabbed them and hurried to the office where gift wrapping supplies sat most of the time unused unless for a birthday or the holidays. You grabbed a plain box, not wanting to give away any of the surprise to your wife before she opened it.

You put in blue and pink tissue, placing the jerseys and all 12 pregnancy tests inside the box. You placed it on the kitchen counter and sat down at the stool, and waited.

Jessie wasn’t home for another 2 hours but you remained, you didn’t know what else to do with yourself so you sat, staring at the front door.

When the door swung open Jessie stopped before closing the door.

“What are you doing?” She cocks an eyebrow at you.

“I made you a little something.” You slide the box slowly in her direction. She closes the door behind her, putting down the backpack she had and taking off her coat before moving toward you. She places a kiss on your lips and then pulls the box over.

“You didn’t have to get me something baby.” She smells sweet and like a coffee shop, likely where she was completing her work for the day.

“Well I did.”

She opens the box and you feel yourself start holding your breath, waiting for her reaction. She’s silent as her hand, that you notice has a soft shake to it, reaches out grabbing one of the tests, removing it from the box. Her mouth is open as she turns to look at you.

“Are you serious?” She’s got tears in her eyes.

“Yes.” You nod, your voice getting caught in your throat as you choke back tears.

She grabs you hard, pulling you off the stool and into a tight hug. You can hear her own heart pounding out of her chest. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“How?” She points at the tests. “How did you, when did you?”

“I threw up this morning like I told you, and then with the fatigue I’ve been having the past week, I was sitting on the floor and saw the test in the cabinet, things kinda clicked, I also haven’t had my period but I thought I was just off coming down from the hormones, figured I’d try a test, and then when it came out positive I took every single one we own.” You gesture to the pile of tests.

“We're going to have a baby.” Jessie finally lets out a tear.

“We are.”

“Okay so we need to set up appointments, we need to start figuring out how along you are, get prenatals started, I should get us some parenting books, we should look into cribs,” Jessie starts rambling about the baby, her excitement taking over.

“Jess, slow down.” You put your hand on your wife’s arm. “We’ll set up an appointment, and go from there.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening cuddling, Jessie couldn’t keep her hands off of your stomach, where your baby bump will eventually grow. She had her hands under your shirt all evening as the two of you laid on the couch.

The next few weeks were the same, you had gone to the doctor, gotten the pregnancy confirmed with a blood test and started on vitamins, and all that comes with being pregnant. Jessie had bought all the parenting books, reading them obsessively every day. She got up with you when you were sick in the mornings, holding your hair and bringing you water. She’d cuddle you back into bed afterward, letting you rest until the very last minute before you had to be up.

“What am I going to do without you?” You groaned as Jessie placed a cool washcloth to your forehead and one to the back of your neck.

“I know babe but you’ll be alright. It’s only 7 days.” The international window had arrived and you and Jessie, while both going to the same location for friendlies, you would have to travel, sleep, and exist in separate worlds for a while.

“Plus Niamh is your roommate, she’ll be good with you.”

“Or she’ll avoid me thinking I’m sick when I puke every morning.” Your hand wildly gestures to the toilet you sat in front of. The two of you had yet to tell any besides trainers about the baby.

“We could tell her? We could tell everyone? I mean the Chelsea training staff know and so does England.”

“But is it too early to tell friends?” You knew Jessie was worried, you had been told that with the amount of tries it took, there was a chance the pregnancy wouldn’t last. That had scared both of you for the first few weeks until at your most recent appointment the doctor informed you that you had made it through the riskiest time period for the baby.

“I mean I’m 10 weeks, the doctors said it was pretty safe after 8 weeks if we wanted to tell people. I’m not opposed, plus at some point I’m going to start showing.” You place your hand on your waist where your bump had just barely started, something you could excuse as minor bloating.

“Okay.”

“Should we tell the Chelsea girls today?” You look up at Jessie.

“Yeah we can. If you want to babe.” She places a kiss on your forehead and removed both of the washcloths, gently wiping your skin as she does.

“Okay.”

You and Jessie both caught Emma before the start of training asking to speak to her. You told her the news, she congratulated you both and told her to let you know if either of you needed anything. She also said she’d gather the girls for you at the end of practice so that you both can talk to everyone.

“Alright girls, good work today! I need everyone in the conference room after you get your shoes changed, it’ll be a quick meeting I promise.” Emma flashes a smile at you, unknowing to everyone else that the look was intentional.

You walked into the conference room with the rest of the team. Emma stood at the front.

“Okay I promised this wouldn’t be long, so you two want to come up here?” She looks over at where you and Jessie were sat.

You look at Jessie and stand up. You’re not sure why but your nerves are starting to kick in, you knew they’d be happy for you, they were your friends, but it was still nerve wracking.

“Um, hi,” you give a small wave to the crowd of your teammates. A lot of them are staring back at you with confused faces, some looking worried.

“So, Jessie and I um, well” sensing your nerves, Jessie grabs your hand giving you a squeeze and a smile. “We’re um, we’re having a baby, I’m pregnant.”

The room erupts in front of you, shouts of excitement from your teammates, some of them clapping, they all start making their way to you and Jessie, giving you both their congratulations and hugs. The girls asked how long you’ve known, what the due date was, when you’d take off time from work, even Sam clapped Jessie on the back making a joke about her strong swimmers. It was a little overwhelming but you realized just how loved your baby was going to be.

“Niamh, come here.” You wave over your international teammate. “So obviously we’re gonna be roommates, I can send you over information, but just as a heads up, I do get sick in the mornings sometimes, if that’s a problem I can get our rooms switched.”

“That’s fine, doesn’t bother me, I’m so excited for you two!” Her arms reach around yours and Jessie’s neck pulling you in for a hug.

“Thanks Niamh.” You wander off to tell your other England teammates to keep their mouths shut until you have the chance to address that team as well. As you walk away you can already hear Jessie scolding Niamh.

“You better take good care of her Niamh I swear, don’t let her do anything silly, help her if she needs something. If I find out you weren’t good to her I’ll personally harm you.” Jessie wasn’t a very threatening person normally, she was relaxed, calm, laidback but as soon as she knew you were pregnant she took on an incredibly defensive approach, considering everything to be a risk to the mother of her unborn baby and the baby itself.

“I’ll take care of her Jess, don’t you worry.”

Despite Niamh’s promise, Jessie was still paranoid being away from you. She had never left you for more than a couple hours since learning you were pregnant. You were a mess when she had to leave, her flight a couple hours before yours. Tears streaming down your face as you walked her to the door, holding onto her, nearly forcing her to stay.

“Baby, I have to go, I can’t miss my flight.” She held you tight as you clung onto her.

“I know, I’m just going to miss you.” It was a weird feeling, you knew you were being overdramatic, but you couldn’t help it. You hardly ever cried when Jessie left, you knew she’d come back, you’d see her soon, and you’d never cried when you were flying to the same location.

“I love you, I will FaceTime you and Niamh tonight. You need to stop crying honey, you’re going to get dehydrated.”

“I love you.” You sobbed, getting the words out between deep breaths sending yourself into a coughing fit. You eventually let Jessie go and she left, leaving you to finish packing for your own flight. You throw in the tiny England jersey, Jessie had taken the Canada one, both of you wanting to tell your national teams at some point.

Over the next few days at camp Jessie was insistent on texting you every hour or two to check on you, she also was busy texting Niamh, LJ, Hannah, Jess, and Fran, making sure they all were checking on you. You felt bad for them having to respond to your wife’s texts but you knew they were happy to keep Jessie in the loop with how you were doing.

Everything was going well, until your second training session of the day. You started running laps, suddenly feeling nauseous, dizzy, a cramping in your stomach.

“Niamh.” You reach your hand out to the girl next to you, slowing down.

“You alright?”

“I don’t know, I feel sick.”

“Okay, here let’s go over to the bench.” Niamh wraps her arm around your waist, walking with you over to the bench with the trainers. The trainers, knowing your situation start assessing you. They decide to bring you inside. A few minutes later there’s a knock at the training room door. Leah enters.

“Hey what’s going on? You alright?”

“Yeah, no I’m good.” You try and brush her off.

“Dehydrated?” You shake your head at her. “Then what’s going on?”

“Its just a thing.” You look at the trainer, hoping he’ll maybe help your lie, he doesn’t.

“What thing?” She then quickly adds “if you don’t want to tell me you actually don’t have to, just as your captain, I like knowing what’s going on with my girls.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes start to well with tears. “Jessie and I are having a baby.” You can’t help but smile as the words come out of your mouth.

“Oh my gosh, congratulations!” Leah pulls you into a tight hug. “Does anyone else know?”

“We told the Chelsea girls just last week and the training staff has known since we knew, but no one else.”

“That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you.”

“I want to tell the rest of the team but I’m thinking maybe at the end of the week after the game against Canada, that way Jess can be there.”

“Up to you two obviously. But you’re good to play?” She looks between you and the trainer still by your side. He nods.

“Yeah, at least for now, once I start having a bigger bump probably not. I just need to take it a bit easy, but it’s just standard symptoms, nothing concerning.”

Leah congratulates you again and exits the training room. Before returning to the pitch you find your phone with a slew of unread texts from Jessie.

Jessie 🥰: hi, I know you’re training, hope you’re doing well

Jessie 🥰: drink enough water and electrolytes please

Jessie 🥰: make sure you eat something too

Jessie 🥰: I have to go to training soon, keep taking care of yourself and our baby

You: Hi, I did get sick at training today, just so you know, I’m okay though, I got checked out by the staff. Leah now knows as well, she came to check on me and I told her.

You return to training with clearance from the doctor. You take it easy, the rest of the team coming to check on you. You and Leah had discussed just saying you ate too close to the start of training and that’s why you got sick. That deterred most of the questions for the day but as the week went on and you got sick a few more times which then brought up the questions again.

The end of the week comes quicker than you expect and suddenly you’re lined up in the tunnel, staring across the hallway to the back of your wife’s head. You were supposed to be playing all 90’ assuming you felt good enough to do so, you had a long chat with Leah and Sarina about your playing time, they both left it up to you on your minutes.

The game was physical from the start, thankfully you spent most of the first half being guarded by Jessie, she kept her distance except when you had the ball, then she’d get physical but you could still tell she was holding back. By the end of the half you were ahead 2-1.

You agreed to start the second half, still feeling good, a little fatigued but no more than you normally would for running around for 45 minutes.

It was going well until a corner kick for Canada came. You went up to jump as Jessie kicked the ball in for her team. When you did you got body slammed by two Canadian players, someone’s elbow hitting your lower stomach, unintentionally of course, but still causing you to hit the ground hard, clutching your waist.

“Fuck.” You groan into the grass under you.

You hear the whistle a second later, Niamh and Lucy both are by your side, flagging over the training staff.

“Hey they’re going to come help you.” You hear Niamh who is squatted down by your head.

“No I’m good, just knocked the wind out of me.” You try and wave off the staff and your own teammates.

“Okay, we’ll just get you some water, just stay sitting for a second. We’re not in a rush, take your time.” Lucy directs you.

“No, you should probably get checked out.” You hear Niamh say to you and Lucy. She gives you a look, widening her eyes slightly hinting at the secret she knew.

The trainers join the three of you. Asking you what’s going on, how you feel, what you need.

“Take her off!” You hear your wife coming up behind you.

Janine is quick behind her, grabbing her arm. “Jess let them take care of it, you’re not a doctor.” Jessie manages to wiggle out of Janine’s grip, storming toward you, still yelling at the England staff.

“I’m telling you, take her off.” She then turns to you, “you need to get looked at, and you know it.” You can tell she’s trying not to expose the secret you both held.

“Fleming, it’s not that big of a deal, she’s fine, go back to your side.” Lucy steps between you and where Jessie stood above you. You already know that Lucy’s actions are about to piss your wife off.

“Lucy, kindly fuck off, she’s my wife, I know her better than you, she need to come off.”

Lucy turns to you eyes wide, “What’s up with her?” You just wave her off.

“Take her out!” Jessie shouts again. You’d never seen her like this. Red in the face angry, hands clenched hard at her sides, shouting not only at the staff, your teammates, and you.

“Jess,” you try to calm her down. But she just turns her shouting to be directed at you.

“No, this isn’t something we’re discussing, you got hit, you need to be taken out.” She’s stern in her words, giving you a glare.

“Okay.” You nod at her, seeing her like this was making you realize that despite already feeling better, your stomach did hurt and you should probably get checked. You look at the staff. “I’ll go off.”

Jessie doesn’t say anything else to you or anyone and just walks away, returning to her team.

“Let’s get you checked out,” the trainer helps you up. You walk off the pitch, getting replaced. You walk all the way down the tunnel and into the training room.

The trainer and doctor on the staff help check you out, even using the ultrasound finding your baby’s heartbeat. They give you the all clear but advise you to schedule an appointment for when you get back home to be safe.

You walk back out to the bench just as the game is ending. The scoreline had not changed while you were away, England had come out victorious. You look around the pitch as your teammates celebrate the victory with each other.

“All good?” Sarina finds you as you wander toward Niamh, not being able to locate Jessie.

“Yeah, heartbeat was good, no concerns. I’m going to tell the girls I think, I want them to know.”

“That’s great! Good to hear.” She pats you on the back before turning to chat with Canada’s coach.

When you approach Niamh she points across the field where your wife stood being interviewed. “She’s over there, you better go see her, she was a mess after you went off. You’re good?”

“Yep all good, both of us” you wink and gently pat your stomach, subtle to those who didn’t know but to Niamh it told her everything she needed to know. You and the baby were good.

You make your way over toward Jessie as you hear her thank the interviewer, taking off the headset and handing it back to her. She catches your eye and starts running toward you.

“Are you okay?” She’s still frantic.

“I’m good, the baby is good, there’s no bruising or bleeding, they used the ultrasound to check and even got the heartbeat.”

“Good.” She pulls you into a tight embrace “I’m sorry I yelled. I just saw you on the ground and I panicked.”

“I know babe, it’s okay.”

“I was rude.”

“You were being protective, it’s okay. Lucy will be fine, especially once she knows.”

“Still want to tell them tonight?” She pulls back from the long hug to look at you.

“Yeah I think that’s good.”

Back in the changing room you texted Jessie to make her way over. As soon as you hit send you stand up, gathering your teammates attention.

“Hey everyone real quick. I have something I want to talk about.” There’s a knock on the door “it’s open!” You shout and Jessie’s head pokes around the corner. She walks over to where you stood, giving quick hellos to everyone. “Jessie is here because this is her announcement too.” You take a deep breath. “So the reason, this one,” you point a finger at Jessie “was so adamant about me coming off after I was hit was because, I’m pregnant.”

Similarly to the Chelsea room, there are cheers of excitement, some whistles, and a long line of hugs to be given. Lucy gives you a hug first and then moves over to Jessie.

“Lucy I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to be so rude out there I just” you hear Jessie babbling to your teammate, trying to apologize while you chatted with Leah and Alessia.

Lucy is quick to accept your wife’s apology. “We’re all good, you were protecting her. Protecting both of them. You’re going to be a good Mom, Fleming.”

Jessie blushes and smiles, “Thank you.”

Once you get a chance to talk to your teammates and they all get to ask how far along you are, if you knew if it was a girl or boy, when you were due, all the same questions you went through already with the Chelsea girls, you both head over into the Canadian locker room.

“Hi!” Jessie waves at everyone, “really quick I wanted to talk and sort of explain my uncharacteristic behavior this week and especially today.”

You’re not sure where she’s going with this so you let her continue.

“A lot of you noticed I had my nose in my phone a lot this camp and I may have seemed a little bit more spacey than usual. I appreciate you all for worrying about me and checking in to make sure I was okay. I am okay. Um, and then today I freaked out on the pitch at another team's player and staff, and that was unacceptable on my behalf. I apologize that I did that. The reason I’ve been on my phone and was so distraught when she went down.” She points at you. “This is my wife, by the way for those of you who have maybe never met her.” She adds and her comment gets a couple laughs.

“Anyway, the reason I’ve been weird this week is, she’s pregnant, we’re going to have a baby.” Jessie pulls the small Canada jersey out from behind her back holding it up for the team to see.

In identical fashion the room becomes a quick celebration, hugs and questions from all Jessie’s teammates.

Janine makes her way up. “I can’t believe you two kept a secret for that long, you both separately blabbed to me about the engagement rings you bought for each other within the hour of buying them. I’m so happy for you guys.” She hugs you both.

“Thanks Janine.” You both thank her.

“She’s going to be a crazy protective mother isn’t she?” Janine nudges you, you both watch as Jessie goes to talk with her other teammates, them all gushing over the tiny baby jersey.

“It seems like it, she’s never acted like that before.” You answer, before adding “it was actually really hot.”

“Gross, I’m walking away now.” Janine leaves you standing alone as she goes and finds Jessie again, whispering something in her ear that has Jessie turning around to look at you, her face with a slight blush on it, she gives you a wink and you realize what Janine had just told your wife. You walk over, giving her a kiss before you have to return to your own locker room.

When you get home the next day you both are exhausted from the trip and you fall asleep almost immediately. The next morning, you wake up not feeling nauseous for the first time in weeks, leading you to celebrate appropriately with your wife. Meaning you got to show her just how hot you thought she looked when she was being protective of you and your baby.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt x reader

[mxtantrights]

Hello there, ‘tis I again! Soo happy you enjoyed the boxer!jason request!! I know, i love him too :)))

Today i bring forth another boxer!Jason ask, maybe you introduce him to your friends and they can’t see past the fact he kinda looks like a brute (even tho he’s such a big softie, i truly believe this man reads romeo and Juliet while waiting to get on the ring), and so at the end of the night he’s feeling insecure cause he could see how your friends looked at him and he starts wondering if they are right and you deserve someone who’s softer and more approachable. And obviously reader shows him just how amazing he is!!

Today i yearn for some good hurt/comfort, if you couldn’t tell lol

Hope you have fun writing this one!! Marvellous works 🩷🩷

Everything goes right before the two of you get there. Thats how Jason knows something is gonna go wrong at this hang out. You told him all week that if he felt like not going, you could cancel. But he didn't want it to seem like he was blowing your friends off. So he trudged through.

He trudged through and is sitting side by side with you in a booth. And three of your friends are crowded into the other side of it. They've had a couple of drinks before you came. You weren't really in the mood to play catch up so you stick to your one while Jason goes dry because he's driving.

They have conversations about the recent news, the latest gossip, and then they ask about your life. Particularly your life with Jason. You start gushing about him, as if he isn't there, and tell them about how you met and how he treats you.

"This guy? This six foot tall, three hundred pounded brick wall?" one of them asks.

You scoff, "How he looks has nothing to do with how he treats me."

"Yeah, but doesn't he-don't you box?" another one of them asks him.

Jason clears his throat and sits up straight. But you notice it. You notice how he is trying to make himself smaller. He did it at the very beginning of your relationship, to make you less scared. You talked to him about it when the two of you got closer, and you haven't seen him do it since. Until now.

"I'm a boxer, yes. But I don't bring any of that home with me." Jason answers.

"Isn't it hard though? When you're angry? I mean who's to say you won't-" the third friend starts.

Hell. This has to stop.

"Enough." you speak.

They all look at you, at a loss for words. While it's true the four of you grew up looking like people who were afraid to tell others no, and looked like doormats, you were far from that person. Those days are over.

"I'm not gonna let you speak to him like that. He has been nothing but kind and open with me, and not that it's any of your business, but he has never laid his hands on me, or raised his voice." you say.

Then you're getting up from the booth, holding your hand out for Jason. He looks between you and your friends and then he's getting up from his seat. He takes your hand in his.

"He's my boyfriend. I want him in my life and I wanna be a part of his. So either you get that or you get lost." You put finally.

You turn around and walk right out the door with Jason. Jason who hasn't said a word yet. Jason who is holding onto your hand in a way that tells you he's not completely paying attention.

When the two of you cross the threshold of the doors, you squeeze his hand.

"Baby?" you ask him.

Jason looks at you then. Like everything is coming back into focus for him. He has a sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"Don't ever be sorry for being you. If my so called 'friends' couldn't see past what you look like and what you do for a living then they don't need to be my friends." you explain to him.

Jason shakes his head, "You've known them longer than me. It's not fair that-"

"Jason Todd, I am not willing to give you up. For anyone. Ever. You got that?"

Jason lets out a small sigh. "Okay."

You let go of his hand to hold out your arms. He pouts a bit before stepping closer to you and wrapping his arms around you completely. You nuzzle into him more.

"I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I hope you know that." you add on.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I swear it." you answer.

a/n: thank you so so much for sending this in! <333 I love some good hurt/comfort too!! I hope you like it!!

#dc x reader #Jason todd x reader #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd blurb #dc blurbs #dc #Jason todd #boxer!jason

[yuyinesque]

WOMANEATER | “𝗒-𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗁-𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗒…”

⚘ précis. ≡ you're a therapist in a psyche ward, and your new patient isn't one you're particularly experienced with.

⚘ disclaimers. ≡ yandere!incel & psyche ward!therapist y/n, afab!reader (no fem-aligned prns used), physical violence, compulsive masturbation, hypersexuality, misogyny & women-blaming, usage of “bitch”, mentions of post-traumatic stress disorder (ptsd); obsessive behavior; delusion (secondary erotomania); age regressing; & urine, manipulation (guilt-tripping & gaslighting), mentions of suicide & self harm, implied rape fantasies & perversion.

⚘ category. ≡ nsft headcanons.

⚘ wc. ≡ 781.

𖦥 m.list. oc.list

🧷 yandere!incel who is a scrub-wearing individual who wears stoic expressions like they’re permanent masks, though at times the said mask tends to falter vastly when he’s around any woman; even fem-presenting figures drives him an inch deeper towards insanity. he’s picked numerous fights with women and only women, even when they’ve done nothing but walked past him. the fights were always prompted by truculence and defense, as for he would disclose evident signs that he was terrified of said woman, completely convinced that they were after him in some sort of ill manner, so he strikes before they even get the chance to blink. because of this, he’s been isolated away from female figures, and only male characters were capable of catering to him, as he was indifferent towards them. well, every male but you, a female.

🧷 yandere!incel who is quite the handful for inexperienced, psyche ward!therapist darling, as for they haven’t dealt with a patient with such a high caliber of disorders; their worst case so far was a suicidal woman who was diagnosed with type one bipolar. one session with the individual was enough to question your overall abilities. i mean, he despised you. at least that’s what you believed.

🧷 yandere!incel who is tired of you cheating on him with other patients! this is why he’s so angry towards you specifically, but he won’t say. however, he’s also completely infatuated with you; have i also mentioned completely horrified with you? you’ve noticed each time you would change your tone slightly, he would convert into a fretful mouse, apologizing incessantly as tears glossed his dark, beady eyes, also slipping up by referring to you as “mother” in a small, infantile voice. you concluded it was because you reminded him of such, and she was primarily the reason why he feared and hated women so much. motherly abuse.

🧷 yandere!incel who would have his calmer days since he was genuinely interested in his spouse. he’s never had a woman so madly in love with him, so it not only fed his ego, but causes his dick to swell with cum each time you evinced signs that confirmed you were oso desperate for his attention. with the way you sit up when you walk in, reassure him that everything will be fine, or even going out of your way to smile in such a lecherous manner. it angered him, especially when he begins groping his hardened crotch in front of you and complaining about you and your whorish antics. you would ignore him in response or threaten to cut the meeting short, which prompts a loud, slur-screaming, victim-blaming outburst in response.

🧷 “you’re such a bitch, you hear me?! a bitch! and a bitch li-like you shouldn’t even be alive! luring me, t-teasing me—all women are just a bunch of fffffucking sluts!!”

🧷 yandere!incel who also showed signs of hypersexuality and exhibitionism. he was a chronic masturbator, pleasuring himself to the most horrific things with your face in mind. just the thought of keeping you in your place by forcing you to perform taboo acts on the receptionist desk as everyone watched rotted his mind.

🧷 yandere!incel who would try to convince you that he doesn’t hate you only to voice his hatred towards you the next week. then he’d not only do that, but then claim that he’s never done such with tears in his eyes, finding your scoldings utterly unnecessary and so mean. there was even a time where you lost your patience and raised your voice at him, immediately causing him to not only an apologetic rant, but to begin pissing himself in the chair he was trembling and sobbing on, the strong scent of ammonia filling the room during the process.

🧷 yandere!incel who needed your touch or he’ll perform said disgraceful acts. there was a day where he pleaded for just a hug from you if he was good the whole week. once you confirmed it, he did just that. no fights, no arguments, nothing. he even apologized for freezing up and screaming at the poor, feminine soul that walked near him. you knew it was against the rules to be this affectionate towards patients, but you couldn’t break a promise. and so, you did—hugged him. awkwardly, even. he was rather short, so his face was buried within your chest, and the boner pressed against your thigh only made you feel nauseous, but not as nauseous as his next, ominous set of words.

🧷 “y-you better hope these h-hands hold mercy on your.. body once i luh-latch them onto you…”

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft

#𖧷 𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 #ᖭི༏ᖫ 𝓲𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓸𝓬𝓼 #divider crds : hyelita #divider crds : benkeibear #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yande.re #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x female reader #yancore #yan x reader #yandere original character #yandere headcanons #yandere male #yandere scenarios #yandere nsft #yandere imagines #yandere aesthetic #yandere love #yandere boy #yandere angst #yandere guy #yandere smut #yandere idea #yandere hcs #yandere x oc

[cordeliawhohung]

Core, what about a bit of competition with ps! Gaz? Some new girl who think's she's already the darling of the studio takes a liking to Gaz, but finds out about his ties with reader.

The one time she gets to film with Gaz, she overplays her role and absolutely covers his neck, collar, shoulder, everything with hickeys, hoping it will deter the reader.

So imagine her shock when the next day, she pops into his dressing room and finds the reader in there as well, applying foundation over the marks and littered with dozens from Gaz himself. ❤️

(I realize how dumb this sounds as an ask but it's been rotting my brain for days and I desperately need it gone so I can focus on my college classes 😭)

thanks this has also been rotting my brain because i just love putting people in their place (: more ps!gaz here <3

The crux of your ass sits in perfect place on Kyle's thighs while your legs straddle the expanse of his hips. Warm hands rest on your waist as you manhandle his jaw, tilting his head side to side to get better access to his neck. Thick, round hickeys litter the delicate skin around his throat and down to his shoulders in angry, red pinpoint marks that break the beautiful and even tone of his skin with something revolting. They look like proper bruises rather than the after effects of a... wild video shoot. As if someone had tried to strangle him rather than make love to him.

You remember the video well, along with that new model with her fake blonde hair and even faker tan that they had paired Kyle with to shoot the other day. You had only seen her in person one time, and you vividly recall the way her blue eyes rolled over your body, assessing every inch of you before ultimately deciding you were worth very little time. Confidence was a must when you worked in the porn industry, but her attitude borders on an arrogance you haven't seen since your teenage years in public school.

As you apply yellow color corrector onto the dark marks on his skin, you nearly shiver as the images of her stained lips suckling on Kyle's neck flood your mind. There was little room to feel jealousy about her ravaging your favorite co-star when you were too busy cringing. So childish. Over zealous. You nearly cried tears of laughter when you noticed Kyle's expression, grimacing at the wet tongue and annoying teeth that nipped at him, yet still having to pretend to enjoy it. Even the comments on the video joked about it.

Put him back with the other model.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought someone tried to strangle you," you tease.

"She might as well have," Kyle sighs. He adjusts his shoulders against the back of the chair, bare pecs flexing with the movement, bringing your attention to the uncovered marks that line his collarbone. "Haven't been able to go out in public without a goddamn turtleneck 'cause of her."

You chuckle as you finish applying and buffing out the rest of the color corrector along his skin. It leaves him looking sickly and discolored, which oddly enough is an improvement to what it looked like before. Setting the corrector to the side, you grab foundation next, hips swaying as you attempt to get some movement in your aching knees. Holding that position for so long without moving had them burning with fatigue.

"Need a break, doll?" Kyle prompts, hands sliding from your waist to your thighs.

"Don't know if we have time for a break. Got a lot of ground to cover before we start," you humor.

Kyle sits forward, throwing you off balance, yet he doesn't let you sway very far before his arms wrap around you, hands supporting your back. Adoring eyes crease as a grin floods his face. Even without the aid of studio lights he glows like a god as he leans closer and places a kiss on your neck.

"Show can't start without us," he says, teeth grazing your skin as he wanders down to your collarbone. "Could always give you a few hickeys to match, if you want."

He doesn't wait for you to answer before his tongue glides across your clavicles just for his teeth to follow right after. A chuckle rumbles in his chest at the tightening of your legs around his hips, and his hands only pull you closer. It doesn't take much for you to give in. Head rolling back, muscles melting as his lips conquer everything you're willing to give him. It's a delicate softness mixed with a brutal bite, something that leaves you gasping as he pulls the very air from your lungs and feeds on the sounds.

Kyle is more starved for you than usual. Sick of the fake, over dramatic screeching he got last week with that other model, he's hungry for the real thing. Hungry for you.

The unopened foundation falls free from your loose fingers and rolls along the floor into some forgotten corner when his hands wander underneath your shirt. It's a dance he has memorized; unclasping your bra without a second thought and tearing both it and your shirt off in a single, swift motion. He gives you little time to recover before his mouth is on your tits, kissing a sparse trail until he's rolling a perky nipple between his lips.

His bare skin feels like heaven underneath the palm of your hands as you grip his shoulders for stability. He'd take you on the cold, dressing room floors, you knew he would. A part of you wanted him to. Fuck the shoot, they should've learned well enough to put cameras in the dressing rooms by that point with how handsy Kyle Garrick always was with you.

"Can't wait until we get on set to try and undo me?" you ask breathlessly.

"Doll, I'll undo you right here and then again on set if you asked me to," he mumbles into your skin.

A quiet squeak interrupts your moment and the ambiance of the room shifts when the door to Kyle's dressing room opens. His hands grow stiff against your spine as you look over your shoulder at the figure in the doorway. You smell her perfume before you recognize her. Something drowning and floral, like a mall department store. It burns your nose, yet you're too distracted by the slack-mouth surprise etched onto the features of the new blood's face.

It's cute; her confusion. How her eyes flicker over your bare back and Kyle's hands pressed against your skin like he's cradling the only thing he cares for in the world. The dots just can't quite connect in her mind as to why he hasn't completely fallen for her yet, as if the only way she knows how to lure men is by butchering their neck with discolored marks. She can't comprehend why he'd rather have you in his lap than her.

Kyle draws a shocked groan from you when his teeth nip at your shoulder, and your eyes have no choice but to fall away from the woman in the doorway as he pulls you closer to him. His chin gently rests on your shoulder as he stares at the model, hands moving to rest on your hips.

"Need somethin?" he asks, bored.

There is very little you wouldn't have given to see the look on her face, but the small huff followed by the door slamming shut is good enough. Small giggles rattle your body as you lean back to get a better look at Kyle, as if your body would throw a fit if he wasn't within your sight. There's an inexplicable relief that floods his face as he looks up at you, and he mirrors your smile.

"What?" he defends. "Only asked her if she needed somethin."

"I think you broke her heart," you patronize.

"She'll live," he mumbles, lips falling against the crook of your neck again. "Your heart is the only one I care about, anyway."

#pornstar!gaz #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader smut #cod smut #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader smut #f!reader

[sergle]

Every time YouTube nonsense happens I'm always like "I can't wait to see what Sergle says about this" because you're the only person I follow that talks about YouTube nonsense.

Please take this is an invitation for you to talk about the Watcher's apology video lol

I am a filthy youtube enjoyer so you can absolutely count on me and GODDDDDDDDDDD... I mean the apology is not NEARLY as funny as the blunder, so it hasn't kept my attention as much but like the obligatory upfront thing is that, like, it is good that they posted it, they apologized for being insensitive and whatever, they're not scraping their channel clean or going forward with their old plan to only post their shows on their own platform, and these are technically good and correct things, because they could have pretended not to notice all the negative feedback. So like, responding is good. BUT LIKE I HAVE QUESTIONS NOW... Because they took SO LONG to film and upload a video that basically is just "we fucked up, we're sorry, we're not gonna do that anymore", which doesn't exactly take a writer's room several days to cook, but I DIGRESS... They were quiet for long enough for everyone to LOOK REALLY CLOSE. After the initial reaction, people had time to do some pretty comprehensive cost breakdowns for their stuff, and for what they have to be pulling in from adsense, sponsored segments, patreon, merch, and touring Like, they'd need to be really mismanaging their finances, because they're doing very well for themselves, making good, stable money, and the vids they make are super duper advertiser friendly. SO... you take long enough without putting out a holder statement or a quick heel-turn apology or anything, it gives people more time to get comfortable with not liking you, and also to dig around and google things about you, or scrape up info/trivia about you to corroborate their new opinion of you. It gets personal, is what I mean. So pulling this move has still, at BEST, caused some permanent damage to their relationships with fans, in both directions. They all got a huge flood of negative feedback, and even a perfect, emotionally mature, non-entitled person would have a negative reaction to people being upset with them at such a high volume. But now they're gonna remember the things that people have said about them, and there's no way that at the very least, Steven isn't gonna feel spiteful about this. People TOTALLY unloaded on him (funny) (valid) about his evangelical christian conservative leaning tesla privileged out of touch boy gold flaked ice cream eating ways. He definitely is going to remember that ppl said they never liked him in the first place. As for Ryan and Shane, people didn't have any dirt on them, but they definitely still received a lot of angry messages from people, most of which will have been reasonable, but they're gonna remember the really really mean and intense ones. Anyway, they made a booboo dumb enough for jack to want to make a skit about it, so for that I'm very grateful, because I thought it was really really fucking funny

#it's no big deal and it's whatevs because it's Low Risk youtube scandal which is why I like it so much #but it still never fails to amaze me how much this didn't need to happen #like this would have been a totally preventable blunder. I can think of a million different ways to increase profit before trying this move #personally I think it's funny to mess up this badly because the Second Messup would be to respond REALLY quickly #You see it trending and you immediately need to act bc it will only get worse the longer you stay quiet #sergle answers #long post

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king