#these authors are just not quite getting there
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SWEET AND RIGHT AND MERCIFUL | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader
request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says: OMGGGG EM CONGRATS ON 3K !!! soooo deserved and i’m so so happy for you!!! please may i request tea for sunshine!reader 🥹🩷 maybe the moment when she realises just how much she likes him (perhaps she was in heavy denial beforehand)? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOUUUUU 🩷🩷🩷
description: The Sunshine rookie Spencer had heard so much about is the first one to make him laugh since he got out of prison.
length: 4.1k
warnings: Lucky Strikes episode, talks of humans eating humans, cm gore, blood, violence etc. UnSub gets creepy with reader. sex jokes, spitting water.
author's note: dedicated to @avis-writeshq because she is my GIRL when it comes to Spencer Reid x Sunshine brain rot, and also because she requested a Drabble for them but I couldn't stop writing and here we are with a full ficlet.
It had been three weeks, three painfully long weeks since Spencer Reid had returned to the BAU, nearly ten years since she’d seen him lecturing at Pennsylvania. He looked different, but then Emily had said quite literally on her second day that their endgame was getting him out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it seemed only natural that being a fed in a foreign jail would knock someone around.
She’d been too nervous to speak to him on their first day working together, had stuck to Luke’s side like glue because he was closest in age to her and he didn’t seem to mind the way she could speak a hundred miles per hour. They had only really had any contact when she was chatting with Garcia in the kitchenette at lunch, when she was talking to the tech whizz about the crochet set she’d bought even though she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the way everything bobbed and weaved and bobbed again, and how the woman on youtube seemed to make the tiny bumblebee seem so achievable while hers looked like a yellow turd.
He’d come up behind the two of them, his footsteps deadly silent despite the fact he had sneakers on, and she wouldn’t have even known he was there had Penelope not lit up with glee at seeing Reid poking around their office again.
“Coffee, honey?” Penelope asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder, and it was only when he murmured a ‘mhm’ that the rookie noticed he’d crept up behind her, leaning over to grab his mug from the cupboard, and she hopped to the side immediately.
“S-sorry, just shove me out the way next time, my mom says I have zero spacial awareness.” She said with a nervous laugh, and he didn’t seem to care as he granted her a small glance, pushing the button on the coffee machine and clunking his mug beneath the tap.
“Have you met our newbie, Spence?” Penelope asked, friendly as ever even though the women caught the way his jaw seemed to feather with clenched muscle, like he was holding himself back from snapping, and his eyes were tired as he looked over at Garcia, barely flicking his gaze to the new face despite her prompt, “This is Y/N, she’s joined us from cold cases,”
“Hi,” The woman chirped with a quick wave, despite the fact he was stood only a foot away from her, “It’s nice to meet you after everyone’s spoken so highly about you, Penny said you like invented the term genius,”
Spencer pursed his lips, trying not to make a backhanded comment about how dumb that sounded because of course he didn’t invent it, of course it was coined in the mid seventeenth century from the latin gignere to mean ‘exceptional natural ability’, and the last time he checked he wasn’t even born then. But he stopped himself, because she was just being nice, and it wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t been sleeping or that he couldn’t eat dinner without waiting to hear a buzzer go off to let him know when it was meal time, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was just a few decibels too loud with her cheerful tone and smile that he could hear in every syllable.
So he just gave her an awkward smile, and an acknowledging nod, the whir of effort from the coffee machine slowing down as his drink finished pouring, and he grabbed his mug, not even caring that the ceramic scolded his fingertips because he’d felt so much worse before and gotten through it.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” He said coldly, not returning the sentiment, and he’d turned before he could see the way her smile dropped, her brows creasing in worry as she watched him head back towards his desk.
“Did I say something wrong?” She asked with a small voice, and Penelope wrapped an arm around her shoulder giving her a kind squeeze and a sad smile.
“It’s not you, sweetie, he’s just-” Garcia swallowed, her own pout growing over her red painted lips, “He’s not like the Reid we used to know, he’s struggling,”
And so she nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek with a frown. It felt silly to have her feelings hurt, except she’d been thinking about the day two agents from the BAU came to give her sociology class a talk on geographical and societal factors compelling crime, how she’d headed straight to her tutor that evening to swap her major to criminology. Because she’d hung on every word Agent Hotch and Agent Reid had said, which definitely had nothing to do with the fact the younger of the two was so dreamy in his glasses and tweed jacket.
She’d been excited to meet him again after nearly ten years, maybe even thank him for changing the trajectory of her entire life. He was still handsome, and despite the fact she’d grown up since then, had only thought about him as that hot guy who gave a lecture in her class that one time, she still had felt that silly fluttering feeling in her chest the second she saw him talking with Emily in her office the morning he got back.
And he’d look at her like she was a girl scout selling cookies; a passing face, a summer temp, no one worth getting to know.
She pretended like she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, he’d been to prison for god sake. The guy had bigger problems than a little nobody girl from another department.
Things weren’t much better the day they got the case.
“You might want to cover your eyes for this bit, my little sugar plum,” Penelope said, looking at the rookie with soft eyes, and Emily smiled at her gently, knowing the girl had a bit of an innocent streak, not completely unlike Penny when she’d started the job.
“Why? I’m sure it’s nothing-” She cut herself off when Penelope clicked onto the next page, and the image of a woman who could only be described as utterly butchered flicked onto the screen in full size, “Oh,”
“Oh, indeed, rookie,” Rossi said with a wince, looking at the mulch of blood and muscle where her legs had been removed, and her fingers severed clean off as if with a carving knife.
Luke looked up at the girl, where she’d gone a little peaky, and he patted her back gently, sliding his bottle of water over to her without a word.
“All the telltale signs are here,” JJ said on a sighed breath, images of the rest of the crime scene flicking up on the screen.
“Pentagram, legs and fingers gone,” Rossi agreed, Luke and Matt looking between the team with a questioning glance, as she downed a sip of the water.
“There’s even one neat aspect right here,” Emily said, the tip of her finger pointing to one of the pictures of the floor outside the bathroom stall where the body was found, “Her earrings and jewellery are laid out equidistant on the floor,”
“Sure as hell looks like him,” Rossi said, and she cleared her throat, looking to the older man on her left.
“Like who?” She asked, her eyes snapping to Spencer who opened his mouth to speak, which seemed to be the only time he ever did bother making conversation; when there was a body on their hands.
“Floyd Feylnn Ferrell,” He said, as if the original case had only been wrapped up last week, but then with his memory she wasn’t exactly surprised, “A psychotic cannibal who’d been killing under the radar for years,”
“He killed ten prostitutes and then moved up to low risk victims,” Prentiss added, the rookie’s eyes wide. It wasn’t anything she’d never heard of, but it never made it easier knowing something even worse was coming after the murders.
“He kept slipping through the cracks and avoiding justice so people referred to him as ‘Lucky’” JJ said, her eyes darting over the crime scene photos that seemed to take her back ten years to when they’d seen almost an identical set of photos, like Hotch was about to call ‘Wheels up in twenty’ any minute now.
Rossi sighed, looking at the younger girl who watched him wide eyed, “Have you eaten today, rookie?”
She shook her head dumbly, “Why?”
“Because the worst of it was he owned a barbeque joint,” Her face dropped even more, if that was even possible, “And he fed one of the victims to the search party,”
Her hand flew to her mouth, blinking at the seasoned agent in terror, because that was something she hadn’t ever thought would enter someone’s mind until she heard it. As simple as it sounded, for someone who had seen cases going back twenty, thirty years, some particularly heinous in nature, there were new lengths she didn’t realise a human could ever go to, let alone would.
Penelope stopped, shutting her laptop lid and glancing at JJ in a plea for help, as the thought of what had happened after the Flynn case rushed to the front of her mind, when the guy she’d thought wanted to take her out on a date shot her.
“I have a computer…” The blonde trailed off, heading for the door to the office room with a dazed look in her eyes, and the rookie watched her leave, her neck and palms clammy as she thought about what Rossi had just said.
“I think I have a computer too-” She rushed, and she bolted from her seat before she could think of anything else, dashing after the technical analyst because she feared she was going to throw up if she didn’t get a breath of fresh air.
Spencer watched her hair swish as she scurried out the room, and he wondered how long she would last if she couldn’t stomach just a few photos. He had struggled with the gore at first, sure, but he’d never ran. Maybe he was being cruel, but he couldn’t say that a girl like her exactly fit the part of an FBI agent, she seemed… pure, like driven snow, and if anything he’d hate for the bloodied parts of their job to stain a girl so squeaky clean.
Emily nudged his shoulder, nodding towards her retreating figure when he looked up at her questioningly, “You keep an eye on her in this case. She’s still learning,”
And Spencer grit his teeth, because he hated the idea of babysitting when he had a dozen of his own problems, but he nodded indignantly.
He just hoped she didn’t make things too hard for him.
–
The door swung open behind Lori Flynn, the UnSub’s sister, the midday Florida heat boring down on her back, Spencer bristling at her right as Luke pocketed his badge.
And then there he was. The guy from the photo, his thick, wiry glasses exact matches to the ones he’d been wearing the day he got caught, though she supposed a mental facility didn’t exactly have funds for replacements.
“It’s no problem, Lori, I’ll speak with them,” His voice was a strong southern twang, and almost chillingly calm. His sister looked over her shoulder at him, the woman fretful as she glanced between the four agents, ten years of troubles on her shoulders. She sighed, running a hand over her neck nervously and headed back inside to be with her son, leaving them alone with their suspect on the doorstep, “You’ll have to wait, I’m on my way to church. It’s right around the corner so I’m within the thousand permitted yards from the monitoring station,”
He quickly glanced at where Matt and Luke stood behind her, the former with his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed up the thin, twiggly guy who looked like the type to live in his mother’s basement until he died, not the type to cannibalise and murder.
His eyes darted over to where Reid towered over him, familiarity flicking in his face as he looked at the agent, and he smiled slowly, like something out of a horror, the uncanny valley of a face so normal when she knew he was so sick somewhat terrifying to her. He fed one of the victims to the search party. She heard it rattling around her skull as she saw the whites of his teeth, and she imagined him ripping into her then and there, her hands shaking.
“Hey, I remember you. Where’s your friend, Agent Morgan?” Floyd said, and she felt Spencer tense up beside her, which she guessed meant it was a sore subject as she jumped into the conversation, her lips moving before she could think better of it. She’d always had a habit of talking too much when she was nervous, or to fill gaps, or when she could tell someone was uncomfortable, she’d always been told it was one of her more irksome traits.
“You wouldn’t mind if we took a look around, would you? Just while you’re gone?” She asked politely yet, for once, she regretted ever opening her mouth the second he turned his attention on her.
She felt something cold and dreadful run down her spine as he looked straight at her, his sepia eyes trailing down over her neck, running over her body and down to her hands that fidgeted at her sides.
They waited on baited breath, her stomach flipping with sickness as that manic smile drew even wider, trained solely on her, a thought privy only to himself somewhat amusing to him. She felt herself lean away without even meaning to, incidentally feeling Spencer’s arm bump into hers as she did, and the three men seemed to tense up as they watched Flynn smell the air, savouring every second of it, his eyes blown wide with something unreadable. Lustful yet starved, like he was on a four day fast standing next to an open roast.
“You’re awful pretty for an agent,” Floyd said, that drawling accent of his turning her stomach, and his eyes trailed down over her calves, and she cursed herself for wearing a midi skirt. But she hated jeans on her thighs, hated the way Florida air clung humidly to her skin when she didn’t let it breathe, but she thought she might just hate the way his mouth filled with saliva more, “Do you like running, agent?”
“Sometimes,” She whispered, shrinking in on herself even more as he took a step out of the home.
And Spencer felt his chest drop at the sound of it. She sounded petrified. But then, he would be too if someone his size looked at him like he was a five-course banquet. And he regretted ever thinking of her as babysitting, as defective, because she was clearly trying her best, and this was where it had gotten her. Right on the UnSub’s menu.
“I bet you do a lot of running, chasing after bad guys, huh?” Floyd pushed, leering towards her with another smell of her perfume, and she could have sworn his smile only widened into something cheshire cat-esque. She nodded with a worried gulp, her breath picking up when his hand began moving up to where a rogue stray hair fell out of her bun, running over her collar bone, her heart beating so wild and heavy beneath it.
And it was enough for Spencer to act, because within the blink of an eye, he’d side stepped in front of the rookie who seemed frozen in her spot, and Floyd’s arm was shoved away where it hit Spencer’s bicep. Flynn was forced to stop looking over her clammy skin with heavy swallows like he was imagining just how she would cut and marinate, and instead was confronted with a frown that could send any man scarpering, Spencer’s lips pressed into something furious, his shoulders seeming only more broad than they usually did when he purposely blocked Flynn’s view from her.
“You’d better get going, Floyd,” Spencer said, his voice a deadly sort of calm, and his arm stuck out behind him to keep her where she was as he spoke, “You’re going to be late for church,”
And Flynn listened, despite his smarmy smile as he dared a look at her when he passed by, despite the fact his eyes trailed back down to her jugular like he was ready to sever it there and then to string her up and cure.
Spencer’s hand fished around his pocket, glaring at the back of Floyd’s head as he strolled down the street, tossing the keys to Alvez, “Take her back to the car, don’t let her out of your sight,”
And the two of them listened while he and Matt swept the house, because anyone would be insane not to when Spencer looked so angry he could have put a hole through Flynn’s head without blinking an eye.
–
“Eating people, who eats people, what on earth is that all about,” She muttered, the four of them in the SUV heading back to the station. She sat at the front with Spencer where he drove because Luke and Matt were gentlemen and had offered her the extra leg room, and Spencer had zero qualms because he was under strict instruction to keep an eye on her.
She did that alot, he realised. Muttered when she was thinking about something. Where he went deadly silent when troubled, too focused on sorting through the mental files that seemed to be so resistant to organise these days, she was his entire opposite, always talking or humming a tune under her breath or playing an invisible set of piano notes on her knee, something to always keep the space filled.
He’d hated it the first few days, the sound like a blaring alarm coming from over by her desk, cutting through his limited attention span, grating on his nerves and making him have to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the fuck up. But then, it wasn’t exactly personal to her, even the sound of the coffee machine had been enough to pull at his hair in frustration. At twelve years old, it spluttered and whirred and kicked back at every drink it made, every second of it winding Spencer’s patience up like a jack in the box.
But he found himself listening in on her mumbles, glancing over at how her frown screwed up her doe eyes, her lip pulling between her teeth whenever there was a tiny pause in between her words, before she started again. He’d quickly realised it was the easiest cheat in the book to know when something was bothering her, that she was so much of an open book, not at all cold and guarded like him or so many other profilers he knew, that he wouldn’t need to bother deducing her like she was his next UnSub to know what was wrong. She would just tell him as it was, wear everything vulnerable on her face.
“Something the matter?” He pressed, Luke also keeping a close watch on her from the back seat as she shook her head to herself, and her head snapped over to the driver’s side, her expression entirely caught even though she’d not exactly been subtle about her turmoil.
“M-me? “ She pointed to herself, and Spencer nodded, trying not to smile because sometimes she could be clueless, not the dumb kind but something sweet, naive, and he found himself somewhat jealous that she didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to be worth something, she could just be herself, “Yeah, I guess I just,” She huffed, running her hands over her skirt, “I don’t get why anyone would want to eat someone else, it just-” She shivered, not in a theatrical or fake way but like a ghost had walked over her grave just thinking about Floyd smelling at her.
“Some cultures used to cannibalise other members of their society as funerary practices as early as twenty-four thousand years ago,” Spencer said, and she stopped fidgeting to listen to him, “There’s evidence that the Magdelanians in North Europe used to turn their dead’s skulls into cups they would then drink out of,”
“That I can understand, those guys were probably starving and it’s not like they can just chow down on a damn sabertooth as an easy lunch or something,” She said, and he bit his lip from stopping her to explain that the two of them were about four thousand years apart from one another, “But like, when there’s a burger king or taco bell on every corner, why are you eating women. Who eats women for breakfast lunch and dinner, like raise your hands which one of you would ever eat a woman,”
Luke sniggered, and Matt smirked at the innuendo of it, the double meaning of her words flying entirely over her head.
“I dunno, Alvez, do you like eating women?” Simmons asked, a smug grin in his words as the boys cackled childishly, and Spencer rolled his eyes with amusement.
“Pretty partial to it actually,” Luke chimed in, and she whirled in her seat to look behind her of scepticism, “How about you, Reid?”
“You guys are so weird,” She murmured, and Spencer took a quick glance off the road to see her looking entirely baffled, her feathers ruffled at the fact she was left out of the joke.
“They’re talking about oral sex,” He explained, because he remembered when that had been him for the longest time, and how it had made him feel like the butt of every punchline to not understand why everyone would smile at him knowingly, yet he found himself doing the exact same to her, his lips twitching at their corners.
Spencer watched her scoff, looking back at the two grown children in the back, “I take it back, you guys aren’t weird, your gross. Why can’t you be mature like Spencer?” She huffed, sitting back in her seat and fixing her skirt, “See if you were grownups like Agent Reid and I, you’d know the term isn’t eating a woman, it’s called focalratio,”
Matt pulled a face of confusion, flicking his eyes to her, “Isn’t that to do with a camera lens?”
“Do you mean fellatio?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest not to smirk because he didn’t want to make her feel stupid, except she just waved a hand at him.
“That’s what I said. I see why they call you Doctor Read and not Doctor Listen,” She giggled at her own words, watching the trees go by her passenger window, almost entirely oblivious to the way Spencer’s face cracked into a grin, something easy and charmed in his chest.
And for a moment, he saw exactly what Penelope had been talking about when she wouldn’t stop talking about how likeable she was and how it was harder to hate her than it was to love her.
Luke took a sip of his water, the bottle nearing the end as the Florida sun warmed it up, and he figured he might as well finish it before it became stagnant and undrinkable.
“Actually the term fellatio describes only male genitalia, the female equivalent would be cunnilingus-” Spencer explained, and he knew she was listening because he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he spoke, except he was cut off by the sound of her screaming so loud he nearly slammed on the breaks then and there.
“LUKE!” She yelled, and when Spencer looked, she had water dripping down the back of her hair, soaking her shirt to her skin, her black bra straps suddenly clear as day as they pressed against her dove white top. Alvez looked mortified, and he found himself apologising between coughs, water dribbling down his chin where he’d been so shocked to hear that word coming from Spencer’s mouth that he’d completely forgone swallowing and simply spat the whole thing out right through the gap between the headrest and the seat.
And Spencer laughed; it was quiet and foreign and nothing on the roaring cacophony coming from Matt in the back, as her and Luke descended into a squabble, her proclaiming him as a disgusting alpaca man as she tried to dry herself off with his jacket. But she caught it, the small chuckle coming from her left, and she looked at him, the sodden shirt almost forgotten when she saw him laugh.
She thought then that she wanted to make him laugh like that a million more times. And she knew she had it bad for Spencer Reid all over again.
#em’s inbox ᯓ★#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#matthew gray gubler x reader#sunshine!reader#post prison!spencer reid x reader
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THE MOON DEGREES
based on numerology
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 1°/10°/19°/28° ₊˚⊹
People with their moon at these degrees are more likely to have impulsive emotional instincts. They may have been raised in a home where they weren’t listened to or heard and had to raise their voice or be aggressive to get their parents to listen to them which in turn has caused them to not be able to control their emotions well or handle arguments well. These people may come off as intimidating to others but deep down they’re just emotionally wounded from their childhood. The positive to these degrees is that you have strong manifestation abilities (especially 19°) and are capable of manifesting your desires into the physical reality. This is also considered a beauty indication as the moon can be associated with the face and 1 one of the numbers of beauty in numerology which all these numbers reduce to. These people are also ride or die for the people they care about and will never be afraid to stand up for their loved ones. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they must work hard for the things they want and be ambitious
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 2° ₊˚⊹
People with their moon at this degree are typically very peaceful and kind souls. They’re well liked by a lot of people and don’t prefer to burn bridges with people or create drama. They avoid conflict at all costs as it causes them a lot of anxiety and they don’t like hurting others. These people may amazing writers/authors as well as actors. They also tend to have a very admirable feminine beauty. The only downside to this moon degree is sometimes people with it can be a bit gossipy. If people with this moon degree want to create stability in life they must not get into too much conflict or gossip a lot
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 3°/12°/21° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees are not afraid to tell everyone how they’re feeling emotionally. They are great at communicating how they feel, however sometimes if they don’t learn to control it this can be a negative thing. Sometimes they share too much about their negative emotions towards other people and gossip a lot which can cause conflict in their life. These people tend to have very childlike energy which sometimes can manifest in a good way if they’re at a higher vibration and just make them fun to be around, but other times if they’re at a lower vibration in life, manifest as them being childish or immature. The positive thing about these moon degrees is they always know how to make people laugh and cheer them up. They’re also good at speaking up for things they have strong emotions towards. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they must learn to maturely communicate their emotions rather than immaturely do so
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 4°/13°/22° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees are very hard workers when it comes to things they care about and have emotional desire for. They may have had a challenging childhood and had to work really hard early in life. At times they can be aggressive or struggle with anger issues as well. The positive to people with these moon degrees is that they can become extremely wealthy through hard work. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they must surround themselves with others who have their life put together but also make sure they’re mentally and physically well on their own without the help from others. They should also try not to intimidate others in a negative way
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 5°/14°/23° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees tend to be very good looking as they all reduce to 5 and 5 is the number of societal beauty in numerology. They are quite sexual but not just with anyone. They must have an emotional connection with you to desire you sexually but when they do have that strong emotional connection and care toward you they are extremely sexual people. Be careful though if you do have these degrees because you can get pregnant more easily and unexpectedly than others. The challenging part of these degrees in your moon is that you may move on fast romantically and not be able to settle for one person easily. These people are also very entertaining people and could do really well in the entertainment industry. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in their life they must travel when they’re down and never surround themselves with people who restrict them in life. They need lots of freedom to be happy/stable
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 6°/15°/24° ₊˚⊹ - tw: weight
People with these moon degrees are very family oriented even if they happened to have a rough upbringing they still have unconditional love for their family that’s hard to let go of. These people are amazing friends and really good parents. They have an extremely nurturing aura and caring nature that makes others very comfortable around them. The only challenges that may come with these degrees are emotional pain involving weight, stubbornness, or just laziness at times. These people tend to be homebody’s and usually just enjoy chillin at home with their pets (if they have any). If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they must be responsible and surround themselves with people who appreciate them. These degrees can also be a beauty indication since 6 in numerology is ruled by venus
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 7°/16°/25° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees may have lots of struggles in their relationships with their family and unfortunately often take the bad habits they learn from their parents into their romantic relationships. They sometimes can struggle with living in the past as well. They usually don’t want to have their own children and probably shouldn’t (other than 16°). They naturally do well emotionally spending majority of their time alone and focusing on themselves. On a more positive note though they’re extremely intelligent and analyze others quickly. These people tend to be very spiritually connected as well and may even be psychic. They tend to be more on the introverted side. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they should let go of the past, pay close attention to their intuition, and stop gambling with things they shouldn’t
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 8°/17°/26° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees live a very karmic life. More karmic than most. Any time they hurt someone without reason of defense they will receive karma back very quickly emotionally. The same also happens when others hurt them. They will receive lots of emotional karma fast. These people can live a great life or horrible one depending on how they choose to treat people. They should kill people with kindness for the most part though. These people can be very materialistic and care a lot of materialistic things. They tend to have very good judgment and are easily able to tell if someone is a good person or not or if they’re in a challenging situation or not. They at worst can be vengeful, greedy, controlling, or abuse their power at times. On a more positive note though they make great business men/women/etc and are very powerful people. They tend to be poor when young but as an adult become wealthy. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they should stop taking advantage of people and never be abusive or cruel toward others
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 0°/9°/18°/27° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees adapt super quickly to their surroundings/who they surround themselves with. If they hang out with losers they will become a loser. If they hang out with successful people they will become successful. These people are either the best people you’ll ever meet or the worst. There’s never an in between. They hold the power to whether they’ll have a good life or not. At worst they could struggle with addiction, be too much of a follower (in a negative way), be violent, lie a lot, or be hurt others because of their ego. They also tend to be the black sheep of their family. On a more positive note though these people are very intelligent and extremely powerful manifestors. They are very good at art because they often can use their emotions toward it with success. They’re extremely good looking if they don’t have lots of negative karma. They also tend to be good at acting because they’re good at pretending to be someone they’re not. If people with these moon degrees want to create stability in life they must surround themselves with people that have what they want and never try to scam others
₊˚⊹ MOON AT 11°/20°/29° ₊˚⊹
People with these moon degrees are extremely spritual souls. They often have dreams that will tell them things about the future. They are the most likely to be psychic out of all the other degrees as well. At worst they can be overly sensitive or violent due to emotions. On a positive note though they tend to be very charming and kind people, old souls, and they often make good athletes. If these people want to create stability in their life they need to learn to control their emotions more
₊˚⊹ BONUS MOON DEGREE NOTES ₊˚⊹
— The moon at 25° or 29° can indicate being seen as extremely beautiful to a lot of people
— The moon at 27° can make someone extremely spirtual and intelligent. The downside is they could struggle with things like addiction or romance
— The moon at 5°/14°/15°/23°/25° can grant good physical health or mean you care a lot about your health
— The moon at 24° can also grant wealth
— The moon at 23° can sometimes indicate being unfaithful to your partners
— 18°/28° live a more karmic life than 8°/17°/26° people
as always please do not copy my work and remember that your entire chart matters. this is about isolated placements alone
#astrology#astrology blog#astrology chart#birth chart#astrology community#astro community#moon degrees#moon degree#moon#moon astrology#degrees in astrology#astrology degrees#degree astrology#numerology#numerology blog#matrix#beauty astrology#numerstrology#33#13
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BOOTHILL HEADCANONS
author's notes
just some silly goofy headcanons for Boothill because he's a cutie patootie and I love him
fem!reader, completely SFW
♡ and ⥩ are appreciated!
※ He always patiently waits for you to finish applying sunscreen or moisturizer to his face before he can finally go shooting bad guys to his heart's content. Most of the time he jokes around or teasingly dodges your hands; sometimes he mumbles that this is embarassing and he really doesn't care, sweetie, come on, but he will always give you a kiss as a token of gratitude. Because, trust me, he does care.
※ Loves snapping his teeth at you. It's a (weirdly charming) sign of affection, a habit Boothill took up pretty early in your relationship. You teasingly call it a cute aggression and he doesn't deny it. However, if he does that in public at someone else, you better get a hold of him and scatter away because the man is getting pissed.
※ Oh, he absolutely will blow raspberries on your neck whenever he has a chance to hug you from behind. And he's as sly as an old fox, lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle kisses and nuzzles — just to violently strike a poor, helpless you and dance away laughing joyfully.
※ Your first kiss with Boothill was that of desperation — he just barely made it out alive from one of the IPC warehouses, his left leg limp and dragging lifelessly across the floor, a few bullet holes adorning his signature hat, thankfully not lost in the heat of a battle. He looked no better than a wild ragged coyotte, a pitiful thing, an unsightly creature smelling of rot and blood, but upon seeing him, safe and relatively sound, your heart swelled with tenderness and your eyes — with hot tears. You wanted to kiss him then and there, and he anticipated as much, grabbing your face in his hands, firm yet gentle, and all but smashing your lips together. Perhaps, it was a shatter of all your dreams about a romantic first kiss, but at that moment it was the most perfect one...
...Or was it? As tender and loving as Boothill was with you, his tongue still tasted like oil and gunpowder. He laughed it off the first time you made a face, but since then he's made a mental note to always carry a bag of candies and lollipops with him.
※ He's the type of guy to randomly get you fresh field flowers.
Also the type to dance with you while holding one in his teeth. There is a whole anecdote about him picking an unknown flower that turned out to be quite poisonous and suffering from tongue swelling half a day after that. Don't bring this story up, though, his male ego is still recovering.
※ Boothill's upbringing obliges him to treat women with courtesy and respect. He may look like a heartbreaker to some, but in truth, his mindset is that of a traditional man. This said, he loves referring to you as a 'woman'. His woman. He relishes the fact and there is so much pride, so much infatuation and genuine awe behind this word every time he all but purrs it out. It's a strangely specific nickname of his, and no matter how unusual it might have sounded to you at first, now your heart flatters every time you hear it drip from his lips. After all, you are his woman and he is your handsome cowboy.
He might however bark at you when you're pestering him. Something in the lines of 'I'm busy, woman, what are ya yapping 'bout?'. Naturally, he never uses it as a means to offend and will put a bullet through the head of anyone who dares belittle you like that. The unspoken rule of a cowboy says: never criticize another gentleman's hat, horse and wife. And Boothill is very serious about his rules, even if technically you are not his wife (yet).
※ He adores it when you dress up for him. No matter how often or seldom you do that, no matter what exactly you're wearing — a cute cocktail dress or a strict suit — he would whistle low and stride right to you with the air of a beau who just saw the girl he'd buy a drink for. His sultry pretentious flirting never fails to make you giggle.
※ Boothill will always find time for you. No matter how many light days separate you from each other, no matter how busy the schedule or how dangerous the enemies, he can never really get you out of his head. You are always there, his little beacon of light, and he knows that you're waiting for him with worry and hope. He hates telling you that you can't come with him this time; hates seeing your smile drop and your fingers fidget anxiously as you watch him step on an unknown land. He misses you dearly five minutes into the mission, so he calls you as often as he can, showing you all the pictures he took or all the things he got for you as souvenirs. When it comes to your messages or calls there is never really bad timing for Boothill — an inconvenient one, perhaps, but even the heat of the battle will not stop him from picking up. He might even consider against shooting the poor son of a bitch that let him talk to you peacefully out of courtesy, but we will see about that.
※ Ever since you came into his life, Boothill's spending habits have gotten somewhat healthier. The thing is — the guy is loaded, yet money never held any real interest for him. After all, he became a hunting dog not for the promise of fresh bones, it was more of a pleasant bonus rather than a necessity. Most of his credits were spent on oil for his spaceship and himself, some repairs here and there, bullets and, surprisingly, booze — now unable to fully experience the harmful effects of a few bottles of whiskey a day, Boothill drinks it in the same manner some people chew on their gum. However you and your loyal companionship awoke something within him, something he thought died many miserable years ago. An urge to care. And it came so naturally to him, too. It was very easy, on a level of subconscious, for him to pick up the habit of buying you food — the one he knows you like, of the highest quality. Or making sure you have an outfit for any occasion in your life and enough space to store them all. Or that all your beauty and health treatments are paid for. Or... and the list goes on and on. Boothill is a man who will respect you for wanting to be independent, sure, but will not shame you for wanting to be provided for.
English is not my native language. So please, if you see any mistakes in grammar, punctuation or spelling, or simply think that something sounds weird, let me know! Ty!
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NSFW alphabet – op81
author's note: hello again, rushed to finish this after quali today. mclaren second row lockout heck yes !!! anyways idk what i think about this one, first time posting something abt oscar in many months?? hope u enjoy tho :)
nsfw content below !! minors dni !!!
a – aftercare (what he is like after sex)
oscar is the biggest sweetheart after sex (when isn't he, though?). so so so gentle and caring for your every need. he'll be forcing you to drink some water, making sure you're cleaned up properly, helping you out with soothing lotions if your skin is sore.
lots of lots of kisses! forehead, nose, cheek, temple kisses, and especially little pecks on your lips. he loves having you rest on his chest after it all, fingers brushing along your skin or tangling in your hair. and there will be so many praises, "you did so well" and "you felt so good" and "you look gorgeous right now, did you know?"…
b – body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner's body)
oscar has a thing for collarbones. they're like a magnet to his lips; his lips are automatically drawn to them. he loves to brush his thumb along them, seeing you shiver when he places fleeting kisses on top of them, and most importantly leaving little lovebites for only the two of you to see and know about. oscar is also in love with your breasts, no matter how big or small they are.
can't believe i almost forgot to write your eyes… i will get back to this later but your eyes are definitely one of his favorite things about you. watching you blink up at him innocently, watching your eyes flutter closed, watching them roll to the back of your head… oh he's smitten.
on his own body, he really likes his thighs. if he got to choose, he would have you sitting on his lap at all times. 24/7, no matter the occasion. the sight of you getting off just by riding his thigh is one of his absolute favorites, he loves flexing his muscles under you and guiding your hips down onto him.
c – cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
since he's a fan of your boobs (well, everything in the chest area, to be fair), he loves to pull out and spill his load over your breasts. he won't do it every time, but he savors the chances he gets. totally has a few pics of you with his cum all over your chest, dripping along your collarbones, saved for the moments when he misses you the most.
d – dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his)
maybe not a dirty secret per se, but oscar has a little submissive streak... he sure does love begging a little, pouting and whining to get what he wants. and i mean, who could say no to these eyes looking up at you?
e – experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?)
well oscar went to school for longer than a lot of other racing drivers, and boarding school for that matter, so i think he's been able to get quite a bit of experience. he knows a lot, but it's more important to him to get to know you and what you like. his prior experience doesn't matter as much as the experience he gains together with you.
f – favorite position (this goes without saying)
oscar thinks you're the most gorgeous thing ever so you bet he doesn't want to spend even a second not getting to look into your pretty eyes. anything where he can watch your face contort or relax, and your eyes squeeze shut or blink up at him, makes him so weak. he loves a classic missionary, especially if he gets to hike one of your legs over his hip and especially if you put a pillow under your lower back because he knows you love it. and when you're enjoying himself, he enjoys himself, too.
seeing you ride him makes him a little crazy though, but don't expect him to keep his eye contact with you during it; his eyes will be firmly glued onto your boobs as they bounce up and down, he can't help it.
g – goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)
oscar is a soft giggler during sex. he isn't overly serious but not overly humorous either, just a good mix. he's low laughs when you're whining for him, playful coos as reactions to your impatience, and a lot of "baby, let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" with teasing smiles. he's just not scared of a little humor because sex doesn't have to be so strict to him; it's just a cozy time you spend together and he wants you to be as comfortable and relaxed as you can.
h – hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
he's no naked rat, but he likes to keep things neat. a bit trimmed, not super short but also not long. though i also feel like he definitely adjusts to your likes and what you find attractive.
i – intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)
sex isn't just fucking to him; sex is lovemaking. he loves to be romantic with it. celebrating birthdays or anniversaries in your bedroom with little candles everywhere to set the mood, rose petals in a heart on the bed, with a cozy bubble bath after. and even when it's not a big occasion, he's very soft and romantic. he has a few playlists he loves to put on, he knows exactly what to say to get you in the mood and where to press his lips to draw out your oh so sweet sounds. oscar is all gentle touches and soft glances.
j – jack off (masturbation headcanon)
that one time when you accidentally walked in on him jacking off because you came home early from work/school, he was so extremely flustered – but he also found it very arousing. when you asked him if you could help him out, he couldn't help his hasty nods and the way his heart skipped a few beats in his chest. watching you settle on his lap, your hands starting where his had left off, fingers brushing up and down along him teasingly... from that day, he replays the image of you giving him a handjob in his mind whenever he does it himself, and he loves to get your help whenever he doesn't have a lot of time but needs to get off before a race etc.
k – kink (one or more of his kinks)
marking. 100%. he'll be lowkey and casual with it, not really saying much about it, but after a while you come to the realization that he leaves quite a lot more lovebites than anyone you've been with before. the inside of your thighs, your hips, your ribs... but especially your chest area. they won't usually be where anyone can see, because he likes to keep your sex life private, but there have been occasions when he's been a bit extra riled up (or jealous) and he just couldn't back from leaving trails of hickeys down your neck. he just adores the thought of you having a physical reminder of who you belong to, even if they fade after a while.
l – location (favorite places to do the do)
your bedroom is the #1 favorite, but he's okay with other places too. he especially likes your bathtub, especially when the lights are dimmed and you've got some pretty candles spread out in the room (and downed a few glasses of wine possibly).
m – motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)
oscar loves lingerie. if you wore any lingerie, he would be turned on instantly. he just can't help it. i also feel like he's the type to just get turned on from mundane, domestic things. like, seeing you cooking? watching you do your nighttime routine? it's a reminder him that you're there, you're real, and you're his. there's nothing hotter than that.
during the actual lovemaking, he gets a little crazy whenever you say his name. especially when you're about to come and his name slips from your lips in the form of a breathless whimper and he can feel your insides contract around him. it could make him come instantly.
n – no (something he wouldn't do, turn-offs)
nothing where there's even the slightest chance that you'll injure yourself. nuh uh. he also dislikes things where you won't be able to easily quit if anything were to happen, like bonding. the idea of you being tied up when the fire alarm goes off or you get a panic attack makes his skin crawl, it's his worst nightmare.
o – oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
i don't think he has anything against receiving it, but it won't happen unless you initiate it. he's very certain about not pressuring you in that way; he knows it's not always your favorite thing to do and he respects that.
i see him as someone who loves to give it, though. especially if he can take his time with you, rile you up with soft kisses and gentle caresses of your skin.
p – pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
oh i totally see oscar as more slow and sensual. as we've covered already, sex is lovemaking to him, and he's in no rush. he wants to enjoy every second of it, and make sure you do too. foreplay can last for an eternity with him because he loves preparing you for what's to come.
q – quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
he'd rather take his time with you and do it properly. if he really needs to blow off some steam, he'd rather just jack off or have you help him out if you don't have any time. if you're going to have sex, he wants to not be in any rush, and he wants to have time to properly take care of you after.
r – risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)
he's definitely open to experiment. he might want to try more things than he's willing to admit; even though he's fully comfortable with you by now, something still makes him a bit nervous about talking to you about it. he wants to find a 'good opportunity' to bring the idea up, but it might take him some courage to do it. he'll be very gentle, shy eyes blinking at you, voice soft… "only if you're okay with it, of course!" and "you really have to tell me if you don't want to. you have to promise me", maybe even making you pinky promise that you indeed do want to try the thing.
he'd be over the moon if you insinuated it, though. anything you're up for, he's automatically up for, too.
s – stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)
i think his stamina is quite good. when i say that he loves taking his time with you, i mean it in that way, too; he can go on for hours. if he needs to take a break, then he'll start focusing on you and making you feel good instead. neither of you will ever get tired, he just keeps on going until he's satisfied.
t – toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)
i wouldn't say he's the biggest fan of them, but he doesn't have anything against them, either. he's much happier if he gets to be the person to make you feel so good. though, the thought of you using your toys on yourself when he's not around really gets him going, and if anything, he's okay with you using them on yourself even when you're together. (fic abt osc watching you use your vibrator hereee)
u – unfair (how much he likes to tease)
not as much as some other people (*cough cough* his teammate *cough cough*) but he does enjoy it. he really likes teasing fingers dragging up and down your ribs, fleeting kisses all over your skin, brushing your hair away from your face as you're waiting for him to do something.
he does it in a gentle and sweet way that should be interpreted as just cute but it makes you furious sometimes? because he can be so slow it's infuriating and you want him to just get on with it already. he'll be pretending to think things through or fiddle with a belt, and you'll just go crazy because he should be touching you but he's just finding a bunch of excuses to keep you on your toes. he loves to see you squirming and whining beneath him, holding your hands away easily with a 'tsk' when you try to release some of your tension yourself since he's so goddamn slow. (blurb ish on this topic hereeee)
v – volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)
a lot of heavy breathing. i see him as a groaner, but he's not overly loud with it. he lovesss to talk you through it, though. "are you ready? is this okay? tell me if i need to pause. that feels so good, you're doing so good."
w – wild card (a random headcanon)
oscar LOVES praising you. it just happens naturally because he thinks you're doing so well and he loves you so much, he must tell you. "that's perfect, love. i love it when you do that. god, you feel so good. look at you, taking me so well. and looking so beautiful while doing it? there's no one as good as you..."
x – x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)
just a bit longer than average but it's the thickness that makes him stand out. even after being together for a long while, it takes you a good amount of foreplay to stretch out for him, and it still feels like he's splitting you open once he finally slips fully into you.
y – yearning (how high is his sex drive?)
nothing too special i'd say, he loves a good few rounds but he enjoys a sweet, romantic night of another kind just as much.
z – zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterward)
a sleepy boy in general but most of the time, he gets a little energy boost out of sex instead. he will be the last to fall asleep pretty much every time, which is also because he just wants to enjoy the moment for as long as he can before eventually falling asleep. he adores having you in his arms after doing his aftercare routines, drawing little shapes into your skin as you start to fall asleep. once asleep, though, he sleeps so well & heavy. it'll take three alarms and you bribing him with kisses for him to actually wake up before 1pm.
#f1#formula 1#formula one#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x yn#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri scenario#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x yn#f1 x y/n#f1 smut#f1 fluff#mclaren#mclaren racing
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viva las vegas - mv1 (+18)
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where you and Max celebrate his win in a way you’ve never done before.
Pairing: max verstappen x reader
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, having sex tipsy but there is consent?, manhandling, unprotected sex (are you even surprised at this point), oral (fem receiving), sex (duh), cursing, cockwarming (oops), minors dni!!
Request: “Hey babe! I’m obsessed with your last Charles piece, I’ve been wanting to read something like that for such a long time and you did it perfectly 😍🥹 I was wondering if I could request kind of the same concept with Max Verstappen? Like he always is pictured as a tough guy and stuff, but when you see him in videos he’s kind of a goof, so I imagine the first time he’s intimate with his gf they’d both laugh and have the sweetest time together”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! is this my best work? no but it is something i managed to get done for the first time in like a month so here it is!! finishing this fic was a journey within itself, but i can honestly say that it was also kind fun? also, i saw a picture of max in his suit from vegas and that just inspired this whole thing, so i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.
Max is buzzing with life, quite literally, you can feel him practically buzzing the whole time he’s trying to take you back to your hotel room as fast as possible. It’s most likely due to the amount of alcohol the two of you have consumed after the race. Honestly it is pure luck that you found your way back to your room, given your current state, but instead of joining you when you jump on the bed, revelling in its comfort, he chooses to stand at the end of the bed as he watches you with an entertained smile on his face.
“What?” you ask, a laugh washing through you as you raise yourself on your elbows, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He lets his eyes wander over your figure, his smile becoming more boyish as he lets it widen on his face, “You look pretty,” he murmurs, bending down so he can lower himself over your body better, “have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?”
“Um, yeah, Maxie,” you giggle as you point out, “you’ve been telling me that the entire night.” Using your hands as support while raising yourself more so that you could be face to face with him, “I think you look pretty too, you know?”
“Yeah?” Max murmurs, cradling your jaw in one of his hands, his thumb quick to caress the apple of your cheek, which causes you to lean into his touch. “What if I wanted to kiss you, would that be okay?”
The smile you offer him in return is sweet, the way your eyes seem to shine at the offer of feeling his lips against yours makes his heart beat faster in his chest. “Yes, please.” Your voice is softer, almost comes out as a whisper due to you suddenly feeling out of breath.
And who is he to deprive his girl?
He doesn’t waste any time pressing his lips against your awaiting ones, in fact, the movement of his lips are rushed, if not almost desperate. It's as if he can't get enough, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away like sand through his fingers. The taste of alcohol lingers on both your lips, and normally you would be weirded out about it, but you realise it only adds to the intensity of the kiss you’re sharing with Max. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as he deepens the kiss, and you find yourself responding eagerly. You let him take control, mostly because it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in his kiss. He’s lost in it too, if you had to guess, because the way his tongue is fighting over yours for dominance is so different compared to the way Max usually kisses you. You whine at the loss of his lips when he reluctantly pulls away, and if he wasn’t already hard, the sound makes Max’s cock instantly harder. His head is thrown back, eyes closed as he lets out a groan, and he has to stop himself from pulling you in for another kiss. But you clearly have other plans as you drag your lips down towards his jawline, leaving kisses in a random pattern until you reach that one specific point on his neck that absolutely drives him crazy.
And you know it’s only a matter of time until he stops you, again, as he has done for the past whatever months of your relationship. It’s not that you are not attracted to each other, because the attraction is as clear as day, and you have done stuff – not sex, but stuff. You’re not sure Max does that, but you also don’t want to be the one who pressures him into having sex with you if he doesn’t want to. Unbeknownst to you, the same goes for Max, who thinks you’re not ready to have sex with him and wants your first time together to be as special as possible.
So no, you’re not surprised as he gently peals himself from you, causing you to whine again at the loss of him, but instead he gives you a small kiss on the forehead as he mumbles, “Why don’t you take a shower? We’ll go to bed after that.”
“Is that your way of telling me I smell?” You ask in a playful tone, and he responds to you with a roll of his eyes. “What if I don’t want to go to sleep?”
“No?” He asks, actively searching your expression for any sign of discomfort or reluctance. “We’ve had a long day, are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep?” The look you give him in return for his question is enough, and he knows this, but he also wants to actually hear the words, so he points, “Use your words, liefje.”
A puff of breath leaves your lips in annoyance, but, nonetheless, you give him the best puppy dog eyes you can muster as you whine, “Please Maxie, you know what I want.”
“Do I?” He muses, pulling you onto his lap as he ghosts his lips across your jaw. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Maxie,” you drag out his name, whining as your attempt at rolling your hips against his thighs don’t work. “You are being mean.”
“Oh, baby,” he mockingly copies your pout, “I’m sorry. Can I apologise with a kiss?” To make his point, he presses a couple of soft kisses along your jawline.
“Will you kiss me the way I like?” You ask, slightly out of breath, but his agreement that comes in the form of a hum makes you smile mischievously. His lips trail more kisses towards the neckline of your dress, and eventually through the valley between your breasts that is exposed by the lack of fabric. And you have every intention to let him have his way with you, you really do – after all, he won another great race. But a part of you also knows that making him suffer, even if just a little bit, in the process is so much more fun. So, just as he’s about to free of your breasts from the bustier of your dress, you quickly move away, slipping from his hands, trying your hardest not to laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. “On second thought, I think I’m going to take that shower after all.”
“I—what?” Max mumbles, his slightly swollen lips pulled in a pout, and you can’t help but give him a small kiss.
“I’ll see you after my shower, Max Emilian.” Sauntering over to the bathroom, you make sure to add an extra sway to your hips – and the sigh that Max leaves cause the smirk on your face to grow.
It’s pure torture for Max to wait until you come out of the shower. Not that he doesn’t think about just joining you, especially after the show you just put on, but that would be giving into what you want – and though Max is a generous lover, he is also stubborn. He is more than happy to give you what you want, as long as it is on his terms. And so, he waits patiently, until you come out of the bathroom, a robe draped over your body, and he can’t help himself but let his eyes roam over your body.
“How was your shower?” Max asks, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, a wolfish grin curving up on his lips. He rests his hands behind his head, relaxing onto the pillows behind him. He watches you give him a shrug, the soft-looking material sliding of your shoulder slightly as you collect your hair onto your shoulder. “Are you giving me the silent treatment, pretty girl?”
There’s a coy smile on your face as you shake your head, once, twice, as your teeth press down on your bottom lip. Max wants nothing more than to release your lip, pull you into his lap and have his way with you, but no. No, because Max is nothing if not disciplined. “Come here,” he asks, straightening up in his place. You, being the ever-loving girlfriend you are, oblige his request. “That is a nice robe,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he grabs the towelette belt with the tips of his finger, “is it as soft as it looks?”
“Mhm-hm,” you nod, “do you want to feel it?”
“Do I want to feel it?” Max muses, “Sure.” His arms wrap around your middle so quickly that you don’t realise he’s pulling you into his lap at first. But he positions you with your legs on the either side of his. “You’re right, liefje, it is very soft.” His hands roam on your body over the soft material, but soon enough, his hands dipping underneath it to feel your skin. His eyebrows shoot upwards, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips, “No underwear?”
“Well, I just came out of the shower, Maxie.” You give him an innocent look, shrugging once against as you rest your hands against his shirt-clad chest. “The shower pressure was great, you should’ve joined me.”
He lets out a noncommittal hum, his hands roaming on your bare skin, revelling in the softness. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” He’s methodical as he slightly shifts you in his lap, tearing a gasp from the back of your throat. That gets a satisfied smile from him, “Something wrong?”
“N-no,” you mumble, shifting again to get the same feeling, but his hands still you in your place. “Maxie,” you whine, silently pleading with your eyes.
“Am I being mean again?” He asks, attentive eyes fixed on you, “I would offer to make it up to you with a kiss, but you seem to find ways to evade me when I do.”
“No,” you whine again, lips pouted in disagreement. “I promise I won’t this time.”
His eyebrows shoot up again with amusement, “Oh, yeah? Shall we test that theory, pretty girl?” The smile you give him is shy, but the way you nod is nothing short of coy. With a satisfied sound leaving his lips, he quickly presses his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss, immediately, when you feel him deepening the kiss, more than happy to surrender yourself to him and let Max take the lead. Though, that doesn’t necessarily stop you from attempting to relieve the pressure between your legs by rolling your hips against his thighs. Your efforts, however, prove to be useless as he stops the movement before you can actually relieve any of it. He slowly pulls away, pushes a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear and tuts – condescendingly, you might add – “Slow down, liefje, I think I’ve had enough speed for one day.”
Groaning at his words, “But Maxie,” you whine, dragging out his name as you let your hands wander on his chest over his shirt and receive a warning look from him in return, “I promise I’ll be good, please just fuck me.”
“Baby,” he coos, his fingers working quickly to unfasten the belt of your robe and push the offending clothing off your shoulders, “I literally just told you to be patient, no?”
You ignore the raised eyebrow, the look of faux-disappointment, and even the way his fingers grab your waist because you’re too busy trying to get him out of his shirt, suddenly feeling too exposed as you sit on his lap naked. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, peppering kisses across the column of his throat as your hands make their way inside his shirt, “I’ll be patient next time.”
“I’m suddenly realising that I spoil you very much,” Max mumbles, pulling his head back to get a look at you.
Pulling back as well you give him a mischievous grin, “Maybe, but you’ll give me what I want this time as well.”
“Yeah?” He asks, “Why?”
“Because I think I’m getting your pants very messy right now.”
Max can’t help the groan that escapes past his lips, his eyes quickly following yours as he takes in the ‘damage’ your wetness has caused on his jeans. He takes a moment to assess the damage, drags his eyes up to look at you when he notices the way your eyes stay fixed down, as your nervously bite down on your lower lip. He loses all the composure he managed to muster up, and he finally gives in, quickly pushing you off him onto the pillows on the bed. The squeal that leaves you is followed by a string of giggles that leave your lips, and when Max looks at you, he takes in the darker look in your widened eyes.
“I was going to be patient; I can’t believe you’re making me not be patient.” He mumbles, taking off his shirt and the rest of his clothes before starting to leave kisses on your feverish skin as he slides down your body and places himself between your thighs.
You open your legs wider to accommodate his body, a breathy laugh escaping past your lips. “You mean, impatient?”
That earns you a nip on your upper thigh and a warning look, but instead of commenting on your quip, he lowers his face, keeps his eyes locked to yours and gets to work. And it’s not that you and Max haven’t done stuff – because it’s the opposite; although you haven’t had sex, it’s safe to say that the two you have explored every option bordering on sex. But how he’s acting right now is much different than the way how he is usually with you. His movements are almost rushed, and the way he drags his tongue through your folds is just enough for your eyes to roll back as your moans fill the room.
Normally, he would be extra careful and make sure he is being gentle with you; but right now, he’s just trying to savour you before he loses all his composure. A choppy gasp leaves you as you feel his fingers enter you – two at first, and the way he pumps them in and out of you makes breathing harder. The speed of his fingers matches his tongue, and for a moment, you think you’re going to pass out. With his free hand, he blocks any type of movement you try with your hips; his palm sneakily presses down on your lower stomach to keep you in your place, but it’s jokes on him because if anything, it just makes you feel even better, and you’re not shy to let him know just how much he’s making you feel good with your moans.
“Max,” you say his name in a breathy whimper, fingers threading through his hair to guide him, “fuck, I’m so close.” You can practically feel the way his lips curl up, and suddenly, everything about his actions gets faster. His fingers are pistoning in and out of you in an unforgiving pace, in sync with his tongue that works your clit just the same. So, it’s no surprise when you find yourself coming on his tongue as his name leaves your lips for the umpteenth time like a prayer.
The smirk he gives you when he pulls himself from between your legs is sinful – he looks absolutely debauched with the way his lips glisten with your release, and he wastes no time before coming up, and capturing your lips in yet another bruising kiss. But this time, you taste yourself on his tongue and this time it makes you lose the whatever little resolve you’ve had left. So, you hook your leg around his thigh to push him next to you on the bed as you practically throw him next to you on the bed.
Though he has other plans.
Of course.
So, as you’re trying to fight the seventy-kilogram-something driver into staying under you on the bed, he has no problem manhandling you into rolling on your side. And as you’re pressed flush against his chest, you turn your head backwards to breathlessly whisper, “You promised, Max.”
“And I am a man of my word, aren’t I?” He retorts, his hand that is splayed on your thigh positions it so that it’s bent towards your stomach, “Just needed to get you ready.” You can’t help the guttural moan that escapes you when you feel him pressing the tip of his cock into your entrance. The pleading look you give him must’ve worked, because this time it’s his turn to let out a guttural moan as he pushes himself into you. There is no sign of his mood from mere moments ago as you feel his hands caress your bare hip, an entitled smirk on his lips as he asks, “Out of breath?”
“Fuck you,” your response comes out as a breathy laugh as you’re pushing your hips closer to his to take him deeper.
“Lifje, you are fucking me.” Max giggles into the crook of your neck as he pushes himself in fully. You would be furious with him if it didn’t make you laugh also, and although the laughing decrease, the smiles remain on both your faces as he starts slowly moving his hips.
It’s sweet, unbelievably sweet, considering the sexual tension that was in the room an hour ago, but the way Max is fucking you can only be described as sweet. His hands caress every part of your body that he can reach – your thighs, to your hips, to your stomach, to your chest and then wraps one of his hands around your throat; not in a way that is rough, but in a way that he can still keep you still as he captures your lips for another kiss. The movement of his hips is languid, almost lazy as drive into you, but he still manages to hit all the spots along the way. Breathy chuckles are exchanged when he pulls away for you to organise your breathing, but your smiles still stay on, even when he raises your bent leg and rests his on his own leg. The new angle makes your moans get louder, your hips to move against his faster, and you can feel your orgasm approach speedily.
But Max is so in tune with your body that he knows what’s coming (or rather who) before you get a chance to actually have to say anything. His hand slides down your body so that he can press his fingers to your clit and move them in tight circles, and as if it was possible, his you can suddenly feel him fucking you even deeper. “You are going to come for me pretty girl, I can feel it.” He murmurs into your skin, and all you can offer as an answer is a nod and an affirmative whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Come on, give it to me, come on my cock.” And though he is not the most verbal person to ever exist, except for when he’s in the mood to be an absolute yapper, his words urge you to let go of the feeling that has been starting to brew in your stomach.
Your hips start moving to meet his in choppy movements as you seek any and all kinds of pleasure to reach your high, and he meets your every move with increasing intensity of his own. “Max, yes!” Your exclamation hits his ears as he hits that one particular spot, making you instantly become lax in his arms as he guides you through your orgasm. His name spills out from your lips in constant repetition, “So good, so good,” you keep mumbling in breathless whimpers, trying to press yourself further into his body.
With all things considered, it doesn’t take Max long to reach his own high following your own, since you insistently move your hips in a way that makes you take his cock even deeper when he’s helping you ride your orgasm. So, when you hear him groaning your name in the crook of your neck and feel him spilling himself into you. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he croaks out, holding your hips in place with his hands splayed on your feverish skin. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”
“How am I supposed to know, dummy?” You ask, throwing your head back to get a good look of his dishevelled state, “Why do you look so good after mind blowing sex?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, pulling you with him as he lets himself fall back on the bed, “genetics?”
“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to find a comfortable position on his chest as he is still inside you, “remind me to send your mother a flower arrangement when we get back, or something.”
A deep blush covers his cheeks, as if he hasn’t been fucking you for the past hour or so, as he stammers, “I– I mean, yeah.” This time, it’s your turn to give a non-committal hum, followed by a satisfied sigh as you snuggle him closer and close your eyes. “Just go to sleep, baby, we can deal with it in the morning.”
“’Mkay,” you mumble, feeling his hand draw soothing circles on your back. “But you’re still gonna fuck me tomorrow, right?”
This gets another loud laugh from the driver laying down under you, and both of you know that he’s going to do just that when you wake up in the morning.
#monzabee#requests open#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 smut#formula 1#fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#imagine#fluff#angst#smut#max verstappen fluff#mas verstappen smut
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would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner
warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action
GIF by @littlecarmine
part one
part two
author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.
Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.
-.-.-
You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.
It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.
The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.
How much paperwork can one person do?
The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.
His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.
Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.
But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.
It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.
Where do you go from here?
When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.
It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.
Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.
“Hello? Hotch?”
There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.
Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.
“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”
“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”
“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”
You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”
So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.
He doesn’t really know why he came.
He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.
They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.
It’s very unclear what the next step is.
He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.
He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.
He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.
“No fucking way.”
He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.
He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.
“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”
His voice is quiet, unamused.
“Almost never.”
You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.
“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”
You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”
He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.
“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”
You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.
“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”
“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”
You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”
“So, this is what therapy is like?”
He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”
“Oh good.”
You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.
“Why are you not inside?”
“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”
He hums, unable to find anything else to say.
“Why are you here?
“I don’t know.”
He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.
“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”
Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.
“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’
His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”
“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”
His voice deepens, “I am aware.”
Heavy breathing.
“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”
“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”
“See, that’s even worse.”
You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.
“Did you come here straight from the office?”
A sigh, “Yeah.”
You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.
“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”
“I don’t think I ever can.”
You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.
“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”
A confession.
That, you did not expect.
“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”
“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”
He laughs quietly.
You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.
“I guess it has.”
You’re both quiet for a little while.
“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”
He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”
That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”
You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.
-.-.-
A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.
“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”
He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.
Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.
“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.
“Huh.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”
Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.
It is technically tomorrow now.
“How drunk?”
His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.
“Not that much.”
That’s all it takes.
His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.
You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.
It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?
He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.
“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”
His voice is low and breathy when he nods.
“Yeah…”
-.-.-
You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.
His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.
You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.
“Can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Do you need me to get you anything?”
He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.
“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”
His voice is soft – tired.
You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.
“I won’t be long.”
Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.
He is important to you too.
He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.
The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.
He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.
“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”
You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.
How close is close enough?
Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.
So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.
“Aaron.”
He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.
A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.
“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.
You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”
What matters is now.
He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.
“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”
The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.
You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.
Is everything in this house soft?
Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?
You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.
“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”
Please. Just be here, with him.
He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.
“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”
He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.
“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”
You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.
It’s the same, but it’s different.
He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.
You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.
He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”
“Jealous?”
He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comfort and you gently pull him to you.
He comes, of course.
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
“Of course you don’t.”
He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.
“What do you watch?”
“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”
“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?
“You would know.”
He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.
“Can we turn it on?”
You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.
“If you want.”
The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.
Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#thomas gibson
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I love your entire page, so I was thrilled to see that your requests are open. May I request a story with Daniel Ricciardo x Reader? Perhaps something where the reader is experiencing a moment of low self-esteem, comparing herself to his ex, and feeling down since they've recently started dating, yet the fans want his ex back. When Danny is dominant it makes me melt so perhaps a smut that is center on body worshipping yet leads to crazy back shots/missionary. He made you come multiple times and despite you trying to tap out , he’s not stopping anytime soon creating a big creamy mess 🫠
𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝟐
Summary: She’s the least favorite Formula One WAG. At first, she was optimistic, the fans would eventually get over it and maybe even start liking her—but she now knows that was a pretty naive thought. She’s constantly compared to Daniel’s ex-girlfriend—she’s not as pretty as her, she’s not as supportive as her, she’s not as popular as her, etc. Unfortunately, in a moment of low self-esteem—she breaks and thinks maybe the fans are right. Daniel, with a sixth sense of knowing when you’ve lost your mind, comes home and sees you gathering every belonging of yours that’s migrated to his apartment like you’re breaking up with him. He tries to change your mind with his words, but that doesn’t quite reassure you completely; so he has no choice but to do it with his actions, too.
Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader (her skin is described as brown)
Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. no beta we die like men. no srs it’s barely edited. angst with a happy ending. hurt/comfort. dom/sub undertones. arguing. breaking up/making up. those three little words. attempt at humor (a lil bit). implied subspace. insecure!reader. body worship. vaginal sex. oral sex (female receiving). online hate. overstimulation. protected sex. aftercare. this is dirty, i am so sorry.
Word Count: 5k words.
Author's Notes: okay it's a couple hours late, but i was hit with a little creative genius and i think you guys will really enjoy this one! and it's the longest one too! an entire five-thousand words wow. aren't you glad i added more to this masterpiece.
let me know what you think! xxxxx
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You’re trending on Twitter. No—not for one of your TikToks that you hope went viral, but under the hashtag #breakupwithherdaniel. Fans have decided to start a movement to make signs to take to the next Grand Prix, with pictures of your face posted next to that hashtag. In all of the tweets, they’re commenting on how they wished Daniel and his ex were still together, or comparing you to her, and saying that you’re toxic—you! In this situation, where none of the people online personally know you and take to bashing you on the internet; you are the toxic one! And that’s the last straw. You start packing your shit up into bags and whatever boxes you can find. A large amount of your belongings have migrated to Daniel’s apartment, even if you don’t officially live with him. You’ve been dating him for just over six months, and the entire time your relationship has been public his fans have harassed you.
They prefer his ex over you, it’s that simple. It probably doesn’t help that you’re not like one of the white models everybody thinks f1 drivers should date, but enough is enough. It didn’t bother you at first, you thought with just a little time everyone would calm down but the opposite has happened. They’ve only gotten worse and things have escalated to the point where it’s affecting your career and—you can’t take it anymore. And, maybe they’re right. Daniel doesn’t deserve to date a girl who can’t take the harsh eye of the media and fans. He’d be better off without you, and he might certainly be better off with his ex. She was there in his darkest times and his brightest successes. They ended on good terms so with a little charm, Daniel wouldn’t have a problem with getting back with her, surely.
You’re throwing your bags on the living room couch, pulling a suitcase you left here from when you last traveled with him to throw your shoes into. And then, you hear the door open.
Daniel’s happy voice carries to you from the entryway, “Baby, I’m home! I stopped at the store to pick up a slice of your favorite cake, because I know you’ve been needing some cheering up—”
You hear his steps halt as he sees you in the living room, bags and boxes filled to the brim with your stuff.
“Baby?” Daniel asks, “What’s this about? This is late for it to be spring cleaning.”
You shake your head, swallowing softly as you turn to meet his eyes, “I’m leaving, Daniel.”
“What?” Daniel says confused.
“Don’t make it any more difficult than it needs to be,” you start, unable to fight back your tears any longer, “Just let me get my stuff and leave.”
Daniel rushes to you, pulling you to look at him, holding your arms still when you try to push him away from you.
“You’ve got to give me more than that. You’re leaving—why? Is it something I did? Did I say something? How long have you felt like this? I could’ve—I can fix it, baby. Don’t leave me,” Daniel pleads, his own eyes radiating how hurt, confused, and disbelieving he feels, “I thought we were strong? We’re the closest to being perfect, I thought. We barely argue; and even when we do it’s resolved properly. I don’t yell, I don’t talk to other women, I don’t ignore your calls or messages, I’m not possessive, I’m not crazy–what can I do? For you to stay, what can I do?”
“Nothing, Daniel. You can’t change my mind. But—it’s not your fault, okay? It’s me,” you cry harder when Daniel scoffs at your response, “I’m serious, Danny. It’s my fault. I can’t take it anymore okay? You’re better off without me; I’m a distraction, I’m not as supportive as I should be, I’m not your type–you’d just perform and be happier without me, okay?”
“Fuck no,” Daniel emphasizes, “Who the hell is telling you that? Because I know you seriously don’t believe that. You’re the best thing to happen to me in my entire life, baby. You’re not a distraction, you support me tirelessly, and you sure as hell are my type. I can’t keep my hands off of you, you scold me all the time for that so, how can you say that ‘you’re not my type?’ I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you, ask anybody, baby.”
You groan angrily, “Not anybody! Have you asked your fucking fans? They sure as hell think that I’m the devil reincarnated. I can’t do anything publicly without being verbally harassed for it. I can’t dress the way I want to, I can’t act the way I want to, and I can’t even go to work! Your little fangirls are affecting my career—and I can’t do it anymore. They’ve won. I can’t take the judgment anymore, not for me just existing. You’d be happier with your ex, just like they want you to be.”
You and Daniel stare at each other silently, the air tense.
“What do you mean,” Daniel pauses, his jaw tightening, “What do you mean they’re affecting your career?”
“They’re threatening to fire me because of my image. They’re saying I’m smearing the company's appearance,” you sigh out, picking at your cuticles anxiously. Daniel grabs your hands, stopping you.
“I’m going to kill them, baby–”
“Daniel!” you cut him off, aghast.
“No, I don’t care,” He dismisses, “The nerve of them to convince you that you’re not good enough for me. I should’ve kept asking you if you were bothered by the negative attention, but ever since you told me that you could handle it, I never checked in. And, I failed to see that it was getting worse. Worse enough to make you think that you need to leave to escape it. I’m going to embarrass those fans publicly and I’m going to get the team to back me up. As far as your job, I always hated them anyway. I never liked how they would deny your vacation time even though you had the days—you should quit.”
You stare at him deadpan, “Daniel Ricciardo. I’m not quitting my job and I am also still leaving.”
“Mhm, no,” Daniel scoffs hysterically, “You’re not breaking up with me. And, you would have a better reason to quit, if you stayed with me. I’ll retire you and make you my trophy wife, please. Seriously, babe. Don’t leave. I should’ve dealt with the fans earlier, I know—it’s my fault that it even reached this point. Please, just stay with me.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur, crumbling into tears again, “They all seem to think your ex is a better fit and…I think I agree with them.”
Daniel gathers you into his arms, tucking you into his shoulder, “Baby, I broke up with her for a reason. And, I’m glad I did. All of those chronically online fans have no clue about why I broke up with her. I couldn’t imagine going back into that relationship, especially now that I’ve found you. Let me prove it to you, baby.
You sob, “How are you going to prove anything to me right now? Can I just be dramatic for a little longer?”
He laughs, giddy at the sound of your usual antics, “Well, I am going to set the media on fire with the language I use to address how the world has been disrespecting you. But first, I’m going to take you to bed and remind you what you’d be missing out on if you left. What other man could learn to know you as intimately as I do, hm? C’mon, baby—let me prove it to you. Let your body decide.”
Leaning back to look at him through your tears, you think, fuck it, why not?
Daniel presses you into the bed; you whine out desperately when he breaks the kiss, your eyes focused on the plush warmth of his lips as you try to chase them. The eagerness of your actions only dawns on you as you see his lips shift into a smiling laugh then, the embarrassment washes over you; honestly, you think, you can’t act like you can’t live without having his lips touching yours—he might find your yearning repulsive. Did his ex act like this for him? What if that’s why he broke up with her—
“Heyheyhey—don’t hide from me, baby,” Daniel coos concerned, his hand gently coaxing you to turn your head and meet his eyes, you didn’t even notice when you moved to hide your face with the pillow; he continues, “Where’d you go just then, pretty girl? Please tell me, baby, don’t hold it in.”
You meet his troubled gaze, and the love and care you see pouring out causes fresh tears to dance across your waterline. Through your blurry sight, you see Daniel’s brow furrow saddeningly as he carefully pulls you up into a sitting position and holds you tightly as you cry into his shoulder. His left hand massages the back of your neck, and his right hand finds a calming rhythm as he rubs your back. Your tears taper out quicker, and you wonder if you’ve exhausted their supply from the crying you’ve done today.
You draw back from his embrace, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, and your voice shakes and cracks as you begin to speak, “I’ve never been this insecure about myself. I couldn’t give a single fuck about what people say or think about me. But, today? It was just too much, Danny. Seeing all of your fans tear down every aspect of me; my personality, my looks, my body—why? And, they’re doing it under the reasoning that, I’m not good for you. Like, you’re not a grown man, who can decide who he wants to date? I support you quietly and loudly and’ll do it forever, but that’s not enough for them. And, today, it felt like it would never be enough.
“So, when I saw them making signs, t-to…to encourage you to break up with me,” Daniel muffles a sound of hurt in his chest, “I was humiliated. I-I, didn’t want that sort of attention for you, they should be focused on your racing, not your undeserving girlfriend. And, I thought I’d make it easy for you and leave.”
“Baby, no…”
“You’re such a good boyfriend, Daniel. It would be so much easier for you to end this relationship and go back to your ex, or date some other girl that satisfies you and your fans—”
“Babe, no,” Daniel cuts you off, his tone hardened, “The only person that needs to be satisfied with you is me. And, I am. The opinions of those fucking idiots don’t matter to me, and they shouldn’t matter to you. Because that’s all they are: opinions, and they’re absolutely stupid opinions, at that. They’re comments have done the complete opposite of convincing me to leave you. They’ve shown me that I need to let you know how much I want you with me—they’ve made me realize that I need to let you know that I love you.”
Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering. It’s the first time, he’s said it. Daniel loves you.
Sobbing softly, you murmur, “I hope you’re not only saying those three words because you think it’s going to make me happy. Because, I do love you, too.”
Daniel laughs wetly. “I’m saying that I love you now because you need to know that. I would’ve preferred to say it under different circumstances but, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m ridiculously in love with you. And—fuck everybody who’s saying you’re not good enough for me. If anything, I’m not good enough for you. I haven’t even won you a trophy, yet.”
You stare at him in disbelief, “Shut the fuck up. You’re everything to me. You could be driving the slowest car on the grid and I would still be celebrating your last-place finishes like you’ve won the championship.”
Daniel stares at you silently and you nearly fear that you’ve broken him. He sighs out lovingly before, leaning down and pressing kisses across your entire face to wash away your tear tracks. He finishes with a barely there kiss to the tip of your nose and asks quietly, “Let me show you that I love you. I don’t think saying it is enough.”
You look at him. You find what you’re looking for because you agree, “Okay.”
Daniel perks up, “Okay?”
You nod, slowly sliding down to rest on your back against the bed like you were before. “Yes.”
Your boyfriend shifts to kneel in between your legs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, and once he gets confirmation from you, he smoothly pulls it off of you, dropping it off the bedside. His hands spread across the expanse of your abdomen and move to rest on your waist as he buries himself in the length of your neck. He nips kisses and presses of tongue along your brown skin, surprising you often with the ache of teeth and suction to bloom bruises. When he slides downwards, he paints your collarbone and decolletage loosely, the irritated flesh only sends flares of pleasure across your nerves. Daniel huffs in frustration as the straps of your bra disrupt the smooth skin across your shoulders, and he pulls you upwards to arch into him as he slips his hand underneath to unclasp the closure. You’re brain comes online to help him remove the offending fabric as you shrug out of the straps and desperately fling the bra to a corner of the room you can’t care to look at.
Daniel hums thankfully and resumes tracing along your shoulder, down your arms, and to the bones of your wrists and tips of your fingers with gentle hands followed by his lips.
He swallows before speaking, “Whenever you’re splayed out so prettily underneath me, I forget how to act. The cloudy look in your eyes, your chest covered with my love, the muscles in your shoulders and arms relaxed and syrupy—so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”
You can’t find the words to respond to him because your entire body sings out when Daniel’s lips suction around your nipple. You feel his tongue swirl around, wetting it before his teeth join in and scrape softly against the sensitive bud. He releases you and even though your eyelids have fluttered shut at the feeling, you feel him watching you as your back rises off the bed and your head falls back. His hand finds its place right underneath your breasts, and he pushes you back down into the mattress and holds you there as he continues the assault of his lips on your chest. You can only cry out with every tug of his teeth, every suckle of his lips on the surrounding skin, whimpers choked down as his mouth ravages you entirely. Your hand flies to Daniel’s hair for purchase, and to press his head further into your chest, but he pulls away.
“Forgive me—but I love your chest, baby. I love how you let me take naps on them and play with my hair, I love the feeling of them in my hand, I love making you scream every time I play with them. And, you taught me that the only answer to ass versus boobs is both of them. Because, I would willingly suffocate in either of them, and all of you.”
Your chest heaves as you try to regain some air in your lungs, but Daniel doesn’t let you breathe for a second, “One day, I hope you let me fuck your pretty chest.”
Your mouth drops open, as you flounder for the air and words required to respond to his statement.
“Another time, though. May I take off your pants, baby? I need to fuck you.”
“Yesyes—please, hurry up,” you rush out, already moving to shimmy out of your bottoms, Daniel tugging them off roughly when they get caught around your ankles. The strength he uses slides you down the bed a little, and you can’t help but muffle a gasp underneath your hand.
He pulls your hand from your mouth in an instant, “No. Not tonight. I let you get away with hiding your sounds from me before, but I need to know how good I’m making you feel,” he pauses to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist and continues, “Be as loud as you want, love.”
You nod jerkily, and Daniel lowers your arm to rest against the bed carefully, before he shuffles down the bed, resting on his stomach and spreading your legs to drape along his shoulders. He starts with your right leg; nipping at the bone of your ankle before following with a soothing touch of his lips, and moving upwards, biting and kissing along the muscles of your calf, the inside of your knee. He slows when he reaches the plush meet of your thigh, taking his time biting the muscle and laving over the teeth marks he leaves with his tongue. He repeats the treatment along your left leg, ignoring how he can see the wetness dripping out of you, darkening the fabric of your panties.
“Love your legs, baby,” Daniel breaths shakily, “Calves, and thighs, muscle, and all plush skin. If I could choose how to go out, it would be in between them. Doesn’t matter if they’re around my waist, or my head—it’s fucking paradise, baby.”
Your thighs shudder as if they’ve heard his words, and Daniel notices immediately. His hands move to grasp them and let his thumbs dig into the fresh marks he’s added against your brown skin. You keen airily, your thighs attempting to shut, but Daniel’s hands keep you spread with little effort. He leans down and hides his smile by pressing his mouth to your panties. He proceeds to noisily kiss along your covered cunt, dragging his tongue and nose through the soaked fabric, humming amusedly when your hips buck down onto him, one of his hands shifting to press your pelvis to the mattress.
You’re mortified. Daniel’s pretty much making out with your cunt over your panties, and he seems to be enjoying it as much as you if the way his hips are rocking along the bed is any telling when you raise your head to stare down at him. His eyes shut as he loses himself between your legs; he looks blissed out and you drop your head back against the mattress, bringing your hand to tangle in the mess of his curls. He pulls away with a grunt and you tug at his hair annoyed, sitting up slightly to see what he stopped for—
His eyes are wild, drenched with lust. Daniel doesn’t waste time pulling your panties off, roughly tugging the fabric covering your cunt to the side, tucking it in the dip between your groin and thigh. You see his eyes roll back slightly at the sight of you before he shuts them and dives forward to bring his mouth down on your cunt. His tongue pushes inside of you sloppily and his nose makes sure your clit is always receiving attention. The only option you have is to choke on your moans and grasp for stability in his hair and the sheets of the bed. Your tummy undulates at the pleasure racketing up your spinal cord, it’s too much to process already. And in a split-second, Daniel’s tongue is exchanged for two of his fingers, your cunt thoroughly soaked with a mix of your wetness and his spit, and the stretch is mild, more of a welcomed soreness than pain. Daniel’s eyes open to watch your face closely, you’re too busy moaning to verbally assure him to continue, but he understands (the continuous desperate roll of your hips against his grasp is a helpful clue).
He massages his fingers into you rapidly, brushing along the sensitive wall along the top of your cunt—and it dawns on you very quickly that you are going to cum. He must see the realization wash over your face, or through the signs of your body, but he avoids your g-spot to scissor his fingers inside of you to stretch you out, a third joining the rest when you huff down at him angrily. The new stretch quiets you, loud whines and moans hushed for a moment as you savor the ache. Yet, you quickly hunger for more, unapproving of the sudden gentleness Daniel exhibits.
“Danny, please,” you cry, “C’mon—fuck me, already. ‘m gonna cum.”
He pulls his fingers from the grasp of your vagina and manhandles you onto your front, stomach flat against the bed. With firm hands, he pulls your hips upwards, one hand sliding down your back to deepen the arch and push your ass further out. The insecurity and shyness you had earlier have dissipated; you’d like to be fucked, now. You spread your knees wider and rock back even more.
“Fuck,” Daniel croaks out, and he rushes to grab a condom from the nightstand. You’re sure he’s relatively quick about the entire ordeal; of losing his pants, grabbing the condom, and rolling it on himself, but it feels like ages, and you can’t help but huff out angrily. Thankfully, you feel his left hand come back to rest on your ass and feel the head of his cock tap along your cunt.
Your hole parts for him prettily and Daniel sinks in smoothly, not stopping until your ass meets his hips. You whine softly, the ache of him finding a home within you will never lose its luster. Daniel shudders behind you, the grip of his hand on your ass shaking—his breathing heavy as it echoes around the room.
“Fuck,” Daniel moans again, “Love your cunt, pretty girl. Hot, wet, and tight,” he falls forward, and nuzzles into the hair at the nape of your neck, before pressing a kiss at the back of your neck, and rising again, “‘s so good…I-I can’t find the words right now.”
You giggle softly into the bed and Daniel takes the green light when you press back against him. He begins to thrust into you, hard enough to punch the breath out of your lungs. He’s never fucked you this forcefully before; his motions are erratic, yet somehow he’s nailing the spot inside of you with every other pass of his hips. The sound of your skin meeting manages to be hidden by the screams and moans you manage to release when you find enough air in your lungs. Daniel’s other hand wraps around your front and presses down on your pelvis, tightening your inner walls. And, your vision whites out.
Your legs give out and you feel yourself slouch into the mattress, but Daniel is quick to hold your hips up for you and continues to rail into you, not allowing you any respite. You can hear yourself babbling, but you can’t make out what you’re saying. The heat of Daniel’s chest radiates over your back and you feel his breath wash over your spine, his endearments and praise you hear but can’t understand as the pleasure has blinded your senses. What you can feel, is how his thrusts continue and don’t slow.
You regain control of your body when he rotates you onto your back, he only pulls out briefly while he grabs a pillow to shove underneath your hips before he falls back inside of you. At this angle, Daniel feels larger than life, knocking against buttons inside of you you’re sure he’s only ever discovered. It’s too much. He fucks into you slowly, the press of his cock slow but strong, the motion pushing you up the bed slightly.
You gasp, moans erupting out of you when you attempt to speak. You manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look at Daniel and see the pleased smile on his face. He moves one hand from your hip to cradle your cheek and swipes a tear that escaped from the corner of your eye away.
“Oh,” Daniel hushes you softly, “Gone for me already, aren’t you?”
“T-t-oo much,” you stutter, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “ feels s’good.”
He chuckles quietly, the noise fading into a moan as your cunt clenches around him, “Too much or it feels good, pretty girl? You’re going to have to pick one.”
Daniel’s thrusts get rougher, and he stops pulling out nearly all the way and focuses on digging into you deeper; making sure to drag himself along that place inside you with every thrust. Your scream breaks as soon as it leaves your mouth, the unyielding stimulation feels white hot. You take a shaky hand and drag it down Daniel’s chest, from his tattoos to his abdomen, and push against him while simultaneously trying to raise your hips away from his.
“No, baby,” Daniel coos down at you, knocking your hand away from his abs, and continuing to press inside of you, pulling your hips down, “Don’t run from me. Take it. You know what to say if it’s too much for you.”
You do know what to say. But, the knot inside your tummy starts tightening again, and the overwhelming amount of pleasure isn’t too much. You can take it. Daniel rocks down to kiss you, but you’re too out of it to exactly figure out how to make your lips work, and his eyes shine. He moves to bite at your neck, you feel him speaking against your skin and it takes a few listens to realize he saying, “I love you,” over and over again. His thrusts get choppier and you know he’s close when his hand slips down to play with your clit. This orgasm feels different than the first. It feels like it burns your nerve endings with just how powerfully pleasurable it is. You can vaguely feel Daniel collapse against you as he rides out his climax, but you’re more concerned with the absolute ecstasy you find yourself floating in.
You blink a few times and you fail to adequately process what’s going on around you. You feel Daniel pull out of you, rubbing soothingly along your hips and thighs as he massages any soreness away. You can’t make out his words, but they sound warm and loving making you feel light and fluffy. You don’t recall him moving from the bed, but he suddenly has a warm rag pressed against your inner thighs to clean you up, and your ruined panties are gone. When he tries to wipe against your cunt, you slam your legs shut, jerking away from him. He doesn’t force your legs back open, but he eventually manages to clean up enough of your wetness that he’s comfortable to wait until you’re clear-minded.
Daniel pulls you onto his lap and continues murmuring words of affection into the air, you feel them vibrate through his chest. You begin to rise out of whatever state you were in and shift in his lap, “Danny,” you try to speak, but your voice cracks roughly. He’s quick to grab a bottle of water on the nightstand and opens it for you, helping you drink as your arms are still too shaky.
“When did you grab the water?” you question softly, you down nearly the entire bottle, and move to snuggle back into his chest, bringing your shaky hand up to trace his tattoos.
“You don’t remember?” Daniel questions calmly, watching as you shake your head in dissent, “I think you were a little out of it after that orgasm. You melted into the bed—I couldn’t get you to say anything.”
“Oh,” you offer, looking up at him to read his face. You find nothing but love, so you figure it can’t be a bad thing.
“Do you know what subspace is?”
“No?”
Daniel nods understandingly and changes the subject, “I got this piece of cake for you earlier at the store. Can you eat it for me now and drink a little more water, baby? I’ll put on that crime show you like too.”
You agree to eat and drink as long as Daniel does too. Your hand shakes as you try to bring the fork to your mouth so you let Daniel feed you, he seems more than happy to do it for you. You kind of like it anyway, him taking care of you. You feel like your normal self halfway through the second episode of the show playing on the TV. You slide off of Daniel’s lap to sit beside him and focus on the show, pulling the blanket up to cover your legs, the plot of the show finally being processed by your brain.
“I’m going to go grab something from the living room, okay?” Daniel checks in on you, waiting for you to answer affirmatively, “Finish up that cake for me, love.”
You hum, grabbing the container from him and continuing to munch along as Daniel does what he needs to. He reenters the room with one of the boxes you had packed away. Daniel doesn’t look at you, he just opens up the box and starts putting all your belongings back to where they used to be. He pulls one of your heavier sweaters out of the box and moves to hang it up in the closet.
“No,” you say, voice scratchy. You watch Daniel turn to face you slowly like he thinks you’re going to tell him that you’re still leaving,
“That sweater doesn’t belong in the closet. It gets folded and placed in the bottom row of the dresser.”
Daniel sighs relieved and smiles at you, “Okay. What about this one too, where does that go?”
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#serene’s chapters.#httpss :// 2k special#f1 x reader#daniel ricciardo x reader#f1 smut#daniel ricciardo smut#f1 x black!reader#f1 x female reader#daniel ricciardo x black!reader#daniel ricciardo fic#daniel ricciardo imagine#f1 x you#formula 1 x black!reader#f1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr.
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[Fluff] [L&DS x Reader] Studying with the L&DS boys
SUMMARY
Short headcanons on studying with them
CONTENT
Fluff, tiny bit of angst
AUTHOR NOTES
I wrote this back during exam season LOL I definitely used the study feature in the app quite a bit and honestly it helped and it was so cute that each character had unique animations hehe
WORD COUNT: 224
Xavier is probably reading or maybe even writing some notes on either wanderers or some crime rings
Stares A LOT, he’s just so happy you’re here and he just feels so lucky that he gets to do these simple things with you now when for so long he didn’t even know if you existed or not. Will sometimes nap but will always stay with you until you’re done, he can’t let himself go to bed while you’re stressing and working.
Zayne is sending emails, reading articles, typing up notes, studying for continued education
Steals quick glances at you, loves the faces you make when you’re focused, makes him wanna squish your cheeks. He does a lot of late nights and a lot of mindless staring at his screen but it's not so painful when you’re there. Loves spending time with you and is so glad if he can help you focus.
Rafayel is sketching, painting, or sending/ignoring his emails
Probably starts working on new projects but always ends up sketching you because you’re just so pretty sitting there, you’re the perfect model!!! He takes quick peeks at you to sketch what he sees but also sometimes just looks to admire you. He finally has you so he’s not letting the image slip out of his mind, he has to immortalize it in his drawings.
Thank you for reading!
|| MASTERLIST ♡ ||
#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace fluff#lads x reader#lads fluff#l&ds x reader#l&ds fluff#xavier x reader#xavier fluff#zayne x reader#zayne fluff#rafayel x reader#rafayel fluff#j's silly ramblings
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Marauders - Moving In - Part 2
heres part 2! thank you for the love on the last one, so here is part 2! again, warning for female reader. enjoy! the remus fan art in the header is drawn by @sophitil on instagram!
pairing: the story is marauders x reader, however, this part has a heavy focus on remus and the reader!
part 1 part 3
Sirius was the embodiment of a rockstar. He shined onstage, his presence captured attention everywhere, and there were numerous people in the bar fawning over him. The pub you had landed yourself in was perfectly described in one word: cosy. Aglow with warm yellow lighting, potted plants and records adoring the walls, giving it a comfortable, welcoming feeling to all that entered its walls.
James had quickly sat up from the seat he had resided in, whispering something about grabbing some more drinks at the bar, leaving you with Remus. Remus had been picking at his nails for the past couple of minutes, and you came to the realisation that if you wanted to make it anywhere, you were gonna have to speak up first.
“What animal do you think you could beat in a fight?” You sputtered out, before internally rolling your eyes in your head. What a dumb questions, I mean, you literally could have asked anything but you chos- “You know what? I think I could take a bear in a fight.” Remus had answered confidently, and you realised the beauty of his eyes. A colour like caramel, one you're sure you could spend nights getting absorbed in, the little gold speckles shining when the light hits them just right.
“Do you read?” Remus had asked, quite quickly, and sure enough, the next hour had consisted of the two of you discussing your favourite books, authors, genre’s. James came and went, alternating bringing water to Sirius on stage, and bringing the two of you drinks as your conversations droned on. You found out Remus was currently at university doing a bachelor in English, and that one day he dreamed of writing his own book. It was then that you realised Remus was not shy - just, soft spoken at first, as you watched his confidence grow. A gentle smirk rested on his face, and he had begun teasing you lightly. It had begun when you mentioned your preferred chocolate - m&m’s - to which Remus cackled, before declaring that the superior brand of chocolate had to be Cadbury. “I mean m&m’s are alright, but like, Cadbury just melts! But, I guess, some as short as you would enjoy a short chocolate.” Now, you weren’t necessarily short, but Remus was 6’4. So, it didn’t really matter who he was talking to, everyone was short in comparison to him.
The clock struck 10, and Sirius finally yelled “Thank you for coming out everyone! See you next time!” The pub filled with claps and applause, and James gathered the two of you so you could all go back to the apartment. You suddenly felt a weight fall on your shoulders, and turning slightly to your left, you realised this weight was an arm that belonged to the rock star of the night. “So, how’d we like it? Seriously, I think we’re getting somewhere! I recognised some of those girls in the corner, they’ve definitely been to our show before!” The three of you showered Sirius with praises. Quickly offering up the napkin you had brought with you, you turned to Sirius with a pen “Please, all mighty rock god, may I have your autograph?” Sirius' eyes looked like galaxies, the black iris’s glistening with the lights of the pubs, as he sported that wicked smirk of his, before signing the napkin.
“You keep that safe you hear me, one day, that’ll be worth millions!” Sirius proclaimed, as you finally made your exit. The pub was only a short walk from the apartment, and it was a little obvious from the stumbling and unstoppable giggling, you had all had a few too many.
Retiring to bed happened quickly, however, Remus had grabbed your arm before you could go to sleep. Gently, he guided you to the bathroom, and silently grabbed a makeup wipe. He scrubbed lightly, and the repetitive motions were almost enough for you to fall asleep right then and there. You took the time to admire his scars, that made him so Remus, admiring the beautiful tan of his skin, and finally, being captured in the gold speckles within his eyes. Once Remus was 100 percent certain your face was clean, the two of you took your time to brush your teeth together - and you feared it was the most comfortable you had felt with someone in a while.
You had known the man for what was literal 5 hours, and yet, you felt you knew him entirely. He was funny, charismatic, a little bit of a nerd, but you could also tell he was incredibly loyal to his partners. You had noticed, on either wrist, there was a friendship bracelet, one that said “prongs” decorated with dark reds and gold, and another that said “padfoot”, with a colour palette. Remus put his hand on the small of your back, before leading you to your room. You ran to your new bed, the doona, pillows and stuffed animals looking more tempting than anything you had ever seen.
You heard the door close, a little murmur of chatter outside your door, before closing your eyes. You felt good about this. These boys so far had shown you nothing but kindness, and all 3 had such distinct personalities. The future was something you looked forward too, and finally, the world turned to silence, as you began to dream of what was ahead.
#self insert#x reader#harry potter#james potter#remus lupin#sirius black#marauders x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#james potter x reader
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Reader Receives PeggyNats Nudes Accidentally
Authors note: For my ease, all of the drabbles for the couples will have reader receiving the couples nudes in the same manner (Though circumstances do differ). I apologize if this becomes repetitive.
Authors note 2: accidentally went a bit long with this one. Though I'm sure y'all won't mind lol
Warnings: smut (eating out and mirror sex)
Word count: 1198 Part 2
Marvel Masterlist How They React To Masterlist
Both women step out of their shared shower and grab their towels, beginning the process of drying off. Once their bodies are dry they step off the mat in front of the shower and move closer to the counters
Natasha lets out a chuckle as she tousles the small towel that's on her girlfriend's head, earning her a playful glare from the brunette, “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”
Nat smirks, “Don’t lie, you like when I’m playful”
“Indeed I do, but that doesn't mean I won't tease you for it” Peggy admits with a smile and a wink that has butterflies erupting in Natashas belly
Seemingly oblivious to the feelings she's caused the redhead, Peggy continues to towel off her hair, giving Nat the perfect view of her bare muscles flexing. Her ogling however doesn't go as unnoticed, but the Brit chooses not to say anything and instead waits for Natasha to make a move
Nats eyes shamelessly take in every curve and crease of Peggy's body. From her toned shoulders, down to her solid abs and continuing down past her core, which she admittedly stops to admire a bit longer, until finally stopping at her thighs
“Bozhe, pochemu ty dolzhna byt' takoy chertovski privlekatel'noy(God, why do you have to be so damn attractive)?” she mutters, already forming a plan in her head
“Sorry darling, I didn't quite catch that”
Nat hums and takes a step closer to the other woman, making her turn to look at her. The mix of adoration and pure hunger in the shorter woman's eyes has her own belly doing flips.
“You look good enough to taste….Can I?”
Peggy's body reacts before she can even give a proper response and Nat watches in amusement as the brunette's legs automatically part to give her more room. Still, she waits for a verbal response
“Yes…”
Without wasting any more time Natasha drops to her knees in front of her girlfriend, and places her hands against Peggys thighs. She trails them over the muscles before moving them around to the Super soldier's firm ass, and gently squeezes as she brings her mouth to Peggys awaiting pussy.
“Oh hell…” she breathes out as Nats tongue swipes through her folds
Nat hums in response, sending vibrations through the other woman that have her clenching around her girlfriends tongue as she slips inside. Natashas nose bumps against her clit and she swears that if she wasn’t a super soldier, she'd be in need of some serious support to stay standing due to how good she's currently feeling. She's lost in that feeling of bliss for a few moments, until she gets a rather unexpected idea. Though she supposes it's rather time for her to be the cheeky one.
She reaches over to the counter where she had left her phone before the shower and grabs it. Now admittedly, she still doesn’t know how to use it very well, but she knows how to work the camera. And right now, that's all she's after. She opens the app and points it at the large mirror in front of her, moving around to find the perfect angle.
She knows that through all of this, Natashas eyes haven’t missed any of her movements. No matter the circumstances she never does. So before she takes the picture she looks down to confirm it's okay. The sight of the redhead with blown pupils and arousal dripping down her chin has a moan escaping Peggy instead of the question, but thankfully Nat knows what she intended
“You can take one” she assures, her voice a bit raspier than usual either from lust or how long she's gone without using it while focused on pleasing Peggy, “Just make sure it gets sent to me when I’m done with you”
Peggy nods and quickly snaps the pic before setting her phone back down on the counter, and Natasha eagerly reattaches her lips to her girlfriends clit. Without thinking Peggy buries her hand in Nats hair and pulls her face impossibly closer to her core
“Oh god! Natasha!” she moans, cumming into her girlfriends mouth,and Natasha takes great pleasure in the fact that she was able to get her girlfriends strong legs to tremble
She stays on her knees, gently bringing Peggy through her orgasm and cleaning up the mess she made until Peggy's grip loosens in her hair. She pulls away and sucks in a breath she hadn’t even realized she needed while her girlfriend looks down at her with a smile
“Come here, love” she says, reaching to help pull the Russian to her feet
Once standing Natasha finds herself being trapped between the countertop and her girlfriend as Peggy captures her lips in a searing kiss. Her lips part to allow the taller women tongue to enter and she fully relaxed as Peggys arms wrap around her waist
After a few minutes of making out the older woman pulls away with an affection filled smile, “I suppose I should send you that picture, before I forget”
“Oh, I wouldn’t let you forget about it” Nat says with a smile, but still lets her girlfriend go to retrieve her phone
As usual Peggy fumbles to get the picture sent off but once it goes through she seems satisfied. Nat picks up her own phone to look at the picture and is also satisfied, for all of five seconds. Because that's when she notices her girlfriends blunder
“Lyubov'(love).....you sent it to the chat with Y/n”
Her eyes widen as panic and anxiety build inside her as she thinks about their teammate, friend and longtime crush seeing that picture, “Damn”
In your room you hear your phone ding and decide that you've worked on paperwork enough today anyway. So you get up from your desk and plop down on your bed to grab your phone. You're quite happy to see that the notification is from the group chat with your best friends, who also happen to be a couple and a couple that you're madly in love with at that.
When you open the message you're greeted with a picture of a slightly foggy mirror that has the reflection of a fully naked Peggy staring back at you, and though you know you should, you can’t tear your eyes away. Your eyes continue to travel further down and that's when you notice a head of red hair that obviously belongs to Natasha as her bare back faces the mirror. You swallow hard and take a deep breath to settle your nerves and to figure out just what the hell is going on, but before you can get your bearings another text from Peggy comes through
I am so incredibly sorry, still figuring out this blasted phone
I would like to say that it's not a problem, but truly I don’t think I’ll be able to forget what I’ve seen….and I'm not quite sure i even want to
Natasha rereads your message three times to make sure she's reading it correctly as Peggy somehow gets out a reply, You don’t have to forget.
In fact detka(baby), you can even see more.
#peggy carter#peggy x reader#peggy carter x reader#captain carter#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha x y/n#natasha x reader#peggynat#peggy x natasha#peggynat x reader#marvel#fanfic#marvel fanfiction
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The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 5
Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader
Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?
Rating: 18+ Minors DNI
Warnings: Rough sex, NoahxOFC, slight degradation, religious trauma
Masterlist
______
Early November was among your least favorite times of the year. It wasn’t yet cold enough to snow, but the rain was frigid. Halloween excitement had worn off and there wasn’t much to look forward to until Christmas (Thanksgiving was fine, you supposed, but you were staying on campus while your parents were on a missions trip to Africa).
Your socks had gotten wet on the walk to the worship center. You loathed wet socks, even partially wet socks. They stuck to your toes in the most uncomfortable way, freezing them while the rest of your foot stayed dry. Any time your socks got wet, you’d hyper-focus on the sensation until they either dried out or you changed them, and since you were obligated to spend the morning overseeing community service, they were about to be all you could think about for the next four hours.
All you could think about, that is, until you happened to glance up and spy Noah slouched on a bench near the church entrance. You stopped short, double-checking the time on your phone. 7:46. It was unlike him to be early, let alone fourteen minutes early.
He hadn’t noticed you approach, too busy staring at his lap. He fidgeted with an object in his hands—something you couldn’t see. You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and continued walking.
The day after Halloween, you made a pact with yourself: you would get over Noah Davis. It wasn’t because he was a bad guy or anything. You actually quite liked him and found him to be an overall positive influence.
The problem was that he was too much of an influence. You found yourself second-guessing your morals, wanting to agree with him before you’d fully thought everything through. You wanted to believe everything he said, regardless of whether or not it was true. And you knew it was partly because you wanted so badly to give into his temptation.
Not that giving into temptation was necessarily bad. But you’d grown up listening to and believing everything the men in your life had told you, simply because they were in positions of authority. That hadn’t exactly worked out in your best interests.
Were you going to let another man influence your beliefs just because it would justify chasing the things your body craved? And oh, did it crave.
That wasn’t to say Noah didn’t make a lot of very good points - you were inclined to agree with them, but you had to sort that out slowly and on your own. Without the influence of him or his body pulling you in any one direction.
On top of that, it was inappropriate of you to entertain feelings for him—you were in a supervisor role.
The full truth was that letting go of the idea of him? It hurt. Giving up something you really wanted for something you thought would be better for you in the long run was never easy. But you were determined to do it. God had something better in store for you, you were certain of it. And Noah’s body was simply a distraction—a pitfall for you to avoid.
And who knew? Perhaps you were doing Noah a favor as well, not giving into him so easily.
The moment Noah noticed you, he stood up, straightening the legs of his jeans. You kept him in your periphery but didn’t look directly at him. Looking at him was too hard. You didn’t want him to know that though, so you did your best to be friendly.
“Hey,” you said, greeting him with a friendly wave and glance, noticing your voice came out meeker than you intended.
“Hey,” he replied, and his voice carried a soft, hollow timbre that already had your heart squeezing. This was going to be more difficult than you thought.
You kept your eyes on the ground, allowing him to fall into step beside you, and headed straight for the church doors. Pulling out the key and unlocking them gave you something to focus on that wasn’t him, and for that you were grateful.
“How was your week?” he asked.
“Good. Boring,” you said, eyes scanning along the light blue carpet in front of you as you walked through the foyer. “Yours?”
“Enlightening.”
Enlightening. How were you supposed to ignore that?
“Oh?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you. You still held firm in not looking at him, one glance at his soft smile and your resolve would crumble. You knew it.
And then, in an attempt to seem normal, you glanced. Not directly at him, but in his direction. Enough to catch the soft smile on his face and knowing kindness in his dark eyes. The way his long hair spilled out from underneath his hood.
You dug your nails into your fists as punishment and looked back down at the floor, where your feet guided you to the supply closet at the end of the hall.
“I think I owe you an apology for how I behaved on Saturday,” he said. He stopped in front of the closet and turned to face you head-on. It was getting harder to avoid direct eye contact.
He remained silent, providing you an opportunity to respond, but you couldn’t will your mouth to open and instead settled on offering a quick nod.
“I should have warned you about the crowds. And about the content for some of the music we play... And for agreeing to play that last song.”
“Noah, the whole crowd wanted it,” you reasoned, fiddling with the latch on the supply closet. “I’m just one person.”
“Just,” he interjected, holding a hand up, “let me at least apologize for the way it affected you.”
The tension in your shoulders slackened infinitesimally and you allowed your eyes to travel to his inked hands. His fingers were so long. It ached, how much you wanted to gravitate toward them, feel them caress your face, envelop his thumb in your mouth and have him drag it down your chin…
Catching yourself mid-thought, you looked away again. “I suppose I can allow that.”
He puffed out a short breath, relieved at your acceptance. “It wasn’t cool of me to let you go into that unprepared,” he continued, voice filled with genuine regret. “I wish I would have handled it better.”
You chewed on the outer corner of your lip. The sentiment felt too heavy for the moment, and you needed to end the conversation quickly. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I also want to apologize for what happened after.”
Your stomach dropped. You’d really rather not talk about that. It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. You’d fully embarrassed yourself with your overreaction to what happened at the party. But more than that, you’d experienced genuine temptation for the first time in your life, and had only barely made it out of there without completely walking back on all your scruples.
Even talking about it meant risking being pulled back down the rabbit hole he was about to apologize for. Either way, you couldn’t help it when, in a moment of weakness, you glanced at his mouth. His smile faded and something more earnest took over his face. His lips parted a millimeter as he sucked a breath in through his teeth and you found yourself mimicking the movement without trying.
“If your beliefs surrounding…” he took another deep breath as he searched for the right word, “…physical intimacy are important to you, I want to do a better job of respecting that. From now on, I’ll be hands-off.” He raised his palms in surrender.
His words wrapped around your body like a rope, compressing, crushing your ribs, and holding you together.
Last summer, when Isaac had ended your kiss, it didn’t surprise you. In fact, it was something you had almost expected him to do. He performed Christianity like it was a Broadway show and he was the principal actor. It was almost a game to him, it seemed. How many points could he earn with God during his time on Earth? How big of a mansion would he be rewarded with in Heaven? How many virgin brides?
You smelled a hint of Isaac’s performance in Noah. But there was something else there underneath. An eagerness to respect you in the way that actually mattered. He wanted to get it right.
“Noah,” you sighed, feeling like he was perhaps taking this apology thing further than he needed to.
“I also want to give you this back,” he said, fishing out your silver ring from his back pocket and holding it out to you. “I’m sorry for removing it in the first place.”
You stared at the silver ring. The symbol of the promise you’d made when you were thirteen and had no idea how anything worked.
Now, for you, it symbolized a lie that had been spoon-fed to you. It symbolized blind obedience to the men in your life and a life you had no control over.
You deflated.
“Keep it.”
Noah’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting in surprise and confusion. “Why?”
You looked anywhere but the ring in front of you, settling on a speck of lint that dusted the shoulder of Noah’s zip-up.
“I just don’t want it anymore. It feels too constricting.”
Huffing, he stepped forward and grabbed your left wrist, bringing it to his hand. His touch sent warmth cascading down your arm and into the rest of your body.
Slowly, delicately, he slid the ring back onto your finger. The cold metal contrasted starkly with the warmth of his palm. His hand lingered there for a moment, thumb swiping the length of your finger.
It felt oddly reminiscent of a proposal, but in reverse. With this ring, he promised to leave you alone.
Something harsh and sour coated the back of your throat and you swallowed bitterly.
“I want you to have it back anyway,” he said, voice gentle and kind as he let go of your wrist. “If you want to remove it again, that should be your choice.”
You rolled your eyes, twisting the ring back off your finger and holding it out to him in your palm. “I don’t want the responsibility of keeping this. Can you please take it?”
He stepped back from you, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Ugh,” you scoffed and tossed it in the empty mop bucket in the corner of the supply closet, willing it to disappear. You turned back to face him with your hands on your hips. “You know you’re being a little dramatic about this, right?”
Your eyes flicked back up to his face. He looked from you, to the bucket, and back, but stayed silent.
“I allowed you to take it off because I wanted you to, not because I was under some sort of spell. Plus, I should be apologizing for how I left.”
Noah closed his eyes and shook his head firmly. “No way, don’t ever feel bad for setting boundaries. I’m actually glad you left when you felt uncomfortable instead of letting me pressure you into something you didn’t want.”
You shifted your weight from foot to foot. This much respect was new for you—not just from Noah, but from any man in your life.
“I still feel bad,” you confessed, twisting your hands together in front of you.
“Please don’t,” he said, arm reaching out a few inches as if he intended to touch you, but then he thought better of it and pulled back. Your eyes chased his hand as it fell back to his side, wishing he would have followed through. “I was in the wrong, not you.”
“Why are you doing this?” you asked.
A smile played on the corner of his lips. “I suppose you could say I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Inside, you smiled at the throwback to the conversation last month. Outwardly you pouted, rocking on your heels. “I liked the old leaf.”
“Tough,” he said, grinning defiantly. “Get used to this one.”
You crossed your arms and nodded over to the supply closet. “Well, can the new leaf go grab the broom and dustpan so he can get to work?”
“At your service, Angel,” he said, sidestepping you to get into to the closet.
“Angel?” you asked. “What happened to Mary?”
“Mary’s too boring,” he called over his shoulder, digging around the various mops and cleaners. “I like Angel better.”
“Can’t you just use my real name?” you asked.
“No,” he said reemerging from the closet with two brooms and two dustpans in tow. He smiled his full Cheshire-cat grin, lips stretching wide over his too-big teeth in a way that let you know he already won whatever debate you were about to start.
You decided not to press the matter. You also preferred Angel to Mary. At least it didn’t have the virgin connotation.
You waved him off. “Whatever. Just get to work.”
Noah winked and did just that, keeping his head down and minding his business until Nick showed up, six minutes late.
“What are we doing today, boss?” he asked. You pointed over to where Noah was sweeping.
“Aye, aye!” he said with a salute and started toward Noah.
“Actually can you hang back a second?” you said in a low voice. He paused mid-step, turning on his heel and leaning in with his full attention. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “Look. I know it wasn’t cool of me to sleep with your friend, but you should know—,”
“—I was actually going to thank you,” you cut him off. Nick’s brows pulled together.
“What?” he asked, mouth parting stupidly.
You nodded, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater. “She told me about how nervous she was, about how patient you were with her and how you walked her through the process, and that you insisted on making sure she was sober enough to give consent. Not all guys would do that for a girl they just met. Let alone someone whose first time it was.”
Nick blinked, then released the tension he’d been holding in his jaw, allowing his face to relax into a smile. “Of course. I’m not an asshole. Or, well at least not a complete asshole.”
You chuckled, signaling with your hand for him to join you while you meandered over to the other end of the foyer where Noah was working. “Ava can be pretty reckless at times,” you said, lowering your voice now that Noah was within earshot. “She gets in over her head. I appreciate that she had someone like you who prioritized her comfort and safety.”
“She’s not bad. You have good taste in friends.”
“Thanks,” you said, smiling fondly at the moment of shared appreciation for your friend.
“Now get to work,” you said, when the air got too thick. The last thing you needed was to allow Nick to burrow his way into your heart alongside his friend.
The workday passed by relatively easy. There were no major philosophical conversations to be had, and no interruptions from unwelcome strangers. The two men worked diligently for the whole session, and when it was time to go, they put their own supplies away.
“Hey,” said Noah while you all made your way out. “I was thinking about something.” He slowed his steps and allowed Nick to pass the two of you.
“Yeah?” you said, matching his pace.
“You’ve seen me in my element. I thought it was only fair if I returned the favor.”
“What do you mean?” you asked.
“I want to hear you sing.” He said it softly, lisp coming out on the last word and oh. You paused mid-stride to turn to him.
“Why?”
Noah looked at you as if you’d offended his bloodline, head rearing back in a scoff. “Because I’m curious? And I want to support you the way you supported me?”
“That’s not necessary,” you rushed to assure. The last thing you wanted was to have to perform in front of him. That was a level of vulnerability you weren’t interested in. Especially since he had such an extensive background in music and could easily judge you if you weren’t up to his standards.
“Will you let me do something nice, please?” he said, holding his arms out to the side before letting them drop back to his hips with a slap. “Isn’t the point of this entire community service thing to help me be a better person?”
He’d seen the corner he could back you into before you did. You couldn’t, in good faith, protest something like that without letting your cards show.
“I have a showcase coming up in December,” you said. “Here. At the church.”
Noah tucked his lips between his teeth and smiled in triumph.
“Are you sure you won’t burst into flames the second you step foot in a worship service?” you asked.
“Guess we’ll see,” He said, with a quick shrug of his shoulders. You continued walking down the path leading back into town.
“Isaac’s going to be there,” you said, reluctantly. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he assured you, making the sign of the cross over his chest and clapping his hands together in prayer.
You sighed and shook your head. “Good. See that you are.” Without anything better to say, you followed up with “now get out of here.”
Noah huffed out a laugh at your attempt at standoffishness and jogged to catch up with Nick. Your gut twisted at the thought of him coming to watch you sing. Even more so at the idea of the regular churchgoers seeing and potentially interacting with him, but you chose to trust that this would be a good thing. That Noah would keep his word.
Noah in a church. Standing in the middle of a church-going audience. You shook your head, unable to realistically picture it, but that didn’t stop a grin from sneaking up on you whenever you thought about it.
_______
November came and went in the same way a cloud would—slowly, and easily unnoticed unless you paid special attention.
You and Isaac continued to work together on his project. He brought up passing a collection plate around during the event so the two of you could raise money for charity, which you thought was a great idea.
“That way, we can give back a little,” he said, pinching the cross charm he wore around his neck between two of his fingers and sliding back and forth along its chain.
“I’d love that,” you said, feeling more energized about the showcase.
You and Isaac sat across from each other at a table in a room off to the side of the main worship area, often used for small group meetings, Bible studies, and Sunday School. Song books and sheets of music littered the table, musty from years of use. You sat doodling swirls in the margins of the notebook in front of you.
“How have we been marketing the event?” he asked, flipping through pages of a hymn book.
“I made an event page on Facebook,” you said, “and have been posting about it to the campus Facebook page. A few other local groups, too.”
“Good,” he said, nodding, but not looking up from the book in front of him.
“I’ve also been passing out flyers and posting them around campus to drum up some excitement.”
“Excellent,” said Isaac, smiling.
Surprisingly enough, working with Isaac hadn’t been as painful as you’d expected. He remained focused on planning out the logistics of the showcase, appropriately delegating tasks to you as needed, but taking on the bulk of the work himself.
You liked this Isaac. He was at his best when he had a goal and worked diligently to achieve it. When you’d first developed an interest in him, it was when he was pursuing a leadership role on the worship team. Before then, he’d always been a scrawny, nerdy kid that existed only in the fringes of your memory. You’d seen him in church and at school but hadn’t paid much attention to him.
It wasn’t until your teen years, when he’d grown his hair out and started learning how to play guitar that you’d truly noticed. One day, he’d asked to perform a song in front of the congregation. You couldn’t even remember the song, but you remembered being transfixed by his singing.
That was the beginning of the crush you’d been nursing for over four years. It had largely dissipated, but it still peeked out every once in a while, in moments like this.
He closed the book in his hands, setting it down on the table and straightening out some of the papers in front of him. “How’s the community service going?” he asked without looking at you.
Your warm feelings for him slipped away just as quickly and easily as they had arrived.
Tension flared in your neck, pulling your shoulders up to a defensive position. Aside from that telltale sign, however, you chose to play it cool.
“It’s fine,” you said, joining him in arranging the stack of music sheets in front of you so you had something to focus on aside from him.
“You better get a move on,” he said, setting his stack of papers aside and resting his elbows on the table. He spoke directly to you. “You only have a month left before you never see them again. Not a lot of time to bring people to Christ.”
Truthfully, you’d forgotten all about that. He was right—the job had been handed to you with the specific instructions towitness to these men, but you were starting to think you no longer agreed with that cause.
“Did you talk about Hell?” he continued. “That sometimes works for me.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Why not?” he asked, brows furrowing with confusion. “You have to do something. Their souls are on the line.”
“I really don’t want to talk about this,” you snapped, shifting your chair back from the table and standing. You had some homework you should be getting to, anyway. “Can we drop it?”
“No!” he barked, standing up to be on your level. He splayed his palms on the table, leaning his weight on them and eyes boring a hole into you. Even from across the table, his height was menacing. Not as tall as Noah, but definitely tall. “That’s the whole point of you being there. You have to make sure they know what’s at stake if they keep going down the path they’re on.”
“It’s not that simple,” you said, voice raising in volume.
All this talk of eternal damnation set you on edge. You still hadn’t even figured out where you stood on the issue. How were you supposed to preach to someone who had made up their mind long ago? And who was Isaac to tell you how to talk to them when he’d only briefly encountered them once and made a fool out of himself in the process?
“What’s complicated about it? They repent or they go to Hell,” he stated with a huff, blowing his fringe bangs out of his eyes.
The pressure he was putting on you was familiar—much like the pressure your father had always put on you to “go out and make disciples” but things weren’t as black-and-white as they were when you were a child.
How were you supposed to preach something you weren’t even sure you understood or believed in? Blindly giving into the pressure to convert as many people as you could to a faith you only half-trusted felt more and more like a betrayal of yourself.
Not only that, but in your experience, people simply did not want to hear the gospel preached at them. You’d tried once—when you’d joined a local theater production of Fiddler on the Roof as a stagehand. There was one girl there who you’d made fast friends with—Stephanie.
You spent all summer trying to share the Good News with her. At the end of three long months, she agreed to accept Christ into her heart, allowing you to lead her in The Prayer. It was the defining moment of your adolescence. You’d managed to validate your existence by saving at least one soul.
It wasn’t until the wrap party later that week that you overheard her making fun of you to some of the other cast members, all huddled together in a corner of the theater, that you realized she’d gone through with it as a joke.
There was no explaining that to Isaac, however. He was so caught up in everything he’d been taught that it would take much longer than you had time to explain everything, and that was if he even listened, which he didn’t seem interested in…
…much like the people you were supposed to evangelize to.
“I have to go,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the warmth of the worship center, into the frigid rain. Isaac called after you, but you broke into a jog, heading—well, somewhere.
You didn’t know where you were heading, actually. Your rain boots clunked haphazardly on the sidewalk, splashing through puddles as you ran. You contemplated going back to your dorm, but knew Stevie was home. It didn’t seem like the place to be.
You weren’t interested in any of the usual places on campus, either. The wind and rain bit at your skin, chilling you through the oversized Sherpa-lined hoodie you’d worn.
Your feet guided you to the crossroads that would lead you back to campus, and you turned in the opposite direction, running headlong toward town.
Your breaths grew uneven, whether it was due to the energy you were expending, or the crushing weight of your religious obligations.
You were supposed to lead these men to God, lest their souls be cast into Hell for eternity.
Except, did you believe in Hell anymore?
You weren’t sure. You supposed it could exist, but was it really that easy to wind up serving a permanent sentence for an impermanent crime? For simply getting the theology wrong?
That didn’t seem like something a loving god would do. And if it was, did you really want to devote your life to serving someone like that? Someone who could be so utterly cruel to his creations for making simple mistakes?
You were angry. For the first time, you felt a glimpse of the anger Noah had expressed that night. He was right to feel angry. There were so many contradictions—so much about the church that just felt backwards to you. And whenever you raised legitimate questions, you were always met with the same answer:
God works in mysterious ways.
It was a mantra the church elders repeated, but it felt more like a cop-out. A common method of spiritual bypassing.
You wiped the rain that had been pelting your face with your sleeve, unsure of how far you’d ran when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Whoa!”
___________
At no point in his evening did Noah anticipate running into you—figuratively, and certainly not literally. But when he spotted you bounding toward him with a panicked expression, that’s what nearly happened.
Upon further reflection, you were probably aiming to run past him, but in the moment, it looked like you were on track to collide directly into his chest.
“Whoa!” he called out. Your attention snapped from the sidewalk in front of you to his face, and in the process, your left foot miscalculated its landing. It slid out from under you, giving you a half a second to react and catch yourself on a steel signpost. It was a good thing you had quick reflexes, otherwise you’d have planted ass-first into the muddy puddles lining the street.
“Easy,” said Noah, catching you by the elbows and helping you regain your balance. He observed your soaked hoodie, the way your breaths came out staggered, and the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you exhaled, struggling to catch your breath.
Noah blinked at you, eyes narrowing in on your expression. Something was off about the way you looked around you nervously.
“You sure?” he asked again.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You looked up at him, fake smile plastered on your face to better sell the lie, but eyes blown wide as if you’d been trying to outrun a predator. Noah wasn’t buying it.
“You tell me,” he said, observing your footwear.
You looked down at your rain boots and back up to him. “I wanted to go for a run?” you said. It was framed as a question. Half-acknowledging that you’d been caught, but hoping he would drop it anyway.
“Right.” He humored you for now. He’d get to the bottom of it eventually.
“What are you doing here?” you deflected. Your breathing had begun to slow. You tucked your wet, matted hair behind your ear and looked up at him with curiosity in your eyes. The tension in his chest began to fade the more you relaxed. As if his nervous system was inextricably tied to yours.
“I was about to grab some tea,” he said, nodding towards the small hole-in-the-wall café across the street. Your eyes followed, then dropped to where he still held your elbows, and he released them. “Care to join?”
“Sure,” you said. He nodded and gestured for you to follow him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.
The two of you crossed the street, Noah taking the opportunity to glance backwards to see if he could gather any context clues and opened the door for you when he found none.
He gestured toward the counter, indicating for you to order first, and sidled up behind you, standing protectively close, just in case there was indeed a threat.
“Want to take this to go?” he asked.
“Sure,” you said, placing an order for a decaf cinnamon latte. Gross. Too sweet for his taste. “To go, please.”
Noah placed his own order for a green tea before the barista could give you your total. You looked up at him with a question on your face, and he handed his card over to pay for both orders without pause. Perhaps he could buy some of your time.
The two of you stepped to the side while you waited for your drinks to be made. Noah leaned casually against the counter, putting his height on display and moving just enough into your personal space that you’d have to take notice.
“Why were you running in the rain?” he asked.
You looked him over, taking note of his new proximity. “Long story.”
“Do you always deflect this much?” he asked.
You smiled sheepishly. “I’ll tell you, just not right here.”
That was enough to put Noah fully at ease. Perhaps it truly was nothing and he’d just read into your body language too much.
Noah caught you glancing over his body out of the corner of his eye. He smiled to himself. He knew he was attractive. At this point, using his attractiveness to his advantage was almost second nature to him. He drummed his fingers against the counter, feeling a slight surge of energy when he saw you studying the tattoos on his hands and trying not to be obvious about it.
Noah knew he could be cocky at times. His own attractiveness became clear to him in high school, when he hit a growth spurt and got his first tattoo. He received much more attention from girls than his friends did, and it increased exponentially the older he got and the more his once-lanky body filled out. By the time he dropped out of high school, well before his sixteenth birthday, he’d lost his virginity and then some. He couldn’t remember what his body count was up to, but he’d guess it was approaching triple digits.
He tried to stay humble about it, knowing that too much attention wasn’t healthy for his ego, but he did, at times, like to indulge.
Like right now. He was aware you were looking at him. He knew he could invite you back to his studio, that you’d probably say yes, and that you were very conflicted about your attraction to him, because this might be the first time you’d wrestled with sexual attraction to someone who wasn’t bound by the same laws of purity as you.
He’d give you time to figure out what you wanted. He wouldn’t outright pressure you the way he had last time. But he also wasn’t going to stop himself from craving you, or from responding the way his body told him to when in pursuit of something he wanted.
He slid his hands across the counter, allowing his weight to drop to his elbows, and leaned towards you. He was tall enough that his face still hovered slightly over yours when he looked you in the eye.
Many times, people were intimidated by the weight of his full attention on them. They’d step back or break eye contact to diffuse it. You, however, just looked up at him with a question on your face.
Oh, he liked that. He liked you not being intimidated by him.
“So,” he said. A segue into nothing. A great move on his part since he had nothing to say.
“So,” you mimicked, knowing smile teasing the corner of your mouth upward. A warm, sensation rippled through Noah’s diaphragm. He didn’t smile though. He wasn’t going to break his façade so early.
“What…,” he began. He looked out the window as if he’d find a cue card with the prompt he’d need. He didn’t. “…do you like to do? For fun?”
A clumsy introduction to a conversation. Possibly the clumsiest he’s ever made.
You licked your lips and nodded to yourself, amused by his attempt. Without his permission, his eyes darted to your lips. He chided himself and looked away, hoping you hadn’t noticed the rookie mistake.
“Angel,” yelled the barista, shaking him from his thoughts. Noah had given them his nickname for you as the name of the order. It went over the way he expected, with you rolling your eyes and begrudgingly offering him a smile. Glee spread into his cheeks and he shot a grin at you before turning to the hand-off plane.
You grabbed your drinks, handing Noah’s to him and led the way back outside into the rain. Your lead didn’t last long—Noah’s long legs easily overtook you and he had to make a concerted effort to slow his pace so you could keep up.
“I like movies,” you said eventually.
“What?” he asked.
“For fun,” you said. “I like to watch movies.”
Oh. Right. He’d forgotten about that.
“What’s your favorite?” he asked, this question coming out much smoother than the last, and Noah felt like he was back on track.
“Three-way tie for all of the Lord of the Rings movies.”
Noah stopped short. “Are you serious?” he asked. You nodded.
Without thinking about it, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gave you an overly dramatic kiss on the top of the head, not worrying for a second about how you’d react. This time, you did get shy, shrinking into yourself and making a noise of protest before he let you go.
The power was back in Noah’s possession for the time being.
“What was that for?” you asked, smoothing out your hair. In the dark street, Noah couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks, but he knew it was there.
“I love Lord of the Rings,” he said. It was true. He’d been an avid fan of the films since grade school, back when he and his friends used to pretend to be the fellowship. Tall and slender with long hair, he’d been cast as the elf of the friend group, though he’d secretly always resonated more with Aragorn.
“Which one is your favorite?” you asked, falling back into step alongside him. Even with his slower pace, you had to take long strides to keep up.
“Return of the King,” said Noah without missing a beat. “I get chills every time the beacons are lit.”
“Did you know that in The Two Towers, when Viggo kicks—,”
“—he breaks his toe,” Noah cut you off. He immediately knew where you were going with it. Everyone with even the most basic appreciation for Lord of the Rings knew. It had become a calling card among fans to know that bit of trivia, but he still took pride in finishing your sentence.
The pride within him swelled tenfold when you smiled as if you’d never been more impressed or pleased with him in your life. He couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with you.
Which was not good, considering how much harder it would be to restrain himself around you. God, he wanted nothing more than to seduce the religion out of you. He wanted to turn his pockets inside out, use every trick in the book to get you into bed, but he would probably end up embarrassing himself if he did, because his charm didn’t seem to faze you.
He knew it wasn’t a matter of attraction. You showed all the signs of being attracted to him, yet you still had the self-control not to act on it, and that drove him wild.
Had he been wrong about you? He thought the reason you were still a virgin was because your resolve had never been tested, but he’d definitely tested it on Halloween, and you’d resisted.
Which Noah had not expected.
And though he had reacted poorly at the time (which he now found extremely embarrassing), he’s started to like that you shut him down. He’s always appreciated a bit of a chase—a smidge of hard-to-get. It made the game all the more exciting for him.
But this was different. You weren’t playing a game. You simply existed as yourself, with no agenda he could detect. And maybe the part of him that needed someone to help tame his ego would like you to continue shutting him down, as much as it killed him.
“I play video games,” he said, breaking out of his thoughts when he noticed he’d been silent for too long. “For fun.”
“What games?” you asked, not missing a beat.
“I’ve been playing a lot of Fallout recently.”
If you told him you played Fallout, he would propose to you on the spot.
“I never got into video games,” you said, and Noah breathed a sigh of relief, because he didn’t need to be any more whipped for you. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Oh,” he said, halting his steps. “Um, I was thinking of going back to the studio, if you were okay with that.” Nerves in his sides and in his throat tingled uncomfortably. You hesitated, and Noah wondered if the memory of what happened last time dwelled in the back of your mind, like it did his.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” you said after a beat, and picked up your pace once again. Noah exhaled softly, nerves soothed for the time being, and followed.
That was another thing: whenever he was with you, his nervous system oscillated wildly between feeling completely relaxed and supremely on-edge. The constant spikes in his adrenaline translated into excess energy that built up beneath his skin and all he wanted to do was sigh it into your mouth.
The three-block walk back to the studio was over all too soon. When the two of you arrived, Noah unlocked it like he had last time, and like last time, you sat in the same position on the couch.
Noah decided sit on the other end of the couch, rather than his usual desk chair. He faced you, legs crossed underneath him.
You turned to mirror his pose.
“So,” he said, this time knowing what he wanted to ask. “Nice night for a jog, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and retreating further into your hoodie.
“Not the best shoes for running, I have to say.” He nodded over to the rainboots that rested by the door in a small puddle.
You chuckled nervously, then worried at your lip. “I needed some air,” you said.
“Why?”
You bounced your knee up and down, collecting your thoughts. There was obviously something eating at you, and it concerned Noah that you were struggling so much to talk about it.
He relaxed his gaze, trying his best to train his face into a neutral, open expression.
“Okay,” you prefaced, exhaling a deep breath and twisting the cuff of your oversized sleeve in your hands. You looked anywhere but him. “So I have been questioning a lot about my faith recently. You know this.”
Noah nodded, stomach rolling with pride and with something slightly sicker and more selfish, knowing he’d been a catalyst of sorts for your questioning. He fought it back down, not allowing his feelings to distract him from listening to you.
“Yeah,” you nodded back at him, pulling your sleeves over your hands and bunching the ends up in your fists. Noah liked you this way. Cozy. Vulnerable. “And some people in the church are starting to notice.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding dawning on him. It was hard to ignore the changes in your behavior and demeanor. You’d become more confident over the last few weeks, less eager to please and more willing to stand up for yourself. He wasn’t surprised the church had caught onto it. The same thing had happened to him when he started deconstructing his beliefs—they saw it as a threat.
“When did you stop believing in Hell?” you asked, shifting the subject slightly.
“Oh,” he said again, feeling rather like a broken record.
You looked up at him, eyes growing wet with tears that threatened to spill over, and Noah began to see just how important this conversation was for you.
You waited patiently while he gathered his thoughts. His thumb traced along a seam in the leg of his jeans, grounding him while he tried to recall long-repressed memories.
“I don’t think there was any one significant moment.” He finally spoke, pausing to sip at his tea, savoring its bitterness. “It was more like I slowly came to understand that it was bullshit.”
“What made you realize?” you asked. Now it was Noah’s turn to carry the weight of your full attention. You hung on his every word, eyes trained on him as if you were looking into his soul and it made it difficult to focus. The collar of his shirt was suddenly too constricting. The room had grown warm. The knot of hair at the nape of his neck was tied too tight.
“My grandparents,” he began, clearing his throat. “They overused the threat of it. So did the church leaders. It started to feel empty after a while.”
You nodded, eager for him to continue speaking. “How long did it take to stop believing once you noticed?”
“Longer than it should have,” he confessed, heaving out a breath. “But in my defense, the stakes were pretty high. Had to figure out if I was willing to wager an eternity of torture on it.”
You hummed in thought, attention finally lifting off him and drifting to the space between the two of you.
“Noah, I think I’m…,” you began, but didn’t finish the rest of your sentence. He caught the hitch in your breath. The slight shudder in your shoulders.
He was pulled to you, as if there were a thread tugging at him. He needed reach out and touch you, so he did, placing his hand on your knee and rubbing his thumb back and forth. Something in his bones told him to stay quiet and let you figure this out.
You took a deep breath to steady yourself.
“I’ve never struggled with my faith before,” you began, and Noah nodded to show he was listening. “But now, it’s like I don’t know what to believe. I used to feel so sure. And some things I still feel sure about, but everything around it is like…crumbling.”
Noah watched you deliberately, hoping you felt you had his full attention, save for his right hand, which twirled a frayed thread from a rip in the knee of your jeans. To his surprise and delight, you inched closer to him. He made sure not to let it show. He needed his body language to match your tone—to be open and receptive. To be what you need.
“I feel like I was lied to,” you continued, voice breaking. “For my whole life, I was told that I had to act a certain way and believe in certain things. Things that I’ve struggled with for a long time. But I still did because I was afraid of ending up in Hell.”
You paused to sniffle. “And now I’m starting to think that it might not all be true, but I’m scared to think that, because what if it is true? And I do go to Hell? I just feel like…like the ground is being washed out from under me.”
Noah’s tongue prodded the inside of his cheek as your voice became watery. You were so close to a breakthrough. He didn’t want to say or do anything that would interrupt it, but he also wanted to cheer you on.
“I don’t want to become angry and bitter,” you confessed. “But I am angry. And I don’t know at who or what.”
“Are you afraid of being angry?” he asked, hoping it was the right question. This was toeing the edge of his jurisdiction.
“Kind of,” you said. “But it’s more than that. I’m afraid to start questioning, because I’m afraid I’ll abandon my faith altogether. Noah, I don’t know who I am without my faith.”
“Do you want to figure that out?”
You looked up at him, eyes glassy, threatening to spill over.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
Noah could kiss you. He wanted to kiss you, wanted to hold you by your jaw, make you breathe all your worries into his mouth so he could digest them and free you from the confines of your crushing guilt. Whatever suffocating remains you couldn’t exhale, he would swallow whole.
He yearned to crush his body against yours, to card his fingers through your hair and tug at the root, to hear your soft whimpers as he licked along the soft spots of your neck. He wanted the pressure of your thighs wrapped around his hips as he slid home over and over again.
Noah wanted you to take your anger out on him. Wanted you to sink your teeth into his throat, claw your nails down his back, to spit out your unfiltered rage. He wanted you to slap him hard across the face for having the audacity to dream of doing such lewd things to you.
He didn’t do any of those things, but he did take both your hands in his.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still believe in God?”
You sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”
“Okay. What do you think he would say if he saw you like this right now? If he loves you like he says he does. Do you think he’d be disappointed?”
You sniffed again, blinking back your tears and shook your head.
“How would he feel?”
“I think,” you began. Noah could practically see the cogs turning in your yead. He willed—almost prayed for—you to come to the right conclusion: one that didn’t end in self-hatred or shame.
“I think…he’d be proud of me,” you said.
Noah squeezed your hands in encouragement, manifesting a breakthrough for you. “Why would he be proud?”
“For having the courage to ask these questions.”
Noah’s dick was known to twitch at odd times. But this, by far, was the weirdest.
“To me,” he said, trying his best to ignore the feeling in his dick and focus on the task at hand, “it seems like you’re notabandoning your faith. You’re realizing that it’s so important that you’re willing to risk going to Hell to make sure you get it right.”
A strangled sob escaped from you and you dove into him, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your head into his chest.
Noah couldn’t breathe, and not because you held him in a vise grip. He draped his arms across your back, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head and praying to God for the first time since he was fifteen that he wouldn’t get a boner.
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his chest. “I feel like I’m always crying these days.”
“It’s fine,” he said. You smelled like rain and vanilla and something floral he couldn’t place. He tried his hardest to touch you as lightly as possible because if he gave into even the most innocent of his desires, his hands would be wrapped around your throat and he’d be burying himself in you.
You adjusted, crying into his shoulder now, and he could feel your hot breath steaming across his neck. Yes, he knew you were crying and that wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing in the world (at least in this context), but it took every ounce of self-control he had to not put you through the couch. You were half in his lap. Despite his prayers, he was semi-hard, and if you shifted your weight even an inch, you’d be able to feel.
When your sobs finally slowed and your breathing went back to normal, Noah continued to stroke your back with his palm.
Having you in his arms was like flirting with the devil. A serpent, offering him a bite of fruit he knew was forbidden, lest he be cast out of Eden, but the sight and scent and touch of which proving to be far too sweet to resist.
All too soon though, you were self-aware again, recognizing what you were doing and where you were. You pulled back to look at the tear-stained mess you left and had the loss of your touch not been excruciating, Noah would have been grateful because his self-control was just about spent.
“Gross,” he said, pulling the fabric of his shirt out and away from his skin. You had snotted on it.
“Sorry,” you said, laughing and getting up to find a tissue, and Noah was looking at your ass. No other thought ran through his head besides the stern acknowledgement that he was looking at your ass and nothing on this earth would stop him from looking at your ass until you turned back around.
“Feel better?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.
You nodded, face all red and splotchy.
“I should go,” you said, and his heart twisted and wrenched away from his ribs, but he agreed because he needed to put his cock in somethingimmediately or he was literally going to die.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.
“I don’t have your number.”
Noah reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, opening a new contact page and handing it to you. Your fingers brushed over his when you took it and he wondered if it was on purpose.
You tapped the screen a few times and handed it back to him. He opened a new text, typed his name, and pressed send. A few seconds later, your phone pinged.
His heart untwisted a millimeter. He had a tether to you now.
“Thanks,” you said. “For everything.” You stumbled back into your rain boots and walked over to where he was still sat on the couch (he couldn’t stand up without giving himself away by that point), and touched your lips briefly to his cheek bone. His skin burned under the touch and he didn’t even have a chance to respond before you were across the room and out the door.
Noah tipped sideways off the couch and rolled onto the floor, sprawled across the narrow passage between couch and desk.
He took a deep breath, feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, then rolled onto his stomach and did twenty push-ups in a row.
His dick was burning a hole through his jeans and if he didn’t do something immediately, he was going to bash his head into the floor.
He pulled out his phone, with one number in mind.
Noah 9:37 PM: ?
Madison 9:37 PM: ;)
Noah 9:38 PM: 5?
Madison 9:38 PM: ✔️
_________
Noah just about ran the few blocks to Madison’s apartment. He walked in unceremoniously, ignoring her roommates, and took the stairs two at a time all the way up to her room.
She was there, sitting on her bed with a hungry smile twisting on her lips. She wore a sports bra and the shortest shorts Noah’s ever seen, but he barely looked at them.
He kneeled in front of her, grasping her shoulders in his hands.
“What’s your safe word?”
“Candyland.”
Noah nodded.
“That’s the only word you’re allowed to say,” he commanded. Giggling, she fell back on the bed, opening her legs wide for Noah to wedge himself between.
Noah closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in and out through his nose and his hands found the flimsy fabric of Madison’s sports bra. She gave a yelp when he just about ripped it off her, flinging it across the room. He turned his focus to her shorts to do the same.
Once she was rid of her clothes, he ran a finger between her hairless folds to find she was already wet. Madison was always reliably wet.
Even so, he stuck two of his fingers in his mouth, collecting saliva before he plunged them into her, moving them up and down, scissoring them the way he knew she liked. It wasn’t long before she expanded enough to accommodate him.
Fumbling while removing his own clothes, he wasted no time taking his heavy cock out and stroking it. He reached into the familiar top drawer of her nightstand, producing a condom and rolling it onto himself. He cradled his throbbing cock and lined it up with her entrance, glancing up at her to check in, and she nodded.
Noah didn’t go slow. He pushed into her all the way as deep as he could go with a snap of his hips, and once he was fully sheathed, he finally he felt like he could breathe.
He groaned low as he began to thrust inside her. She moaned loudly, draping her arms around him, and the second he registered her touch, he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. With one hand, he held them there, while the other crushed her jaw between his fingers.
“I need you to listen to me,” he growled, looking her directly in the eye. “Do not move. Do not make a fucking sound. Any other night you can do what you want but tonight, if we do this, you are a fuck doll. Got it?”
She bit her swollen lower lip and nodded eagerly.
“Open,” he said.
She opened her mouth for him and he spat into it.
“Swallow,” he hissed.
She closed her mouth around his saliva and swallowed it obediently.
“Good. Now hold still.”
She preened, eyes rolling back into her head and lips dropping open.
Noah relaxed, finally feeling in control for the first time that evening since running into you. He folded Madison’s legs up over her, found purchase on the backs of her thighs, and began his descent into his lowest and most carnal self.
Madison, to her credit, didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move. She braced herself against her headboard and held her position like a dutiful fuck doll.
Noah didn’t make a habit of treating women like objects, and he didn’t like that he was doing it right then. In many ways, he was disgusted with himself, but tried his best to get over it, telling himself the ends justified the means.
He threw his head back and breathed deep, the heavy musty smell of sex permeating through the air, but Noah didn’t care much about that. He pistoned his hips into her, squeezing his eyes shut tight, wishing he was anywhere and anyone else but the depraved man he knew himself to be.
Wanting to feel at least a little better about what he was doing, he took a thumb and rubbed quick circles into Madison’s clit to reward her for letting him use her body like this.
She whimpered. He didn’t care enough to tell her to shut up again. Any sounds from her were just white noise.
God, Noah hated himself. Hated how absolutely weak he was, submitting to his body without even trying to put up a fight.
He never stood a chance, though. How did you do it?
He sighed and picked up his pace, reveling in the tight warmth of cunt.
Had your roles been reversed the other week? Had it been you on your knees in front of him, practically begging him to give himself over to you, he would have done it without question. Had you given him any hint of desire—had you given him even an inch, he would have taken the whole fucking mile and he would have doubled back just to do it again. What made you so much more capable of resisting?
Madison pulsed around him, and when something splashed against his abdomen with each thrust, he realized Madison had released onto him. She did that sometimes. Whatever. He was used to it. He kept going.
He thought of you masturbating. He thought of you thinking of him while you touched yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your white panties, whining his name while you made a mess of your bedsheets. He thought of you thinking of him tying you down and forcing you, and he could almost cry, he was so hard.
He tried not to think about the fact that he was fucking someone. He wasn’t really. He was using a body to masturbate because he knew it would give him a bigger release than he could get with just his hand.
And fuck, did he need release. He needed control. He needed to defile something beautiful and make it as ugly as he was inside.
Recognizing he wasn’t going to get what he needed in this position, he pulled out, flipped the girl over easily, and pushed back into her with a hard smack to the soft flesh of her ass.
She yelped, but made no other sound, and that was enough for him.
He thought of you coming undone beneath him. Of you weeping with the release of years of pent-up sexual energy. Of your makeup smearing down your face as you cried his name out to the heavens like a prayer for salvation.
He fucked Madison at a punishing pace. She arched her back and whipped her hair around to look over her shoulder at him, and as soon as he noticed, he stared at a random spot about two-thirds of the way up her wall.
Madison gave a choked, strangled sort of sob before everything grew more wet and her pussy began to flutter around him.
Noah would have to finish soon. Madison always got overstimulated if she was forced to keep going.
He gave a low, guttural growl and picked up his pace, needing to get as much energy out of himself as fast as he possibly could. The headboard slammed into the wall over and over, the bed creaked beneath him. Madison was a sobbing, sputtering mess as she tried desperately to keep still and silent for him.
“Just a little more,” he muttered angrily under his breath, picturing you on the brink of orgasm, body tensed up as you began to tip over the edge. “Come on.”
He dug his hands into Madison’s hips, slamming his body into hers and using his full strength to get as deep into her as he possibly could.
His lower abdomen tightened and his balls pulled up with the tell-tale sign of impending climax. He wrenched himself away from her, ripped off the condom, and gave himself a few quick strokes before he spilled himself onto her trembling body. Then he collapsed onto the bed, half on top of her, and curled himself around one of her pillows.
“I’m sorry,” he said, emotions washing over him like a tidal wave. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Madison said, cradling his trembling body into hers. “Noah, that was amazing. Don’t be sorry.”
Noah shook his head, throat closing in as he struggled to breathe. “I have to go.”
“What? Noah, don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. Just stay.” She said—his cum dripping down her shoulder and back as she sat up to look at him.
But Noah was already up, scrambling to pull up his jeans and find the shirt he’d thrown somewhere in his lust.
He all but ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. He ran the several blocks it took to get to his house. He slowed down momentarily as he entered through the front door and past the main living space, but it was only to fend off questions from his roommates.
Once in the safety of his room, he collapsed to the floor, crawled to his bed, and knelt.
“I…,” he began, whispering into his clasped palms. And then he blanked. Because he didn’t know who he was praying to, or what for. All he knew was that he was praying.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually settled on. And that’s all he could find to say for the moment. It wasn’t enough.
Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls @rain-down-on-me @poisongirl616
Let me know if I missed anyone!
Comment "tag me" below to be added to the list!
Masterlist
#noah sebastian x reader#bad omens fanfiction#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian smut#noah sebastian#bad omens#Noah Sebastian god complex
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he's a pirate
pairing: pirate captain!atsumu x fem!reader
wc: 2.8k
warnings: nsfw, porn with some plot, wax play, impact play, degradation, dom!atsumu, sub!reader, general threats of violence, a sprinkle of authority kink, reader is choked once, fluffy ending
a/n: for the love of FUCK this is not accurate or realistic wax play. please do NOT pour wax from random ass candles on any part of your body thank u
Isn’t this just perfect, you had to get caught didn’t you, you chastise yourself.
“Unhand me at once you pathetic, filthy pirate!” you screech at the wretched man holding your arms.
“You say pirate like it's a bad thing.”
You stop thrashing, directing your attention up to the quarter deck. There stands a tall young man with tufts of blonde hair sticking out from under his preposterous hat. He looks down at you and an amused smirk tugs at his lips. “We’re not all that bad.”
The man holding you shoves you down to the floor. You barely keep yourself from falling face first onto the deck.
You glare up at him, flipping your hair out of your face, “I’ll kill you.” you spit.
The man laughs. “We both know you’re not capable of killin’ me, love.” He walks up to the railing, leaning against it. “I’m much too handsome.”
“Give me a break.” you huff.
“We caught ‘er tryin’ to steal some of our supplies, capn’.”
“Oh? You’ve got some nerve sweetheart,” he chuckles darkly. The blonde makes his way around the railing and down the steps. You watch him carefully, trying to guess what he is playing at.
He stands before you, and unsheaths his sword. His expression is unreadable as he fits the tip of the blade beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself from saying something idiotic.
“Do you know how I punish thieves, poppet?” His voice is sickeningly condescending.
You keep your mouth shut, refusing to give this moron the satisfaction of following along. By now, a small crowd of crew members had formed, all of them enjoying the free entertainment.
The captain rolls his eyes, looking around at the rest of his crew, “How should we punish her, eh boys?”
A mess of responses comes from the men.
“Throw ’er overboard!”
“Strip ‘er and tie ‘er to the mast!”
“Slit ‘er throat!”
You’re sure the fear is visible in your eyes. The captain looks quite amused by the whole ordeal.
“True, I usually just throw thieves overboard. But,” he leans down, his face a few mere inches away from yours. “I think I should handle yer punishment a little more... personally.” He turns to face his crew again, “I’ll handle this myself, get back to work ya morons.”
The crew disperses, groaning in disappointment. They were hoping for a much more entertaining conclusion. But you know this isn’t over for you.
He finally withdraws his blade and pulls you up to your feet, “Follow me love. Let’s discuss yer punishment in private.” he whispers into your ear.
As soon as the door of the captain’s quarter’s clicked shut he broke the silence.
“y/n.”
“Miya.” you growl. “I meant it when I said I’d kill you.”
“Tch, don’t be like that poppet-”
“Don't call me that.”
“Right. Forgot ya hated that name.” Atsumu sighs, “Love, I know I was a dick. I don’t expect ya to just let me back in, but please give me a chance.”
You sit down in a chair. “And why would I do that, Miya?”
He leans over you, hand on either arm of the chair, trapping you. “Ya know ya miss me. Us.”
You scrunch up your nose. “That’s awfully arrogant of you.”
He leans in further, nose bumping against yours. “C’mon love. At least stay the night, for old time’s sake.”
You don’t know what possesses you at that moment. This is the man that had left you behind, without so much as a proper warning. He told you in passing he wanted to leave one night and never return. The next day you had woken up to a cold bed and a missing ship.
You had every intention of chopping off his dick and shoving down his throat if you ever saw him again. But here you are, kissing him as though you still needed him with every fiber of your being.
He grazes your lips with his teeth, hands wandering your body freely.
“Fuck, I missed ya so much love.” Atsumu’s leg slips between your and bumps against your sensitive core. You whimper against his lips, hating how easily you slip into a submissive state for him.
Atsumu pulls away and boasts a dangerous smirk on his lips. “I’m supposed to be punishing ya darlin’, the men won’t believe I kept my word unless they hear some screamin’.”
He grips the front of your blouse, pulls you out of the chair and shoves you onto his bed. He climbs on top of you, easily tearing the fabric between his fingers. His eyes roll back when he’s greeted with the familiar sight of your bare breasts, barely biting back a groan as he eagerly gropes them. You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding up against his hardening cock. Atsumu kisses you sloppily, teeth roughly clashing against yours. You reach up to throw off his stupid hat and thread your fingers through his hair.
“This is,” you gasp as Atsumu drags his thumb around your nipple, “quite the punishment, Miya.”
In an instant, Atsumu ceases all movement. “You’ve forgotten who yer dealin’ with, princess.”
He unhooks your legs from around his waist and gets off the bed. You start to sit up, but Atsumu quickly shoves you back down, his massive hand wrapped almost entirely around your throat. “Did I tell you to fuckin’ move?”
“N-no,” you choke out.
He raises an eyebrow. “Ya seem to have forgotten your manners as well, what a damn shame.”
Before you can react, he releases your neck and slaps you across the face. The sound of the impact echoes throughout the room and rings in your ears.
Atsumu grips your face tightly and forces you to face him. “Let’s try again shall we?” He leans in, his lips ghosting over your own, so close that you can feel his hot breath mingling with yours.
“Did I give you permission to move?”
You swallow, trying to speak without trembling, “No, s-sir.”
There’s a satisfied glint in his eyes as he releases you. You make sure to stay perfectly still. Without a word of acknowledgement he walks over to his desk, shrugs off his coat, and removes the pistols you were mortified to realize you hadn’t detected.
From your spot on the bed you get a perfect view of the wonders his pants do for his ass. You're so distracted you don’t notice Atsumu lighting a candle before walking back over to the bedside.
“Clothes off.”
Once you’ve stripped bare, Atsumu lays you on your back and spreads your legs. Your cunt is already glistening from the heated kissing and grinding.
“You’re positively drenched, darlin’.”
He reaches over to grab the red candle from the table. He holds it over your stomach, before grinning again. “You’re not allowed to move, but screaming is highly encouraged.”
With that he tilts the candle, letting a drop of wax plop onto your stomach. You hiss and squirm, the heat almost unbearable for a moment. You’re ashamed to admit the sharp pain goes straight to your twitching pussy. Another drop falls a bit higher up your torso. It takes all your willpower to keep still.
To only make matters worse, as Atsumu drips the candle wax onto your breasts he uses his free hand to start teasing your clit. You mewl as he rubs up and down your slit, inserting a finger as wax lands on your hardened nipples. His fingers graze against that tender spot inside, you arch your back, grinding on his hand.
“F-fuck, right there!” you choke out. Your eyes are screwed shut, but you feel the drips of wax traveling further down your body.
“Yer movin’ again,” Atsumu leans forward, the candle flame licking the skin of your side, “Are ya this desperate for me? All that time on your own really did make ya a whore, hmm?”
You shake your head, “No, I didn-”
Before you can finish, Atsumu quickly removes his hand and slaps it against your cunt, hard. You can’t suppress the screech ripped from your throat.
He sits back between your thighs and sets the candle on the floor by the bed. He nods to your legs, “Grab ‘em and hold ‘em to yer chest. Now.”
You do as he says, feeling your face get hot again. Atsumu’s view must be entirely obscene. If someone were to walk in now, there would be no saving your dignity.
Atsumu’s eyes are dark and hungry, he hits your cunt again with more force than before. A loud and wet slap echoes in the room along with your shriek. You heave, trying to catch your breath.
He lowers his face between your legs and licks a stripe up, leaving a kiss on your clit. “Such a filthy little whore. Yer really enjoying this aren’t ya?”
You nod your head rapidly, “Y-yes sir, I am.”
“So ya haven’t learned yer lesson about stealin’ from me?”
Oh shit. That’s right.
“I, uh...”
Fuck, you can’t think straight with his tongue grazing against your soaked hole.
“No? Well I’ll have to really punish ya then.”
He holds the candle directly over your pussy, eyes gleaming.
“W-wait-” You’re interrupted by your own scream as the first drop of wax hits your clit with a plop!
“That’s what I like to hear, darlin’.” Atsumu’s face boasts a sadistic grin as he continues his assault on your cunt.
You keep screaming with each drop, the stinging only making you wetter than you already were. Your fingernails leave bright red crescents on your thighs as you grip them to your chest, using all your strength to stay still. There’s wax all over your swollen cunt and you’re sure it must look like an absolute mess.
“I think yer ready now.” Atsumu mumbles, undoing his pants and taking out his cock. He readjusts himself and teases your dripping pussy with his impossibly hard length. You whimper every time he slips just the head of his cock in.
“Fuckin’ hell, doll yer still so tight.” He groans, finally pushing all the way in.
Your vision is blurry from all the overwhelming sensations. Atsumu pulls out almost completely before ramming his hips back against yours. Your mouth drops open as he sets the brutal pace you were so familiar with from all those years ago. You whimper and whine with every wet slap of his cock drilling into you.
Without slowing his pace, Atsumu picks the candle back up. He grins down at you, tipping it over again and lands a particularly large glob of wax on your clit. Your scream is guttural, the feeling of Atsumu hitting your g-spot while the burning wax stimulates your swollen clit entirely overwhelming.
You start to feel a familiar tension in your stomach. Your cunt clenches around Atsumu’s cock, making him throw his head back, eyes screwed shut. He takes a ragged breath before looking you in the eyes and presses his thumb harshly against the wax on your clit.
“F-fuck! Sir, I’m cumming!” You scream, legs shake so violently you lose your grip on them. Before they can hit the bed Atsumu blows out the candle and throws it to the ground. He uses his free arm to hold them back up against you.
“That’s it darlin’, just like that, keep cumming for me.” Atsumu presses himself harder against you as his thrusts get sloppier. He groans loudly as he cums inside you, his grip on your legs loosening.
He lets out a ragged breath as his movements come to a stop and he helps you lower your sore legs to the bed.
He leans over you, his strong arms on either side of your head. He kisses you the way he did earlier, as loving as ever. He pulls away from your lips and presses his forehead to yours. You both stay there in comfortable silence for a moment.
Once you’ve caught your breath, you whisper, “I think we should clean up.”
Atsumu sighs, but reluctantly moves off of you. Dry wax on your body uncomfortably cracks with the movement.
You scrunch up your nose, how the hell are you going to get this off of you?
“Well then? How was that?” Atsumu asks.
“I suppose,” you turn your head to the captain, “that was satisfactory.”
Atsumu snorts, “Just satisfactory huh? I’ll go harder next time then, princess.”
You shiver, knowing full well he will keep his word. You also don’t fail to notice his choice of words.
Next time.
You watch as Atsumu stands up and starts pulling his pants back on. The thin sheen of sweat covering his back makes him almost glow in the sunlight shining through the window. He pulls his cotton tunic over his head and turns back to you, a soft look in his eyes. “Let’s get ya cleaned up shall we?”
He opens a cabinet to pull out a cloth and bottle. He places them on the bedside table before situating himself beside you. He douses the cloth with a thick liquid.
“What is that?” you ask, watching as he starts rubbing it into your skin and over the wax.
“Olive oil, it’ll get the wax right off of yer skin. I don’t wanna hurt ya or let ya rip the pieces off.” Atsumu dutifully works at your skin, slowly but surely getting all the wax off, and leaving you very oily instead.
“Miya?”
“I think we’re a bit past the formalities dontcha think?”
You smile sadly, “Atsumu, why are you here? You said you weren’t coming back.”
Atsumu sighs, “I know what I said. And I meant it when I said it, but I was an idiot.”
“Not surprised.”
“Watch it.” Atsumu pinches your leg playfully. “I didn’t realize that what I was looking for wasn’t on the other side of the world.”
He puts down the rag and walks over to his coat. You sit up against the headboard as he rumages for something in its pockets. He pulls out a little brown box with gold detailing around its borders. He circles the bed, taking a seat beside you. He meets your eyes, “Can’t believe I needed this thing to realize what I really wanted.”
You frown as he opens the box, expecting to see a giant diamond or aztec gold.
“A broken compass.” You say, unimpressed.
Atsumu groans, “I’m trying to be dramatic here and yer ruining my moment.” He takes a deep breath, “Yes, it's a compass. But it’s not broken, it points toward whatever it is you most desire.”
The needle spins back and forth for a split moment before picking a direction. You twist your head back to look behind you, “You want the rum on the table?”
“For fuck’s sake y/n and ya say I’m dense.” He runs a hand down his face. “It’s pointing at you.”
You freeze for a moment. He can’t possibly mean that.
“Atsumu I swear to god if you're messing with me...” your voice trails off.
Atsumu puts the compass down and takes hold of your hands, “I swear on my life, yer everything I want in this world. I’m fully prepared to sell the ship and stay with ya on dry land if that’s what ya want.”
You blink back tears, “There’s no need to be so dramatic.” You move over so he can take a seat beside you. “I don’t want you to give up sailing. I never did. All I wanted was for you to take me with you, to be with you.”
Atsumu shakes his head, “I was so fuckin’ stupid.”
You smile and curl up next to him, “Not as stupid as I am giving you a second chance. Don’t make me regret this.”
Atsumu drapes his arm around you, planting a kiss on your head, “I’ll make you a pirate queen, darlin’. Just you wait.”
You giggle, “So where are we headed, captain?”
Atsumu grabs the compass again. With his arm secured around you, the needle starts spinning again. It settles in the general direction of the island.
You raise a brow at him, challenging him to explain why the needle was pointing toward the village.
Atsumu grins like an idiot and reaches over you to snatch the bottle of rum. He rips out the cork with his teeth and spits it out to the floor. He takes a swig before holding it up to your lips, carefully pouring some into your mouth.
Taking the compass back into his hands it finally settles, pointing out to the open ocean.
You smile, “Looks like we have a heading. Any idea where it may be taking us?”
Atsumu is quiet for a moment, before turning back to you. In his eyes is a glimmer of adventure. Those are the eyes of a troublemaker you fell in love with oh so long ago.
“Ever heard of the fountain of youth?”
#link can write#haikyuu x reader#atsumu miya x reader#atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader smut#atsumu smut#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x reader smut#pirate au#technically a repost of an old fic
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𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦?
pairing: eddie munson x exgirlfriend!reader
summary: eddie lets his insecurities get the better of him, letting you go and taking his heart with you.
author notes: what's up, guys? this took longer than expected, but I'm pretty pleased with the outcome and I hope you guys enjoy it — feedback is appreciated.
The room smelled of stale smoke, bottles of beers discarded next to the bed, emptied boxes of pizza stacked atop the dresser — a hint of your perfume lingers in his sheets wallowing in the memories, reminding him of the heart he broke.
He recalls the way his name slipped from your trembling lips — a simple plea, asking for this to be just a cruel joke. His silence broken at the slam of his front door, rushed footsteps following to catch up, freezing at the edge of the first step.
Your taillights fading haunts his tired eyes, twisting the knife deeper and deeper into his deserving heart — punishment, righteously earned. Eddie loves you, capturing his heart at first sight, but his insecurities got the better of him, tricking him to believe he wasn't good enough.
Eddie was stuck in this no luck town, little to his name and no prospects of the future with you tethered to him, and he couldn't stand the thought of you being stuck along with him — so, he did what he did best.
He slashed the rope, saving you by shattering your heart and letting you go.
Nightly drives became ritual — windows down, radio up, speeding down the deserted streets of Hawkins, gazing flued to the road ahead, driving through the past. Glimpse of you scattered on every corner, trapped in memories chasing and calling after him.
The van jerks, braking at the sudden red light. Jittery hands pat his jacket, taking out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up to calm his nerves. Eddie tosses the pack on the dashboard — his ring covered reaches for the passenger seat, landing on the leathery material. His lips wear a frown, head turning towards the empty seat. Looking out the window, his frown turns hopeful, heart beating rapidly in his chest at who he sees.
You, sitting at a booth inside the local diner — a smile to your face, tossing a couple fries into your mouth. Your hair up, few loose strands tucked behind your ears as the denim jacket hangs off your shoulders, looking as beautiful as the day he let you go. You toss your head back, laughing as his attention shifts to the person sitting across from you. His blood boils, burning his chest as his jaw clenches as his knuckles turn white from their grip on the wheel. Steve Harrington, fucking prick.
A car behind him blares their horn, the green light signaling his escape, rushing down the street — a broken sob slips from trembling lips, chest heaving with regret, letting the tears trickle down his flushed cheeks, grip tightening as the image of the pair of you replays in his mind.
The stereo roars to life, your laugh seeping out the speakers, ringing in his ears until it all becomes too much. He pulls to the side of the road, brake screeching as the van comes to a stop. Shifting the van into park, breathing erratic — the rage desperate to get out, silence forms all around him as he lets it all out. Wails of anger towards oneself echo in the night sky, muffled by the metal of a van.
Hours appears to pass, or maybe minutes, he's not quite sure. Eddie mourns in the stillness, staring into the darkness — truly and utterly lost. He feels it, then. A warm touch to his thigh, drawing him into the light. He turns his head, softening towards the presence of your ghostly figure. She leans forward, delicate fingers caresses his tear stained cheeks with a smile on her lips. His eyes close, leaning into her touch.
She's gone, vanishing as quickly as she appeared. The engine rumbles, shifting into gear and peeling onto the isolated road, listening to his heart — a destination to his travels, and one thing on his mind.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger thing fanfic#eddie munson angst#stories#one shots#angst#fluff#*emstories#*emoneshots
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how dreamies would react to helping you with your homework
REQUEST ▸ how dreamies would react to having to help with your homework?
PAIRING ▸ friend!dreamies x reader
TAGS ▸ none, crack, most of them are confused af and very unhelpful, DO NOT TAKE ANY OF THEIR ADVICE ESPECIALLY CHENLE’S…
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ anon i lost your ask somehow… it appeared on my computer but now i can’t find it but i still remember it! i apologize if the formatting is weird this time lol i’m writing this on my phone 😭
Mark Lee
marks TRIES to help you with your homework. emphasis on ‘TRIES’ cause we all know he is no help at all. you ask him a question about the problem as you’re both attempting it together and he looks at you with the most confused look you have ever seen, “i was just about to ask you the exact same thing…” you two are probably never going to figure it out, so good luck getting your homework done tonight!
Huang Renjun
renjun is an actually good tutor. of course he’s going to walk you through all the steps on how to solve the problems and then discuss with you the subject better at hand, “I think it’s 47… stay focused y/n!” renjun’s the best study buddy, and even if he doesn’t understand the subject well, he’ll try his best to understand and learn on his own, just so he can teach you better.
Lee Jeno
jeno. poor jeno. he’s trying his best too okay? “why are there… letters… isn’t this math?” he hasn’t had much education past a basic high school level, so anything beyond that bewilders him, “we used to solve… much different problems… back when i was a kid” (okay boomer) next time remember that jeno and statistics do not work well together!
Lee Donghyuck
haechan looks at the problems for a few seconds before deciding that is simply something he does not want to attempt at all. “you know… you don’t need school!” he throws the pencil down on the table in a fit, “who needs school anyways?” haechan glances at the work then back at you, “there are so many other options on the table! just drop out!”
Na Jaemin
jaemin is great for emotional support! not the best for helping, but at least he’s there cheering you on from the sides. he’ll take a look at you with a happy smile on his face, “you’re doing great!” but then as soon as he looks back at the problem you’re currently attempting he arches his brows into a look of pure confusion. he’s just as clueless as you are, but at least he can be your cheerleader!
Zhong Chenle
chenle gets quite impatient with how slow you’re doing the problems, “wrong… wrong again…” until eventually he snatches the paper across from your seat and mumbles to himself, “you know what, give it to me…” you two sit in silence as Chenle does the homework for you, but before he finishes he looks at you again dead serious, “why don’t you just cheat?”
Park Jisung
jisung was everywhere but school… so what you even expect this man will do to help you study? “what’s the purpose of this again?” he asks as he lets out a big yawn, and stretches in his chair, rocking back and forth impatiently as you attempt the problem yourself. jisung watches as you struggle for a couple of seconds before grumbling to himself, “just tell your professor it doesn’t make sense… i don’t know… you can gaslight him, you’re good at that.”
#nct dream#nct dream imagines#nct dream fic#nct fic#nct#nct dream imagine#nct x reader#nct scenarios#nct mark#nct jeno#nct renjun#nct jaemin#nct haechan#nct chenle#nct jisung#mark lee#lee donghyuck#lee jeno#park jisung#na jaemin#huang renjun#zhong chenle#chenle#renjun#jisung#jeno#haechan#jaemin#nct hard hours#nct dream reactions
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lucky 🍀 | AA23
alex debuts an... interesting... new hair for race weekend, and y/n is to blame after a little too much to drink
word count: 1.5k
warnings: none!
author's note: MY WRITER'S BLOCK IS CURED WOOHOO SO NOW TWO POSTS IN ONE NIGHT!!!! this season seems to be the anything can happen type, so i am crossing my fingers and toes to see alex on the podium at some point. anyway, this was literally so fun to write i hope you enjoy :))
“alright kids, you’re home.” george russell did not imagine this would be his friday night when he had left his home a long six hours earlier. if he’d known that he would be assigned the role of babysitter for his former teammate and his girlfriend, he maybe would’ve stayed home. or at least worn shoes that he liked a little less, as his favorite trainers were currently sporting a new, puce green stain.
“thank youuuu, george,” y/n slurred, her eyes hazy and unfocused. her boyfriend didn’t look any better, practically putting all of his weight on poor y/n. she didn’t seem to mind though, one hand braced against the couch for balance, one hand wrapped around his waist to keep him upright.
if only the world could see the wholesome “parents of the paddock” now, george thought. satisfied they were safe and taken care of, he shut the front door quietly behind him, grinning as he made his way to carmen who sat in the passenger seat of his car. now that y/n and alex were home, they’d likely sleep it off and stay out of trouble. right?
well… not quite.
as george pulled out of the driveway, inside, alex and y/n had managed to remember that couches could be sat on, not just leaned up against. they collapsed onto the soft cushions, alex sighing contently as he pulled y/n to sit between his legs. she cuddled into his chest, craving warmth after what had been a very cold night out in a very tiny dress.
just as y/n was starting to fall asleep, alex started to shift underneath her. she groaned and just wrapped her arms around him tighter.
“love, i’m so thirsty.”
y/n shook her head, trying to get back to the drowsy state she’d just left. “too comfy.”
he poked her arm in response, and she ignored it best she could until it was unbearable.
“stop it!”
“i need water,” he moaned dramatically, starting to unwrap his arms from around her.
“i��m thirsty too, but i’m being nice and not moving.”
“you’re not being nice, you’re being lazyyy.” he drew out the last letter, and she turned her head only to stick out her tongue at him.
“fine. i’ll take you with me.” y/n didn’t mind what he did, as long as she didn’t have to walk or do anything other than shut her eyes tight against the blurriness that came with a few (okay, a lot) too many shots of vodka. alex pushed himself off the couch, and y/n wrapped her limbs around him tightly until he safely deposited her to sit on the kitchen counter.
there was the sound of the cabinet door opening and closing, and the gurgle of the tap broke through the otherwise silent apartment.
“i can hear you gulping.” y/n said, eyes still squeezed shut. “share please.”
the three glasses of water each they downed helped somewhat- y/n’s stomach had settled and her head was spinning less, but now she just had the lack of inhibition and craving for spontaneity that alcohol fostered.
from her perch on the counter, she could sit with her legs wrapped around alex’s torso, his head relaxing back into her chest as he stood with his back to her. she ran her fingers gently through his hair, smiling as an idea formed.
“when’s the last time you dyed your hair, love?”
“mmm. it’s been a while. last year, maybe?”
y/n felt a rush of excitement, but tread carefully to avoid spooking her poor unsuspecting boyfriend.
“what if you let me dye it?”
his posture became a little less relaxed, a little more alert. uh oh. say yes. she chanted silently in her head. say yes, say yes, say yes.
“have you ever dyed hair before?” not a full yes, but this was good. it wasn’t a no. there was still a possibility.
“i did rina’s hair just last month.” sure, your sister changed her hair so often that she had simply laughed at your botched dye job, rocking the streaky blue until she was able to get into a proper salon the next week. but experience was experience. he hadn’t asked about the outcome.
“okay.”
“okay?” you squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms underneath his chin and resting your head on top of his. he just laughed, relaxing even more into your embrace if that was even possible.
“alright, come on, i think i have dye under the sink.”
“wait, now? i was thinking next week after the race, love.” but you didn’t want to wait that long, you wanted to do something fun now, while the world looked a little brighter than usual and you could practically feel the blood pumping through your veins. you decided to test your luck and hopped down from the counter, pulling him along towards the small hall bathroom, grinning when he just followed along.
alex sat down on the toilet lid while you rummaged through the messy sink cabinet, finally finding what you’d desperately hoped was still there in the back corner- bleach, and the remnants of a dye kit you’d bought when your sister had encouraged you to try red hair (spoiler alert, it was a very bad idea). there definitely wouldn’t be enough red dye to do alex’s entire head though, and you frowned as you tried to work out a solution.
suddenly, the perfect idea struck. after mixing the dyes, you happily got to work. alex was content to just relax into the pressure of your fingers in his hair, and before you knew it, your masterpiece was complete. after a quick rinse, and a change into comfier, cleaner clothes for both of you, you fell into bed. there was only time for a quick goodnight kiss, and by the time your head hit the pillow, you had practically already fallen into a deep sleep.
which is why, when you woke up the next morning, cursing the bright sunlight of the gorgeous fall morning, the previous night wasn’t totally clear at first. you cringed at the memory of puking into the dirty club bathroom, but there was nothing hideously embarrassing up until george bringing you and alex home. however, at the thought of what your drunken brain had thought was a good idea once the two of you were left to your own devices, you shot up in bed, staring in horror at the sleeping boy next to you.
alex’s hair. dear god. you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, and then cursed yourself as all the movement and noise had alex stirring in bed. he smiled up at you with sleepy eyes, getting halfway through “good morning” before clocking your expression.
“what?” he sat up in bed, sheets sliding down as his worry increased. “y/n, what’s wrong?”
“alex, love, i’m so sorry.” it was all you could do but apologize, and alex looked confused until he spotted himself in the mirror hanging to the right of your bed.
his jaw dropped as he turned his head left and right. you just winced, apologizing over and over. but you stopped mid sentence when his look of shock turned into a grin, and then a full blown, stomach-hurting laugh. he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking.
you couldn’t help it- that type of laugh was infectious.
“i’m so sorry, love,” you groaned between giggles, leaning into alex’s shoulder. “i don’t know what i was thinking.”
it took him a couple seconds to get back the breath to reply, but when he did it was clear that there was nothing but amusement in the situation.
“don’t be sorry, y/n,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and squeezed tight. “i’m surprised we didn’t do worse with how plastered we were last night.”
“remind me that shots are very, very bad the next time we go out, please.” the dull throb in her temples was her body’s way of agreeing with that statement. in a serious tone, she looked up at him, determined to fix the situation. “i’ll find you an appointment at a salon before the race, i promise.”
“are you kidding?” he turned to look at himself again in the mirror, running a hand over his hair. “i’m definitely going to get bullied by the grid, but this can only be good luck.”
and despite your protests and offers to fix it, he remains resolute in having the absolutely horrid dye job for the entirety of the race weekend. and when he manages to achieve the practically impossible- a podium in a williams- after crediting the team’s immense efforts, it isn’t his stellar driving that he wants to discuss in post-race interviews. no, he attributes his success to his new hair, which he makes sure to emphasize was done by his lovely girlfriend.
even though your drunken mistake is now a very popular topic of conversation in the f1 world, you can’t help but feel any emotion besides all-consuming pride.
@alex_albon: best weekend ever. biggest thanks to the team, and my new barber @ y/n-l/n for the lucky hair
@y/n-l/n: HE DID IT!!!!!!!! endlessly proud of you AA23 <3
#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1#williams f1#williams formula 1#alex albon#alexander albon#williams racing#aa23 x reader#aa23#george russell
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Snapshots: "Oh, do not fucking do that." + Enemies to Lovers
Pairing: Changbin x reader, Hyunjin x reader
Bang Chan and Lee Know here! Other 4 coming soon!
Word count: ~ 300 each
Author's Note: I know Changbin's isn't super "enemies" but I followed my heart and here's where we are.
Reblogs, comments, likes all appreciated!!
Masterlist
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Changbin:
You sneak another glimpse of him across the gym.
Seo Changbin. He’s about 5’6”, painfully attractive, always laughing or smiling or quirking an eyebrow at you.
You don’t know him, not really. You talk when you’re there at the same time-which usually happens to be Monday and Wednesday afternoons. You have a friendly contest to see which of you can run a faster mile.
But Seo Changbin is, in fact, painfully attractive. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
He’s taking a gulp of water now, wiping some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. You feel your cheeks heating up, and convince yourself it’s just because of the workout (never mind that you haven’t even started yet).
You take a sip of your own water and set it down, your stomach flipping in anticipation as you walk towards him.
He looks up as you approach. “Y/n! Have a new time for me to beat on the treadmill?” His smile is easy and relaxed.
“Not quite.” You force a laugh.
“What’s up?” He looks confused.
“I, er…” You start, trying to work up your courage.
“Oh, don’t do that, what is it?”
“I was gonna ask… would you wanna get drinks after the gym sometime?” You say in a rush, refusing to look at him.
“Drinks? With my greatest running enemy?” He sounds outraged, but you have a feeling he’s joking. “I’d love to, y/n.” You finally look up, and Changbin’s smiling at you, and your stomach flips again, a storm of butterflies.
Hyunjin:
“Y/n?”
You look up from your hands in your lap to see Hyunjin standing in front of you, head tilted to the side under his hood.
“Hyunjin.” You groan.
Your parents and Hyunjin’s have been friends since college, but you and he haven’t shared that friendship. Ever since you were kids, Hyunjin has been quietly teasing you, making jabs and jokes, and you’ve been doing the same. Neither of you knows who started it, but that’s the way it’s always been.
Your families haven’t seen each other in a while, but you know they live in this part of town. You hadn’t considered that when you’d come to this park with your boyfr—your ex.
“It’s raining.” Hyunjin says.
“Yes.” You agree.
“And you’re… sitting there.”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Since when do you care?” You cross your arms. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I was out for a walk.” He crosses his arms. “And then it started raining, so I was about to head home.”
“Oh.” You look down again.
“Seriously, something’s wrong.”
“No shit.”
You hear the rustling of fabric, and you look up. Hyunjin’s pulling off his hoodie, holding it out to you.
“No, it’s raining, I don’t want—”
“Oh, do not fucking do that.” He shoves it at you. “Just put it on. You’re making me cold just looking at you.”
You slip on the hoodie, inhaling a deep breath of Hyunjin’s scent, which is oddly comforting. “My ex broke up with me.”
“Oh.” It’s Hyunjin’s turn to look awkward. “I’m sorry.”
You sniffle. “Whatever.”
You’re both quiet for a second.
“Come with me.” He says abruptly. “Come back to my house. No one’s home. I’ll make you some food or something.”
“Are you sure? Cause I don’t—”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He interrupts, nodding. “We can talk about how I’m gonna kill your ex.”
You smile. “That sounds like what I need right now.”
Hyunjin smiles, too. “C’mon.”
#stray kids#hyunjin#changbin#hyunjin x reader#changbin x reader#skz#stray kids fic#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#enemies to lovers
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