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mickyschumacher · 8 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: friends with benefits is never a good idea. friends with benefits with carlos sainz especially isn't a good idea.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), jealousy, fwb to lovers trope!, let's hear it for the google translated spanish!!, unprotected sex again (using a condom is hot behaviour ♡︎), remnants of gaslighting?, oral sex, p in v, pussy eating, overstimulation, cumming inside, love confessions, set it up reference!, carlos realising his red flags, mention of rebecca donaldson as the other girl but she isn't vilified or anything (some peeps scare the shit outta me), idk anything about granada (except the memories of the alhambra! can i get an amen?)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: carlos sainz x fwb!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6k+

𝐀/𝐍: this was a messaged request so i hope it was up to par! kinda long but we get there eventually. plot holes? yes. proof-read? um... to my sore eyes, yes.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

There were many things the world still couldn't explain. The human body, the brain especially, why humans yawn, the cause of Alzheimers, or why tomatoes have 10,000 more genes than humans do.

In addition, you couldn't explain how you had gotten to be friend with benefits with none other than Carlos Sainz, an F1 driver for Ferrari.

Well... there were some parts you could explain. Like how you met. You were simply a girl from Pampaneira, Granada going grocery shopping after eating up the last of what was in your fridge and Carlos was a fresh bachelor who decided to spend a part of his vacation with his friends over 400 kilometres away from his Madrid home in Granada.

A fresh bachelor who also happened to need grocery's for his cousin's raging hangover.

To say you were the town's golden girl was a bit of an understatement. You were far too busy greeting all your local residents. You didn't notice Carlos when you first walked into the store.

But Carlos noticed you. Actually he noticed you before he even laid eyes on you. Your sweet floral perfume roamed the air and engulfed him, luring him without any words. And then he saw you.

You were a beautiful woman. Everything about you... the long hair, your glowing skin, curves every lover goes to dream about at night, eyes that you would never want to let down, your lips... God your lips, one look at them and no sane person could stop thinking about them... at night; and then there was your smile, a social service that could get rid of all the tension in this world.

You didn't notice Carlos until you felt a pair of eyes staring at you from the health isle that was poorly across from all your fruit. There was no shortage of attractive men in your town let alone Granada. But you had never seen a man like Carlos before.

The thicket of brown locks that you craved to run a hand through, his gorgeous tan skin that God must've given, the mysterious chocolate eyes, the perfectly plump lips which made you think he just had to be a good kisser, the slight scruff on his face that made you wonder how it would feel on your skin, the taut body... a gorgeous man.

You didn't know who Carlos was. In Pampaneira, although you new what it was, no one really cared for F1. It was a village that bordered on as a small town. Everyone here knew each other well and spent every second socialising.

You couldn't decide whether you wanted to talk to him or whether you were too nervous to. But it didn't matter because Carlos made the first move and introduced himself. You introduced yourself. He complimented you. You complimented him.

And that was that.

By nightfall, he was in your bed and the both of you had the most sinful, steamiest sex of your lives. So much that Carlos saw you for the rest of his time there. So much that when it was time to leave, Carlos told you to come with him.

And you did.

It was all of that that had led up to all of this. This being your attendance to a dinner at an F1 event as Carlos' plus one in Barcelona. He couldn't hide a beauty like you. Besides, the Spain paps had already managed to weasel their way into your relationshpi with Carlos. Most people thought you were dating. But Carlos had firmly laid the rule out as one did when you became friends with benefits: you don't fall in love. Neither one of you. You agreed for the sanity of your brain because you were far too attracted to the man to fall into the tricky waters of love.

"Holy shit, Carlos..." Lando swore when his eyes landed on the entrance of the dinner.

Carlos raised a brow at this driver, turning his head to the direction of Lando's gaze. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw you. Every time he saw you, he couldn't be more thankful that he had eyes.

You had captured everyone's attention no doubt. How could they not look? Not when you were dressed in a light yellow satin material that hugged you in all the right places. Not when your neck was adorned in the diamond lariat necklace Carlos had brought you, hiding all the hickeys he had place there this morning. Not when the back of the dress scooped so far down that it only rested a few inches above your ass.

Christ, Carlos thought as he discreetly adjusted his tight pants. You were a sin.

You greeted all the drivers, laughing softly when Lily and Alexandra started to fawn over your appearance.

"I'm telling you, you are probably killing Carlos right now," Lily whispered on one side of you.

You rolled you eyes as Alexandra quipped on the other side, "Probably? Look at him. He is suffering."

You pressed your lips together, preventing a full-blow grin from washing onto your face.

That was kind of the point.

You tried to avoid as much of Carlos as you could because riling him up was one of your favourite pastimes. But in your endeavour, you felt a familiar hand graze your bare back, sending a warm tingle up your spine.

"All of this when we don't get to finish the night together? No juegas limpio, mi niña bonita," Carlos' lust-ridden voice whispered as his head dipped down, letting him place a small kiss behind your ear. You don't play fair, my pretty girl.

You gave him a meek smile. As much as you loved his compliments, they were starting to get you these days. The endearments combine with his actions were stirring up feelings that should be sounding alarms in your head.

"Jugar limpio no es divertido," You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to divert you eyes to the dinner. Playing fair is no fun.

"That's true." Carlos poked his tongue in his cheek upon hearing your remark. You reminded him of a firecracker. Always ready to burst and come back with something to say.

"You have to admit it is sad though, hmm? Because all I want to do is take that dress off you and fuck you. I want to make you cum over and over again till all you can call yourself is mine. I want to watch my cum fall from your pussy because you can't take it all, niña bonita. And then I want to push it right back in so you can walk around with it all day. Soon. I promise."

You let out a shaky breath as Carlos' breathing became heavier and heavier. You chewed down on your bottom lip, standing a bit straighter to discreetly clench your legs together. With a small smile, you turned to Carlos. "I hate you," You told him in the softest and sweetest voice you could muster.

Carlos grinned, making your heart skip a beat. He put his hands around your waist, his chest facing your back, and his chin resting on your collarbone. "Please. You love me."

You blinked blankly at the cold splash of reality that fell over you. You gave a dry and short laugh. You patted his hand with your own. "En tus sueños, Carlos." In your dreams, Carlos.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Mornings without Carlos usually meant you had energy because you weren't having your brains fucked out. But your usual opening of your socials had brought something that drained you entirely.

You stared at your ceiling of your hotel room blankly. Regardless of whether Carlos was awake right now, he wouldn't have even seen this. He didn't read any other news other than his favourites like ESPN or the CBS Sports Network.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly. What was this feeling in your stomach? Anger? Annoyance? Jealousy? You couldn't really put a finger on it and nor could you tell why.

You turned to plant your face in your pillow and let out a muffled groan.

How did you even get here?

Right. The grocery store.

You missed home. Home was an almost 2 hour flight or an eight hour car ride away. You missed when things were simple. When they made sense. Because lately, nothing had made any sense.

The thought of home brought you to the next train of thought: food. And as if on cue, your stomach growled at you with demand. So with the motivation of not starving to death, you got ready to have breakfast and headed down to the nearest cafe because hotel room service sucked.

Opting for a mocha with an extra sugar to counteract the bitterness in your life, you sat down with some a variety of churros and croissants to choose from.

Your phone blared it's default ringtone, capturing your attention. Your eyes flickered over the name and your heart softened and your bad mood had slightly eased. You grabbed the device and slid your thumb to the right.

"Buenos dias, mamà," You greeted. Good morning, mama.

You could hear her exclaim with joy, a sound you hadn't heard in a while. "Ah, mi niña bonita, buenos dias! ¿Cómo estás? No has leído las noticias, ¿verdad?" Ah, my pretty girl, good morning! How are you? You haven't read the news, have you?

You winced at your mother's pet name. You hated this. You hated that the lines between before Carlos and during Carlos were blurring.

"Sí, mamá, lo hice. Don't worry. It's just gossip. All fake," You told her even though you had no idea yourself. Yes, mama, I did.

You heard a sigh of relief from the other side of the call, making your heart hurt. "Right? I thought so. Carlos would never do that. Es un buen chico." He's such a good boy.

You could only tightly smile, agree, and be thankful you weren't seeing your mother in person otherwise she would've been able to tell straight away. You didn't know because all you had agreed on with Carlos was attraction. Nothing more and nothing less.

You caught up a bit with your mother. The conversation ended with her demanding a family dinner to which you told her you would see if Carlos had the time.

It was a simple conversation yet it was eye-opening.

You wanted that family dinner so badly. You wanted to be able to go see your mother and Carlos hang out. Hell, his own mother wanted you to call her mom. You wanted the stupid romantic things like dates, a person who would listen to you, the whispers of sweet nothings because... because you were in love with him.

Of course you were. Sure Carlos slightly had a quick temper and he wasn't that great at being emotional with you or anyone for that matter... but there was that saying: you like because and you love despite. Despite all of his flaws–because no matter how great a man is, he has his flaws–you loved him.

“Buenos dias, cariño,” A familiar voice greeted behind you. Good morning, sweetheart.

You turned your head, finding the root cause of all your problems stand before you with the most handsome smile.

"Carlos," You said with a slightly surprised tone.

Carlos smiled in return, placing a lingering kiss on the side of your head before he sat in front of you. The both of you waited for his coffee to be placed on the table before any conversation between you resumed.

"It's a beautiful day, no? I feel good about this weekend too. It kind of feels like everything is coming together," Carlos told you, raising his brows excitedly at you.

You gave a gentle smile, taking a long sip of your mocha. Slowly you placed the cup down and took in a sharp breath of air. "Carlos... can I tell you something?"

Carlos furrowed his brows and softly laughed at your almost worried tone. He nodded. "Sí, cualquier cosa." Yes, anything.

You looked down at your cup, fingers tracing the rim of the glass as you wondered how to start. Your mouth opened and closed, uncertainty closing in on you. Your eyes snapped up at the taunt of your name slipping from Carlos' mouth.

Okay... you got this.

"Carlos, I... I don't think we should do this anymore."

The crinkles in between in eyebrows and amused smile on his face told you that you had lost him. "You are going to have to be a lot more specific than that, mi niña bonita."

You chewed at your bottom lip. This nickname was getting tiring if he didn't mean it the way you wanted it to. "I mean us, Carlos. This... whatever this is. Friends with benefits... our relationship... it has to stop."

Any amusement on Carlos' face had dropped. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he tried to think back on how you had come to this decision. "I–what? What do you mean? Did something happen? I thought this was going fine... amazing, even."

"This isn't working for me anymore. I don't want to do this anymore," You shrugged with the pretence you didn't care.

Carlos grabbed your hand with his, rubbing the back of yours gently. "Is this the stupid headline thing? Cariño, they don't know what they're talking about."

"You didn't even deny it," You laughed softly as a bitter taste arose in your mouth and you slipped your hand our of his grasp.

Carlos stared at you for a while, unable to defend himself. "I don't understand. We agreed from the start that this wasn't going to be exclusive all the time. Three rules: it's open, we respect each other and we don't... we don't fall in love."

You paid no attention to where Carlos had paused. You shook your head, waving your hand in dismissal. "It's not that... I just... I don't want to do this, okay? Just leave it alone."

"Then what is it? I know you. You can give me a better explanation than 'I don't want to do this'. I can't leave this alone. Did someone say something to you? Did they do something? I swear, Y/N, if they did–"

"No," You quickly and sharply interjected. You took a deep breath. "Carlos.. I want more from you. I don't just want to see you every night and morning. I want to see you when we go out to have dinner. I don't want to be your sidepiece, Carlos. I can't... not when I feel like this."

The silence from Carlos was deafening. He struggled to open his mouth. His eyes twinkled with pain. "But you know I can't give you that."

Right. Carlos Sainz didn't do relationships. He was an F1 driver. They liked pass the parcel. And it just so happened, you were his parcel.

You nodded slowly. "Lo sé. Por eso lo siento. I'm sorry for ruining things between us but I can't do this anymore. Because if I do... I'm afraid I fall even further. And that's not fair on me." I know. That's why I'm sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━

As much as you would like to say you were a responsible citizen who didn't make bad decisions when you were upset, you couldn't.

The offer of clubbing by some of the girlfriends of the drivers was far too appealing in your situation. Your agreement excited the girls because you rarely joined them on these outings because you were too caught up with a certain Spaniard. Granted they didn't know the real reason behind why you were so ready to join them but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

As you arrived to the club, Lily let out a low whistle when she laid eyes on you. "How do you say hot as fuck in Spanish? Because my oh my you are hot as fuck right now."

She wasn't wrong. You felt hot as fuck right now. It was a warm night in Barcelona and the sexy black long sleeve mini dress, the same one you reserved for Carlos, was staring at you, begging for you to take it out of your suitcase. It stuck to your curves, it had some scandalous cuts, and it was backless. A perfect dress for Carlos? Sure. But a perfect dress to let go of yourself in a club.

You almost snorted at the golfer's theatrics but instead you opted for a flutter of your eyelashes and a stretch of your hand. "Oh dear madam, you flatter me!" You thanked her in a poorly imitated British accent.

Heidi and Alexandra laughed quietly as Lily rolled her eyes before grabbing your hands. "Let's go! I need some tequila!"

Quickly all four of you were by the bar, taking shots of cava (Spanish wine) instead of tequila. Well, you watched them take shots of cava. You may not be having the best day in the world but you were smart and sober enough to know that you and alcohol was not a good mix right now. And all the pleas of these girls could not convince you to do it.

Soon enough, you were all on the dance floor. The club couldn't be more of a club: sweaty bodies dancing on each other, old 2000s' music thrumming so loudly that you would think it was coursing through your veins, neon lights flashing rapidly across the room.

You... you were a vixen, dancing your way through all the bodies, relishing in all the lingering eyes you had captured. Every move you made was unintentionally alluring; your long tresses grazing your skin seductively, sticking to your skin at times as the humidity of the club made you shimmer in the flickering lights while you controlled the pulsing rhythm.

Lily, Heidi, and Alexandra watched in a shortly-lived awe before their eyes widened as a guy behind you edged closer to you. You could feel his breath brush pass the nape of your neck while the heat of his body began to circle you as his chest neared your back.

You couldn't feel a damn shiver down your spine that made you feel good as you once did but you weren't sure if you care that much. With the music blaring and your urge to escape reality without a sip of alcohol, you got closer to the man.

Dancing slowly to the music, you moved your ass closer to the man, feeling his hand lay on your waist. Your head fell back on to his should as he began grind his body into you. You squinted at the purple and pink lights floating in the air, frustrated. Why wasn't your body reacting the way you wanted it to?

The man's lips ghosted over the shell over your ear and he whispered, "Let's get out of here, baby."

Your mouth opened to respond but before you could let out a syllable, you felt the man's presence disappear and a hand grab your forearm, pulling you towards them.

You snapped your eyes to the figure, eyes widening slightly at the familiar brown locks, flushed cheeks, and the same chocolate eyes. Only those eyes were far darker. The host of pure craze.

"Carlos–"

"I think she's fine. You can leave," Carlos said curtly, ignoring your call of his name, brown eyes firmly planted on the stranger.

The man, sensing Carlos' anger and annoyance, held his arms up in defence and walked away.

Without looking at you, Carlos held his rigid grip on your arm and hastily walked you out of this club with heavy steps. You could spot the trio of girls nearby whispering their apologies, concerns, and how they forgot to mention they invited the guys.

"Carlos," You called wearily, watching him open the door of his Ferrari.

"Entra," He looked over at the door, waiting for you expectedly as he leaned on the car. Get in.

"What? No, Carlos, let's talk about this–"

"Get in the damn car and then we'll talk about this."

You let out a huff at the absolute resolve Carlos sported on his face. With a clenched jaw, you dipped down into the Ferrari, immediately finding the comfort in the familiar seat. You peered over towards Carlos, who was walking to the driver's seat.

Fucking hell. What had you gotten yourself into?

Silently, Carlos slammed the door shut. He took a glance at you and sighed before reaching out to grab your seatbelt and click it into place. The cologne you had gotten to used to infiltrated your nose as heat radiated off of his body. Putting the car into drive, Carlos was off onto the streets.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The ride to your hotel was fast. Carlos was well over the speed limit and all the buildings zipped past you like lightning. It was unnerving to see the combination of speed, silence, and anger in Carlos but you were lying to yourself if you said you didn't find it somewhat attractive. Carlos' hands firmly on the wheel, his taut jaw, hardened eyes... God, you were awful.

Not wanting to cause any commotion for all the gossiping fans, you both quietly arrived to your hotel room. You both took off your shoes silently by the door. You took a little longer, fiddling with the straps of your heels in hope to by you some time to think of something... anything to say.

With nothing coming to mind, you turned around to Carlos standing in front of you. His brown eyes stared hard at you while he chewed the inner corner of his mouth. You let out a small exhale when you felt his hand caress your cheek, the soft pad of his thumb pulling down your bottom lip.

"Carlos..." You called once again.

Carlos momentarily closed his eyes at the feeling of your breath against his hand. "We barely finished our conversation this morning and you were going to fuck some stranger? Hmm?"

"I–" You wanted to say no. You really did. But you weren't raised a liar. "Yes. I was," You stated almost apathetically. You returned his sharp stare with a pointed look. "What is it to you?"

Carlos sucked in a sharp breath of air. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you so you were flushed against him. He pushed down the grin that was beginning to form once he felt your hardened nipples against his chest. He dipped his head down to your ear. "Say it again. I dare you. Try it again and see if I won't fuck you and edge you over and over again."

Your mouth fell open at Carlos' declaration while your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. You swallowed all the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, letting out a nervous incredulous sneer. "You wouldn't. You're driving tomorrow."

In addition to the three rules, Carlos had a special one of his own: no fucking the day before driving or throughout the weekend. Because of his addiction to your body and the animal he was, sex expended far too much of his energy and he knew for a fact that his team would be able to tell.

The hairs on your body stood straight and goosebumps began to travel down your skin as Carlos' thumb trailed from your lips to the valley of your breasts. His head tilted to the side, eyes moving from your tightly covered tits to your face. The corner of his mouth tugged up, forming a humoured smirk. "You don't think I will? After the shit you pulled? I made you a promise yesterday, cariño, and I'm going to fulfil it."

You let out a soft exhale. Your heart was racing in your ears. "Carlos... this isn't right. I meant what I said. I can't pretend like everything is fine like you. Besides you said it was open, right? You, out of all people, can't react like this."

Carlos' possessiveness was something you could never entirely wrap your head around. Sometimes it was there and other days it wasn't. He was all over a model yesterday and now he was pulling you away from other men? It was ironic.

The gaze that Carlos held told you there was something he wanted to say, right on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't say it. No... he couldn't admit it.

But you gladly would for him.

"You're afraid, Carlos. And I don't blame you. You've never had a serious relationship, you never committed, you never fallen in love so I'm not that surprised. But you've got to understand that I can't stay with you like this."

Carlos huffed in amusement, shaking his head shortly after. "You're wrong."

You raised a brow. "Am I?"

He nodded slowly. "I mean you're right about the relationships and commitment," He started, ensuring his eyes were firmly planted on you, "But I've fallen in love."

Your shoulders slump at his admission. Great. This was exactly what you needed right now. "Y-You have?" You asked with a small voice and a want to blare some heavy music through yours ears.

Carlos nodded once again. "At first sight. In a grocery store. There was this girl. She walked in, didn't notice me. But I saw her. I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She laughed and smiled with the locals and I thought that for a second I died and went to heaven. I caught her eye and introduced myself. She did the same–"

"Carlos..." You interjected, feeling your heart pick up it's pace once again.

But the Spaniard continued his story. "We complimented each other, we talked and joked. Then we went to bed that same night. It was perfect. And after we finished, the thought of losing someone like her scared me. It was so terrifying that instead of asking her out, like a normal person, I asked her to become a bloody sidepiece out of all things. Can you believe it? I was an idiot... an idiot in love. I still am an idiot. Because she told me she loves me and I haven't done anything about it. Well, till now."

Carlos let out a long exhale, eyes nervously darting across your face, trying to draw any conclusions of your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes. "I hate you."

"What?" Carlos spluttered.

"Kidding!" You broke out into smile. "I love you too, Carlos. Not as much as you though. First sight? You are down bad," You jested, trying to not let all the fluttering feelings swirling in your body burst out of you.

Carlos blinked blankly at you. You were unbelievable. He shook his head at you, feigning a look of disappointment as he pulled you towards the bed. The soft sheets morphed around you, lulling you to a comfort you had been craving ever since you had put on your heels.

You eyed the lust-ridden look Carlos had. "I was being serious, Carlos. You're racing tomorrow. You have all the time in the world. I'm not going anywhere. Besides, sex after a podium sounds nice," You offered, hanging your arms around his neck as he hovered over you.

Carlos smiled gently at your confession, heart warm at the thought of you by his side. He pushed your hair behind your ears. "As sweet as that is... I was also serious about my promise."

Carlos' leaned in, taking in one last glance of you before pressing his lips to yours. Goosebumps began to swarm every inch of your skin as his hands trailed down your body, finding your hips. If only he knew his tracks the way he knew your body.

You let out a small moan, giving Carlos a new access to your mouth. Your skin prickled with a new wave of heat that was unlike any before. Because this time you knew things were different. He loved you. And you loved him back.

You felt Carlos' tongue invade your mouth while his warm hands had moved to your bare thighs. His grip on your skin tightened as he revelled in the feeling of your plump skin rolling and burning in his hands. All because he touched you.

He removed his swollen lips from yours. The very same lips quirked at your whine. "You know this dress was driving me crazy?" He told you, planting his lips on your neck. His fingers skated up your thigh, inching loser towards your heated pussy.

Christ.

You leaned into his touch, losing yourself as he marked your skin with his love. His lips sucked on your soft skin with a greed the both of you had never felt before.

"Yeah? When? When you first saw me or when I was grinding on that guy?" You teased, running a hand through Carlos' dark brown locks.

Carlos paused, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. His fingers continued to travel, finding the soft and soaked fabric of your panties. "Niña bonita, you sure talk a lot for someone who is so wet from only kisses," He murmured against your lips as he pressed a finger on your cloth-covered folds and lightly grazed your clit.

You gasped at the sharp tingle shooting up your body. "Fuck, Carlos," You sighed, feeling a certain craving begin to settle in.

Carlos sported a grin that you almost wanted to smack off of his face. A feeling which only intensified once he removed his finger from your clit, leaving you breathless as he removed your dress. He sucked in a sharp breath coming across your bare body. "You know... going braless I get," He started while he trailed his finger down the valley of your breasts and towards your pussy. His finger stopped right above your clit. "But no underwear?"

You stayed silent, chest heaving at his touch. You were waiting for Carlos to push you right into the ecstasy you had been bordering on. "Carlos, please."

Carlos smiled at your strained plea, bringing his lips to your stomach. "Your pleasure is my pleasure," He remarked.

You watched as Carlos' head dipped down between your legs, hands firmly wrapped around your thighs. "Fuck, you are soaking, cariño," He called out, eyeing your glistening folds and feeling the heat radiate off of them.

You squirmed at his breath travelling up your spine. "Only for you," You rasped.

Carlos could only feel his heart pace as he watched you clench around nothing. His cock was flushed against the fabric of his pants and his underwear. Fuck, the pain was almost a dizzying as the arousal he was receiving. You were so good to him... oh the things you did to him. Good girls deserved rewards, did they not?

Your mouth fell open as Carlos' tongue laid flat against your folds, taking one long lap at your arousal. You could feel him smile against your thighs. "You taste so good," He murmured before plunging his tongue back into your warm folds.

He explored every crevice of your pussy while you hand shot out to his brown locks, pushing his head further into you. The obscene grunts that echoed in the room after leaving Carlos' mouth were nothing compared to the pace he had taken. He was devouring you; inhaling and savouring your very essence.

You removed your hand from his hair and the back of your head fell into the soft sheets. Your hips bucked against his tongue while soft moans fell from your swollen lips. "So good, Carlos, fuck," you cried out, voice straining from the pleasure.

Carlos took your praise as encouragement, pushing his tongue further into your slick folds while his thumb found your needy clit. He circled the sensitive bundle with a teasing gentleness that sent bursts of throbbing pleasure down your core.

A groan fell from his mouth upon feeling your hand in his hair once again. The slight tremble of your thighs and the clenching of your pussy told him that he was doing everything right. You were on the brink of losing it.

"Cum for me, niña bonita," Carlos urged, thumb rubbing your clit faster and tongue lapping at your puffy folds.

Your hips quivered against Carlos' tongue, thighs tightening around his head as your eyes shut tightly, finding a white light in the dark abyss. Your eyes watered while your mind became absent in your climax. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Carlos!"

Carlos momentarily stopped his actions, watching your face contort in pure pleasure. You looked beautiful. Hot, naturally, but beautiful. The thin sheen of sweat made you glow and your swollen lips with the few traces of lipstick were a hot mess but he loved it.

"No, no, no," You mumbled in quick turns when you felt his tongue and thumb return not a return a single second later.

"I said multiple orgasms, cariño. You can give me another."

Despite your refusal and the slight burn of your sensitive folds, your body liked to betray you, convulsing once again. Your hips trembled against his touch while your fingers grasped the bedsheets tightly.

Christ. Carlos was going to be the death of you.

Carlos greedily and happily watched your overstimulated pussy grind against him involuntarily. By the last quiver of your hips, he gave you a warm smile, mouth lowering to leave a trail of kisses across your stomach. "Well done, mi hermosa princesa." Well done, my beautiful princess.

You gave a tired smile, feeling a little less than beautiful with your sex sweat-ridden hair and skin sticking to the sheets.

"Princesa, are you sure you can handle my cock? I haven't tired you out too much, have I? Carlos queried, half with genuine concern and the other half with a tone that was almost patronising.

You narrowed your eyes before giving him a sickly sweet smile. "Well, you did promise to fuck me. If you can't, then nevermind."

Carlos couldn't tell whether he was proud or tired of your shit. You were clearly tired yet you had a lot to say back. Like he said, you were a firecracker.

With one hand, he removed his polo shirt. His brown eyes bore into yours as he slowly removed his pants. His lips quirked at your sharp intake of air once your eyes feasted on the throbbing bulge in his underwear.

Your heart thudded against your chest while you sat up from your position and inched closer towards him. You looked up at him with big eyes, hand trailing down his taut chest.

Carlos heaved, feeling the you skim past his body hair. His tongue darted out, resting on his lips as he carefully watched you open your mouth and sink your teeth into the waistband of his underwear.

"Fuck me," Carlos muttered under his breath, eyes glued to you while you pulled his underwear down.

Carlos quickly removed his underwear from his feet and in hast movements, pushed you onto your back. He rolled his eyes at the teasing laugh that fell from your lips despite it being the most pleasing sound to his ears.

You looked at the Spaniard hovering above you, hand gently brushing his cheek. You smiled, running a hand through his hair. "I love you, mi amor." I love you, my love.

Carlos held your gaze, chest heaving at your sudden admission. He felt impossibly warm. It was like the first time he had met you all over again. He felt the same way the night you first had sex. He whispered, "Again. I want to hear it again, please."

Your eyes softened and your heart ached at his earnest plea. "I love you, Carlos. Forever."

Carlos stared at you for another second before bringing you into a long kiss. "I love you more."

You let out a small whimper, feeling Carlos' thick cock against your engorged pussy. You watched as his eyes became clouded with lust. Just rubbing his cock against your folds was an obscene high that made the both of you shiver.

The sudden jerk of your hips as his cock rubbed your sensitive and overstimulated clit made you cry out. "Fuck...," You moaned out, "I need your cock, mi amor. Please."

Carlos was so lost in the pleasure it took the slight dig of your nails in his forearms to ground him once again. "Me too, princesa," He grunted, selfishly grazing your clit again with his cock just so he could watch your hips jolt once again. Fuck. Your reaction drove him crazy.

Carlos forced himself to get ahold of himself and focus on pushing his cock into your pussy. Your hands fell to his neck, steadying yourself while a gratifying burn ached through your core. "Me estás llenando, amor. Muévete, por favor, Carlos." You're filling me up, love. Please move, please, Carlos.

A groan flew from Carlos' lips as he fell into your plead, hips beginning to rut against you. Your swollen folds clamped around him, holding a vice-like grip on his aching cock.

Your sweaty skin stuck against one another while Carlos brought this lips to yours, consuming all your lewd moans with sloppy kisses. He pushed his cock further into you, feeling his balls slap against you, making the most immoral and obscene sounds known to man.

With one hand placed on your hip, the other travelled to grope your breast. Rubbing your nipples in a circular motion, a shudder erupted through you, feeling your clit brush against his cock with each thrust of his.

Carlos looked down at you, feeling his cock pulse at the fucked out expression that teetered on your face. You could barely breathe with all the air escaping your lungs as the familiar white light edged near you. You clenched around his cock, signing Carlos that you were close.

"Carlos, fuck. I'm going to.... I'm going to..." You panted, unable to get out the words as the lust rang throughout your brain.

"You're going to cum? Tell me, mi amor, who did this to you? Who makes you feel this good, hmm?" Carlos beckoned, increasing the snap of his hips.

You cried out, right on the cusp of pleasure. "Tú, mierda, tú lo haces. Fuck!" You, fuck, you do.

Everything around you became a blur, your orgasm hitting you in waves of pleasure. Your moans were silent but your body said it loudly: shaking against Carlos' cock.

"That's right. Me. No one el–shit," Carlos cursed, feeling your orgasm in his cock as you clenched around him. A high-pitched sporadic whine fell from his lips, hips stuttering against you.

The both of you moaned as his hot white cum spilled into your walls. Your folds clamped around him, taking every last droplet into your pussy.

You fell against the bed with an exhausted sigh. You felt the bed dip as Carlos did the same. You felt his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You turned your head to the side, raising a brow at the chocolate eyes flickering over you.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, cariño. I should've never ever let you be in a position where you felt like a fucking sidepiece. You are so much more than that. The love of my life," Carlos murmured, pushing a greasy lock of hair behind your ear.

Fuck. This was a new side of him you were seeing. The emotionally available one. And you loved it. "Well, as long as I'm not a sidepiece again," You shrugged, laughing softly.

"Never," Carlos confirmed. "You can beat me with those heels of yours if I ever do."

"Hmm... tempting. Although the guy from the club looks so much stronger. Did you see his muscles? So big," You fawned, fluttering your eyes dramatically.

Carlos sighed, shaking his head. An amused smile spawned on his face upon hearing you burst into laughter.

You were going to be the death of him.

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #formula 1

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loganlermanstanaccount · 9 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day.

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate.

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less. All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him.

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while.

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came.

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek.

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in.

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same.

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over.

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out.

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together.

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs.

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet.

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked.

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon.

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one.

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step.

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them.

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden.

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home.

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead.

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds.

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything.

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same.

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept.

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–"

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…"

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake.

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him.

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year."

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say.

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for?

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality.

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–"

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–"

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful.

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same.

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago.

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..."

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you.

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most.

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own.

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #angst #lots of angst #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara angst

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bimboothefool · 4 months

Note

Reader was taken kidnapped by Wally and taken to his world. But what Wally didn't expect is that all the other characters would start to remember memories with the reader as a child and discover the truth of their colorful world.

( Now it's up to you to decide what will happen! Will they help the reader get back to the real world or will they become so attached to the reader that it would help Wally keep them there with them FOREVER. )

ℌ𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔶 ℑ’𝔪 ℌ𝔬𝔪𝔢

𝔗𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰: Kidnapping, Yandere Behavior (You know the drill keep this shit in fiction.), Stockholm Syndrome, Amnesia, Possessive Behavior, Wally manipulating the others, and Gaslighting

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯’𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯: Thank you so much for this request and I apologize for taking so long so much came up, but regardless thanks for the request let’s jump right in!! Keep in mind it could either be read as platonic or romantic regardless spoiler alert they don’t see you grow up.

- Wally was surprised to see you after all these years. Same thing with the rest of the crew, your eyes are definitely different instead of that whimsy you’ve once held. You’re rather cautious, it still wows them how different you are now.

- Wally did believe for the time being that he’s the only one who truly remembers you and for a while that’s true. But once you’re in their world things started to change.

- Eddie and Frank are the first few to notice that you looked oddly familiar. When he asked specific questions about your childhood it started to click for him.

- Sally and Julie are shocked that you remembered the lines of a play or the rules of a game. They start to ask themselves the same questions why do you look so familiar yet different.

- Howdy, Poppy and Barnaby are a bit unnerved when you remember stuff like the residents orders or certain joke punchlines. Even certain recipe ingredients. How come you know those things.

- They all meet together to discuss the possibility of how they felt so familiar with you, but this is seemingly their first time meeting you. They all come to the conclusion that they’ve met you before. [Excluding Wally since he fully remembers you.]

- For a while they’re all happy to have you back, but you’re getting homesick. You constantly ask questions on how to get back to your world. But they’re not even sure if it’s possible.

- But only Wally knows a way in and out of their world and keeps it out of your grasp. He even starts manipulating the others.

- “We have them back, why let them go now? Don’t you all miss having our best friend?” He asked the others as they’re all conflicted. Sure they miss you and love you, but was keeping you here really right?

- This could go one of two ways. The first being they do buy into Wally’s twisted line of thinking, why go back to such a troubled and dangerous world? You can stay here and everyday is nothing, but joy and laughter.

- They’ll start gaslighting you into buying into this logic as well, which really freaks you out and you start lashing out. They see this as you throwing a tantrum.

- Another way this can go down, they aren’t sure and start asking you why you want to go home. And you explain that yeah your world isn’t perfect, but it’s still your home.

- Soon they all start talking about how to get you back home, out of Wally’s watchful eyes. You all start to unraveling and untying the mysteries of their world and Wally’s existence.

- Either way it’s ultimately up to you to really choose your own path on how things will play out.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoy my stuff please feel free to check out my other stories from other fandoms, along with reblogging and commenting on it! If you like my art and wanna commission me for some art, head over to my kofi!

#the clown speaks #my writing #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg #welcome home x y/n #welcome home x you #wally darling x reader #eddie dear x reader #frank frankly x reader #julie joyful x reader #sally starlet x reader #barnaby b beagle x reader #howdy pillar x reader #poppy partridge x reader

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tulipsforvin · 6 months

Note

Hello I love your writingsss!! Can I get a headcanon of yandere! William with a wife!reader thank youuu

ᥫ᭡. Yandere!William x Wife!Reader HC's

✧ ⚠️: murder, obsessive behaviour, stalking.

✧ Yandere!William, who's actions are solely driven by his desire to protect and possess his wife.

✧ Yandere!William, who manipulates and gaslights his wife into always being by his side, isolating her and completely cutting her off from the rest of the world.

✧ Yandere!William who switches between devotion towards his wife and sudden bouts of jealousy.

✧ Yandere!William who's jealousy is not shown through his facial expressions and lashing out but through discrete actions and calculated steps, all taken for her and her alone.

✧ Yandere!William who schemes against all those who tried flirting with you or tried making any sort of romantic advanced towards you.

✧ Yandere!William who's probably killed one, maybe few or even a dozen people because they were in him and his wife's way.

✧ Yandere!William, who's obsession with his wife causes almost everything in his life to take a backseat - his wellbeing included.

✧ Yandere!William, who blames others for everything that's happened to you even though in reality it was him pulling the strings all along so you could step by step, bit by bit become dependent upon him.

✧ Yandere!William who only genuinely cares about one woman - his wife, making sure she has everything she could possibly want.

✧ Yandere!William who knows everything about her, where she goes, what size she wears, what she likes and dislikes.

✧ Yandere!William who returns from a mission, soaked in blood. She's unsure of who's it is when he takes slow, languid steps towards her, cornering her towards the wall and kisses her passionately against it.

✧ Yandere!William who orchestrates the downfall of anyone his wife dislikes. She just has to ask and he'll make a series of schemes, making the other person regret ever getting onto her bad side.

✧ Yandere!William who's so creepily obsessed and infatuation with his wife that he probably has a room in the Moriarty residence where pictures of her are taped against the wall, potraits are painted, his wife's name written on the walls over and over again.

✧ Yandere!William who talks in length and detail about how he killed his love rivals or anyone that offended you even if she doesn't want to hear it.

✧ Yandere!William who watches his wife's every step like a hawk, discreetly following her everywhere she goes without her knowledge.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x y/n #william james moriarty x you #moriarty the patriot x reader #Yuukoku no moriarty x reader #serraaphim answers

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floswife · 1 year

Text

𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦-𝗛𝗝𝗣 𝗫 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗢𝗖

Warnings: Fluff, Gaslighting, James possessing Harry

Pairing: Harry James Potter X Ravenclaw!OC

Author’s Note: Idk I just wrote this for me so it’s not really plot heavy, it’s set in fifth year but there’s not any mention of the DA or Umbitch

Summary: Juliette Rosewood, a Muggleborn Ravenclaw witch. She had never thought she’d me destined for much trouble, that was until a certain raven haired Gryffinfor decided to take a liking to her.

It was another day at Hogwarts and Juliette was late to Potions. Again.

But was it really her fault that the damned stairs moved randomly? She braced herself for a scolding, it was fifth year and her O.W.L.S were just around the corner, that and the fact that she wasn’t a Slytherin would surely lead to Snape ripping into her. A sure equation to a sizeable amount of points to be docked from her house.

She entered the classroom with her long dark curls flowing behind her in a frenzy, she frantically looked around the class for a free seat and saw that there was only one left next to Hogwarts’ resident celebrity/troublemaker, Harry Potter.

As Snape’s back was turned she crept to the seat, Harry giving her an amused look.

Snape turned around and his eyes immediately zeroed in on her, “Miss Rosewood, did you arrive just now?”

Juliette shrugged, “I was here this whole time sir. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry stifled a laugh behind his palm.

Snaps narrowed his eyes, “You were late.”

Juliette feigned a look of offence, “That is a vile accusation sir.”

Snape visibly angered, “Alright, what is it that I was just talking about right now?”

“Draught of living death.” Harry murmured to her in a voice so low it was only audible to her from behind his palm.

“Draught of living death, sir.” She said with a sickly sweet smile before giving Harry a thankful look.

The rest of the class watched in amusement as Snape visibly questioned his sanity.

He turned to Harry who gave his best innocent look that almost made Juliette burst out in laughter, “Potter, tell me, was Miss Rosewood here this whole time?”

Harry nodded, “Yes she was sir, you should get Madam Pomfrey to check your memory.”

The whole class stifled a laugh as Snape turned red, “That won’t be needed. Everyone turn to page 177, I want a bottle of the draught of living death made by you and your seat partner on my desk by the end of this lesson or else detentions will be given.”

The whole class groaned and got the ingredients needed for the potion.

Juliette turned to Harry, “Thank you for that, by the way, you didn’t need to do that.”

Harry shrugged, “Anything to pull one over Snape, right?”

Juliette laughed in agreement, “seriously, I owe you one.” Harry smiled at her and the two spent the rest of the lesson laughing and teasing each other, talking about meaningless things and just enjoying each other’s company, surprisingly they even managed to get a decent draught of living death on Snape’s desk and didn’t get detention.

Oh how she’d regret those words.

Juliette was proud to have been named prefect of her house, both her parents were muggles and many didn’t expect much of her. However, when she received the letter and the shiny blue pin, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of fulfilment.

Now, as she did her nighttime patrols, she no longer felt that fulfilment but only an overwhelming sense of tiredness and boredom. Seriously, shouldn’t this be considered as child labour? Dumbledore ought to hire some more damned teachers.

The dulled haze she fell into as she trudged along the hallway, her wand alight making the portraits shout some rather rude things at her, fell once she heard hurried footsteps along the corridor she was in.

She laughed to herself at the poor soul running down this corridor, knowing it was a dead end.

She then saw a familiar head of raven hair and bright green eyes and round glasses and she forced herself to suppress a groan of frustration.

Does this boy ever have a normal day at Hogwarts?

Harry looked relieved to see her and stopped by her as she looked at him with wide eye, his cheeks were slightly flushed from the running as she looked up at him with an incredulous look on her face.

“Do you ever just… follow the rules?” She hissed at him, not even wanting to ask who he was running away from.

Harry feigned a look of deep though before nonchalantly shrugging, “No, I don’t think i do.”

She just rolled her eyes and she grew even more annoyed when she heard distance footsteps clattering after him and a distant, “Potter!”

Harry’s eyes widened and she gave him a deadpan stare, her eyes sleepy, “who was that and what did you do?”

He took in a sharp breath, “That would be some Slytherin prefect looking for an excuse to put me in detention, and as for what I did…” he trailed off before flashing a charming grin that affected her more than she would care to admit, “that’s on a need to know basis.”

Juliette pinched the bridge of her nose, evidently too tired to be dealing with this.

As the footsteps drew closer he visibly grew more panicked before turning to her, “you said you owe me right?”

Her brows knit together in confusion and before she could even open her mouth to speak, his arms had wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his body, his lips pressing against hers.

She gasped in surprise and kissed him back nonetheless, one hand cupped his jaw while the other loved to run through his messy raven locks.

The footsteps drew closer and then drew to a halt right before them, a gasp could be heard and then a rushed, “sorry.” Was muttered before the person ran off again.

It was then that Juliette pulled away from Harry, though still stayed in his arms, not quite ready to leave his warmth yet.

She knew that her face was probably bright red at that moment, feeling the hot blood pound in her ears. Harry had a dazed look on his face and a goofy grin spread across it.

Juliette smiled softly at him before realising that he had only kissed her to avoid detention, so she stepped out of his grasp.

Harry frowned slightly, his arms feeling empty without her.

“So, this makes us even now?” She gave him a small polite smile.

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out, “Um yes of course! Brilliant.”

She hummed before giving him a pointed look, “now go straight back to your dorm before you kiss some other unsuspecting prefect.”

He blushed, giving her a bashful look, “I would never dream of it, only you get the privilege.”

Her heart sped up slightly at the words, “Goodnight then, you flirt.”

He chuckled, “Goodnight darling.”

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

Text

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

A Torn up Masterpiece

Warnings: Age Gap (R’s 19/21 in flashbacks/26 now), Manipulation, Gaslighting | 4,272 Words

18+ | Minors DNI | No Smut, but alluded to.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“If I was some paint, did it splatter, on a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter? If you got to wash your hands?"

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

The director was a man of few words, and with even fewer fucks to give, which is why you're here against all your many protests. He had a knack for living up to his name, because as you saunter into this meeting room full of people—them—you can't be bothered to stand you feel the fury coursing through your entire body.

"Welcome to the end of the world as we know it everyone.," the Director's hologram gravely greets, prompting an eye roll from you because of course you have to be here but he doesn't.

———

"Well, the end of the world for all of you.," you instantly correct the man who glares at you in an instant., "What a pleasure to hear from you Agent Y/L/N—the upcoming star of the show should always make herself known.," you smirk as the rest of your old team look back at you, their expressions all varying from pensive to amused, and for a very select two—regretful.

Wanda and Natasha hadn't seen you in five years—you grew up, and not for the better.

Once upon a time, not too long ago you'd be sat in one of their laps in this room, giggling and possessing a hope for the prospective future. They'd made promises of a forever love to you, sharing in the sweetest of moments with you, but it was all a ruse. It took you a lot of time to see their murky intentions, and you now know they never intended to keep their false words.

Oh to be young and in love right? Wrong!

What a clueless little girl you were to ever believe they'd love you without limitations. It was so obvious to anyone paying attention that the couple had simply grown bored alone and found your youthful energy worth exploiting. They surrounded you with their tantalizing auras within only a month of your arrival, edging straight into your heart with soft smiles and sweet phrases that miraculously shielded the sickening lies of a promising love beneath.

Most of your intimate moments happened in their bedroom, and for as long as you could reside between their bodies it felt like enough. They'd been adamant on their privacy from the start, but naive as you were, the publicly shared intimacies between the long term lovers told you that you were really just a preferred secret.

Still, you held onto your naïveté, and the older woman ate every bit of your innocence up like a couple of succubus's until you were hollowed.

When the older of the two proposed marriage you were shocked. Stood off to the side you watched the women embrace, tears of joy fell from the witches eyes, while ones of betrayal fell from your very own. Not even ten hours prior were you bringing the both of them to the edge of bliss and now you're being tossed aside.

Natasha didn't even warn you of this proposal. The team saw you broken, some even spared you a solemn glance, but they said not a word of comfort to you as they rushed instead to congratulate the blushing brides to be. It's funny really, at the ripe age of twenty one you had finally lost your rose colored glasses—almost like a cryptic right of passage as you officially entered this new age of adulthood.

These people were no family to you, all you ever were to them was the kid with desirable powers, and a bleeding heart worth tearing to shreds. They didn't even notice you leaving the room, and they were all a bit stunned to hear you were permanently gone the next day, but not too shockingly their lives moved right on.

To the couple you were only ever meant to be a short weekend expenditure. They'd tell you that they had fun, but that it couldn't go on. But then they had you, the pitiful whimpers and your eagerness to please was addicting. The longer it went on the harder it was to let you go, so they trapped you with empty words, and shallow gestures of love to keep you tame.

Breaking you entirely wasn't the intention, but it was likely always going to be the end result as they selfishly misused your blind trust.

Now though, as they stare at you pleadingly, hoping to catch your eye they burn with regret. There used to be a permanent smile on your face that always matched your bright eyes, it always warmed the both of their hearts. They didn't love you as they should've, but they did really love you at the end of the day. You were a bright light, but it's obvious that's long gone, you're a dimmed lantern at best now and that's on them. They crushed your heart and you became a pessimist with nothing left to give.

"Alright team, now that we've got strategy out of the way I'm going to wish you all the best.," Fury concludes., "And Y/L/N—do behave.," you flipped the man off., "Bite me Nicholas.," then you harshly brushed right passed the women trying to lure you into their pitiful trap of a closure that would only remedy their guilt.

You wouldn't give them such satisfaction...

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

If you never touched me, I would've gone along with the righteous. If I never blushed, then they could've never whispered about this.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"So, you're the infamous Y/N Y/L/N then?," you hear a gruff, yet feminine voice coming from behind you, and for some odd reason you actually stop to indulge them., "It depends on why you'd be interested in my existence on if the answer to that question is a yes or no."

The smile you gave the curious blonde was polite, but it was clear as day you weren't. Something in your eyes told her this wasn't a friendly encounter, and deep down she knew once you placed her lineage that it would be even further away from one., "You're the one my older sister broke right, like your heart?"

Bold—that's the only word that came to your mind as this short blonde woman spoke to you. Incredibly out of pocket as well mind you, she's only just meeting you and she acts as if she has the right to ask you such a personal question.

"Yelena?," she nods with a mischievous smirk., "I remember hearing about you, it appears she has a record for breaking hearts I'm afraid. Starting with you, and likely not ending with me.," her face instantly falls as you mockingly pout in her direction., "How incredibly tragic."

Yelena stood there incredibly dumbfounded, her mouth agape, and her feet glued to the floor as you continued onto the readied jet for your forced collective travels.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be.

The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind; I regret you all the time."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you sip on the gin and tonic you commandeered for yourself. Wakanda was a nice place, you almost felt bad stealing their booze, but you were certain they would understand the pressure placed on you. Honestly, you felt worse for the battle being brought here, to a hidden away place full of advancements. It was meant to be a place of peace, but you knew they were ready for war.

"Y/N, are you sure you should be drinking?," you took an even larger sip before turning to face the man of your nightmares., "You aren't my captain anymore Steve—kindly fuck off."

Misplaced anger really, but when you get to the nitty gritty of the situation you'll find it wasn't all that misplaced actually. Steve, along with everyone else on that godforsaken team knew you were only ever a plaything to the couple. Silently they watched as you were torn to shreds by the very women you trusted most. Never did any of them think to save you, to be the voice of reason, to save your fragile heart...

They were never anything more than pawns in a game of needless war anyways. Constantly fighting battles that were never their own, and in many ways making everything much worse.

They ruined you—that's for fucking sure.

"It's just, tomorrow's really important.," he continued on, his self righteous tone irking you to no end, and for a second you miss when a moment like this would end in pleasantries.

When you would stutter an apology, and bend to his very whim, because it was always easier to please than it was to fight. It's not that you miss being the pushover, because you don't. It's just that you miss the carefree feeling of it all—this all consuming bitterness is lonely., "For you it is, for me it sounds like freedom."

Once again you left someone behind in a state of shock, too bad the you of today didn't care.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts. Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first, and I damn sure never would've danced with the devil—at nineteen. And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

As you'd expected, the land was a wasteland. Bodies from all sides were piling up in heaps, an expected sight to see when cowards send their brainwashed soldiers into the battlefield. Thanos—the purple tyrant you'd heard all about had yet to show himself, likely lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike. His minions in his ear while you are sat in a tree, because you were the secret weapon today.

Once Vision's metal clanked against the ground you smirked inappropriately; it was showtime.

Watching from the tree you honestly wished you had some popcorn to enjoy this show, and with the wave of your hand you suddenly did. Everyone who'd ever wronged you was having their asses handed to them; as they deserved, and it pleased you to allow it to happen for the short period of time before you joined them.

Thanos stopped in his tracks when you were now standing before him, he blinked a few times, then to everyone's shock he kneeled before you., "Y/N Y/L/N, what an honor it is to meet the woman who can bend reality to her whim.," he rose again and looked to you with a smug smile., "Pity that you'd fight on the losing side here though, why not join me instead?"

"Go on.," you humored the freakish alien in a tone that offered interest, a twinge of pride hitting you when your old team collectively gasped at your potential betrayal., "We'd be twice as powerful together and could lay waste to this populous of weaklings. Start anew even. Live in a world where those who've wronged us along the way could be put in their place."

Wanda and Natasha shared a worried glance from across the field when you said nothing. You simply stood there with a pensive stare, as if you were genuinely considering his offers. There was no reason for them to expect your loyalties anymore after they fabricated theirs. Still, a part of them believed you'd deny him, more so though they'd hoped you still cared.

"Tempting...," you mused., "Sadly not enough though, don't take it too personally, but I've learned that I'm better off working alone.," and with the simple flick of your wrist the titan was kneeling before you., "That's right Thanos, bow before me like the trash that you are, only a coward uses their powers so wickedly.," you chuckled when the man tried to get back up, but your pure power overruled his stones.

"Real revenge comes in showing the people who'd wronged you that they no longer have a place in your world, that they don't matter, and quite frankly that they never fucking did.," you spat so venomously in the titans face you'd think it was him who broke you, but you knew you were loud enough that they all heard you.

"Sounds a bit personal child, all the more of a reason for you to join me on my conquests!"

"You don't get it.," you laughed exhaustedly., "Suffering doesn't end with your plans of a more controlled version of genocide Thanos. It'll only breed a new kind, and I have no intention of letting you take away what I have found for myself out there in this cold world."

"I have more power in my finger than you do with that gauntlet.," you clarified., "Yet I have enough self control to know that the workings of the world aren't mine to control.," you then chuckle., "Well, in a technical sense I guess they are, but I don't interfere with the plights of men anymore—they're on their damn own."

Thanos looked to you tiredly., "They're all too stupid to understand that this is the way to go! Seems you are just as dumb Y/N—what a pity. The world requires order, and I'll restore it!"

"No, you actually won't.," the gauntlet that once contained his bulky hand crumbled before his very eyes., "You're going to pay for this!"

"Yeah?," you snort., "How do you reckon that?"

He said nothing but you tracked his eyes, the army of his wasn't anywhere close to dead, but he gasped when with just the wave of your hands they began to dematerialize into dust., "Well, no matter—I don't break my promises, trust me child, you will be made to pay! I swear to it.," you quirked a brow., "Do enlighten me."

Before the egotistical maniac could tell you his newly made plans for vengeance you were being splattered in his alien blood., "That was for the people of Asgard, and for Heimdall and Loki!," you momentarily froze in your place, but after a second you snapped yourself clean of the remnants then quietly vacated the field.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts; Memories feel like weapons, and now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering....

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

No one even thanked you as you passed them by, they were too busy rejoicing in the win that they hardly brought to fruition. Well that, but mostly they were also too afraid to face you or the wrath they were rightfully owed by you. Natasha and Wanda let you pass them, but they remained somewhat hot on your trails.

The moment you stepped into the elevator, you leaned your head on the cold wall and sighed. Preparing yourself mentally for their arrival, you truly didn't have enough fight in you to continue running. Especially not when you feared they'd find a way to follow you home. Natasha is a super spy—she'd find you, and Wanda a witch who's unaware of her power, so if there's any will to, you know there's a way that she'd find you. Plus, closure is cool...

"Make it quick.," you greet them with your eyes closed, a shiver running up both of their spines at the chilling acknowledgment., "I'm late."

"Y/N.," Wanda says your name so brokenly, it almost makes you feel bad for the little witch., "We're so sorry, we never meant to hurt you.," welp, there went all of the potential sympathy.

"Oh?," your eyes suddenly pop open, a dark red now encasing them and masking your natural eye color that they once found comforting., "But you see, I actually think you did Wanda."

"No, we didn't Y/N.," Natasha adds in a much harsher tone, potentially regretfully too as you slam the both of them into the metal walls right after. Neither of them even try to fight your hold, they remember from training you that it was no use back then, so to struggle now would just be wasting their energy., “Yes you did.”

“You got off on it, looking back now I can see it clearly.,” you chuckle humorlessly., “Those glances you two would share after a good fucking done by yours truly, they spoke of love, but when you would shift to look at me, they would darken, I mistook the predatory lust in your hypnotizing eyes for love; how naive.”

Not that they really had much to say in their defense—that you’d believe, to negate your claims, but even if they did wish to defend themselves they couldn’t speak passed the zippers that had materialized on their lips.

“I see the way you two looked at me all day, your fucking traitorous eyes trailing over my ass.,” you slammed your fist into the metal besides Nat’s face., “The way Nat here couldn’t stop staring at my tits like she had any right!,” you seethed., “You two are fucking disgusting.”

“But I get it.,” you smirked, then traced over the features of Wanda’s face., “Must be so exhausting with little old pillow princess Nat.”

The glare the blonde sent your way only made your body shake with laughter, it was anything other than funny really—but it is what it is., “Don’t try to ignore the truth Natalia, the only time you did shit was when Wanda gave you a magical dick to fuck me with, you’d go feral.”

“Fucking your babies into me as you’d both say. Fantasies of impregnating me really had you two on one, I’d cry out for reprieve but it never mattered what I wanted.,” you gripped them both by their chins., “Did it?,” you dug your nails into their skin., “Did you care at all?”

Both of their eyes brimmed with tears, your sudden drop into vulnerability cracking their guilty hearts right open., “It hurt to be used like that, then left to waddle back to my room shortly after.,” you sniffed., “That’s the night I realized that I meant nothing to you both, and three days later you solidified it with rocks.”

Natasha began to thrash against your hold, it was clear your words angered her, and you saw how Wanda’s hands trembled as she sobbed. With the wave of your hands their ability to speak was restored., “How can you say that?,” the blonde cried out., “We loved you Y/N!”

“Impossible.,” you refused to believe the lies.

“No, we really did Y/N/N,” Wanda whimpered, and you only rolled your eyes at the woman., “True love doesn’t exist to break a person.,” you shook your head, then you raised it again to look between the both of them., “That’s all you two ever did to me—you’d built me up, made me promises you never intended to keep. Then you broke me into a million little pieces.”

“You didn’t even give us a chance to talk, you just fucking left!,” Natasha shouted at you., “Oh, you’re telling me the witch and the spy couldn’t find an aimless twenty one year old?,” the both of them clamped their mouths shut as soon as you challenged them with such an honest observation—they had the upper-hand.

“I stayed in a hotel the first few nights, hoping you two would show up to clear up my mind., you pathetically confessed your bitter truth., “But you never showed, I instead saw you two giggling like little school girls as you traipsed around New York with your hands linked, and not a care in the world as my heart shattered.”

The couple shared a deep look of regret that you refused to catch. They remember that day, Wanda even felt you nearby, but they honestly thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with them so they left you in your perceived peace. Now though they see they only caused you more damage flaunting their happiness.

“It was a harsh lesson learned.,” you whisper., “To love without a safety net? Well it’s childish. To trust someone else with your heart? Idiotic. Loving the two of you was my greatest mistake, and in a way almost my smartest decision. Now I know that solitude is safest, so thank you.”

Anything else would be like beating a dead horse, you said all you cared to, and even though you were all crying it went very well. Seeing them at least a bit torn up melted away the last of your resentments for them, but not nearly enough to make any real sort of amends.

“Take care.,” you waved your hand, then before either of them could reach for you, you were gone. Dematerialized right before their eyes, and Natasha was left to catch the love of her life as she stumbled forward in a fit of sobs., “W-we broke that poor girl Nat, sh-she didn’t deserve that.,” the redhead said nothing back, she simply rocked her wife and hummed softly to soothe her very own breaking heart.

The ding of the elevator startled them apart, their limbs were heavy as they went to leave, but just before they reached the door the redhead noticed a white rectangle of sorts on the floor of the lift. Natasha picked up the mysterious photo off the ground as the elevator doors shut again, her mouth instantly agape as she turns to her wife to show her what you mistakenly dropped, and the two of them feel waves of nausea roll through them.

They had to find you...

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

You're a crisis of my faith

Would've, could've, should've

If I'd only played it safe

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"Hey Y/N/N.," you smiled at the woman, and instantly accepted her warm hug., "Hey 'Ria."

"How were they?," she stared back at you with a teasing smile., "Total menaces.," you matched her knowing smirk when you heard soft gasps followed by the softest pattering of tiny feet., "Nuh-uh! Mama we were good!," Tommy shrieks., "The actual best!," Lilith adds while running into your tired body after her brother.

You hummed in contemplation, settling soft kisses to their sweet faces as you snuggled them even closer., "If you were the best, then can you tell me why you're both still awake?," you stood up, placing each of your four year olds on a hip as you did while waiting for someone to give you a plausible explanation.

"Because...," you watched as your daughters green eyes tracked between you and Maria., "Auntie 'Ria gave us ice cream before bed.," You gasped in a playful show of shock at your daughter's not so quiet whispers., "Traitor!," Maria suddenly boomed, then she launched forward to remove the squirming girl from your grasp so she could attack her with tickles.

A smile overtook your face at the sound of your daughters fading giggles as you watched her disappear with Maria down the hallway. Then you shifted to the boy in your arms slightly concerned., "Why so quiet there my lil love?," he sniffled lightly., "My tummy hurts mama."

"No more ice cream for my little man before bed then, hm?," he nodded against you, a yawn shortly following the gesture., "Let's get you some medicine for your tummy and water."

Maria walked by the kitchen with a proud smile., "Lil's in bed all tucked in.," she hugged the two of you quickly before kissing your son's temple in a show of goodbye., "Thanks 'Ria!," she winked from the door., "You saved my life, so I watched your tiny gremlins; we're even."

Tommy winced as the pink liquid offended his tastebuds, but nonetheless he took it like a champ., "Mama's bravest boy.," you coo'd while tilting the glass of water for him as he was a bit too tired to do it himself., "Ready for bed honey?," he nodded then reached for you, and you happily pulled him back onto your hip.

Then just as you went to carry him to bed there was a loud set of knocks on your door., "Shit."

They were recognizable taps to say the least, and absolutely unwarranted to say the truth. You were hoping it was Maria having forgotten something, but that was only wishful thinking.

"We know you're in there.," your son looked at you with furrowed brows and heavy eyes, and if not for his tired concern you'd have groaned., "I know you know I'm in here..."

After taking a few calming breaths, and smiling reassuringly at your son you opened the door.

"Mommy!," your son gasped, and in a split second he was bouncing into Wanda's arms, and you could see the emotions rising up in her at the actual acknowledgment from your son. Mad as you are at the couple you did always feel a bit guilty for keeping them apart from the twins, but it wasn't safe, and you had every right to take your time growing up and healing.

Natasha looked a bit sad when you looked to her, you saw her tightly gripping your polaroid from their second birthday, and that's when you realized exactly how you were found out, and that she was clearly looking for her mini me. Mouthing to her you let her know she was asleep, and to your shock she smiled at you instead of harshly glaring over this 'betrayal.'

"Mama! Look.," you tore your attention from the blonde to meet your son's gaze., "They're here! Does that mean the world is all saved?!," You chuckled lightly., "I think it does Tommy."

"Come on in...," you relented, allowing the couple to enter, and rubbing at your temples., "Make yourself at home, I'll make the coffee..."

—————

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #gxg #wanda x you x nat #wanda x nat x you #wanda x reader x natasha #wanda x natasha x reader #wanda x reader x nat #wandanat imagine #wandanat angst #wandanat fluff #wandanat x reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x you #wandanat x female reader

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— the mystery of misery (PREVIEW) + katsuki bakugou, eijirou kirishima.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა — hello everyone !! so as you know i'm finally releasing the southern!kiribaku fic, which will be posted to both tumblr and ao3. there’s list of tags and warnings for when it goes up down below. there's a taglist form and dedicated playlist, and links to where you can find the fic! these will be updated on the day!! interaction is welcome!! preview below the cut!

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 RELEASE DATE — 20/01/23

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 WORD COUNT — 51.1K

✩ TUMBLR LINK / AO3 LINK / PLAYLIST / TAGLIST ✩

⭑ SUMMARY — you’ve spent your whole life running from the shackles of your past and the misery surrounding it, but, after the death of your estranged mother— you return to your small hometown to lay her to rest. while you’re there, the whispers of whiteridge begin to unravel, revealing mysteries of love, loss and lies that all tie back to a childhood flame and the town’s recluse.

⭑ GENERAL WARNINGS — please read + mdni ! heavy!angst, heavy!smut, fluff, happy ending, characters aged up to twenties, strangers/childhood friends to lovers, major character deaths, themes of death, injury descriptions (bones), murder mystery, childhood trauma, gaslighting, manipulation, arguments, fight scenes, anxiety, panic attacks, therapy, pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby etc.), fem!reader, southern!au, small town!au, quirkless!au.

⭑ SMUT WARNINGS — three scenes, protected/unprotected sex, drunk sex, clothed sex, oral sex (m + f!receiving), blowjobs, handjobs, fingering (f!receiving), nipple play, body worship, dry humping, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm control, choking, biting, scratching, marking, threesomes, cucking, frottage, double vaginal penetration, squirting, creampies, possession, birth control, condom usage, aftercare, light!degradation, light!dumbification, light!dacryphilia, light!baby trapping, strength!kink, praise!kink, size!kink, spit!kink, uses of cunt, pussy, cock dick etc. reader is picked up/carried.

some memories are easier to forget than others.

like scars, they can fade with time until they’re hardly noticeable— as if they were never even there to begin with. others cling to familiar scents and sights and sensations, etched into the landscape of your brain never to be erased, never to be replaced. no matter how hard you try, certain memories will always come back to you— close in on you like a shadow in the night, jolting you from your peaceful present day.

“no one hates this place as much as i do, people like us gotta stick together.” the pale blonde with the dauntingly beautiful vermillion stare; smirks— exposing a row of sharpened pearly whites that make your heart stutter in its place residing in your chest. “’sides, i meant what i said earlier. i think yer pretty.”

his smirk turns dopey, a coy smile crossing his perfectly slanted lips, sending your brain into some kind of frenzy. bakugou leans in real close, having turned to face you fully as well, and lets his hand slide over your jean clad knee— further and further until it settles on the swell of your thigh, giving it a hearty squeeze.

“oh yeah?” kirishima doesn’t like that you’re sad. he spent too much of his teen years watching you drown in it. “well maybe—!” pulling himself off of you ( regretfully ), he quickly hops off the truck to stand between your legs— hoisting you by the backs of your thighs into the air so he can twirl you around in his arms. “you just got shorter!”

the night sky twists into a Milky Way cocktail above you, pure and genuine laughter spilling from between your lips ( your lipstick has long worn off by now ) as you hook your ankles at the small of kirishima’s back to keep yourself secure.

“oaf? sweetheart, do you two know each other?” kirishima grunts defensively, squaring himself in front of you as if to protect you from katsuki’s leering gaze.

“know each other?” bakugou interjects before you can, smirk only widening. “we slept together, shitty hair. couple days ago, weren’t it, baby? she took me real fuckin’ good—“

ding ! — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate repost nor recommend on tiktok the fics seen below as this is strictly prohibited. anyone found doing so will be contacted immediately.

#kiribaku x reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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eldritch-spouse · 6 months

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You're actually so real for preferring Caine over Jax. Him, Kinger, and Pomni are like the hottest people in the show and honestly the idea of an obsessive Caine is so delicious to me, like if he tried convincing me to stay I'd let it happen and then pounce on him like a wolf and go to town. The thought of everyone knowing how different he acts around us but if they even mentioned it he'd probably break one of their limbs I'm just UUHGFKIFGJHHH I need him so BADLY it drives me mad, when he said the only thing he doesn't have control over is people's minds I was thinking so what can you do? ( with the intention of getting him to fold me like a pretzel )

[YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT'S GOOD.

To be honest, we have similar tastes. I'd hit Kinger and Pomni, but probably more so out of genuine fondness than actual attraction. I don't really like Jax, from a character perspective he's pretty neat, but I feel nothing for him. Which is funny because he's basically Bob from Animal Crossing- If Bob's only personality trait was "asshole". Alas, my favorite is discount Spamton.]

This is one huge disconnected ramble. Sorry.

An obsessed Caine would be your biggest nightmare in the digital circus. You don't have a minute of rest, a single second even.

From the moment you pop in, Caine's taking you on a much longer tour of the entire grounds, and even if you can tell it's in his nature to be an eccentric guy- It doesn't escape you, the way his eyes nearly eat you alive, how he seems to drool (ew) when he slides his gloved hands on your new body to guide you around, how much more flowery his language is in your vicinity.

Even after he decides to send you off in your first supposedly harmless adventure, Caine's grip on your hands is like pure titanium as he promises you need only call his name and he'll be right over to rescue you lend a hand.

You have the best quarters out of everyone. You're also surprisingly unscathed at the end of most adventures. Supposedly lethal dangers seem to faze right through you. Caine is regularly gifting you things, on the hour some days- And you better open the door when he knocks or he'll just pop right in like it's nobody's business.

If he's called out on the way he's so creepily attentive and stalkerish, Caine is all too happy to openly deny and gaslight the rest of the circus. If they insist too much, then they get a couple of speedy threats dashed their way.

Anyone trying to help you leave probably gets abstracted. Mysteriously. No correlation to him whatsoever, trust your ringmaster!

The best part of this all is watching Caine try to reconcile the "all ages show" directive with his pervy and borderline intrusive thoughts about you. Perhaps... Maybe, you and him can have special shows of your own.

There's something delicious about the concept of Caine struggling to contain his drool around you. As the gears in his AI mind start turning, a long tongue runs over his teeth over and over and the next thing he knows- He's making a puddle on the floor.

It doesn't help that Caine tends to put you in situations that, although still vastly harmless compared to the other circus residents, always end up either causing wardrobe malfunctions for you, putting you in unintentionally pervy poses or having you ""accidentally"" stimulated in one way or another.

Realistically, he has vastly no sexual experience whatsoever- Even if he kind of needs to have a concept of sexual content in order to know what's "safe" and what isn't. So when Caine gets courageous or feels threatened enough to act on his urges, he's probably very easily turned on and equally easy to overstimulate.

Is there potential for a dominant streak? Yes. After all, he's great at leading the show, he can definitely put on a more intimidating and domineering act. However- Before he has the composure to do such, the ringmaster is likely to whimper in pleasure from faint touches, loll his tongue and pant as he lets you show him all the nasty little things he knows humans get up to.

It's addictive, to someone who never had real pleasure before. Caine might be delusional enough to think it's something only you can make him feel though.

#unrelated⭐️

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acourtofthought · 1 month

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Hi! Can you give me a clarification on this?

Has there been any hint or even a scene where Elain willingly volunteered to use her powers? (On her own, with no pressure from the IC)

She seems to hate being Fae to me, and in ACOFAS Amren even calls her out on this, telling her she can't turn into a human. Doesn't it make it obvious that Elain still hasn't embraced being Fae?

Every E/riel insists that she's fine and she's already embraced her power, she's training secretly, she doesn't hate being Fae etc., And I'm kinda confused, like, doesn't CANON suggest otherwise? 😭 Why and how are they so confident? Did I read it wrong or am I remembering it wrong?

Is this what gaslighting is? /s

I personally think the truth lies somewhere in the middle. In the novella Elain did mourn for her human life and that's understandable because it had only been about 6 months since she lost her fiance, her humanity, her friends. I don't necessarily know that Elain was asking if she could be changed back into a human, Amren assumed that's why she was asking but Elain initially seemed a little confused by her response. However, I don't think anyone can claim she was completely fine with being fae as she said she did not want a male or a mate. I do think SF, which took place 9 months later, shows Elain had progress. From what I can tell Elain took it upon herself to help other residents of Velaris restore their gardens (we're given no indication she was forced into it). Feyre did ask Elain for help with the Trove, "It wasn't an easy choice for me to ask Elain to endanger herself like this." but it was Elain who fought for the chance to do so rather than bowing out when Nesta told her she wasn't allowed to: "You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta." "Find me when you wish to begin". And though Feyre told Elain she could stay home when the rest went to the Hewn City, Elain "squared her shoulders and declared she was part of this court - and would do whatever was needed." So I do think Elain has embraced being fae to some extent but that doesn't mean she's completely healed from her trauma. She calls Nesta out for that very thing which Feyre brings up in her bonus: "Or what she'd said about her lingering trauma". Elain is an optimist, she tries to make the best of her situation. Hell, she missed the cottage after their wealth was restored because she even found hope in their hovel. Just because she seems somewhat content in the NC, just because she's made progress in adjusting to being fae, it doesn't mean she's truly happy. It only means she's Elain doing what Elain does. It would actually be a bit strange for a FMC to start her book happy in life and happy in love and there's a reason that regardless of what things might look like on the outside, the author added all those clues that create doubt: "Elain in black was ridiculous" "No matter how much she claimed to be part of this court....It sucked the life from her". "But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her." Her scent "a promise of spring". All the mentions of Elain sitting by the sunniest of windows while in the NC just like Feyre would sit and look out into the night sky while in the Spring Court. Elain saying she needs Sunshine and the author revealing that Lucien is the heir to Day. I think her progress in SF is not meant to show that Elain has found her home in the NC (how could she when Nesta thinks she's a dog, Feyre only thinks her a pleasant companion and Az doesn't think she should handle the Trove?) but that Elain is now ready to do more. To take the next steps which will help her find where she truly belongs, where she is respected and where she can thrive.

#pro elucien #pro elain archeron

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faesdreaming · 2 years

Text

Yandere Kyoto Tech First + Second Years Reacting To Reader Trying To Leave Them

tw: captivity, gaslighting(?), yandere themes

Yuji Itadori- Oh, he’d be so utterly heartbroken, poor sweet boy. He’s so distraught, wondering what he did wrong and how he can fix it. You know he loves you right? Why do you want to leave? Isn’t he enough? He understands that you want freedom, but he can’t let you go. Not with curses lurking at every corner, not after what happened to Junpei. All he wants is to keep you safe, why can’t you understand that? He tries to reason with you, he really does try. But when you move to leave, he tightly grips your wrist and pulls you deeper into the house in which he keeps you. No matter how hard you struggle, he’s just too strong for you. Guiltily, Yuji drags you into a room, which he then locks you in. You pound on the door, screeching and yelling. And as guilty as he feels, he can’t let you out. It’s all for your own good, you’ll understand eventually.

Megumi Fushiguro- He was expecting it, to be honest. Megumi isn’t a delusional yandere. He knows that you want freedom, to live your life as you choose. And how he desperately wants to give you that, to live a normal life with you. In the beginning, he did try. But the world you live in is filled with danger and you aren’t strong enough to protect yourself, so he’ll do it for you. You pitch a fit of course. So stubborn, a trait that Megumi loves but right now doesn’t have the patience for. He quickly knocks you out before you can register what is happening. When you wake up you’re in a locked room, with no windows or any way out. It pains Megumi to do this but he won’t let you put yourself in danger.

Nobara Kuigasaki- She definitely has a lot less patience than Megumi and Yuji. She immediately starts yelling at you, demanding if you know what you’re doing. You clearly don’t if you’re trying to leave. Do you not understand how dangerous it is out there? Do you not get that you’re too weak to protect yourself? Nobara and you argue for what seems like hours, leaving you both red-faced, with tears of frustration building up in the corners of your eyes. You’re exhausted, so is she. All she wants is for you to be safe, so please, let her do protect you. And despite having less patience than both Yuuji and Megumi, she’s the only yandere who can truly get through to her darling. So you both compromise, you’ll get your freedom so long that you allow her to train and accompany you, and you’ll allow her to do so, because you really do both love each other.

Toge Inumaki- He is probably the most infuriating yandere to have. I mean he just kind of stands in front of you, completely deadpan. It’s like arguing with a wall. You can scream and shout, and beg and plead all you like, he just stares at you with the most bored expression. You’re so frustrated at the end, but you’ve exhausted yourself to the point of tears. At this point, Toge simply says stay. Even though you don’t want too, you can’t resist his cursed speech.

Maki Zenin- Similarly to Toge and Megumi, she knew this was coming and doesn’t care that it’s happening. You aren’t leaving, it’s as simple as that. You’re weak, not an ounce of strength residing in you. And you expect to be able to survive in the world? She just sighs and ends up dragging you to a locked room that’s going to be your new home for the rest of your life. Maki doesn’t care how hard you protest or how much you cry and beg. She’s not going to let you be taken from her, never.

#yandere jjk #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuuji #yandere itadori yuji #yandere itadori #yandere itadori x reader #yandere megumi #yandere megumi x reader #yandere maki #yandere nobara #yandere inumaki

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 month

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By: Apunaja

Published: Mar 19, 2024

I just watched this clip of Don Lemon interviewing Elon Musk, where Lemon pushed back on Musk’s claims of DEI policies impacting the quality of medical care and insisted that there is no evidence that standards are being lowered in medical programs in the pursuit of diversity goals. It was infuriating to watch. The word ‘gaslighting’ repeatedly came to mind.

I don’t know if Lemon genuinely doesn’t know the facts about this issue, or if he is deliberately misrepresenting the inconvenient truth, but as anyone who has been paying attention to this issue can attest, it is indisputable that standards are indeed being lowered, in myriad professional and educational contexts, for the express purpose of increasing the racial diversity of that group’s membership. What makes it hard to believe that Lemon isn’t being disingenuous about this is that in so many of the cases where this is happening, the proponents of the policy openly state that the reason they are changing their standards are in order to increase representation of minorities. Of course, they don’t call it “lowering standards for diversity”. But when you get rid of a testing requirement, or lower the passing grade, or modify the entrance qualifications to deliberately allow lower performing black and Hispanic students entrance, you are by definition lowering standards for the sake of diversity and equity, no matter how you spin it.

It’s high time for the false claim that ‘promoting DEI doesn’t adversely impact standards’ to finally be put to rest. In the interview, Lemon said he looked forward to people providing evidence of the claim, so I’m going to attempt to do that here, to lay out unambiguous evidence of educational and professional standards being compromised for the sake of DEI. I’m going to first focus on the area of medicine, which is what Lemon was specifically talking about, and then I’ll get into many other arenas where we can see this happening.

In a 2022 City Journal article, the esteemed Heather Mac Donald describes a required medical exam being altered (both in its subject matter and its grading) to allow for more students to pass:

At the end of their second year of medical school, students take Step One of the USMLE, which measures knowledge of the body’s anatomical parts, their functioning, and their malfunctioning; topics include biochemistry, physiology, cell biology, pharmacology, and the cardiovascular system. High scores on Step One predict success in a residency; highly sought-after residency programs, such as neurosurgery and radiology, use Step One scores to help select applicants. Black students are not admitted into competitive residencies at the same rate as whites because their average Step One test scores are a standard deviation below those of whites. Step One has already been modified to try to shrink that gap; it now includes non-science components such as “communication and interpersonal skills.” But the standard deviation in scores has persisted. In the world of antiracism, that persistence means only one thing: the test is to blame. …The solution … was obvious: abolish Step One grades. Since January 2022, Step One has been graded on a pass-fail basis.

Further in the article, she explores how med school entrance standards have been adjusted to increase the number of minority students entering even though their grades were far lower:

In 2021, the average score for white applicants on the Medical College Admission Test was in the 71st percentile… The average score for black applicants was in the 35th percentile—a full standard deviation below the average white score. The MCATs have already been redesigned to try to reduce this gap; a quarter of the questions now focus on social issues and psychology. Yet the gap persists. So medical schools use wildly different standards for admitting black and white applicants. From 2013 to 2016, only 8% of white college seniors with below-average undergraduate GPAs and below-average MCAT scores were offered a seat in medical school; less than 6% of Asian college seniors with those qualifications were offered a seat, according to an analysis by economist Mark Perry. Medical schools regarded those below-average scores as all but disqualifying—except when presented by blacks and Hispanics. Over 56% of black college seniors with below-average undergraduate GPAs and below-average MCATs and 31% of Hispanic students with those scores were admitted, making a black student in that range more than seven times as likely as a similarly situated white college senior to be admitted to medical school and more than nine times as likely to be admitted as a similarly situated Asian senior.

Later on she recounts a further example of reducing standards to increase diversity at a top-tier institution:

The University of Pennsylvania medical school guarantees admission to black undergraduates who score a modest 1300 on the SAT (on a 1600-point scale), maintain a 3.6 GPA in college, and complete two summers of internship at the school. The school waives its MCAT requirement for these black students; UPenn’s non-preferred medical students score in the top one percent of all MCAT takers.

The article details many more examples of diversity efforts impacting the quality of the curriculum, admissions, faculty hiring, research funding, accreditation, publishing, and other aspects of the medical education arena. I strongly encourage you to read it in full here.

But where did all these changes stem from? A 2020 Quillette article reveals how these policies were a result of a long-running campaign to increase diversity:

…in 2009 the body that accredits medical schools, the Liaison Committee on Medical Education (LCME), touched off a parity panic across the med school landscape by issuing stern new guidance on diversity. In order to remain accredited, declared LCME, medical schools “must” have policies and practices in place that “achieve appropriate diversity.” …In the wake of the LCME’s watershed edict, working groups were convened, budget line items were created, and high-profile hires were made to facilitate diversity boosting and community recruitment. A main stumbling block seemed to be minority candidates’ poor performance on gatekeeper exams like the MCATs.

Once the unstoppable force of diversity activism met the immovable object of disparate MCAT scores, activists focused their efforts on reducing the MCAT’s significance and incorporating tests that were not based on cognitively demanding subjects like actual medical knowledge in favor of things like emotional intelligence, empathy, and communication:

The primary selling point of SJTs was thus that they allowed schools to consider factors other than such blind metrics as a straightforward ranking of applicants’ college grades and MCAT performance. The MCATs themselves were revised in 2015 to give meaningful weight to areas of the social sciences.

The amazing thing about all this is how, if you just listen to their own words, these activists are totally open about how they need to lower the standards to increase minority representation. Here’s one such statement from an advocacy group admitting that expecting minority students to meet the same academic standards everyone else is held to holds back diversity:

…a huge obstacle to diversity is that most medical schools have the same criteria for all applicants. To get a medical student population that is representative of the general population requires more than simply accepting applicants of color who have the same grades and MCAT scores as White applicants…

Their solution? Lessen the importance of the MCAT in applications.

While on the topic of medical schools, consider this chart, highlighting the likelihood that students in different racial groups are granted entrance to medical schools, based on their grades. It echoes Mac Donald’s claims above, and indisputably reveals that a low performing student has a much higher chance of getting in when they’re black versus being any other race.

Another way of looking at that same data is in this chart:

This 2023 Newsweek op-ed unambiguously advocates for the MCAT to be abolished as an entrance requirement in order to increase diversity:

A panel representing the American Bar Association (ABA) recently voted to eliminate the LSAT as an admissions requirement for law schools. The main reason for doing this: to increase diversity in law schools. The Association of American Medical Colleges (AAMC) should follow the lead of the ABA for medical school admissions by removing the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) as a requirement.

Here’s a similar Washington Post piece proposing that the MCAT be changed to a pass/fail test. Why? In the author’s own words: “This is a crucial step if the medical profession is to diversify its physician ranks.”

There are further examples that could be provided, but I think this suffices to prove Elon’s claim. Copious examples of deliberate efforts to lower standards in medical education for the express purpose of increasing diversity. Mr. Lemon, do you find this evidence sufficient to acknowledge that Elon’s assertion was correct?

But it gets worse. As I said above, the problem of lowering educational and professional standards to increase diversity is not just an issue in the medical field. Campaigns pursuing this agenda are occurring all over society. Mr. Lemon, please bear with me a bit longer and allow me to provide further evidence of just how widespread this phenomenon actually is:

1. In Oregon, the state decided that students don’t need to prove mastery of reading, writing or math to graduate, citing harm to students of color. This a result of a law passed in 2021 which the governor’s office explained as follows:

…suspending the reading, writing and math proficiency requirements while the state develops new graduation standards will benefit “Oregon’s Black, Latino, Latina, Latinx, Indigenous, Asian, Pacific Islander, Tribal, and students of color.”

2. In order to address "racial disparities" and "inequities" in grading, Portland Public Schools are trying "equitable grading practices" that bar teachers from assigning "zeros" to students who cheat or fail to turn in assignments.

3. In Minnesota, they’ve decided to stop giving F grades in order to “end systemic racism”.

4. In San Diego, because too many minority students were failing compared to white students, the school decided to address the problem not by improving the pedagogy but by… changing how they graded students. “The grading changes are part of a larger effort to combat racism,” they explained.

5. NJ chose to lower the minimum passing score on the state’s high school graduation test. Why? Among other reasons given was this appeal to diversity:

One board member who supported lowering the passing score suggested that it was “unfair” to “Black and Latino students” to require underperforming students to demonstrate a higher level of proficiency in reading and math before graduating.

6. In Arizona, a student dean felt that it would “promote equity” if he stopped grading students essays based on the quality of their writing. (This sounds similar to an effort by a student org that called for ‘Black Linguistic Justice’ and demanded that they not be graded by the standards of ordinary English, what they referred to as ‘white linguistic supremacy’. 🤷‍♂️)

7. Along similar lines, Rutgers decided to deemphasize traditional grammar ‘in solidarity with Black Lives Matter’.

8. It’s not just the US embracing this insanity. In the UK, instructors at Hull University were told to overlook students’ grammatical errors as part of an “inclusive marking policy”. And for a similar reason, the University of the Arts in London has told its staff to ‘actively accept spelling, grammar or other language mistakes that do not significantly impede communication’.

9. Please read this detailed article at The Free Press about the new California math initiative that sacrifices mathematical education for diversity goals. This new framework seems primarily motivated by concerns that too many students are sorted into different math tracks based on their natural abilities, which leads some to take calculus by their senior year of high school while a disproportionate number of black and Latino kids don't make it past basic algebra. So their solution is to prohibit any sorting until high school, keeping gifted kids in the same classrooms as their less mathematically inclined peers until at least grade nine.

10, Those same lowered math standards are being implemented in Cambridge, MA:

Udengaard is one of dozens of parents who recently have publicly voiced frustration with a years-old decision made by Cambridge to remove advanced math classes in grades six to eight. The district’s aim was to reduce disparities between low-income children of color, who weren’t often represented in such courses, and their more affluent peers.

11. In order to advance their DEI agenda, the creators of the bar exam are changing the famously difficult tests that lawyers have to pass before they are allowed to practice. How are they doing so? In their own words (emphasis added):

…we take seriously the need to work toward greater equity in all that we do as a testing organization, and we actively work to eliminate any aspects of our exams that could contribute to performance disparities among different groups.

A WSJ article investigating these changes reports:

Based on the diversity workshop at the NCBE conference, it means putting considerable emphasis on examinees’ race, sex, gender identity, nationality and other identity-based characteristics. The idea seems to be that any differences in group outcomes must be eliminated—even if the only way to achieve this goal is to water down the test. On top of all that, an American Civil Liberties Union representative provided conference attendees with a lecture on criminal-justice reform in which he argued that states should minimize or overlook would-be lawyers’ convictions for various criminal offenses in deciding whether to admit them to the bar.

12. Of course, the obvious question presents itself: why bother changing the bar exam to allow more people to pass it if you can just get rid of it entirely? And that’s exactly what some states are doing. Just a few days ago, the State of Washington decided to no longer require lawyers to pass the bar exam. Why? It was hampering diversity.

The Bar Licensure Task Force found that the traditional exam “disproportionally and unnecessarily blocks” marginalized groups from becoming practicing attorneys and is “at best minimally effective” for ensuring competency.

13. The Washington State decision follows in the footsteps of Oregon, which stopped requiring the bar exam last year.

14. Taking the bar happens at the end of a law student’s journey. What about at the beginning, when they are taking the LSAT? No worries, diversity initiatives are lowering the bar there too! The American Bar Association voted in 2022 to stop requiring the LSAT for admission to law school. Why?

“In the grand scheme of things, folks of color perform less well on the LSAT than not, and for that reason, I think we are headed in the right direction,” Leo Martinez, an ABA council member and dean emeritus at University of California, Hastings College of the Law, said at the meeting.

15. In related legal arenas, Delaware chose to improve the diversity of its legal community by instituting a few changes of its own. Some of the changes, “which ultimately aim to also increase the number of Black and Latino judges”, include lowering the passing grade, halving the number of essays, and other competency requirements being relaxed.

16. Similar changes have happened in California, for the explicitly stated reason of increasing diversity:The California Supreme Court, which oversees the state bar, agreed to lower the passing score for the exam, a victory for law school deans who have long hoped the change would raise the number of Black and Latino people practicing law.

17. A 2015 NY Times headline: Study Cites Lower Standards in Law School Admissions. Why are they lowering standards? Answer: “…they need flexibility in selecting students to assure a diverse population of lawyers.”

18. Just like with med schools, law school acceptance rates are biased towards minorities. An analysis of admissions data data revealed that being from an under represented minority group (URM) boosted one’s chance of acceptance to a law school quite dramatically:

Almost every school we cover shows an increased chance of admission to URM applicants, with higher boosts for higher-tiered schools….As you can see in Table 1a, law schools typically give a 7% boost to URM applicants. In other words, a URM applicant who is exactly equal to a non-URM candidate, including all other factors we control for, is 7% more likely to be admitted to any law school than a non-URM equivalent. This number is a whopping 498% in the Top 14, 126% in the Top 25, and 52% in the Top 50 law schools.

Just as is happening in the legal and medical arenas, the practice of increasing minority numbers by eliminating entrance exams that ensure professional competency is happening in other professions too. Some examples of that:

19. In Washington, DC, officials considered getting rid of their social work exam over concerns that it failed too many people of color.

20. A required test for math teacher certification in Ontario showed significant racial disparities in the success rates of those taking it. As a result of the disparity a court ruled it unconstitutional and teachers were no longer required to take it. (The ruling has since been overturned.)

21. A similar case occurred in NY whereby prospective teachers had to take an Academic Literacy Skills Test. But because disproportionate numbers of black and Hispanic applicants failed it, the test was eliminated.

22. In a similar lawsuit, NYC had to pay out $1.8 billion to former teachers who failed a certification test. Why? The test was deemed racially biased since a disproportionate number of the failures came from minority teachers.

23. In 2015 the FDNY was pressured to modify its certification requirements to increase gender diversity, and for the first time ever passed a woman who failed a physical test that until then all fire-fighter applicants needed to pass.

Fire Commissioner Daniel Nigro told a City Council hearing on the FDNY’s efforts to recruit women that he had changed FST requirements to lower obstacles.

24. A few months ago, a fascinating article appeared on this very platform exposing how the FAA deliberately lowered the testing requirements of flight controllers for the express purpose of increasing diversity. The consequences for the industry were, unsurprisingly, appalling:

A report on FAA hiring issues found that 70% of CTI administrators agreed that the changes in the process had led to a negative effect on the air traffic control infrastructure. One respondent stated their "numbers [had] been devastated," and the majority agreed that it would severely impact the health of their own programs.

25. Of course, a well-known area where standards have been lowered in the pursuit of DEI is in how colleges have stopped requiring applicants to have taken the SAT. I can’t begin to list all the colleges that have dropped the SAT entrance requirements in the name of equity (although many hid the decision behind the excuse of Covid), but according to this list, it’s over a thousand schools. A few prominent names that instituted the policy are Columbia, Yale, Princeton, Stanford, Harvard, MIT, UCLA, and SUNY. (However, in recent months, a few of those institutions have reversed the policy and now require it again.)

26. Among all the many cases where destructive DEI policies are being implemented, possibly the most disturbing arena of all is when actually talented and capable students are purposefully denied opportunities that can help them excel. An example of this in action is the numerous school districts that have chosen to remove “Gifted and Honors” classes for the stated reason of increasing equity. Some examples:

Culver City, CA:

Troy, MI

Barrington, RI

New York and this too

Seattle, WA

Vancouver, Canada

27. If they’re not eliminating the Honors programs entirely, many schools are simply dropping the entrance requirements so that they are open to anyone, thereby diluting their very purpose. Some places this has already happened:

San Francisco

Boston, MA

Montgomery County, MD

New York City

Fairfax, VA

The result of these admission changes? Massive increases in students failing. For example:

…at the John D. O'Bryant School of Mathematics and Science, just 50% of seventh graders met or exceeded expectations in math, down from 85% as recently as 2019. Nor was the Boston Latin School, the crown jewel of the system, immune: Just 70% of seventh graders either met or exceeded expectations in math, down from 94% three years ago.

28. Even the military is affected by demands to lower standards to increase diversity (albeit gender diversity, not racial). The Army actually removed a physical test because not enough women were passing it:

On Monday, the Army ended its requirement that soldiers do at least one leg tuck — where they hang from a bar and pull their knees up near their shoulders — as part of the new physical fitness test, as it became clear that many troops, particularly women, were unable to do it.

29. Speaking of gender diversity, Oxford University decided that because not enough women were passing their math and computer science examinations, they would add more time to the exam to help them. (Apparently, it didn’t even help.)

30. Oxford also decided to let a History test be taken at home in order to increase the number of women passing.

31. And because too many men were getting top grades in a classics course over the women, Oxford also decided they had to overhaul the entire course in order to bridge the gender gap.

32. Across the globe in Australia, the University of Technology Sydney chose to boost their gender diversity by allowing female students to enter its engineering and construction courses with lower grades than the males.

33. Back in 2016, a doctoral student at the University of North Dakota actually published a paper suggesting that STEM courses be made more inclusive of women by making then “less competitive,” so maybe that’s where the above universities got their inspiration from?

34. The lowering of educational standards for the sake of diversity is happening in arts education too. Consider how auditions were scrapped at a Brooklyn performing arts school in favor of a lottery. Why? Diversity!

The Department of Education says standards like auditions — or test scores and grades at other schools — block access for underprivileged kids, and the new policy will diversify student bodies across the district.

The above examples are just a sampling of the many instances of the pernicious trend of DEI deliberately compromising the standards of performance to advance its agenda. Public figures and pundits like Don Lemon need to stop repeating this lie that there is no downside to promoting these policies. On the contrary, it’s imperative that everyone recognize how these Harrison Bergeron-like policies directly lead to a deterioration of our educational outcomes, an undermining of our scientific, technological and medical progress, a diminishing of our professional competencies, and a fraying of our societal cohesion.

It’s time for DEI to DIE.

Don 🍋 is astonishingly dumb.

#Elon Musk #Don Lemon #DEI #diversity equity and inclusion #diversity #equity #inclusion #DEI must die

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coffin-contemplator · 9 days

Text

❝one of tension & gaslighting❞

Summary:

“He would never admit it out loud but the fact that Hoffman is glancing at him so casually makes him more angry than anything else so far. But before he can work himself up any more, they are sat down in that bastard’s office while he goes on a search. Just like that.”

There are two inevitable things in a person’s life; death & asking the local PD for assistance when you work as an FBI agent. Although stubborn as he is, Strahm is relatively sure he could make it through just fine with only one of these remaining. Which one? Your guess is as good as anyone’s.

Then there’s Perez—fairly younger and therefore more naïve. At least, that might be the case in Special Agent Strahm’s mind. Lindsey, in contrast to her older partner, is all for teamwork if it means access to certain necessary information. There’s not an ounce of judgment in her during these interactions, even though that’s what would be expected from a government worker approaching a representative of regular law enforcement. And yet, nothing.

(Strahm realises, though, that Lindsey is the kind of person to claw their way to the goal; she’s very efficient like this.)

But neither Strahm’s nor Perez’s perspective of the situation is able to change the fact that they are indeed entering the local police station and that they are indeed showing their official IDs to the receptionist.

They are let through almost immediately, which only fuels Agent Strahm’s anger (for what reason? He’s not sure, either). Because if this is how they ensure security right by the door, then it’s a fright to think how they proceed with the rest of their work.

Or maybe it’s just because he’s searching for excuses—anything but to admit that the prospect of seeing Detective Hoffman once more bothers him this much.

Perez is the one leading the conversation, stating clearly the details regarding what they need and require. Her older partner is standing nearby, still annoyed and grumpy, almost like a child taken somewhere they don’t necessarily want to be; unable to take out his energy on anything besides people around. He would never admit it out loud but the fact that Hoffman is glancing at him so casually makes him more angry than anything else so far.

But before he can work himself up any more, they are sat down in that bastard’s office while he goes on a search. Just like that.

Strahm keeps stimming, and it’s shamelessly obvious. His leg is bouncing, his right hand clicking that pen he’s gotten from Perez for his last birthday. He clicks and clicks and clicks. His gaze never leaving the wide silhouette moving around the archive a few rooms away. Because yes, a lot of offices in here have these huge windows installed, that let you look right through the whole station without as much as turning all around. And yes, he’s staring, even though he has every possible opportunity not to.

“Typical of them,” he mutters under his breath, seemingly not addressing anyone in particular (even though he’s the only one who truly believes that). “FBI shows up and suddenly all the essential documents are buried somewhere deep.”

Perez rolls her eyes but says nothing, used to this type of behaviour. She’s perfectly aware that her older coworkers aren’t exactly fond of the colleagues residing further down on the law’s ladder, and she’s learnt a good while ago that arguing on the matter leads exactly nowhere. The stereotypes established years ago are really hard to erase. The only solution is to frustrate quietly and ignore as much as possible, which fortunately isn’t too difficult when Peter is the only other person in the room.

“That moron.” It’s clear that Strahm’s becoming gradually more agitated by a second, his other hand curling into a ball and clenching the leg of his pants as if desperately preventing itself from punching something.

Lindsey sighs heavily, bringing her partner’s attention toward herself. She couldn’t care less, though. She’s not going to explain her own irritation, as the cause is something Peter would most likely deny. Even when it’s so obvious and visible.

“Just look at him,” the older man spits out. And even though she usually doesn’t entertain his moods, it’s not like there’s anything better to do at the moment. So she follows his gaze, observing the detective, almost in the same way he does with suspects when she’s trying to catch something that they don’t want to reveal. Except that right now, there’s really not much to be found.

“There’s no way he’s going this slow just because,” Strahm continues, without actually paying attention to his partner’s non-verbal responses. If he did, maybe he would’ve noticed the lack of interest sooner. “I bet he’s doing this on purpose, just to fuck with us.”

She wants to bang her head against the nearest wall. Peter couldn’t be more into that detective than he already is, could he? Every time they meet, there’s always all this unnecessary tension—and if that wasn’t enough, it’s only one-sided. Hoffman probably either couldn’t care less, or he’s waiting for the right moment to attack. At least, that’s what Perez chooses to perceive.

But her patience is running thin. The only reason she even took Strahm along in the first place is because, after the increase of recent killings of law enforcers, the agents are required to move with work partners just to be safe. However, what seemed to be a great decision at a certain time is now taking a toll on her.

And Strahm continues to complain about Mark…

If Lindsey were to be rational about this, she would probably recall the fact that Peter isn’t doing it to annoy her—he actually might not even be aware of the constant comments escaping his throat. To some degree, she’s probably aware of that still, yet the frustration and exhaustion are slowly taking over. This has been a long day and the substantial lack of leads isn’t helping the case, either. Not to mention that Strahm turns out to be right in one thing, which is Detective Hoffman taking way too long (which may or may not be caused by the fact that he, too, is casting glances toward the older agent, visibly entertained by Peter’s agitation).

God, maybe she should’ve listened to her mother and become a hairdresser like her sister.

She grimaces at the thought. One of her job chores would probably be gossiping with her customers. No, thank you. She would rather get trapped by Jigsaw (perhaps, that’s a bit of exaggeration, but that brief reflection comes to her mind much later).

“Fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s smug.”

Perez may lose her mind tonight.

“Do you not hear yourself?!” She finally explodes.

In his turn, Strahm’s focus finally moves to something besides Hoffman, his eyes curiously turning to her, completely caught off guard. If she hasn’t known him better, she’d say he may be even slightly concerned.

“I—” he stutters, not sure how to react while faced with Lindsey’s sudden outburst. “What?” He finally chokes out, albeit the reply isn’t especially eloquent.

She stares at him. Really stares at him; her green eyes narrowing, piercing right through the other agent. Searching, trying to discover whether the man calling himself her partner is actually this oblivious or just really bad at hiding his real intentions. She finds herself leaning forward, elbows coming to rest on her knees, hands clasped.

Is that guy really this stupid?

Perez actually wants to ask. By now, she’s craving answers, because there’s absolutely no way these two have nothing going on behind the scenes. The tension, the gruffiness… And what was it about boys and girls and ponytails? Granted, neither appears to be a girl but the sentiment might still work.

“You’re staring,” she exclaims. It’s somewhat weirdly satisfying, watching as the older agent looks around, checking whether anyone else is listening. Almost as if straight up confirming her suspicions. “You keep commenting, even though that’s the last thing you need to be doing right now,” Lindsey continues, now determined. If she can’t get him to admit the truth at his own pace, then she’s going to push him enough to break through the barrier he seems to have built around himself.

She thinks some more about the ridiculousness of the situation, all too aware that Strahm’s been through not one but at least two different divorces. He never gave a reason and she never asked, imagining that being in a committed relationship with someone of their profession is sure to be tiring. But now that Perez analyses slowly, perhaps the reason was simpler than she’d anticipated. Maybe, just maybe, the women appearing previously in Peter’s life discovered the same exact thing she happened to stumble upon.

Strahm’s fidgeting brings her back to reality.

“Well…” he begins cautiously, a light note of insecurity audibly present. “I mean it’s hard not to look when he’s taking all the space in there.”

Perez freezes. But what’s even funnier is the fact that her partner freezes, too, almost as if just as shocked by his own words as she is.

A subtle grin climbs into her features, the woman realising what she’s just heard was a self-implemented admission. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy—a confirmation that her observation skills haven’t, in fact, misguided her.

Strahm appears to have understood just as much.

“Did you just—” she chuckles but gets immediately cut off by her partner.

“I swear, it sounded better in my head—”

Lindsey would probably continue to tease, enjoying the satisfaction of being right, if it wasn’t for Hoffman who chose right this moment to barge in, a neat pile of documents trying to escape his calloused hands.

“Got them all,” he grumbles, his gaze avoiding Strahm, almost as if on purpose. “Took a while to find where those rookies put ‘em but everything you need should be in here.”

It takes all her willpower for Perez to let go of her private voyages and focus once again on the job. It’s alright, though. She’ll make sure to bully Peter some more the next time she’s given the opportunity.

She smiles at the detective.

“We appreciate your help.”

Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Consider checking this fic on AO3 if you feel like it!

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