#I don't even have a stake in most of this I just don't think it's worth it to be cruel to other ppl over and I don't like ppl acting better
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I'm in the fluffiest mood lately, so how about a no stakes sickfic. Movie night and the trip (Matt, Sel/Zaya) are home and decide to put on something like spiderverse or smth else, point being, either Isaiah or Matt gets super motion sick from it
Something fluffy it is. Thank you for the ask, Soup!!💙
Cinema sickness
The middle position was the best.
Matthew didn't notice when exactly they started to fight for it like that, but it was increasingly a place one of them got as special treat.
Like of course, when Isaiah was having his not so heart episodes that Seline still didn't know the cause of or when he was emotional. Then it wad Seline herself with a fever. She also usurped the spot most openly when she was well.
Matthew was a little too embarrassed to be that forward. Not when he was feeling fine.
They bought a camera projector they have been saving for a few months. Seline dreamed about the home cinema early on and Isaiah was such a movie buff, it was only to be expected.
Matthew found the cinema experience tiresome because of all the people, so their own private living room cinema because of the projector? Sounded fun. Though the cinema made for good people training.
"You guys didn't watch the second Spiderverse movie yet, right?" Seline said, taking control of the chromcast with her phone to put it on.
"I didn't see the first one either," Matthew grumbled as she climbed up between him and Isaiah who was scrolling through IMDb. He had a thing for ratings, while Seline loved comments and spoilers.
Matthew considered himself the only sane and commonly invested movie person. He liked to get surprised.
"The animation is out of this world. The first movie got an Oscar for it too, but they went overboard and beyond with the second. Each universe has a different animation style! It's the perfect movie for a cinema." Seline waved her phone in front of Matthew enthusiastically.
"Isn't animation for children?"
Isaiah and Seline both gave him scandalised looks. "In what hole did you live until now for such an outdated opinion?" Isaiah asked teasingly.
Matthew rolled his eyes. Didn't look like he would have a say today.
"I don't think you need the first one to understand," Seline said thoughtfully as she put the movie on. "They explain it pretty well, plus I can always explain things to you if you need it."
"You are still more of a fan of the first one, aren't you?" Isaiah said, bumping against her. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, all three of them.
"I think the character development is simply better there? Also the relationships. The focus on bad mentor and a confused kid and different father figured...this one goes more into the romance storyline-"
"The focus just shifts from him to her's all-"
Matthew shook his head. "Alright, quit it. I want to see for myself."
The movie looked like a very expensive video game. The animation really was something else. Matthew understood quickly they would not be able to film stuff like this for real.
So many colours and so much quick movement. Their living room wall was basically flickering, going from one side of the colour spectrum to the next at rapid speed that had his head spinning.
How could there be so much happening on the screen? It was downright impossible to catch it all.
His eyes felt tired from it. It was all so fast and coupled with the music it was downright aggressive.
Matthew didn't notice when, but the left side of his head felt like someone held it in a vice grip. The more he watched and tried to make sense of what was happening, the more his left temple pounded in unison with his heart.
He found himself shaking his head to clear his vision, rubbing at the side of his face. He even tried closing one eye and then the other. But the images just kept coming and there was some kind of dramatic scene with spidermen all over the screen and damn, his head really hurt.
Seline was leaning her head against Isaiah's shoulder, her legs stretched out and touching them both. Her lap seemed very inviting.
Matt leaned to the side experimentally. He wanted to go slow and see how that would be taken, but the possibility of getting some cover from the screen was getting more irresistible by the second.
He slumped down into Seline's lap, twisting so his face was against her stomach. The lights were all over the living room, reaching even to the windows and the kitchen. No hiding from them.
Matthew closed his eyes, face buried in Seline's belly. He secured her from squirming with his arm over her torso, stretched out all the way to Isaiah's tight. If the other wolf wanted to protest or made any move of displeasure, Matt would quickly notice from that position.
His head hurt. Why just the left side of his face? It was tingling.
Everything was moving too much. The dizzying spinning sensation didn't quite go away, although he had his eyes squeezed shut and wasn't looking.
Not to mention he was starting to feel vaguely queasy, his dinner sloshing in his stomach angrily.
"Mattie, you aren't watching," Seline admonished softly. Her hand went into his hair though, petting it softly. He melted under her touch, grateful for a pleasant feeling to focus on.
Suddenly there was the incredible sound of the movie stopping.
"Matt? You tired?" Isaiah asked, shifting somewhere behind his head.
"Mhhhhhhhhmmmm." Was he that obvious? Suspicious? He wanted to stay huddled there in the softness, thanks.
Isaiah's hand landed on his arm. The older wolf reserved his touches for when Matthew felt sick. But they were so physically close these days, because of Seline of course, no other reason, Matthew kind of craved it, even when he didn't need it.
Or maybe it would count now. But he didn't want to ruin the celebratory mood by being a baby. It was a stupid children's movie, for God's sake.
"We can just call it a night, I think. Continuation tomorrow," Isaiah suggested, ever the peace keeper trying to accommodate everyone.
It sounded nice to not continue the movie in any case. But going to bed created a new set of problems.
Matthew would have to move.
Seline wiggled under his head. "You are heavy," she said playfully. She seemed more open to the gesture than Matthew expected. For no reason at all.
Matthew hummed non-committalally not sure how to explain or escape his predicament without losing his dinner. His stomach was churning angrily and his head was still pounding, sound or not.
Isaiah chucked. "You can sleep here for all I care, but at least let the lady get her PJs."
Matthew huffed at that, but opening his mouth wasn't a good idea. A little burp escaped, muffled against Seline's ribcage.
Seline's fingers in his hair stilled. "Mattie? You feeling alright?"
Did she notice that he got burpy when he was about to spew? He could just be full. Damn it all, the risks of living with people so closely.
Another burp, this time a little louder and wetter. Matthew pressed his face closer into Seline's shirt. It smelled of rain and ozone and grapefruit.
He felt both of their gazes on him without looking. They were probably mouthing something to each other at this point. He could picture it vividly.
The pain in his left temple spiked and he moaned quietly.
Seline's cold hand cupped his nape, stroking his neck up to his cheek where she could reach.
"...If I move, I'll hurl," he admitted finally, figuring he should inform her of the danger she was currently in.
The sigh came from Isaiah though, as the raven haired man moved gently away from the sofa into the direction of the kitchen.
"What's wrong? Is your belly upset?"
Jesus, that sounded childish when she said it like that. Not to mention that weird new Mattie nickname.
"Headhurtss," he manged to get through his gritted teeth, still entirely muffled against her stomach. It was quiet, churning only gently, like a purring cat.
"Has it been hurting for long?" She sounded amazingly calm considering he was lying across her lap. "You seemed fine to me," she said with puzzlement. He could imagine the way her forehead creased, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thought back about the evening.
He opened his mouth the respond, but another burp rushed out instead. Pocket of air against her stomach. Saliva was flooding his mouth.
Matthew loosed his hold on her reluctantly, turning so he would be lying on her knees. He covered his eyes with his hands. "Ow."
Seline placed her hands on both sides of his face. "Where?" Her voice was impossibly soft.
He pushed her cool hand - how was it so cool? - against the left side of his forehead.
He felt more than saw two of her fingertips on his temple, making tiny circular movements against it. She bowled over him, her lips hovering over his ear. "How is this? Should I stop?"
"No, that's nice," he said, relaxing a little. The gentle pressure felt good against the pain, though his stomach was still roiling.
Isaiah came back then, the sofa dipping under his weight as he knelt on Matthew's other side. "I got a bowl if you need it."
"Not the nice popcorn bowl, come on," Seline complained, lifting her head.
"It's big and deep," Isaiah protested, sounding amused.
Matthew groaned at the banter. The headache was giving away a bit at the message, but the nausea rose steadily no matter what he did. He felt air in his throat and spit flooding his mouth. He didn't want to move away from Seline's fingers or the attention, but his stomach cramped angrily then.
It had him shooting up into general direction of up. Except he felt dizzy right away, swaying and moaning.
Isaiah grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
Matthew held his eyes shut against the spinning of the room, trusting him to have the bowl at the right place, cause he couldn't aim. His head exploded on his left side with the sensation and puke rocketed into his mouth.
He was right to trust him. The vomit made a splashing sound against the bowl without him even looking, Isaiah holding it under hid chin.
Seline's hands came to cup his forehead from behind. "You are okay, you are okay. Just get it up."
Matthew gave in to his body completely then, a little more voluntarily at the support. His senses were all over the place. He couldn't tell which was was up and down and his left side of the face as pounding and burning from warmth.
More waves of vomit came, easier to bring up now that he wasn't fighting it. When he thought he would catch a break, a loud burp brought in one more splash and then two more. His back arched, only Isaiah's hold on his shoulder keeping him upright. The sofa was moving like a water bed.
When he was finished, he spat the rest of the foul taste and slumped blindly back into Seline's lap. He wanted her nice scent and her cool hands and the little message against his temple that had a drilling machine against it.
"Better now?" she asked, her hands on his face just like he wanted, stroking his cheek and forehead.
"Mhhhhhhhhhmmmm." There was a relief from the nausea, but he was still afraid to open his eyes.
He could vaguely sense Isaiah's movements as he got rid of the bowl, returned to position it next to Matthew. Then circled around, fitting himself into the opening between Matthew's side and the sofa.
Matthew wasn't sure when vomiting because a group activity, or if he shouldn't apologise or feel embarrassed for making a fool of himself.
He sighed contendly as Seline went back to massaging his temple. Isaiah was rubbing his arm gently, as if to remind him he was there.
And who was Matthew to refuse the middle spot?
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Have you seen the leaked TOH pilot and pitch bible yet? IMO it’s crazy how most of it is better than the final product.
I have! And... I don't know if I entirely agree with that.
What I found most fascinating about it is that a lot of the contradictions and issues of scope with TOH that doomed it are still in the pitch bible itself. Just some quick examples of what I'm talking about:
When talking about themes, they talk about Fantasy versus Reality but it's as shallow as it is in the show. After all, one of the episode concepts pitched within it features a plot that has Luz literally going "This is just like in my fanfiction!" and being better able to handle it because of that.
It builds up the emperor of the land and Belos (known as Oberon) when talking about them but NONE of the plotlines include Oberon in the episode pitches or even mention the coven system for that matter. They are still barely a thing to the show with the only episode concept about that part of the show being the one about William.
An utter lack of real stakes like how King has to face the deep crises of a decision of either being a lackey to the people he used to run with while also losing any chance to ever reclaim his lost power... Or he can save Eda and Luz and lose the chance to work with these people again. That's not really a compelling decision, is it?
The pitch also claims that the show will mostly be about Luz and Eda's relationship and how Luz's determination will push Eda to be a better person... And most of the episodes pitched are still not actually about the two spending time together. Just Eda making Luz upset so she goes off to do her own thing, just like the same problem as in the actual series.
You actually have MORE characters in this version which sucks harder for trying to narrow things down, especially since more of them are disconnected from each other than before. At least Boscha, unlike Pascha, has a connection to literally anyone in the main cast.
You also have stupidity with your magic still. "Look! I need to work hard to make small objects float!" And apparently that's enough to make all of Hexside lose their fucking minds. WHY!? In 90% of settings, that is as basic as the light spell Luz learns. It's why it's one of the first spells Harry learns.
Oh and let's not forget "Almost all known portals to the human realm have been severed" but apparently Amity has access to one of those known portals freely enough to attend two schools. It's a small thing but it would cause problems in theory.
BUT.
I will give credit to this: Luz is MUCH more compelling in this version. I think if there is something that is just unequivocally true, it's that. She is way less inoffensively nerdy, instead her interests being more upfront and troublesome, helping explain why that would be why she is rejected and not because, you know, she puts people in danger. Also her rise to power is just better.
Arguably, Luz in canon is a chosen one essentially from episode FOUR onwards. Now, this is up for debate but being given a power almost out of nowhere, with no training, that no one else has, is usually a sign of a chosen in a narrative. Episode 4 is when she gets the light glyph. She doesn't work for it, it's not a big character growth moment, etc. like that. She mostly just oops into it. Making it that Luz ACTUALLY has to work for her magic and the show actually has to explore how the magic works, making it so she has something to learn is just strictly better, especially for the concept of her learning to be a witch. Eda would actually be able to teach her something instead of shrugging and going "Welp, good luck!"
I will say that the bible does also lean more into an adventurous aspect though. This version of episodes would easily be more fantastical and include more magic in them which would help the Isles not feel so much like our realm. I will say the fact that there's also active anti-human prejudice also would be good because then Luz being human would, you know... Matter. Not that the Isles is really given a personality even here besides the oppression they're theoretically under. It's still a very generic fantasy setting.
A lot of the rest though? It's really not that unique or different from the show itself. Lilith is almost exactly the same, Tibbles is just Gus but a demon, there are slightly more restrictions on things like being human or magic but, you know, the show didn't care about its one law, why would it care about three? Even Amity, who does look better on here, is only because it's on paper. This is literally just Amity's pitch in S1 after all. All the reasons people loved Amity are here.
Conceptually it is fine but I am surprised about how not only this got picked up but also how it was greenlit so heavily as to get a pilot animatic, with voice acting, based on these concepts. There's just some very clear cleaning up that needs to be done, basic questions on its own setting and own logic that isn't even playing into the comedy/fantasy angles that could let you let it pass. It's not all of them or even the majority but a skeptical prereader could even raise these basic sorts of inconsistencies like the ones I brought up above. After all, this is half a season's worth of episodes pitched and a fifth of them are still going to Amity and more of them have Luz directly interacting with King than they do Eda.
There's a final thing I have to bring up due to it being why I think the show changed so drastically from this pitch bible to its final form: This is way more complicated. TOH already has extremely decompressed storytelling and too many elements working in tandem. Meanwhile, every character is MORE complicated in this one and less connected to each other, necessitating that each, except maybe Eda, will take more time to get through their stuff. The writing team either had to sharpen how much they could do in an episode or simplify and congregate elements. We see this a LOOOOT in S2A, especially Escaping Expulsion, where it seems the writers went "Even with three whole seasons planned, we don't have enough time to do everything we want to, the way we like to, so we need to start cutting and simplifying even more than before."
One example of this that's really easy: In the pitch bible, Willow is a random witch who lives near Eda. Well that means she'll likely either take time out of a couple episodes as she's introduced or take up an entire episode just for herself. Tibbles is also just on their own, like in the show. Introducing both of these characters is not really an option. However, put them both into Hexside and suddenly you can introduce three characters at the same time organically, like we saw with I Was a Teenage Abomination.
Luz just being gifted magic is another element to this. Her having to actually experiment for every spell and having to have a real system to her spells limits what she can do but also means spending a LOT more time on her magic. You can't just have a flower open up and give her the glyph of the day as easily, nor have her be able to throw her spells around as she wants. Making it so she just needs reams of paper and/or a marker makes it a lot easier and simpler to have her start casting magic.
This version of TOH would have SHATTERED under its own scope while the current version mostly bends and cracks from it. However, if people do use this to go "FUCK DISNEY EVEN HARDER!" I won't be surprised. Grand scope ALWAYS looks better on paper than it does in action. It sounds epic and multi-faceted and complex. The problem is that it still has to fit its format and it is MUCH harder to execute on than a more simple concept.
There's a reason the only perfect project is the one you never do because you can promise the world without ever having to deliver. So, while it's nice to see an earlier version, I am by no means going to say this would have been a better version of TOH.
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Sorry for anyone hoping for a link to the pitch bible btw. I just don't have one as I got given it as a document.
I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!
I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past.
I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead.
If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.
A Twitter you can follow too
And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.
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Listen. Do I know it's a bad idea to go into the MDL comments? Yes. Do I do it anyway? Of course I do. I'm nosy. I want to see what disasters are happening in there.
#also thanks to that i'm able to see what users are lowkey bullying people for daring to not like the show#not even saying anything bad about the show but just offering honest criticism#and i get to block them#and maybe one day if i block enough users#the mdl comments will be safe for me#but also i don't want that because it's the lowest stakes drama ever#i'm not involved i'm just watching#they don't know me they know nothing#i don't post on mdl except once maybe twice and that's only when i'm looking for information#like who is this random side character or does this have a dvd release#but boy oh boy it's like watching the world's most unhinged train wreck#i can't even say it's the gayest train wreck because i do not think the worst offenders are even queer#i mean they might be but most of them have in their bio and have mentioned in their comments things that make me go#mmmmmm you're the problem i have with fandom coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool#say you're supporting the actors all you want but you're still on the internet bullying the actor's fans#i should really get ready for bed since i didn't sleep last night
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truly just SUCH a typical tumblr experience but like.
Familiar Tumblr Name makes a post that's like: 'you know how fast fashion perpetuates itself by selling us clothing that gets dingy and grody really fast, so we have to replace it yearly?'
me: uh, no, actually—historically i've found that the few fast fashion pieces i acquired long outstayed their welcome, and were perfectly wearable long after i was heartily sick of them! but go on, i guess
FTN: 'let me tell you about this traditional domestic wisdom (implied: that's been lost because of, uh, capitalism) that will fix this problem (that you, too, definitely have) for you!'
me, googling: okay so this residue that FTN said was somehow a Fast Fashion thing is apparently generally caused by like. fabric softener and/or hard water. using discount detergents that skimp on active ingredients. using too much detergent so it doesn't wash out. letting your bedding go too long between washes. letting your washer go too long between cleans. etc. anyway. lots of specific factors here, many of which may in fact not apply to you in particular!
but like. why get specific when instead we could assert You Know This Problem, Right? This Lost Traditional Wisdom Will Definitely Help You Personally!!
#just like. makes me mad as rhetoric bc like. *i* can evaluate yr Dramatic Tumblr Post critically and do independent research abt it#and determine how much of it applies to me#and like. the answer is: basically none but it's a good reminder to clean the washing machine‚ thx#but like. there are loads of ppl in the notes just like. nodding along very wide-eyed#to whom this ALSO may not be applicable but who have lapped up yr sloppy demagoguery#and it's just like. [FTN] admits *in this post* that they don't actually know all the ins and outs of this#and it's just like. then probably you shouldn't be climbing onto your soapbox to explain it to people just yet!!#and telling people to get Righteously Angry that this has been Kept From Them#anyway. extremely specific subtweet and honestly the consequences of blindly taking OP's advice would probably not be too bad#but it's just like. i get really frustrated with these bloggers who want to Dispense Advice#but aren't actually experts themselves‚ don't provide any citations for their assertions‚ and claim that things are Universally Applicable#which is just. never true!! people's situations vary!!!#and like. if everyone were equipped to critically evaluate this shit it'd be fine‚ probably#but they're not! people are like 'oh wow you sound confident‚ okay‚ information integrated into my worldview now!'#and it's just like. i realize the subject matter here is relatively low-stakes but it's like. the KIND of rhetoric here is. weird.#very like. There's Been a Conspiracy and You Should Believe Me Because I Sound Confident and Friendly and Like I'm On Your Side.#Reject the Innovations of Capitalism. Retvrn to the Old Ways.#and it's just like. hm what politicians does that remind me of!#anyway. sorry for this very vehement very specific subtweet i just. idk. genuinely think this strain of tumblr demagoguery is pernicious#and like. lots of it is perpetrated by liberals!! most of it ime! but it's the same damaging dynamic even so
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finding out that kaito and shinichi have been revealed to be cousins is like finding out there was a huge earthquake in the country you used to live in
#which also just happened. these experiences are roughly equivalent. snmcmdmcmdllc#detective conan#laughs awkwardly#LIKE. idk how to put into words. detective conan's fandom is.... something#these are people who have been invested in the (often romantic) trials and tribulations of a 17 year old who looks 7 years old#for upwards of 20 or 30 years. this is not a casual reveal#detective conan is not some labor of love and artistry that the author has a specific vision for. it's the longest cash grab that never end#it has had movies during golden week every year for longer than i have been alive and distributes it in several countries#and kaito/shinichi is very popular. i think if you know anything about manga/anime fandoms i don't even need to explain why#for the author to publicly canonically rip up one of the most popular ships of the series... it's hard to imagine that it wasn't deliberate#it's not just a matter of 'omg just ship what you like ignore canon'. they HAVE been doing that (conan has a canon female love interest)#this is very destiel-coded in the sense that it feels simultaneously like the author acknowledging that section of the fandom#while doing the worst possible thing about it. like NO ONE wanted that dnvkdmlvmdk#except for me. this is so funny. I've ALWAYS HAD SUSPICIONS OKAY#kaito and shinichi's canonized same-face syndrome might have started as a meta joke. but remember. this is one of those series#where people are frequently revealed to be a.) not dead all along and b.) secretly someone else all along and#c.) secretly related to someone plot-important all along. all these have happened MANY times#when you have a franchise that has run for this long you kind of have no choice but to up the stakes to the point of absurdity#so basically. it feels like walking in with pizza to the burning room meme except the author was the one to set the fire
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I got mad about how genuinely pretentious and condescending people on here about things that honestly don't even matter that much and so I went oh I know and I went to a mutual in law's blog because I KNOW they have the exact same views as me on them but they articulate them so much better and bam I got like six posts in a row of excellent compassionate measured responses to the very mean-spirited and meaninglessly cruel culture on here surrounding 'anti-intellectualism' and also calling people virgins in a derogatory way. like thanks! gotta jet
#man I wish our interests overlapped more *salutes*#breaking point was someone reposting a meme celebrating thinking of fanon hcs to flesh out an underdeveloped character#and commenting it like 'wow I know this was a YA or anime' like you're just being a dick at this point. who is this hurting#I would have agreed with the og meme! not every character is well developed due to various constraints or the role they have#sometimes you get attached to stories with shallow characters but you love it anyway and you wanna develop them#ppl thinking up new material for them and having a good time is not the Death of Art you all are so nasty to others#like I fail to see the appeal in mocking that and this is coming FROM a hater#but there are so many ppl on here that are so needlessly judgemental and smug and self-righteous about having Correct Media Literacy#and like...I'm not going to say anyone should stop bc im not the website police but you're all so mean#I don't even have a stake in most of this I just don't think it's worth it to be cruel to other ppl over and I don't like ppl acting better#than others bc it's not like being into literature or like. 'highbrow' media is a moral imperative/morally good. it's just what you're into#the world exists outside of literature and plenty of people with trashy tastes have strengths and skills you couldn't even imagine#and even if they don't! having bad taste or being a bit stupid about media isn't a moral failing!#a woman I work with reads the court of thorns books for fun and she is a kinder and better and more skilled and intelligent person#than I will ever be. she has a stressful and very high-impact job and it's how she relaxes. it's fine. it's fine#cor.txt
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didn't get cast in ensemble. they did cast a girl at callbacks I literally taught the harmony to though. fucked up
#spent a year thinking about the audition#have actively waited for an opportunity to audition for at least seven years#show on my radar for at least 14#love to be good enough at the audition that they call you back and then have them be like#actually never mind we don't want your voice even with the other voices.#we have no place for your body on stage with the other bodies#this is what I was afraid of. this is why as soon as it was announced like two years ago this might be produced I was as#stressed as I was excited.#it's not about ego or rejection it's just about getting to do a dream there aren't many chances to fulfill. I just get fixations you know?#rehearsals start tonight without me!#only thing helping me hold onto my sanity is an inside source telling me that the director is horrible#it's hard for grapes to be sour enough for me to not to hurt bad bad bad#but it takes away a little bit of the grief#as does the fact that a friend has the kindness to try and comfort me like that#mensch behavior#I have othr things to look forward to this was just high stakes you know#not a lot of chances. dependent on others to provide chances. autistic hyperfixation on little scraps of the score#most passionate out of anyone who auditioned for sure#and I'm not even bad#I fucked up at callbacks a little but I was hoping they wouldn't be insane about it#but holding my breath until I could get the relief of knowing I was in#which would also have been incredible news in other ways too––being in any show has been a long-term goal and I would be like okay I've hit#that milestoone and should actually invest in a headshot#but I guess not!!!!!!#going to try and not be angry at myself though#I'm good and will throw myself into my work#which I have much to do of and talent to apply to
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we're watching pride and prejudice (2005) in class and we're only about an hour or so in but i gotta say. this movie is not nearly as good as tumblr made it out to be
#i don't. care if mr darcy apologizes and gets better in the end there's no stakes#i have no reason at all to root for this non-romance. they've barely talked. and when they have#it's always been a fight. what do i care? two hours of this shit? my god.#there's some funny victorian shade-throwing sure but other than that nothing happens#it's just another period romance movie! two hours of flowery drivel that doesn't really persuade#the viewer to care about the romance at all#i haven't read the book so i can't comment on how it does as an adaptation#but as a movie? ugh. i wish we'd watched something else#the girls in my class positively squealing at darcy's weird classist as hell proposal... eugh#like. even the movie knows you're not supposed to find that adorable and romantic.#it's drenched in classism and self-importance! the movie makes it clear that although he's infatuated with elizabeth#he sees her as inherently beneath him and he's going to have to cut that shit out if he wants any kind of a future with her!#but no. these girls just think 'i love you most ardently' is soooo cute and totally makes up#for all that. like i need to emphasize they are ROOTING for this love story. why? did we watch the same movie?#yeugh. sorryyyyy this movie should not have beaten shrek and bill and ted in our class vote
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holy jesus christ...
fontaine's act 4 is by far the most stressful act of any archon quest ever
#⇢₊˚⊹ 🩷∥ruby∥yo，ide yo !!#genshin spoilers#a big part of it was everything with lyney lynette and freminet#seeing lyney so beside himself with worry was already intense#i don't think i needed to literally relive what happened to freminet seconds before drowning to death#that genuinely made me extremely uncomfortable. i mean it drove home the direness of the situation. but still.......#but even after things wrapped up i still didn't feel at ease#everyone seemed way too relaxed#like... your whole nation LITERALLY just almost got wiped out. how do you have it in you to even think about having a tea party?????#(this isn't meant to be a dig at lynette btw. it's just the most obvious example i could think of)#and there's still so many unanswered questions#what's the deal with furina，really? could it be possible that she's not actually a god like arlecchino suggested?#“her” secret? why would the former hydro archon be keeping a secret like that? a literal ticking time bomb like the primordial sea?#where did the primordial sea come from，anyway? did egeria create it? and if so，WHY?#(unlikely imo... but not totally impossible either)#plus furina's mention of some kind of plan to deal with the crisis that we still know nothing about#and we still don't know what the hell happened to childe#did he fall into the abyss again or smth?#it's just a lot#they really nailed making me feel that the stakes are sky-high#i should've realized that since this wasn't going to be the last act，that there's no way things would go to shit for real yet#i don't know if i can say that i “enjoyed” it. it sure as hell left an impression though#i still kind of haven't fully calmed down yet#i'm probably gonna need a week or something before i can relive this on my main account#oh，i'm also a bit impressed that there was zero combat in the whole two acts#with there being a literal fighting ring and the fortress being a mek factory，i would've expcted some amount of fighting#i mean that works great for me since that means i can play through them while eating lunch or smth#and not have my meal be interrupted by combat#i feel like most of the online community probably wouldn't like that though#good thing i'm not most of the online community
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seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.
very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.
they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.
mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.
sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.
these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.
i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.
what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.
they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???
THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!
it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just
ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.
kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.
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Trophy wife
Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~ 4.5K
Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut.
Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.
Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."
A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒
“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.
"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”
“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.
Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"
"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.
"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.
As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”
“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.
And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.
Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.
And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.
To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.
"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."
Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain."
As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus.
A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”
"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.
“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.
--x--
As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.
By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.
"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.
"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.
Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.
As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.
"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"
"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."
"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."
"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."
"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.
"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."
"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.
He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."
Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.
"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."
"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."
"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"
Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."
"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.
Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."
Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance."
His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?"
The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.
"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."
"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.
"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you."
My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.
"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.
"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.
"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.
--x--
JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.
As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.
My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?
I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.
Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.
From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well.
We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.
"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."
With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back.
"Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."
I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand?
"You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.
"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk.
My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.
"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.
“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.
"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.
From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.
I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.
"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.
"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling.
His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain.
"If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused.
"It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.
"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him.
"Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.
--x--
As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.
The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."
As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.
Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.
The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?
The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.
The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.
As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.
His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.
"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.
His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."
"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."
We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan.
It was just all part of the plan.
"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine.
"What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.
"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"
His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder.
"How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.
"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction.
I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.
I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?
"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck.
"If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."
"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting.
"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.
"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.
“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”
Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."
I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.
"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction.
"Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.
His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."
His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.
Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace.
"He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby.
Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me
"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.
"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.
Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.
As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.
As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.
Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."
Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.
Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?
The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.
My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.
"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."
My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.
"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.
"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"
"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.
I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.
“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.
"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.
"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.
"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."
“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.
"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go
"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.
"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.
Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.
Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself.
Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.
After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out.
"Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.
Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."
"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.
"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."
"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"
"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.
"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"
And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.
His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,
“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.
"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid imagine#mgg x reader#mgg smut#spencer reid x you#mgg x y/n#mgg fanfiction#mgg
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my guy
eddie munson x fem!reader
Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.
cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni
AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy
The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.
Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.
"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.
You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.
Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.
You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.
One, two, three, four, five, si--
The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.
He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"
"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.
He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.
"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.
"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.
"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.
"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.
"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.
"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.
You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.
The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.
“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.
He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.
"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.
"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.
"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.
Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.
"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.
"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.
"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.
“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.
“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.
"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.
"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.
"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"
He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.
"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.
"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.
"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.
"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.
"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.
"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.
"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"
"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"
"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"
Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.
"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.
"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.
His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.
"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.
His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.
After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.
"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.
His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.
He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.
"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.
"What?" he says weakly.
"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.
His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.
After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.
"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.
"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.
"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.
"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.
"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.
“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.
“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut
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I think my favorite part of TSC is that we get the counterpoint of Jeremy's POV.
Not only because it's funny (it is) or because I love Jeremy (I do), but because it drives home the themes of AFTG in a way that Neil or even Jean's POVs cannot.
With Neil, we get the upperclassmen, but for the most part everyone he interacts with is so steeped in the mafia plot and the ravens, but also just so much abuse that we as the readers get kind of stewed into seeing things from Neil's perspective. It's why we have to remember that Neil is an unreliable narrator. (It's not a bug, it's a feature btw; I love Neil's batshit view of the world)
But with Jeremy, it gets thrown into stark relief that it does not have to be like this.The Trojans practice, and they go home. Exy is not a metaphor to them, or a lifeline, or an obligation; it is an activity. They have lives. They have friends outside of Exy, something Neil does not have.
So, I watch a lot of college gymnastics. I love the sport, but (like all sports), there is the looming specter of abuse. Every year, it seems like another coach is discovered to have abused their athletes. Weight tracking, emotional abuse, physical abuse and intimidation. Its something you weigh when you're a college sports fan, knowing on some level that this thing you enjoy on some level enables this.
And it makes me think of the line in TSC:
“What we don’t understand is how a grown-ass man took a bunch of kids and turned them into monsters for sport.”
Because this is what Neil's POV can't give us. Neil, and Kevin and Jean, the stakes are higher because of the mafia plot, it's true. But SO MANY OTHER ravens were just normal kids who got destroyed so some adults could make money and have a little bit of glory.
And, to be clear, this isn't a place to be like “and this is why I don't watch sports” because it's EVERYWHERE. In music, TV, school theater and choir- anywhere there is a power dynamic, there is the potential for abuse.
And by providing the counterpoint from the Trojans, it becomes even more apparent how unnecessary it all is.
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David and Michael interview with Emily Aslanian for TV Insider, 10.7.2023 :)
David: So Gabriel shows up at Aziraphale's bookshop naked. He's lost his memory. Where does that leave our good heroes?
Michael: Well, Aziraphale, for someone who is of a slightly nervous disposition, for a naked... his ex boss to turn up outside his bookshop in Soho in the daytime, naked and wanting a hug, is not necessarily what Aziraphale had on his bingo card that day. But once he comes in and Aziraphale has to take him in, we discover that there is a mystery to be solved.
David: Yes.
Michael: And Aziraphale enjoys a mystery, but doesn't enjoy things like the end of the world or the stakes being that high.
David: He enjoys the mystery a little too much for Crowley's like.
Michael: He does a little bit.
David: Crowley just wants this sorted and he doesn't want you indulging your fantasy of being a private eye.
Michael: That's right, Aziraphale gets to really enjoy that. But they are forced, you know, they're a team of two now anyway, because they become detached from their respective head offices. But this forces them together even more. They've only got each other to rely on and they have to solve this mystery. And the clock is ticking. So it starts a whole chain of events that starts off potentially not being as high stakes as Season One. But as it goes along, we realise the apocalypse was just the beginning.
David: It was nothing! It was a mere bagatelle! How much time passes between Series One and Series Two. Do we know exactly?
Michael: I don't know exactly. But things have changed, obviously, between... I mean, Aziraphale is thoroughly enjoying himself. He's sort of got what he wanted, which is to be able to be in his bookshop, listen to music, watch shows, eat nice meals, drink wine, hang out with Crowley. He's a little disconcerted by not having the company behind him because he's such a company man. So that's a bit strange. But Crowley is...
David: It's not worked out quite so well for Crowley. He has the liberation of being free from Hell breathing down his neck. But he has lost the company apartment. So he is living in his car now with his pot plants. So circumstances are slightly reduced for him and he can't quite let go because we see him on a park bench catching up with Miranda Richardson's character Shax, who's taken over from him, trying to dig up a bit of gossip and find out what's really going on. So they have the freedom of not being watched over. But for Crowley, it's not worked out quite as well as perhaps he imagined.
Michael: What are they looking for in each other, I wonder?
David: In each other...
Michael: Well, I mean, I think, they sort of... on the surface, the things that annoy them the most about each other are actually what they are most compelled by.
David: Crave, yes, yes.
Michael: And so they’re sort of bound together, aren’t they? In all kinds of ways. I think Aziraphale is both infuriated and maddened and very stressed out by Crowley’s constant questioning of things. Things that Aziraphale thinks are just… those are the rules. Crowley being a sort of rule breaker and a rule bender, he finds incredibly stressful. And yet I think that’s sort of what he craves.
David: Drawn to.
Michael: He’s drawn to that.
David: Irrepressibly.
Michael: Yes.
David: Yes. And I think probably Aziraphale’s very consistency and very even-temperedness is something that Crowley kind of craves as well. There’s a sort of security in that which he doesn’t really get anywhere else. But, yes, they bicker away, but clearly with the security of a couple who know they can't really exist without each other. But I don't think... they never really admit what they are to each other. There's sort of understanding that they've only really got each other now, and therefore they rely on each other hugely. And, you know, as soon as Aziraphale is in trouble, he calls up Crowley to come and help him. There's no question there's...
Michael: Someone once said, what do any of us have but our illusions? And what do we ask of anyone but that we be allowed to keep them?
David: That's... who once said that? Should I not ask you that?
Michael: Don't ask me.
David: Don't ask you that.
Michael: Let me just say that.
David: It's lovely.
Michael: And sounds clever.
David: Michael Sheen once said something about illusions. It was really nice.
Michael: Whenever you hear someone say, 'A wise man once said', it's usually me.
David: It is usually you.
#good omens#michael sheen#david tennant#david and michael#dm#tv insider#interview#michael interview#david interview#david and michael interview#ac#tv insider 2023#good omens meta#fun fact#s2 interview#videos#transcripts#video interview
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too sweet ☆ jay park
☆ bad boy! jay x nerd! fem! reader
☆ summary: after months of an on-and-off relationship with you, jay feared that he'd hurt you. you know that he won't. maybe a few sweet words (and kisses) could convince him.
☆ genre: angst to fluff, suggestive, inexperienced! reader (-ish), jay is really really really DOWN BAD, insecurities
☆ warning(s)? n/a
☆ word count: 2.0k words
☆ everyone clap for hozier’s “too sweet," for my starved jay stans
reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!
"So, you're telling me that you want us to end?"
Jay sucked in a sharp breath, clasping his hands together. "That's not what I mean."
You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him. The thin gold chain hanging around his neck kissed his honey gold skin deliciously, his silvery hair falling over his brows. You watched as Jay rubbed his knuckles, his jaw clenching with each thought that ran through his mind.
"Then what do you mean?"
If he thought that you'd ever let him go, he was insane.
Jay took a moment to think, before words tumbled from his lips in a slow drawl, as if he was afraid of them.
"We can't be together because I'll hurt you," he said simply.
Jay watched your expression closely, eyeing your swollen lips— God, were they perfect, like always— as they curled. He could hear the cogs turning in your head, and for a second, Jay thought that he could win the fight.
You and Jay met under rather interesting circumstances. He was slacking in his classes, running the risk of not passing the semester, so the counselors stepped in and had you to help.
At first, Jay thought you were the most insufferable snob there was. But the next thing he knew, he was pinning you against the wall, hungrily kissing you like he was a starved man and you were his salvation. There was always something so intoxicating about you, the way you were able to chide into his ear why he was failing his classes, yet stayed silent with wide, innocent eyes as his fingers squeezed your thighs. Jay longed for the way you could read him like a book, the way that your black pawns stacked up against him, cornering his white king that made it impossible to escape, all the while holding a polite smile on your face.
It was always unconventional; how could the school's most notorious slacker and shady delinquent even be in the same room as the smartest girl?
Everyone seemed to have something to say about it, and for a second, Jay couldn't help but drink up every word, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss that was his mind.
You were too good for him. You had everything laid out for you, you were just perfect. He wasn't. He was troubled, and stupid, and brash.
He was mean and bitter, you were bright and sweet.
So sweet.
Too sweet.
"You'll hurt me?" you scoffed again, looking at him incredulously.
Under your critical gaze, Jay nearly faltered, as if this wasn't the millionth time that he reconsidered this entire conversation, as if he didn't crave your touch every waking second.
Just ten minutes ago, you were on top of him, your fingers tangled in his hair, ravaging his lips like they were your last meal. Knowing that he was the one that taught you that— how to devour him like a starved hyena— made him feel dizzy.
"When have you ever hurt me?" you pressed, your face pinched.
It was only when your delicate fingers began to unbutton his shirt, soft, but desperate, breaths brushing up against his collarbone, that Jay gently pushed you away, taking you off of his lap and letting you sit beside him on your bed.
"I haven't," Jay swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to ignore the nerves bundling in his stomach, gnawing at him, almost like they were screaming at him to stop. "But I can, a-and I know I will if we don't stop seeing each other."
"What makes you think that?"
Jay chewed on his lip, thinking about his next move.
Loving you was like playing a game, a game where life and death were at stake. He was willing to roll every dice and destroy every odd if it meant being with you.
You were stone-faced, save for the questioning quirk of your eyebrows, but Jay knew better.
The moment that the words "I think we should break up" left his lips, Jay could see your pawns retreating; he could see the way that your walls were beginning to come up again, the cage wrapped around your heart tightened, and all he wanted to do was hold you and apologize.
But he couldn't, because this was for the best.
He'd rather hurt you once, than hurt you a million more times in the future.
He was afraid of himself, of what his hands could do, of what tears you would shed over him.
He was fundamentally flawed, someone who could not be fixed. That was something that both you and him needed to accept.
"You know me," Jay murmured, his eyes glued to the fluffy carpet on the floor. He couldn't look you in the eye after this, after hurting you. "I'm not good for you."
You stayed silent for a few pulses, only the sound of your shaky breath filling Jay's ears.
Then, you reached out for him. But, the moment that you soft fingers met his shoulder, Jay violently flinched away.
He knew that if he let you touch him, he'd never be able to pull away.
"Jay..." Your voice was small, and when he looked up to see your face, your brows were furrowed together. You looked hurt, and he wanted to punch himself; he wanted to melt into your warmth, feel your hands on his skin, and taste the paradise that was your lips.
You slowly retracted your hand, something that made Jay's heart ache.
"Sorry..." he mumbled, quickly averting his gaze once again. After today, he didn't deserve to look at you.
Another few pulses pass in sheer silence, a silence so suffocating that Jay felt his throat tighten.
"Did it mean anything to you?" you finally asked shakily.
"W-What?"
"Did anything that we did at least mean something to you?"
The word "yes" almost came spilling out of his mouth, eager to prove to you that he indeed loved you— loved you enough to save you. But, Jay stopped himself.
You would never take an explanation that didn't make sense. You'd push and push and push until you got the truth.
He couldn't draw this out any longer, or else he'd crack.
"No," Jay pushed out of his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue.
He heard you take in a breath, before you clicked your tongue.
You didn't believe him, and you weren't going to take no for an answer.
"Tell me the truth," you murmured. "All those times we've kissed, why would you kiss me first if it meant nothing?"
He really couldn't do this, he couldn't lie to you.
"W-Well, it's because you're always close to me." Horrible explanation, and he knew it.
You cocked a brow. "No one’s forcing you to kiss me."
Jay gulped. You were reading him like a book, seeing right through him.
"Any man in my position would kiss you," he stammered, unaware that the way his nose scrunched gave him away. Jay's eyes glazed over you. God, you were just so beautiful. "I mean, look at you."
His ears burned with shame, blinking back hot tears that brimmed his eyes. He couldn't believe that he was actually doing this, purposefully lying to your face. He felt disgusting; weak. You were the first person that he's ever loved, the first person that made him feel all sorts of weird, giddy feelings, the first person that made him feel safe and loved. He was ruining it for himself, but he'd rather ruin himself than ruin you. After this, how was he ever going to recover? He couldn't imagine his life without you, not after feeling your warmth, not after having the privilege of seeing you beneath him, pretty eyes filled with stars gazing up at him—
If Jay wasn't so caught up in his head, he'd notice the way that you observed his flickering expression, before suddenly climbing back onto Jay.
"H-Hey—!"
You pushed Jay down onto the bed so that he was lying on his back, sitting right on his abdomen, pinning him down for good.
"You're a horrible liar," you muttered before grabbing his face, pressing sticky kisses against his jaw.
No, no, no! This isn't supposed to happen! You're supposed to hate him!
Your lips trailed from his jaw to the crook right below his ear, the spot that you knew was Jay's sensitive spot. You bit down just enough to make Jay let out a high-pitched sigh. You pulled away, admiring the purple-pink mark you left on his skin, before trailing down to the birthmark on his neck. You ran your tongue over the heart-shaped mark. Jay's hand jerked out for your waist, squeezing it.
"B-Baby..." he breathed, slipping back into his habit of using that name for you. His mind was doing everything in its power to resist you, but all he could do was tilt his head back to give you better access to his neck.
"Baby?" you purred against the shell of his ear. "Thought I didn't mean anything to you."
"I— Shit, don't do that, Baby—" you slid your hand under his shirt, your lips making vulgar noises as it attached to his honey skin.
"I don't fucking care if you hurt me," you spat in his ear, and chills ran down his spine. Since when were you so... obscene?
What has he done to you, for you to start off as an innocent and curious girl and end up shamelessly touching him? Had he corrupted you too much?
"You said you wanted to give me the best firsts?" your voice was so harsh, so mean that Jay almost questioned how someone so sweet could be so ruthless. It also made him question why in the hell it made his stomach do a flip. You bit down on a collarbone. "Then stop being a pussy and just let me love you."
Jay threw his head back, letting a groan escape his lips. God, how was he going to win this? How was he going to ignore the shudder of his shoulders as you touched him? How was he going to act like his body wasn't yearning for you?
"I'm pretty and you know it," you rasped in his ear. "So stop resisting me."
Your words were candied, sweet like syrup, seeping into his head and swaying all resolve he had. He almost gave in. Almost.
"L-Look, I know you’re hot and all," it took every fiber in Jay's being to not give into your tantalizing lips, "B-But you know this is wrong."
You hummed against his skin. "But I don't."
Jay's rendered speechless when you press your hips against his, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach did a flip, a wave of heat coursing through his body. It felt electric, it felt wrong.
"I don't know that this is wrong, and even if I did, I wouldn't care" your tone is so soft, so innocent, but your actions were so dirty. "Ignorance is bliss."
Jay opened his mouth to let more dumb words pour out, dumb words that were his final (and extremely futile) attempt to restrain himself, but his breath got caught in his throat when they ran your hands through his silver hair, gripping it and pulling it back. You held his head in place by his hair. The sensation of pain on his scalp was delicious, enough to make him feel like putty in the palm of your hands.
"If you don’t stop," his voice was airy and high-pitched now, labored breaths escaping his lips. He wasn't going to win this fight. He never was going to in the first place, not when you were his opponent, "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."
"Then don't," you said simply against his neck. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Your eyes were wide and shiny, innocently staring up at him. Your voice was so pretty and sweet, so sweet that he couldn't believe that you were doing and saying all these things to him. "Don't control yourself."
As Jay fell back into the comfort of the mattress, letting heat spread across his chest and face as you hungrily sunk your teeth into what was his heart, his Adam's apple bobbed.
You were too sweet for him, too sweet for a bitter person like him.
He wouldn't mind getting tooth decay, yeah?
#enhypen#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen fic#jay enhypen x reader#jay enhypen#jay park#jay fluff#jay imagines#jay fic#jay enhypen fic#jay enhypen fluff#jay x reader#park jay#park jay fluff#park jay x reader#park jongseong#park jongseong fluff#park jongseong fic#star-sim#vanya-writes
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drunk in love - carlos sainz
driver reader x carlos sainz smut
warnings: mature content ahead. please don't read if you're under 18! afab reader, smut, penetrating sex, oral f receiving
a/n: first published written piece! i've overthought it for a long ass time so here it is and i hope it's not half bad lol and there isn't much of a plot either so there's that, it's just thirst and me being weak for a carlos x driver pairing
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Time seemed to stop as Carlos’ hands went from resting on your neck and cheeks, to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
He couldn’t envelop you enough in his arms, he somehow wanted more.
“Carlos”, you whined into the most passionate kiss you had ever been given.
“If you want me to stop you have to say it now,” he pulled away to speak but returned his lips to yours a fraction of a second later. After tasting you, he wasn’t sure how he would ever pull away again, and prayed you wouldn’t want him to stop.
You should want him to stop. You should want to run away. You should, because he was your greatest threat in the championship battle, and going any further with him complicates the already high stakes.
But you don’t want him to stop.
You couldn’t even speak with the way he was kissing you; he was a man starved and you felt dizzy with how desperate he seemed to be close you.
After you didn’t tell him to stop and only held onto his hair harder, wanting to deepen a kiss impossible to deepen more, he pushed you against the wall and began to move towards the zipper of your dress.
He felt your goosebumps and almost grinned at the effect his touch had on you; almost like the one you had on him.
After pushing the zipper down, he pulled away from the kiss again to look into your eyes for your final consent.
“Are you sure?” Carlos asked as his brown eyes stared you down filled with lust but wanting you to be certain about what you were doing to ease his heart.
“Please,” you moaned back at him, and it was enough for the man in front of you to go right back to kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before as he pulled down the straps of your dress.
You returned the favor of helping take his clothes off, undoing his belt and taking of his shirt.
In a split second he carried you to his hotel room bed, and finished undressing you even faster but paradoxically taking his sweet time admiring the sight in front of him.
It had been years and years of Carlos imagining you naked in his bed and the real thing was a million times better. You are a goddess in his eyes and he couldn’t believe he has the chance to touch you in all your divinity.
He wasn’t hard to look at either. His tan, glowing skin looked beyond perfect under the dim lights, and you seized the opportunity to feel how he tensed his muscles under your touch. His attractiveness was beyond your comprehension, but your body knew exactly how to react.
His right hand spread your legs as he kept looking at you, and very much almost moaned at how wet your cunt felt already. His ego beamed and he softly, consistently rubbed your clit to continue the trend.
Your mouth quickly began emitting the most beautiful sounds Carlos had ever heard, and he wanted more, so he positioned himself between your thighs and pressed his tongue against your beautiful pussy.
There was no sweeter taste on the planet than that of your cunt, no better sounds than those of your moans and whimpers, and no better sight than you naked under him.
He’d be damned if he didn’t take you to heaven for allowing him to witness you like this.
“Fuck, Carlos, you’re so good,” was all you could think about as his tongue fucked into you over and over again, with just the right amount of pressure and speed.
Soon enough, he slid two fingers in your hole and moved his tongue expertly against your clit. You cried out his name again, music to his ears, and he pumped his fingers at a painfully slow pace contrasting to his rapid licks on your ever more sensitive clit.
It was only a matter of time before you came in his mouth, nearly screaming and holding onto his hair.
“God, you taste so good,” he climbed on top of you, never breaking eye contact as he locked your lips again.
“Tell me I can fuck you, please,” he asked earnestly, as if there was a chance you would say no.
“Carlos, fuck me. Give me your cock, please,” you begged, drunk off the pleasure he was giving you, and guided his member in your entrance with your hand.
He was inside you before either of you could wrap your hands around the fact that there was no turning back.
He swore so many times in his head, and a couple out loud, as he felt your tight walls wrap around him. You felt the delicious sting of the stretch his big cock was giving you, moaning his name to his mouth.
“Fuck, you were made for me,” he stated as he took the first thrust. And you believed it.
Your bodies and minds were so in sync it gave you whiplash; the passionate sex he was giving you was like nothing you’d experienced before.
“You are incredible, you are making me feel incredible” you thought and said, almost as a prayer, as a sign of a newly found devotion. “Fuck me harder.”
And Carlos didn’t need to be told twice. His thrust pace became merciless, your breasts bouncing roughly as he mounted you.
“Your dick is so big,” all the thoughts in your head were pouring out, praising the man who was giving you the best sex of your life, “I feel so fucking good.”
“You’re taking me so well,” he replied, sweat dripping down his defined chest, “Me encanta tu coño”. (I love your cunt).
In between all the kisses, love bites, curse words and back scratches, you both came at the same time. His hot cum filled your pussy and he placed his head in the crook of your neck.
As you came down from your high and took deep breaths together, his eyes looked up at you. You couldn’t tell the emotion behind them, but he quickly let you know.
“I love you.”
#f1#f1 au#f1 fanfic#formula 1#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz au#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz smut#f1 smut#f1 x reader
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