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vroomvroomcircuit · 1 month

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You pulling in made me wish your Dad pulled out

(A/N): Thank you to @foreveralbon for workshopping this fic with me with this prompt. I don't know what to do if you weren't my muse.

Summary: Charles pissed off his neighbor with his parking. Her answers are notes taped to his car window. How can evolve more out of that?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ________________________

(Y/N) knows that she isn’t the most professional car parker. She should never start a career as a valet for sure. After all, she needed a second attempt on her own practical test to attain her drivers license.

But there is this one neighbor of hers. She doesn’t know what he looks like, what his name is or where he even lives. But (Y/N) knows one thing for sure: He is a shit parker.

Like, he is the worst person at parking that has ever walked the world. If he could, he probably would park his oh so expensive car onto other cars. But she tries to not let that get too close to her. After all, we just talk about parking spaces and it’s not worth getting her blood pressure up over it.

But (Y/N) found her tipping point.

Her whole morning has been a shit show. Her alarm went off, but she accidentally turned it off instead of giving herself another five minutes of sleep. Five minutes turned into 45. That meant the young woman had to rush through her usual morning routine and she is 90 % sure that she put at least one clothing item on the wrong way.

But it’s ok, she is still on time. She just needs to get out of the car par-

This is where (Y/N) last thread of patience with that neighbor snaps in two like a potato chip, crisp and unclean. This person parked the front half of his car in a way that completely blocks (Y/N)’s rear end from exiting the car in a way that does not hinder the sidewalk.

It takes a solid seven minutes to get out of her spot, trying not to scratch hers or another car. Arriving a few minutes late at work because of that and receiving a reprimand from her boss is really the young woman’s last straw. On her lunch break she does some snooping on the internet and comes across a really fine find. It’s worth the price and shipping cost to her.

Actually, she can’t wait for the week it is supposed to take to arrive at her doorstep.

But the time between that particular day and the day of arrival do fly by when you use it getting madder and madder at the dickhead that is unable to park like a normal person.

The next occurrence doesn’t take long after (Y/N)’s package finally arrives. She wanted to park her vehicle in her usual spot when Mr. Ferrari already took his and her own too. How can one person be such an asshole?

(Y/N) takes one of the business card sized cuts out of her glove box and puts it in the slit of the black car’s window. Satisfied with her work she steps back into her vehicle and looks for a different spot, ending up walking several minutes back to her apartment building, having to look somewhere farther away.

Charles can see from a distance that there is a card at his car’s windowshield. Which makes him suspicious. Surely no one thinks that he wants to sell his car for cheap, so it can’t be one of those car handler’s business cards. Maybe it’s a new ruse of thieves, trying to get him to stand long enough at his car to read it and be able to steal his car. Or they are kidnappers. Anyways, he makes quick work of putting the card into his pocket and drives off at a neck breaking speed.

When he arrives at his destination, the Monegasque pulls the piece of paper out and reads it. “The way you pulled in makes me wish your dad pulled out”, he reads aloud, laughing a little to himself.

He has to admit that he might not be the best at parking. Who is he even kidding, he would win the world championship at being the worst car parker possible. But the thought of someone getting that angered over his non-existent skills.

It’s something that makes him happy throughout his entire day. Which is his main reason to try and look how much he can piss that particular neighbor off even more.

So Charles starts parking even worse. If he also starts on the habit of watching out of his window more often now, he would claim it is just a coincidence. But something in him wants to meet that neighbor.

That person that gets more and more creative with their insults. One time they called him an obstacle to evolution. The other day the business card said something along the lines of him belonging to the asshole club now.

Another, a handwritten, note asked him not to reproduce. The neighbor even left a condom for him. This made Charles laugh so loudly, that (Y/N) looked out her opened window.

She just finished one of the worst shifts she ever had since starting that job and all she wants is just a quiet evening to come down from the stress. Just the noise of the laugh is enough to set her off again.

Seeing her handsome neighbor from under her apartment pocketing the note and condom she left just minutes earlier isn’t what she expected. Watching him opening the car, sitting down and driving off is even less on her list.

It kind of destroys her world view, realizing that hot neighbor and asshole parker are the same person. In the last couple of weeks (Y/N) started to get some fun out of the mean comments she left at the black Ferrari’s window. This also could be her chance to finally make a move on him.

The young woman waits for the brunette to return with his car and stays seated on her couch for another couple minutes, for extra measure of course. After that, she leaves the apartment building with her prepared note and tapes it to the car’s rear window.

Charles on the other side stays glued to his window as soon as he enters his apartment. He finally wants to catch the person that gets angrier and angrier each time he parks in an outrageous way in the act.

Seeing the beautiful neighbor, who lives above him, sticking another note to his car makes his heart flutter in an unexpected way. For some time now he wanted to get to know her and if everything went according to his original plan, ask her out on a date. But maybe he can now use this to his advantage.

As soon as the beautiful neighbor is back in the building Charles waits an extra couple minutes before he once again makes his way to his car.

Running over his vehicle with a pep in his step, Charles is kind of excited about what insults or threats await him now. He has to admit, he actually parked pretty decently. Or as decent as he is able to. So the note has to be at least a little bit nicer than the previous ones.

“Hey neighbor. I thought instead of shitting on you and your parking skills even more, I want you to help and get better. I may not be a driving teacher, but helping you wouldn’t make your skills worse. Just text me with the times you are available at ;)” signed with (Y/N)’s name and number.

It’s kind of funny to explain to the press later how Charles met (Y/N) and became her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well I know that my driving has become sort of a, a meme,” he answers when asked a week after his announcement on instagram, “And my neighbor wasn’t too fond of it either. So she started to leave me these really funny, but also really aggressive notes at my car. One said something like I won the inconsiderate Parker Price. Which made me quite proud.” This entices a laugh out of the journalist. “Yeah, (Y/N) has a really good way with words, I fear. But in the end she offered me some parking lessons.” Charles smiles and thinks back to them.

He had texted (Y/N) immediately and they set up a date for the lesson two days away. But they still continued to text non stop and by the time they met up, it felt like they had been friends for years.

Which didn’t stop (Y/N) raging at Charles after his fifth failed attempt of parking his car according to her instructions. “I don’t believe you anymore. With the way you park you are not from Monaco but the deepest and wildest parts of Italy! Your Ferrari seems really fitting now!” This drew a laugh out of him until she graced him with the meanest look he didn’t expect her to be able to muster up.

“How about dinner as a thank you and apology?” He asked sheepishly, trying both to diffuse the situation and make his move. Why not shoot his shot right now?

Luckily the young woman agreed.

“In the end my parking skills weren’t enough to win her over, but my charm was what scored me a second date.”

And a third. A relationship. After some more funny parking jokes and him kneeling down on one knee with a ring and the promise to take lessons to keep their future family safe he even scored himself his unexpected forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #x reader #reader insert #charles leclerc x female!reader #x female!reader

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k0juki · 11 days

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Please I am begging on my hands and knees for a "she fell first and he fell harder" trope with Kimi Raikkonen

Love it.🩷

Kimi Räikkönen x fem!reader

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors!

Words: 435

---

It all started with eye contact. When she looked at the other side of the conference room, and he sat here. At first, he didn't even notice, how could he, the room was filled with a lot of people and him, being the famous Iceman, he was just ignoring everything and everyone that he felt like ignoring. Not a big of deal.

But when he did notice her, it was when the Mclaren team told him that she would be his new partner as a rookie for the new season, and gosh, she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

After a few weeks, he started to notice the little things she did. How her eyes were following his every move, the way she always had her beautiful smile just for him, even though he never reciprocated the gesture back.

And when the weather started to get hot, she would always sacrifice her last ice-cream to give it to Kimi, because she knew that he would enjoy it better. She just wanted to make him smile.

He started to notice, and he felt a bit dumb, because of how long it took him, to maybe, just maybe, to feel something. Something so small that he could feel. This tingling feeling in his chest, something that he only felt in her presence, and to say, he was a bit scared.

He felt her eyes. And he couldn't stop, he knew it. He knew that if he looks down at her big, doe eyes, he's going to lose it, he will feel it. The love that flows in her veins like poison, and he desperately needs every drop of it.

And Y/n? She knew that she was gone the moment when they first met. How he was towering over her. "I'm Y/n, it's nice to meet you." She spoke with a warm feeling in her voice and extended her hand for him to shake. She knew that she liked him.

It was bwoach moment for Kimi, literally. He took her hand in his, in firm, but somehow soft grip and squeezed her hand. Her hand so much smaller than his, and he couldn't help but stare. This was that piece he was missing, the one, that he didn't found in anyone else, but her.

"Kimi" he answered, with blush on his face and red neck. She was amazing, he couldn't denied that, even if he tried. The whole Mclaren team watched how smitten he was for her, even though they just only exchanged names.

It was a new start for both of them.

liked by ynuser, sebastianvettel and others

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ynuser somebody needed that ice cream more🧊

↳ kimimatiasraikkonen I'm gonna buy you a whole new pack if you say

user8 HuH? You feel that energy??

↳ynuser you'd eat it all anyway

user7 I love them!!

---

Requests are open!

Omg? Two posts in one day? 🤭

Also the pictures is not mine! Credit goes to owners!

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2kiran · 5 months

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Oh! Understandable! well, here’s a thirst (it’s not thirsty I just wanna hug ghost😭😭)

ghost, with a girlfriend/partner (whichever you prefer) who’s just, always kinda clingy? They/she needs physical contact to be reassured he still loves her and such

🙏-

cw. soft!simon. fem reader. fluff.

⸝⸝ SIMON would tease you, just a little. he'd never admit it, but he finds it adorable.

⸝⸝ SIMON has never exactly liked hugs, not until you came into his life. his body has grown used to seeking your warmth, your arms that'd hold onto him tightly, as if he'd disappear any moment now.

⸝⸝ SIMON is awkward. you'd swear he was squirming, flustered from the intimacy. he would never pull away, keeping you close to him even though he believes he isn't being very good at providing you with this sort of thing.

⸝⸝ SIMON compliments you. well, at least he tries to. it's mostly in a form of quick mutters, like it was meant to stay in his head.

"you're pretty." simon blurts out as you rub at your eye. you've recently woken up, looking absolutely disheveled. "what?" you ask, sleepily. did you hear that right? "nothing." he turns away, going back to whatever task he found himself infatuated with.

⸝⸝ SIMON soon learns to get over his 'shyness'. becoming more and more confident with you as days pass by. he'd be touchier, shockingly.

at first, SIMON was feeling 'uncomfortable' or somewhat similar. he wasn't used to it — for someone to want to be close to him at all times. sure, you could talk his ear off from time to time but it could never genuinely annoy him.

"and then—and then!" you heaved, breathless from how quick you were ranting about something, "yeah? go on, pretty girl."

⸝⸝ SIMON would become more reassuring as your relationship progresses. a pat on the back while he listens about your worries was a regular. but now? he gives it to you without you asking.

your back was against his front while both of you were watching a movie of your choice. his arms were wrapped around your waist, thumbs gently rubbing random shapes on your skin. "love," he begins, catching your attention, "yeah?" his hand lifts to brush against your cheek affectionately. "you know how much you mean to me, right?" you pause, nodding, "and that won't ever change." he continues, kissing your head. "my sweet girl."

masterlist

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panandinpain0 · 6 months

Note

Miss Granger x female Slytherin I beg you 🙏🙏 but a nice one

Summer Lovin'

Sorry this took so long! I've got a schedule out now so I'll be doing these requests more regularly <3

Enjoy!

@@@

Requested by: Anon

Hermione Granger x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

The fresh smell of new books would always cheer Hermione up. Not that she was in a bad mood, but it cheered her up nonetheless. Hearing the bell ring above the door was something Hermione had been longing to hear all year, the smell of a citrus scented candle wafting around the sunlit shop.

The walls had chipped brown paint on them, a warm timber color that seemed to be fading, showing the true age of the building. The wood floors had colorful rugs placed here and there, the children’s section a burst of color against the serene atmosphere. Waving to the man at the front desk, someone she’d seen there often over the years, Hermione was on her way to find a new book.

She walked slowly down the fiction aisle, her finger skimming the spines of each book. When she found one that caught her eye she pulled it off the shelf, reading the synopsis on the back.

“Looking for something exciting?” a voice asked, making Hermione flinch in surprise. She looked up at the person next to her, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she laughed and held her hands up to show that she meant no harm.

“You’re fine, it’s just very quiet in here,” Hermione reassured, smiling gently at the girl in front of her. “And yes, something exciting. I’ve been reading non-fiction these last couple of months and decided to switch it up.” She waved the book in her hand around slightly.

“Hence the fiction section,” the girl commented, smiling with amusement when Hermione agreed. “That one is one of my favorites.” She gestured to the book Hermione was holding.

Hermione looked back down at the book, reexamining it. “Is it any good?”

“I’d like to think I have pretty good taste,” she replied, skimming the titles of the books on the shelf in front of her.

“Are you looking for something to read?” Hermione questioned, holding on to her book with more certainty than before.

“No, I just come here to find pretty girls to talk to,” she replied, her face completely serious.

Hermione was slightly taken aback, hesitating before asking, “Really?”

The girl’s serious face morphed into a smirk, shaking her head calmly. “No, I was being sarcastic. But that does tend to be one of the perks of this shop.”

Hermione laughed nervously in response, nodding her head before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, I’m here to find a new book to read. Any suggestions?” She motioned to the shelf they were standing in front of.

Hermione turned serious as she inspected the spines, her eyes catching a specific one. As she pulled it off the shelf she asked, “How do you feel about a mystery with a romantic subplot?”

“Sounds right up my alley, if I’m being honest.”

Hermione handed her the book and they both made their way up to the counter to pay.

“You’ll have to let me know how you like the book,” the girl insisted, scribbling something down on a nearby paper. Ripping it off she handed it to Hermione. “This is my house phone, don't be surprised if my parents answer.”

“I won’t…” Hermione trailed off as she realized she didn’t know the girl’s name.

Catching the hint, the girl stuck out her hand for Hermione to shake. “(Y/N) (L/N), at your service.”

“Hermione Granger,” she returned.

“Hermione?” a voice called from outside the shop, catching both girl’s attention. Hermione’s father waved to her through the window, motioning that it was time for them to leave.

“Ah, I’ve got to go. It was a pleasure meeting you! I hope to hear how you enjoy my book as well.” Hermione smiled, cheeks pink as she said goodbye. She scolded herself as she walked away, reminding herself that she had a new friend and she shouldn’t expect anything more. Well, she had a new and very attractive friend. There’s a difference…

A Week Later…

Sniffling, Hermione gently closed the book and placed it on her lap, wiping at her tears. It had been a wonderful yet heart wrenching book, in which the main character lost the person which they loved most. She took a deep breath as she looked out of her cracked window, reflecting on what she’d read. Taking a sip of the tea that had gone cold, long forgotten after the climax of the book started, she stood up.

Hermione had been using the slip of paper (Y/N) had handed her at the bookshop as a bookmark, so as not to lose it. Now, she’d use it for its actual purpose. Gliding down the stairs, Hermione found the landline in their kitchen, dialing in the number and holding it to her ear.

As it started to ring she felt pangs of nervousness with each ring that sounded. Should she actually call her? It wasn’t a prank, was it? She didn’t think it was- they both were interested in reading and it’d be nice to have someone to talk to about it… What if she’d been making fun of Hermione the whole time and-?

“Hello?”

Clearing her throat quickly, Hermione recovered from her surprise at the voice. “Yes, hello. This is Hermione Granger, I was wondering if I could speak to (Y/N)?”

“Just a minute,” what seemed to be (Y/N)’s mother responded. Hermione heard a distant shout for her, with a “your friend’s on the phone!” after.

After another moment a different voice echoed through the phone.

“Hey, bookshop girl! Hermione, right?” (Y/N) teased through the phone, and her ease comforted Hermione from her anxieties.

“Yes, it’s Hermione. I finished the book you recommended, just now actually.”

An excited gasp could be heard, followed by a, “Did you cry? How much did you cry?”

Hermione let out a somewhat offended scoff and shook her head, even though (Y/N) couldn’t see it.

“For your information I did cry, it was a sad ending! How come you didn’t warn me?”

“What would be the fun in reading it if I’d told you how it ends?” Hermione could hear the smile in her voice.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermione sighed back, sitting down on a stool near the counter. “Have you finished the one I gave you yet?”

“Yes, I did! You know, I always do the same thing with mystery books. I think I’ve figured out who the culprit is within three chapters and am always completely wrong by the end of the book.”

Hermione chuckled, “I also thought it was Mr. Barnabee until chapter sixteen.”

“It so should’ve been him, right? And that crazy reveal in sixteen where Gracie the mistress pulled out the handkerchief- it was exhilarating.”

“I take it you liked it?” Hermione twisted the phone cord around her finger, giving her hands something to do while they talked.

“Oh yes, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Any more recommendations? I was going to go back to the bookshop this weekend to feed my addiction.”

“Addiction?”

“Of literature.”

Hermione snorted, laughing at the response. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” The smile in her voice was evident.

“Not at all. I can’t seem to stop and it’s draining my bank account.”

Hermione giggled again. “How about this, we can meet up and shop together?”

“Even better. I’ll be there Saturday at noon.”

“I will too.”

“Bye.”

As the line clicked to signal (Y/N) had hung up, Hermione bit her lip and sighed. She stopped mid-giggling and shook her head, scolding herself again. She’d found another friend who enjoys reading just as much as she does, that doesn’t mean she can’t still scare them off. She needed to tone it down.

…

The summer had ended as soon as it began as the girl’s read together. They started going to each other’s houses to read, and Hermione had gotten into the habit of laying her head on (Y/N)’s lap, listening to her tell the most wondrous stories from the books.

They laughed together, cried together, damn near did everything together. None of which helped Hermione get rid of her feelings in the slightest. Little did she know, (Y/N) had started to harbor feelings for her as well, what with so much time spent with each other.

Today they were reading separately, Hermione sitting against the headboard of her bed while (Y/N) laid at the end, legs hanging off as she fingered the corner of the page. It didn’t seem like she was actually reading, but lost in thought.

Hermione’s gaze kept darting from her book to the girl in front of her, blushing every time she was almost caught.

Truth was, both the girl’s were trying to figure out how to tell the other they wouldn’t be at home for the school year. They couldn’t very well tell the other that she was a witch! Well, they could, but they didn’t know that yet.

(Y/N) shifted her position to sit up, facing Hermione and abandoning her book.

“‘Mione?”

“Hm?” Hermione set down her book, giving (Y/N) her full attention.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” She began to worry, her own problems shoved to the back of her mind.

“Summer’s almost over… I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be here when school starts back up.” (Y/N) bit her lip, picking at the skin of her nails. “I’m attending this boarding school, it’s a live-in…”

Hermione let out a somewhat relieved sigh at the admission, setting her book aside and scooting towards (Y/N) on the bed. Taking her hands in her own, Hermione smiled at her.

“I won’t either for the same reasons.” Her worry drained away as she saw (Y/N) shoulders relax and a smile appear on her face. They still wouldn’t be seeing each other until winter break or summer, but at least she wouldn’t be leaving Hermione behind. They both had reasons for not being home.

“Can I send you letters?” (Y/N) asked, playing with Hermione’s hand that rested between them. She knew it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to have a muggle sending letters to a wizarding village, or castle, without knowing, but what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her- right?

Hermione seemed to be going through the same possibilities in her head, but ever since she’d met (Y/N), her priorities had been a bit skewed.

“Yes, you can. I’ll write down the address,” Hermione got up and scribbled on a piece of paper, handing it to (Y/N). She put it between the pages of her book immediately without looking at it, knowing she wouldn’t remember a lick of it anyways. When she sends her first letter Hermione can just look at the address she wrote from to write back.

Hermione sat back down on the bed and the two girls shared a look of understanding. They wouldn’t see each other in person for a while but that doesn’t mean this friendship had to only be for the summer.

(Y/N) reached across the bed and wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck, pulling her into a hug. Hermione returned the gesture, arms around (Y/N)’s waist as she tucked her head into her neck. She just knew (Y/N) and the boys would get along so well if they’d ever get the chance to meet.

“I’ll miss you,” (Y/N) whispered into Hermione’s hair.

“I’ll miss you more.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t fight me on this, you won’t win.”

Hermione pulled (Y/N) back and they both laid on the bed, laughing together.

A Week Later…

They’d said their official goodbyes the night before hugging and holding hands until it got late enough that Hermione knew she wouldn’t want to wake up the next morning. When they parted, (Y/N) had kissed her cheek, handing Hermione a book she’d bought her as a farewell gift.

Sitting in her parents car, Hermione read the synopsis on the back of the book, smiling and flipping through the pages.

There’s no doubt Harry and Ron would hear more about (Y/N) than they’d care to, but that’s just what comes with being friends, you hear about each other’s crushes whether you like it or not. Not that Hermione would ever admit to it being a crush. Or that she’d touched the place (Y/N) had kissed on her cheek every time she thought of her…

Arriving at platform nine and three quarters, Hermione bid her parents goodbye with a hug and ran straight into the brick pillar. Coming out on the other side, Hermione took in the air, already feeling the magic thrumming through it, as if she could taste it.

Taking her bags off of the cart she had pushed them in with, she left it near the entrance and searched for her friends, specifically for the family of redheads, knowing Harry would most likely be with the Weasley’s.

Eventually she found Ron and Harry with them, and they boarded the train. Now they walked down the aisle, searching for an empty compartment, Hermione leading. Suddenly, as she was looking through the windows of one of the doors, someone ran into her. She was pushed back into Ron, who helped her stand back on two feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going- ‘Mione?” the extremely familiar voice gasped in shock.

Looking up, Hermione met (Y/N)’s gaze. “(Y/N)?!” Hermione asked back with just as much surprise.

“I didn’t know you were a witch,” they both said at the same time, laughing with each other after.

“Well, this makes things much easier,” (Y/N) admitted, pulling Hermione into a hug after handing her the bag that she’d dropped back.

“You two know each other?” Harry asked, gaze darting down to (Y/N)’s green and silver tie.

“We met over the summer,” Hermione filled in, also taking in (Y/N)’s uniform (but not for the same reasons). “I had no idea you went to Hogwarts,” Hermione repeated, moving out of the way as a few people passed by.

“I didn’t know you went here either! There’s an empty compartment just up here.” (Y/N) led them just two doors up and opened it, letting them all enter and following after.

“So how did you two meet?” Harry asked, looking slyly between the two as they sat across from Ron and himself.

“At this muggle bookshop, we were both looking for something to read and started spending time together,” (Y/N) explained after putting Hermione’s bag above them next to her own.

They spent the rest of the time getting to know each other, Ron still holding a bit of distaste for her house, but pushing that aside as they talked about the Chudley Cannons together. Harry had liked her from the start, well- as soon as she said she disliked Malfoy about as much as the rest of them.

Once they arrived at Hogwarts they got off the train, knowing they’d have to separate soon. (Y/N)’s Slytherin friends waved in the distance, calling out her name.

“Well, I’d better go now. It was a pleasure meeting you two, and it was a welcomed surprise to see you, Hermione.” (Y/N) smiled and took Hermione’s hand, kissing the back of her knuckles. Hermione’s face heated at the action, Ron and Harry deciding they should just start walking to avoid making things awkward.

“Don’t be a stranger. Now that I know you go here I want to spend time with you,” Hermione admitted, not letting go of (Y/N)’s hand until she did it herself.

“I promise, I’ll see you as much as possible. And hey, now we recommend wizarding books to each other.” (Y/N) winked and hugged Hermione goodbye, walking away to see her friends.

Hermione bit her lip before turning to where Ron and Harry had waited for her. She jogged to catch up to them, and they started walking to the carriages.

“So, a Slytherin?” Harry teased and Hermione elbowed him in the side, Ron throwing his head back as he laughed.

This was going to be an interesting year.

End

Hope that was okay! Thanks again for requesting <3

-Author Max <3

#fanfiction #x reader #fluff #writer #fandoms #harry potter #hermione x fem!reader #hermione granger #hermione x reader #x she/her reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem reader #x female!reader #hermione granger x reader

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letarasstuff · 6 months

Text

Female Rage

(A/N): Initially, I wanted to end this one on a hopeful note. But fighting the war of equality and equity can be pretty hopeless. I tried to be as inclusive as possible, but it's came out in a very binary way. I'm sorry for that and I'm readyto change anything.

Summary: Spencer learns from his daughter how much the patriarchy really sucks.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: the utter feeling of hopelessness in today's patriarchy, unwanted advances, some men suck

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________

“Hey, what’s with you today?” Spencer asks after hearing his daughter slamming the front door shut.

Her stomping feet bring her towards the living room, where he sits on the couch with a book in his hands, deciding whether or not he’ll include it in his next class. Looking up from the written words, he instantly spots all the emotion running over (Y/N)’s face.

Now, being a father to a 16 year old teenager wasn’t always easy and especially since puberty started it’s becoming increasingly difficult to decipher his child, but Spencer knows right away what kind of emotional cocktail is playing here: Anger, hurt, a pinch of shock and layered under all of this is a certain type of fear. Which one is up to (Y/N) telling him.

“What’s with me today?” She asks him in an incredulous tone. “With me? What about you? Or your entire gender. No, seriously. How can you men go around, trumpeting how you are the stronger, the smarter, the better, the most superior gender? And mean that? Even going as far as to believe that bullshit”

(Y/N) stops, taking in a deep breath. Her father looks at her with waiting eyes, thinking that she now will calmly explain to him what her whole tirade is about. But it seems that this was just the prologue. Because she continues with even more vigour in her voice than she started with.

“For real, what makes you even think that? Stronger than a person, who was assigned female at birth? Just because you are able to build muscles faster than we? Or lose weight faster than us? You know what I call that? An evolutionary problem, because while I got emergency fat to feed off in the case of, I don’t know, an apocalypse, you will freeze to death.

“Our bodies are, for the most part, able to grow an entire functioning human being. We literally take a breakfast bar and build fingers with that energy.

“And for the smarter part? No, absolutely not. So many findings in history have been stolen from women by men, who greedily put their name on it and call it a day of science. Without women, cars probably would still drive around with windshield wipers. Mary Anderson has been laughed at for that idea, despite being one of the first women to hold a patent. And as soon as it expired, suddenly wipers were installed in all cars. Out of nowhere, it stopped being a dumb idea? Just because you weren’t able to attribute it to a woman?!

“But what more to expect from a gender that made protective gear for their testicles in hockey mandatory a hundred years before doing the same thing with a helmet. Who would have thought that brain cells need protection, too? A woman definitely.

I don’t wanna say one gender is better than the other or that there should be a particular fight between any gender at all, but men make it out like that. Damn it, they make women compete with each other to garner their attention. All those “pick me” girls you make fun of? They are the product of internalised misogyny.

“The baseline is wanting to be different from the “typical girl”, right? Well, what is a typical girl, who defined her and why is it so bad to be typical. Who do I want to be different for? Who is mad that I’m dressing up, putting makeup on or having good friendships with other girls?

“Men apparently, because they don’t want a different girl. They don’t want a well dressed, put together woman for the sake of love or so. They want someone easy. Nothing complicated, not someone, who asks them if these pants do look better with that shirt or this blouse. They don’t want to be confronted with problems. That’s why they made up a narrative of how a woman is supposed to be, solely for their own interest.

“And this whole thing eradicates the beautiful experiences you can have as a woman. I don’t talk about these silly and partly belittling things like girl dinner or girl maths. I’m talking about hyping each other up. Bathrooms in a club are fun, because there are a bunch of strangers, talking another stranger up to shoot their shot. Or down from texting their ex. There is unity.

“So where do men get their audacity?!”

Ending her whole rant with this question, (Y/N) stands in front of her father, seething and looking like she is about to overthrow the patriarchy with her own two hands. Right here, right now.

Meanwhile Spencer has started to shrink into the sofa and looks as physically small as possible.

“Uhm, the audacity for what, Sweetheart?” He asks hesitantly, scared for her reaction, but also knowing that this is something his daughter needs to get out of her system.

“TO WALK UP TO ME AND TRYING TO GET SOMETHING ON WITH ME WHILE HE CLEARLY HAS BEEN TRYING TO DESTROY MY WHOLE PRESENTATION! TO FLIRT WITH A MINOR WHILE HE CLEAR AS DAY IS IN HIS MID TO LATE TWENTIES!”

(Y/N) falls down on the sofa face first, next to her father. He rubs her arm up and down in a soothing manner, trying to take the fall after her burst of warranted female rage.

“I apologise. I know, there is nothing I can do against all of what you just said. I also know, like you, that we are talking about a structural problem. It’s nothing that can be solved by a few words. It sucks, knowing that your right to vote is younger than the patent on the first motorised vehicle. It’s not right that you always have to stick up for your rights, while mine will never be threatened.

“Nothing about all of this is fair. That I have to raise you in a way to remind you that any man out there could hurt you. It’s not fair that you have to go tell other men making advances at you about an imaginary boyfriend, because they rather believe in the legitimation of a fake male than your no. That you have to say no more than once, just because someone wants to “make sure you really mean it”.

“I can’t do anything right now that will satisfy you.

“But I can promise you that I will always listen to you. Listen to what makes you mad about this system. I will listen to other people, telling me how the patriarchy failed them. I promise to uplift the women in my life, give credit where it’s due and try to be the best feminist I can be.

But you need to promise me to tell me how I can support you the best in a world that wants to diminish your opinion, your rights and you. Can we do that?”

A short moment of silence gives Spencer the opportunity to think about instances, where he had to endure how (Y/N) being born female made her life more difficult. May it be boys pulling your hair on the playground and the teacher saying that they show love in this abusive way. May it be being called emotional or being told to stop being dramatic while talking about her problems. May it be in simply enjoying stereotypical girly things and being called basic because of that.

“Yes, I promise, I’ll keep you in check. And if you start rambling about how men are superior, I’ll ship you off to the worst retirement home I can find,” (Y/N) says, voice a bit muffled by the couch pillows.

The family continues sitting in silence, the feeling of deep and utter unfairness seeping into their bones.

If you have come this far, please consider a reblog or a comment. Not holding you at gunpoint or anything, but it would be pretty neat.

All works:

@venomsvl @kneelforloki @ssa-uglywhore27 @bibissparkles

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

General Spencer Reid:

@mayoanddelight (sunny, you seriously need to tell me when you change your url, this list had such an old one in it)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfiction #x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #x female!reader

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scarisd3ad · 2 months

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In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

pairing - steve harrington x fem!reader

summary - "But if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us and if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once, and if I'm gonna be drunk might as well be drunk in love."

(A/N) - happy kind of late Valentine's Day lol, but here is a cute little fic based off of my favorite 1989 tv vault track.

Warnings - slut shaming, cursing, drinking

Masterlist

"Are you sure? I know you don't really like these kinds of things anymore," I say with a sigh. Steve and I are parked out in front of some random junior's house. Ever since Steve had graduated this May, he wasn't really in the party scene anymore. It might have been just because he was always busy working, or with the kids though, or maybe he wanted to leave his high school self behind. I was a year younger than Steve so I still being in high school wanted to party my senior year away before subsequently going to college next August.

I wanted him here for some type of protection from the men who frequented these parties. When I didn't have someone, I could claim as my 'boyfriend' they'd have their grimy little hands all over me. Luckily, this time I had my actual boyfriend. "it's fine," he whispers, grabbing my hand and giving it a little squeeze before removing the keys from the ignition and getting out of the car.

As we walk up to the front door, I can feel the chill in the air seeping through the thin fabric of the dress I'm wearing. The dress, which I thought would be perfect for the occasion, now seems like a poor choice, given the unforgiving October winds. I shiver uncontrollably as a strong gust of wind blows past us, sending my hair flying in all directions. The coldness of the wind is so biting that I almost regret leaving the house without a jacket.

Steve reaches out and grabs my hand as he pushes the front door open. As we approached the house, the booming sound of music and the constant buzz of voices could be heard from the outside. I could feel the beat of the music reverberating through my body as I made my way to the door. However, as soon as the door opened, the volume seemed to increase tenfold, making it difficult to hear anything else. The house was alive with energy, pulsing with the rhythm of the music and the excitement of the people inside.

The house seemed to be getting more and more crowded as we made our way further into the house. As we ventured deeper into the house, the once spacious and airy rooms gradually became cramped and stuffy. The air was thick with the scent of cheap booze, sex, and teenage sweat.

Although Steve had been gone from the hallways of Hawkins High for almost an entire semester Everyone still fawned over Steve Harrington the same way they had been for the past four years. sophomore girls, smile and wave as they send him flirty winks that are paired with a "hii Steve" which makes me roll my eyes each time, even freshman girls bat their eyelashes at him and wave shyly. god, sometimes I wished my boyfriend wasn't as popular as he was.

"Wasn't she with Eddie Munson last weekend?" I hear one girl ask as Steve and I pass by them. Luckily or unluckily, Steve stops to talk to one of his old basketball friends so I can hear the rest of their conversation. "No, no, that was the weekend before that last weekend she was with…what's his name fuck Sam…Samuel gives" The other girl, a brunette I recognized as a junior who was in p.e with me, says. The other one was a blonde that I don't particularly recognize but I knew I'd probably seen her around at least once laugh a big belly laugh before scoffing "fucking slut, didn't realize Steve was into those types of girls, especially after Nancy wheeler" it hurt but 'slut' was something most girls including me have been called more than once.

When I'm using my male friends as human shields at parties, I never thought about how other girls would think about me. It's not like I really cared anyway (I did). "Dresses like one too, who even thinks of wearing something like that" I looked down at my dress, maybe it was a little over the top, but there were other girls here dressed similarly in tiny dresses that barely covered their asses, most were shorter than mine. So why was I getting judged for my dress when Heather Blake was in the tiniest red dress I've ever seen as she was grinding up against Daren Russel?

"When I was getting dressed earlier, I thought the dress looked cute. It was smaller than what I usually wear, and I was a bit scared that I might draw more attention to myself than I'd like. But I thought, "if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us". But now, after being called a slut, I was rethinking that mindset. "Hey Stevie, I'm gonna go get a drink kay?" he nods. "Yeah hon, can you get me a beer?" I hum quietly as I nod before walking off towards the kitchen.

There are a few girls, freshmen, who are taking shot after shot. Their boyfriends must have been seniors because normally freshmen aren't invited to parties like this. "Hey, can I have some of that?" I ask. All three girls are hammered, slurring out their words and stumbling around, "Y-yeahhh girl hereeee!" one shouts over the music as she hands me a prefilled disposable shot glass. The liquid inside is clear, making me assume it's vodka. I might as well be drunk if I was going to be overthinking those girls' conversation the entire night. I lean my head back as I take the shot, letting it burn down the back of my throat.

The three girls are giggling as the middle one, who is way smaller than me in height and weight, boldy downs two shots in a row before shouting "Wooooo!!!" which makes me internally cringe for her. "Hey, can I have another?"

7 shots in and I'm drunk as a motherfucker. The three girls had since gone, mumbling a quiet excuse about how all three of their mothers were going to be pissed in. They didn't get the littlest sobered up fast. So that left me with about half a bottle of vodka.

"Hey baby, thought you were bringing me a beer" Two familiar arms wrap around my torso which makes me drunkenly smile and turn around in his arms. "I wa-wasss," I slurred as I leaned my head against his shoulder, "but got distr-distracted," I said with a giggle. Steve sighs softly as he takes my face in his hands "You're drunk honey" I roll my eyes playfully giggling a quiet "duhhh" his thumb caresses my cheek as his eyes fall behind me at the empty shot glasses and now about quarter-filled vodka bottle. "Shit, honey, how much was in that bottle? " I shrugged as I watched the two girls who had been talking about me earlier walk into the kitchen, both giggling as they looked me up and down.

I frown as I look up into his big brown eyes, which are filled with concern. "Am I a slut?" I whispered softly. Despite my best efforts to not let those girls' words get to me; they had been unknowingly eating away at me all night. "What? who…who told you that? Why the fu-" I shrug as my bottom lip pops out in a pout. "Honey, you're not a slut. And if you were, I wouldn't care because as long as you're my girl, I'll be the happiest man alive. " If I'm gonna be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

#fanfics #x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #fem!reader #joe keery #steve harrington #female!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x female!reader #stranger things x reader #x female!reader

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hanasnx · 1 year

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HOLY SHIT FUCK PISS PLS GIVE ME MORE FRAT BOY ANI I BEG 🧎🙏 I need the spice 😩

once again my greatest weakness is exploited…. my inbox ….

ppl say jump in an inbox message i say how high

bcos quite honestly fratboy!anakin is so hard for me to write, simply bcos its so difficult for what i know of anakin and his character to align with a fratboy persona. however! i married the concepts my last fratboy post and i’ll do it again for u jelly. ive had to brainstorm a couple days…

next part

☥ likes nuts. peanut butter. pistachios. nut and seed bread. u ask and he’s like “i like feeling like a squirrel” and ur not sure if its a joke. probably keto diets. he eats his body weight in good fats and goes to the gym as an obsessive hobby bcos hes got so much energy and nowhere to put it

☥ mario kart is one of his favorite games. he has a nintendo switch solely for mario kart. his friends play in competitions and get super hyped about it, sometimes they play normally but sometimes they make it an entire event. his frat makes a tournament out of it tbfh and winner usually gets some stupid made up prize like “mk-losers of the frat is your slave for a day” or “everytime you enter a room, if a MK-loser member of the frat is present, they must announce you to the room like ur a king” or “you gotta set up the winner with one of your hot exes”

anakin usually wins. and gets pissy when he doesnt. hes so competitive. especially if the people around him make it a big deal that he didnt win, hes all like “whatever its just a stupid game anyway. i changed my vehicle settings this time around”

☥ as an excuse to be close to you he asks you if he can crack your back for you bcos you complained about it hurting and when you stretched trying to get it to pop it wasnt as satisfying as you wanted it to be.

“i can crack your back for you.”

you fall for his trick. “would you? that would be so great thank you,” you fist your hands and cross your wrists over your chest, like usual, expecting him to get behind you and lift you and jostle you like people always did when they cracked your back. instead, he gets to your front with a smile.

“i know a better way.” you look at him quizzically as he takes your wrists and drapes your arms over his shoulders. he stoops, large frame wraps around you and your waist, fists at the base of your spine. you get nervous. “go limp.” you relax as best you can, your cheek against his neck surely heating up with a blush at how youre pulled flush against him.

he knows exactly what hes doing and his cheeky grin is hidden from you. “alright, inhale deep.” you do as he says. “and exhale.” you do. and slowly he lifts you from the ground easily by standing straight, and his fists slide up your spine, squeezing you to him. your heart is pounding, and your spine pops as he moves up. he gets to the top and sets you down, and holds you while the black dots in your vision subside. you realize he’s embracing you so tender and patient and you politely push off of him.

“um. thanks.”

“anytime.”

and he meant that. bcos he gets into the habit of asking you if you want your back cracked, and you get into the habit of saying yes bcos of how good it felt, how good he was at it, and how close the two of you got when he did it.

to the point that when you saw him, he’d pavloved you, and you lift your arms above your head reaching for him, waiting to rest them on his shoulders so he can pick you up and pop your spine. he obliges every time, excited to do it. he loves pressing you against him like that.

☥ hes an engineering major i just know it. very bright, but not the top of his class. he doesnt study really, things just make sense to him. and he also admits to you that he does a lot of things in his free time that requires engineering.

“like skateboard ramps?” you taunt.

“something like that.”

☥ his favorite movie is treasure planet and he wants to watch it every time you two end up hanging out. if you ask what movie he wants to watch, its treasure planet. if you look over at him randomly, you see him mouthing the words. it was his hyperfixation as a kid and heavily influenced him. especially bcos he doesnt have a dad, and hes got a father figure named obi wan in his life that had no business caring for him but did anyway. like that pirate in his favorite movie:)

if youre not sick of it, you dont even bother to ask him what he wants to watch. u just put it on. it usually is background noise anyway for whatever conversation arises bcos this boy cannot focus on one thing at once, and must multitask and get distracted

☥ hes the band “chase atlantic” coded unfortunately

☥ would wanna sleep with u in ur bed all the time even if ur not dating. he wants to take naps with you. he has insomnia, and he noticed that one time when you hung out, he fell asleep with you so easily. now he asks for sleepovers constantly. also bcos it means he can subtly cuddle you.

and when youre closer, and he can flirt with you, and youre comfortable with him. he probably cops a few feels so you smack his hand or move it away for him.

at one point you move his hand onto your chest, indicating you wanted him to grab and massage it for real this time. just like he always teases. and it turns into grinding his dick onto your ass and squeezing your chest til the flesh pops out in between his fingers. circling and pinching your hardening nipples. arm under your head, hand on your jaw to inclined your face in his direction so he can bite and nibble your ear, lick at it while he talks dirty shit in it.

“you’re so hot, can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you… you know half the guys at house would kill for this…

you wanna help me make ‘em really jealous?”

☥ the horny texts and pics this man would send once you two are officially talking or together.

“i think about fucking you all the time.”

“you gonna let me hit after class? cmon i deserve it.”

“baby you gotta show me that pussy. its been so long i forgot what it looks like. remind me.”

“coming over today. you want a ride? on my cock i mean.”

“some guys at the house were talking about you today. can i tell them about us?

gotta see their faces hearing what a slut you are. i promise i’ll spill every dirty detail. could even show em some of the pictures if you want… or the videos. i like the bareback one, doggy style? cant get over the way you sound in that one. wet pussy, pretty moans, twerking on my cock like a porn star. miss you sweet girl.”

☥ he honestly would pick out a hoodie for you to wear. he wants u to wear it. gets pouty when you dont “wheres my hoodie?”

“at my dorm.”

“why arent you wearing it?”

“ani—?”

“its cold outside.” he wants ppl to know youre wearing a guy’s hoodie— specifically his hoodie— for a reason

☥ he’d still call you stupid nicknames like “killer” and “champ”.

“hows it hangin today, killer? you look fucking good.”

“you’re late again champ, usually you get here before me. you avoiding me or something?”

☥ trying to get you to fuck him at his frat house or dorm or whatever bcos he wants the guys to hear you .. just so everybodys clear on whats going on between you two

#jellydodger #thanks for the msg!!#indy shoots the shit #fratboy!anakin #anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #x y/n #x f!reader #x fem!reader #x female!reader #au!anakin #star wars #sw #the clone wars #tcw

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wallwriterstuff · 4 months

Text

The Night Before Christmas ||John Price x Wife!Reader||

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, suggestive themes, John Price is his own damn warning. Christmas Eve preparation by parents.

Words: 2601

Taglist: For @glitterypirateduck 's CODHOLIDAY2023 challenge. Inspired by the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" after a lifetime of watching my parents make Christmas magical for me...and annoyingly kissing every time they hear this song at Christmas. Thanks for that Mom and Dad.

Summary: On the night before Christmas, in John Price's house, a strange thumping is heard that is caused by his spouse. Or, when John finds out just how much of the magic in Christmas is created by his wife.

There’s a rumbling of jet engines plaguing his mind in the enveloping heat of a dry dessert. It’s almost suffocating, the way it presses on his chest, but there’s something mildly comforting about the familiarity of it. There’s a lull in the rhythm, a crack in the foundation. Soap’s laughter’s muffled but his smile’s bright, and the way Gaz’s eyes are twinkling makes him wonder what terrible joke Ghost has told now that he’s missed. Has he missed it? It’s difficult to tell here in the heat haze. He’s everywhere and nowhere, halfway between this world and somewhere new, somewhere undefined that his body knows but his mind hasn’t identified. It’s difficult to take a deep breath to try clear his head. He’s weighed down and weightless. He’s here and he’s gone. He’s lost and he’s found here among the family he’s chosen as the Earth shakes.

The boom is as garbled as trying to hear TV through static. The mortar strikes should be roaring, shattering his eardrums as much as the Earth but they’re not. He frowns, looking around. Why is no one running? Panicking? Another dull thud of what must be an enemy missile of some sort drowned out by the rumbling of those jet engines. He looks around in a daze. He can’t bring himself to feel even a twinge of fear. He just knows, instinctually, that there’s no danger here. The ground’s splitting and quaking beneath his feet but the smell of the Earth weeping for mercy through the fissures doesn’t come. Instead, it’s strong and clinical, almost like menthol. He inhales deeply, frown deepening as he gets closer to the crack in the Earth. Yeah…menthol. Another muffled thud and the gap is swallowing him whole, his team and the dessert all swirling away in a vortex of sand that the sandman retracts. He cannot sleep just yet. There’s work to be done.

Inhaling deeply, his nose stings at the strong smell of Vapo-rub. The tub still sits in his left hand while his right lingers on a small, rattling chest. Long lashes brush the apples of rosy red cheeks and his heart aches at the sight of his youngest, curled into his side in an effort to find respite from the flu that’s plagued him all week. Quietly, John clears his throat, lips smacking a bit to moisten his dry mouth. He gives himself a mental shake, removing his hand and carefully shifting himself off of the bed, old injuries aching and creaking as they always do when he’s given a moment of respite. He was barely home all of two days and he’s had the bedtime shift both nights, his children craving his attention now he’s finally, finally home. With a slight grimace, he cleans off the remnants of the foul smelling substance with a tissue from the nightstand, ensures that the nightlights are all turned on and slinks out of the room to let his son sleep.

He should find his own bed, he thinks. He can feel his own exhaustion in the marrow of his bones, a deep-seated kind of tiredness that robs him of more than just energy, but then he hears it again. The dull thud that roused him from his almost sleep is coming from downstairs, and adrenaline shoots through his veins like wildfire. It burns through that tiredness with whispers of ‘once more’, a drive to push through, fight back, obey every instinct hard-wired into his DNA that places survival above all else. He knows he locked the doors. Triple checked them like he does every night he’s home right before he put the kids to bed. Kids. You. Where are you? It’s automatic, no longer training or instinct but something more ingrained even than that, the way he searches room to room. Two fragments of his soul sleep soundly in their beds but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He's greased every hinge and secured every floorboard in this house. John knows exactly where to put his feet and how much weight to place on every individual board as he eases himself into the shadows. He greets every dark crevice like an old friend, one he knows intimately and has a depth of knowledge of that is unrivalled by any intruder in his home. The front door is closed, but the chain is off. His ears strain, that rhythmic clomping of clumsy boots making his brow furrow. Whoever it is is damn noisy, untrained even, perhaps even –

“What the bloody hell are you doin’?” he can’t help but snort, every muscles unwinding and the alarm bells in his mind fading in the face of his amusement. He settles it in his mind then and there. There’s no intruder, my wife’s just lost her marbles.

“Don’t, do that!” you hiss, hand clutched over your chest and foot raised, his boot dangling and far too big, in danger of falling onto the floorboards if you don’t take a step soon. John’s head tilts, a smirk twitching up his lips as he takes in the fake snow on the floor, the boot prints leading from the door into the living room.

“Since when did Santa wear combat boots?” he asks.

You scowl. “Since Mrs Clause had to throw her Doc’s away back in November...that’s why they’re on her Christmas list.”

He barely stifles his laughter, shoulders shaking as he rubs his finger under his nose. He knows better than to laugh at you right now as you continue to clomp towards the Christmas tree. He leans against the door frame, watching you navigate the sofa with keen eyes and folded arms. He can’t quite keep the grin from twitching his lips upwards as he drinks in the sight of you in his too big boots, Christmas pyjamas on and hair tied up, looking determined. There’s a peek of pink at the corner of your lips where your tongue pokes out in concentration as you try to keep your steps evenly spaced. That suffocating warmth is back and he recognises it for what it is now as he simply basks in the love you’ve woven into every inch of the house. It seeps into every grain of wood and is the stain lacquer finish of the laminate, holding the whole home together for him to return to. You’ve done it alone again, everything from presents to decorations and Grotto Visits. He can’t help his schedule but he wishes he’d been in on more of the magic you’ve woven that kept your little angels up until 10PM with unparalleled excitement.

“You could have asked for me to do that bit. Save you near breakin’ your neck in my boots.” He said. You sprinkle the last bit of fake snow down onto the floorboards and take a step, turning to look at him. John chuckles, crossing the room in three quick strides and scooping you up and away to the sofa. You grip him tight, the momentary shock of being airborne fading as you relax into his grip; trusting, always trusting. John won’t let you fall. He never has.

“I came up to, but you were asleep.” You teased. John huffed, kneeling before you and lifting your foot to his knee. His fingers made nimble work of the laces as he glanced up at you.

“Wasn’t,” his denial his half-hearted at best, “Was just restin’ my eyes.” He delicately slides his boot off your foot, setting it aside with much less reverence than he does your leg as he brings the other one up to untie next.

“Sure thing, cowboy.” You grin slyly. John looks up at you from under his brows, his focus half on the triple knot you’ve had to use to keep his work boots from sleeping off your feet. He chuckles a little as he picks it apart.

“Callin’ me a liar?” his query holds no bite to it. He slips the other boot free and lifts your leg, placing a delicate kiss to your calf. He feels the way your muscles tighten in response and he can’t help but smirk a little, does it again just to feel you respond to the touch of his lips on your skin.

“Liar? No. Big foot? Yes. How you walk in those things is beyond me.” You let your leg drop and shuffle forward. John’s left kneeling between your knees, his hands automatically finding purchase on your thighs, calloused thumbs caressing the smooth skin like it’s the safety on his rifle with a knowing, firm touch. A small smile creeps it’s way onto your lips, and John thinks that he could die happy this way, surrounded by you, kneeling at your altar. Hands cupping his cheeks, you gently rub your knuckles over the whiskers of his beard before leaning in to grant him the swiftest, sweetest of kisses.

Your eyes are bright, but there’s a small crease between them he smooths away with his thumb. John Price is nothing if not vigilant, and the only thing he knows better than the parts of his rifle are the planes of your body. Every minute twitch of a muscle and miniscule expression on your face is a well-read verse in the story of you. Your poetry in motion, and he won’t stand for your beauty being creased by worry and doubt.

“Stop worryin’ so much. Kids’ll be ecstatic to see Santa’s broken in.” He says.

“Broken in? John!”

“What? We don’t have a chimney so only logical explanation is that he’s shimmied the lock.” He grins up at you, letting you pull him to his feet with the most aghast expression on your face he thinks he’s ever seen. He swallows down his laughter because gods, you’re adorable and instead chooses to transfer his grip from your hands to your waist. “Joking, love, joking.” He assures you, stepping into your space and tilting your head up with his thumb and index finger. John doesn’t need to hear your forgiveness. He feels it in the way you let him chastely chase your lips until you push him back.

“We still have work to do cowboy.” You pat his chest and John huffs a bit, looking around the room. For the life of him he can’t fathom what else you could do to the place. Your shared house is cosy, decorated, loved. Fill it with anything else and he’s sure it’ll burst at the seams.

“Love, what could you possibly still have to do?” he looks down at you. You’ve got eyes like Christmas lights and are awash with the colours of them glittering on the tree, painted in stained glass colour like some Saint he knows he’s blessed to worship. The smell of fresh baked cookies and vanilla frosting is etched into your skin from your baking escapades with the kids today, soft and warm and inviting him to take a bite out of you.

“Presents. Had to hide them in the attic from certain sticky fingers. Can you get them down?” you ask.

John nods. “Alright. Anymore to be wrapped?”

“Ye of little faith. They’ve been wrapped since mid-November.” You scoff, crossing to the cookie plate and placing one in your mouth. As it melts on your tongue you hum in delight, and John frowns.

“Save one for me?”

“Sorry, Santa’s sent me for cookie quality control. Missed your chance.” There’s mirth shimmering in your eyes and cookie crumbs resting at the corner of your lips. John shakes his head as he slinks back upstairs, checking in habitually on his still sleeping angels before he pulls down the ladder to the attic. He’s got to admit he’s impressed at your tenacity. The bags are stuffed full. You’ve spoiled the little ones rotten. How you’ve done so much shopping and wrapping is beyond him, and he can’t quite figure out how you’ve managed to hide two very full bags in the attic on your own with two small children hanging off you while he was away. The Santa hat sitting nearby gives him pause. John knows he’s been a bit of a Grinch in the two days he’s been home. Something about coming home to a poorly babe and an overly prepared wife left little room for him to really get into the swing of the Christmas spirit. He endeavours to make a change.

Present bags retrieved, he slips back downstairs and pauses only to pluck a small sprig of mistletoe from the wreath at your front door. He triple checks he’s locked and chained the door once more. Force of habit. With your present bags resting in front of the tree he tugs on the Santa hat and waits patiently for you to return. There’s cookies missing and carrots with chunks eaten out of them in your efforts to make the children believe Santa really did come to see them, but he knows you can’t stand milk. He smiles slightly, knowing full well you’ll be pouring the milk back into the carton right about now.

When you return with the empty glass, you pause at the sight of him. John gives you a grin, lifting the sprig of mistletoe over his head.

“Someone’s on the nice list this year, deserved a special visit from the big man himself.” He offers you his free hand and you snicker slightly, eyes adoring and hand slipping into his. You let him pull you closer, and nothing feels better than his arm sliding around your waist. Now he’s really home. John leans in, eyes closing, and to his surprise there’s a strong smell of vanilla as you smear Christmas cookie onto his waiting lips with a giggle.

John blinks his eyes open in surprise, huffing a surprised laugh through his nose before he leans down and catches your mouth with his. He gives you no time to escape him or to clean off his mouth. It’s messy and it makes you squirm in his grip, but neither of you complain as you kiss and lick frosting away between you. His grip on you tightens, safe, inviting, hands sliding over the curves of you just to reassure himself your still here, still his. The best damn gift he ever did receive.

When you pull back for air, John’s thumb swipes away the last little bit of frosting with a chuckle.

“Where did your mistletoe go?” you tilt your head at him and he unfurls his palm to show you. You take it from him with a hum, mischief dancing in your eyes.

“And just what are you planning on doing with that then?” He queries. Your eyebrows lift a bit.

“Think I know a better place for it.” You shrug. He feels your hands tugging at his belt, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment even as a smile twitches up his lips.

“I thought we only opened presents on Christmas morning?” he glances down to see the mistletoe hanging from his belt buckle. You giggle a bit, reaching into the bag just behind the sofa that has all your wrapping bits and pieces in . You place a sticky bow on your head and wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“I thought you were an advocate for bending the rules on occasion?” You teased, hips swaying as you slowly walk backwards towards the stairs. John chuckles, taking three quick strides towards you before he hoists you up and onto his hips. You don’t squeal. You know he won’t let you fall.

“Quick, before the kids catch Mommy kissing Santa Clause.”

“Underneath the mistletoe?”

“I believe that’s how the song goes.”

#glittery pirate duck #codholiday2023 #captain john price #x female!reader #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x female reader #christmas fic

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 10 months

Text

･*:.｡.─_*✧.｡.:*･# ﾟCRIMINAL MINDS ﾐ

Warnings = **

x teen!reader / x child!reader / x daughter!reader / x gn!reader / x reader / x sibling!reader / son!reader / romantic!reader / ftm!reader / mtf!reader

I don’t own Criminal Minds or any of the characters in Criminal Minds , I only own the imagines that I have created in tumblr or wattpad.

Main masterlist

*✧.｡.:*･# CHARACTERS ﾐ

IMAGINE

Chocolate & Movies ** - your dad helping you with period cramps - Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

SERIES

The Team Baby ** - just a bunch of fics with reader being the youngest bau member - father figure Aaron Hotchner x youngest!Bau!reader, Bau x youngest!Bau!reader (coming soon)

HEADCANON

#x reader #x teen #x teen!reader #x you #x female!reader #x male!reader #aaron hotchner x platonic!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x teen!reader #bau x reader #bau x youngest!bau!reader #Spencer Reid x teen!reader #aaron hotchner x teen!reader

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chaosandmarigolds · 17 days

Text

newbornDad! Simon Riley

Simon! Who insists on carrying the baby carrier through the threshold of the house when you get home from the hospital

Simon! who spent nine months training Riley to be gentle with the baby

Simon! Who carries the baby around showing them the house with little whispers, 'annnn this is your brothers room, he's had your grandads right now but don't worry sweetpea, you'll meet him soon'

Simon! Who strongly believes the baby needs skin to skin, so...are you complaining about him walking around shirtless with a baby held to chest, not at all

Simon! Who is so worried when Ollie holds the baby for the first time because yeah Ollie is six years old at that point but anxiety??

Simon! Who hates that he has to go on a mission, even if for two weeks because they are sooo so vital and he doesn't want to leave you alone and-

Simon! Who tells Oliver to take care of his little sibling and to look after you

Simon! Who hates his job sometimes

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ayoitspatricia · 2 years

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Hi do you still write for disney's descendants? if so can you do headcanons of being siblings with the VKs? and if possible the siblings came with them to the school. sorry for my bad english

Being siblings with each VK + going to Auradon with them would include :

IM BAAAAACK!! It has been a while since I have posted so I am currently working through requests :)

Mal :

Homie would be overprotective af

This lady ain’t having any Auradon dweebs getting you on her watch

Always encouraging you to be the best version of yourself

Or in Maleficent’s case the worst

Y’all are not that big on boys, girls etc before Mal meets Ben

Mix and matching leather jackets

Being the biggest chaos causes wherever you guys go

Finding it hard to be positive about school when Mal wants you to be miserable about it all

Her helping you to control your powers which are cool im gonna be honest

Sharing differences and similarities with Mal

She just wants to keep you safe from bad people in the world

Ironic for a VK right?

Especially from rats in Auradon

Feeling pressured by your mom when she wants you to steal the magic wand

Liking Ben and not finding it difficult to adjust to being good

Evie :

Now this one encourages you to interact with others

She wants to get you as far out of your shell as possible

Cause poor girl ain’t got a clue what will happen if you all get caught stealing the wand

Wanting you to get a partner

But asking them lots of intimidating kind questions if you do

Doing group sewing + art!

Always trying on each other’s clothing

Having matching magic mirrors

Creating a Chad hate club

Evie being the favourite child but always defending you

Going on shopping sprees when you arrive at Auradon

Trying hard to empress everyone

But then realising that it is really impossible

Evie wanting to dye your hair

Her chasing you around with the hair dye

Actually secretly wanting to be good from the beginning

Carlos :

Always being super close to each other

Thing 1 = you / Thing 2 = Carlos

Actually quite liking dogs

Lol your brother did not like that one

Until you got Dude obviously (you was his fav)

Always having super fluffy jumpers or cardigans

Enjoying sweet treats with him at midnight

Literally menaces to the cooking club

Softest member of the VK’s

Collecting stuffed animals to annoy Carlos

Then proceeding to throw them at each other

Fairy Godmother actually really liking you

You going into Remedial Goodness 101 early so you both can have a chat

Honestly loving the Auradon vibe

Cheering Carlos on when he plays Tourney

+ shipping him with Jane!!

Literally acting like kids the whole time

Wanting to open an animal club in Auradon

Tbh you was already sliding to the side of good as soon as you arrived

Jay :

My mans is on a whole other level of protective

Like you thought Mal was bad

Whether your on the isle or in Auradon this boy has your back

Him always glaring at the boys whenever they look at you for too long

Even at poor Carlos, who has no clue what is going on

Teaching you how to steal

Reminding your father of Jasmine

You + Evie + Mal are the perfect trio

Doing laps around the museum to try and find any lamps

Not your proudest moment ngl

You plus Lonnie equals BESTIES!!

Jay making you always watch him play sports

Stealing his beanies all the time

Hiding in spots around Auradon so he has to try and find you

You best hope that none of them princes disrespect you

Cause they gon get an ass whoopin

Honestly not caring about whether you’re good or not

As long as you have your brother and your friends

#x reader #y/n #reader insert #x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem reader #x female!reader #fluff #would include #descendants x reader #descendants #evie grimhilde #mal descendants #jay descendants #carlos devil

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vroomvroomcircuit · 3 months

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Sometimes you need to be loud before it can be quiet

Summary: Everyone has their breaking point, even prefectly fine media trained drivers. Especially when people start asking dumb, sexist questions.

Pairing: driver!reader x f1!grid, but mostly Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen, Lando and Charles have a bit of a guest appearing

Wordcount: 1.2k (she is a shy shorty, please be nice to her)

🏎Masterlist🏎 _________________________

“My next question is for (Y/N): What do you want to be perceived as?”

Everyone in the post race press conference halts in their movements. (Y/N) blinks once, twice before she clears her throat and gets closer to her microphone. “I’m sorry, can you please elaborate on that? I fear my English is failing me to comprehend what you just said.”

The reporter is not hesitating, jumping into his explanation right away, as if he had chosen the words he wanted to say beforehand. “Well, you participate in a male dominated sport, being currently the only female on the grid line up. You are never seen in typically female clothing. You even wore a suit to the last FIA gala. We have yet to see you in makeup outside of festivities. That’s why I am asking what you want to be perceived as. A man? A woman? Or something in-between?”

Silence has never been so loud. Nobody really knows how to respond to such an audacity.

(Y/N) pulls her microphone another bit closer before murmuring into it: “I rather be not perceived at all. Thank you for the question, I wanted to clear that bit up for quite some time now.”

Her answer brought a booming laughter out of the one and only Daniel Ricciardo, effectively breaking that spell of awkwardness that has been cast over the room by Mr Audacity. Everyone relaxes and joins in the laughter.

As the media representative is about to call onto the next journalist, Max asks a question. “Can we all answer this? Because I want to make it clear, I identify as a problem and want to be perceived as that.”

“Yeah”, Daniel interjects,”of course you do. I want to be perceived as a menace to human kind, please. What about you, Lando?”

“Number 1 Fish Hater, certified and trademarked already,” he answers with a cheeky smile.

Charles breathes “I’m a hot mess” into his microphone before the media representative is able to call onto the next person.

The following race weekend the drivers stand in the media pits with their PR managers, hopping from interviewer to interviewer like at a speed dating event.

“-overall I would say we have a good pace. I’m confident in the team to help us through this race in spite of the unpredictable weather conditions this weekend.” (Y/N)’s answers the usual questions that are thrown at her after sessions.

The journalist smiles at her. “I am sure of that. Now, onto my last question: Last week you have been asked what you want to be perceived as and you never really answered that. Why is that?”

(Y/N) throws a not amused look towards the woman. “I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t want to answer a question that is just a poorly disguised attack towards my femininity. I can like fast cars and dress however I want without having to answer something like that. I’m secure enough in my own gender identity as a woman to be able to express myself in all the ways I want without having my actions impede on my identity or expression of my gender. I will put on a dress when I feel like it, I will get the brushes out for a glam makeup when it is convenient for me and I don’t have to do ‘typically female’ things just to please the public opinion.

Instead of going around and judging, just work on why you have this urge to comment on my expression of gender in the first place, because your insecurities surrounding my gender don’t look cute on you.”

After that (Y/N) is practically dragged away from the media pit by her PR manager, who probably already has a headache thinking about the mess that will follow on social media and certain online magazines.

But the few drivers who stood around them, having media duties to follow themselves, just stared impressed and with deep respect after the young woman. She usually is softer spoken and obviously went through bootcamp media training. This was the first time they witnessed speaking her true mind in an interview.

Back in her driver's room, where she gets ready for the debrief, (Y/N) realizes the kind of mistake she just made.

Her little outburst will definitely get more of a reaction than it would if a Max Verstappen would have said something along these lines.

Before her inner eye she sees the headlines. Something about women being too emotional for motorsports. Her being too young, too hot headed, too much of everything and somehow not enough of everything.

The team will replace her, the negative PR not leaving them any other choice. The pressure on them is too much, they already took a big chance on her by giving the driver a seat in Formula 1 in the first place.

With the news of her sudden contract ending, at least one news outlet will write “The little experiment failed”, paving an even more difficult path for other women trying to prove themselves in motorsports.

And all that just because she wasn’t able to let this stupid question roll right off her back.

A sudden knock on her door breaks (Y/N) free from her downward spiral of thoughts. Max enters the room with Daniel on his tail. “This was amazing. How you told this interviewer off on life camera? And her face? After you went out, we just had to clap. It was so cool. You were so right, too. I’m so proud you finally spoke your mind. The audacity of these people.”

It seems like Max doesn’t need to breathe, judging from his rant.

Daniel has a much softer approach. He puts a hand on her shoulder, making her look up at him. “I hope you know that you had to say that back there. Even if you are ‘only’ a rookie this season, the questions you got the last couple of weeks were anything but ok or nice. Sometimes you need to be loud before it can be quiet.”

(Y/N) shoots him a thankful smile, squeezing the hand on her shoulder with her own. “You are right. It was just a bit overwhelming at first. But I can see the appeal now. I think I have to take a few classes with Max, because the concept of saying what you think got a new fan and that’s me. It’s the best thing I have done in the context of handling media duties.”

“No, you won’t do that”, (Y/N)’s PR manager stands in the doorway, probably to fetch her for the debrief. “In this case it was a good thing to do. Important, too, of course. The fans are eating this up on social media. They already made edits with the clips. But I don’t get paid what Max’ or Lando’s managers get, so you will return to your media trained good girl roots.” With that (Y/N) gets pulled out of the room by her. Max throws her a subtle nod, to which she smiles.

Sometimes you need to be more than the good girl, especially if it’s for your own sake. Who knows, maybe this is the beginning of the story of another media-nightmare-driver.

#you can see exactly where I started to scramble for plot haha #f1 x reader #f1 x driver!reader #f1 x female!reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x driver!reader #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo x driver reader #x driver!reader #x female!reader #x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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k0juki · 11 days

Note

omg hi!

Can I request a Kimi one-shot where the reader isn't Finnish or northern in the slightest (I was thinking about Mediterranean, like Italian or something like that) and she feels bad that whenever she's around, her bf and all his mates and family speak English so she can understand what they're saying. So one day she decides to learn Finnish on her own withouth telling anyone and fast forward to a year or so, she's gotten to a pretty good level although the language is completely different from her own and one day she surprises Kimi by speaking to him in Finnish while they're cuddling. I wanna see what he does to that lol.

Sorry if it's too long!! Thanks for reading all of this!!! 💝

Hey @cliosunshine!! Thank you for request!!🩷

Kimi Räikkönen x fem!reader

A/N: And for everyone that are still waiting for their request, I'm trying to make them ASAP, because I was ill and I couldn't do them, but now I'm on it!

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors!

Warnings: translated Finnish! mention of y/n and fluff.

Words: 373

---

The warmth of the warm sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom where Kimi and the Y/n lay together in a cozy embrace. Kimi's steady breathing filled the air, his arm draped protectively over her as they basked in a rare moment of quiet.

For months now, Y/n had been secretly teaching herself Finnish, determined to bridge the gap that had always stood between her and Kimi's world. She always felt a bit aside because of their language barrier, but she was determined to change that.

She had spent countless hours pouring over textbooks, wrestling with the unfamiliar sounds and structures of the language, all without a word to anyone. But today was different. Today, she was ready to reveal her secret. "Kimi," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "I have something to tell you."

His blue eyes, usually so calm and unreadable, blinked in surprise. "What is it?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep. Taking a deep breath, Y/n summoned her courage. "I've been learning Finnish for some time now," she confessed, her heart pounding in her chest. Kimi's brow furrowed in confusion. "Finnish?" he repeated, clearly taken aback.

"Yeah.." that nervous feeling could be heard in her voice and she knew that. "I wanted to surprise you, so I've been studying, every day, in secret." There was a beat of silence as Kimi processed her words, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Se on erittäin söpöä sinulta" Kimi slowly said, to know, she could understand every single word. /That's very sweet of you/

"You didn't have to do that, you know?"

"I know but I wanted" Y/n could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in her chest. She had been so nervous, unsure of how he would react, but now, seeing the genuine happiness in his eyes, she knew it had been worth it.

Kimi's gaze softened, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "Ja nyt voit" he replied, his voice filled with a quiet awe. /And now you can/

---

Requests are open!

Picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

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sockmeat · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐄𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 -- 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 (𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖) -- 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 (𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍)

(𝐰𝐜): 1,855

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After finding your crush with another woman on Valentine's day, you prepare to hole yourself up in your house until your shame passes. But when they show up at your door uninvited with a proposal, you discover that not all hope is lost.

(𝐀/𝐍): I’m actually proud of this,, even if the pacing is absolute dog shit

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Alastor’s a little forceful at the end (maybe, not really), Reader is a little bit of a dumby but that’s why I love her

𓆩♡𓆪

Trudging around the house, you gathered everything you needed to survive the next few hours. It was a beautiful day out--the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the couples were buzzing down the street. It indeed was the perfect day. Anyone would be happy.

But here you are, on the verge of tears because of a man that was never yours.

Of course he isn't yours. Everyone wanted him. He was polite, well-mannered, well-off, and attractive. He had a passion for radio shows and charming anyone he laid his eyes on--though, that could be unintentional. He had fair, olive skin, beautiful brown eyes to match, and shiny brown hair you would die to run your hands through. Who wouldn't be charmed by him? He's the perfect man.

When you first heard of him, you followed your heart and applied to work at his studio. It was a miracle he accepted. You had no experience, after all. At first, you would only run errands for them and those he would speak with, but soon you became more. You would give him ideas and, to your delight, he never chastised you. He only encouraged your creativity. It wasn't long until you became a staple of the radio channel and Alastor became a staple in your heart.

Like a fool, you believed he felt the same for you. You believed his heart and soul were made for you—that you were made for each other.

Earlier today, you found him chatting with a girl, who had a small, heart-shaped box of chocolates in her hand. Her face was flushed as she looked up at Alastor with doe eyes. Margaret was known by everyone in town as a wisenheimer; why would Alastor choose her of all people?

Your heart clenched at the memory. “I’m so stupid,” you whimper.

Dragging your feet, you roamed into the kitchen, collecting your favorite snacks from your cupboards. As you left the kitchen, the radio triggered itself and began playing Alastor’s channel.

“Hello and happy Valentine’s day, the holiday for passion and love! Nearly everyone has a valentine,” spoke Alastor, his voice nearly being covered by the feedback. You felt lighter at the sound of his voice. “Speaking of which, Arthur, do you have a Valentine?”

Shuffling came from the radio before a foreign voice spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. I have to get my wiggle on so I can meet with the missus for lunch. What about you, Alastor, do you have a valentine?”

“Not yet, my friend, but I will by the end of the day. I’m dizzy with a dame, you see, but I haven’t seen her all morning!” Alastor sighs and Arthur hums.

“You’ll get her. Hey, butt me, will ya?”

Out of impulse, you twist the dial to a random channel—any channel, as long as it isn’t his. Outgoing jazz music played on the radio and soothed your nerves. You kicked your house shoes off your feet and collapsed onto the couch, tossing the throw pillows and decorative blanket over your person.

Now underneath the pile, all you could see was darkness. The song ended and another softer, smoother song played. Gradually, you pieced together a scene to cure your newfound boredom.

A giant, golden room, bustling full of people. Every woman wore an elegant dress and every man wore a handsome suit with a unique flower. The room had a dozen pillars on the longest walls, parallel to each other, which extended to the highest point of the ceiling to make it appear round.

On the ceiling, golden engravings complimented a giant mural. A few chandeliers hung from the ceiling, adding shimmers to the walls as the light deflected from them. Curtains, red as a rose, matched the velvet chairs that hugged the walls, all of which were empty.

All of it reminded you of him.

You felt discouraged, the thought of Alastor bringing back the memory of him with Margaret. But you lit up when you remembered something—this is your dream! You could make anything you want happen.

You could have a world where there was no Margaret, where you were the only dame that wanted Alastor’s hand—where Alastor only had eyes for you.

Looking down at yourself, you concentrated on giving yourself a dress. A red, thin-strapped, sequin dress appeared on your body. Black, silk, elbow-length gloves showed themselves on your arms, and a fan in your hand to match. A pearl necklace made itself around your neck and a matching set of earrings clipped themselves to your ears.

Maybe you would never actually wear this, but you felt damn good pretending.

Suddenly, the door to the ballroom opened. A silhouette appeared in the door frame. They strolled in quickly, cutting their way through the dancing couples and straight to you.

As they grew closer, you recognized their face. Your heart fluttered when you realized it was Alastor. He wasn’t wearing his usual outfit; instead of a blouse and red vest, he wore an elegant, red suit with a black bow. His usual, pretty smile stretched across his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hello, my dear,” Alastor cooed, stopping in front of you and staring into your eyes.

“Al,” you sighed, dreamily. “Hello.”

Gently, Alastor brings a hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little feverish,” he said rhetorically, already knowing the reason your face was hot.

“I am now that you’re here,” you say confidently, moving your hands to his chest, suddenly feeling confident. Alastor’s smile grew as he looked down at you.

Offering his right hand out, he said with a smile, “Would you do me the honors of being my dance partner?”

“How charming,” you giggle. “I would love to.” Gently, you place your hand in his. Almost eagerly, he leads you to the dance floor.

As if you were always there, you blend in with the others dancers effortlessly. Your right hand held his left, and your left hand sat comfortably on his shoulder as he held your waist with his right hand. You felt light as a feather as you waltzed across the dance floor, maintaining eye contact with Alastor at every step. Every movement he made was confident and purposeful.

“You look ravishing, darling. I’ve waited all day for this moment,” he whispered, leaning close enough so you could hear him.

“As do you, my love,” you gushed, heart fluttering under his gaze. Around him, you felt like an open book—one that he read as often and as thoroughly as he could.

As the tension grew, your arms moved to loop around Alastor’s neck, while he moved to cradle your waist. He pressed his cheek against yours, nuzzling close to your ear to whisper sweet nothings.

His murmurs were unintelligible, for you were too tired to understand, so you enjoyed the feeling of his breath fanning against your ear instead. The hairs on your neck stood on edge as you closed your eyes to appreciate the moment.

You only opened your eyes when the whispers stopped and Alastor’s hand moved to your cheek once again. Once you came out of your bliss, you noticed the scenery changed. Instead of being in a ballroom, you were on a balcony.

The sky was dark and littered with stars. The full moon hovered behind Alastor, making him look ethereal. You didn’t bother seeing what else changed. You were too busy admiring the man in front of you.

“You have bewitched me—heart, body, and soul,” Alastor stated, breaking the silence. He led his other hand to cup your empty cheek. “I wish to never be parted from you from this day on. You’re all I think about. I’m crazy for you, my darling doe,” he broke eye contact for a moment to glance at your lips before looking back at you.

Like he was asking for permission.

“Oh, Al,” you mutter, thoroughly smitten by his words. “Please kiss me.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” he hummed, tilting his head and leaning close. You reciprocated, excited to finally share a kiss with the one you’ve been pining over for so long. His eyes closed, as did yours. Your lips brushed against his—

You woke with a jolt when you heard knocking at your door. “Rats,” you curse, throwing the blanket and pillows to the floor and scrambling to fix yourself. “Just a moment!” You yell, throwing your house shoes on and hastily fixing the couch, as well as your hair.

“Are you alright in there? I hear a lot of movement,” a voice calls from behind the door. “Should I call for someone?”

“NO!--I mean—” You yank the door open, breathless, and smiling. “See? Right as rain! No need to call for anyone,” You crowed nervously, nearly fainting when you saw the man you were just dreaming about holding a giant bouquet of roses at your door.

“If you say so,” Alastor hums, glancing over your panting figure. “Right! I’m here for a proposal. Will you do me the honors of being my valentine?” He asks nonchalantly, pushing the bouquiet toward you.

“Wait–I thought Margaret was your valentine,” you asked, ignoring the flowers and staring expectantly at Alastor.

Alastor stepped into your house, prepared for the long conversation. “Margaret is merely a harlot, my dear. You have nothing to worry about, I assure you,” he explained without a beat.

“...How do I know I can trust you?” You asked him, “You looked awfully happy with her.” That was a lie—you only saw the back of his head. You had no way of knowing how he felt in the situation.

Alastor takes a step toward you, to which you take a step backward. “I love you. And I believe you love me,” he states, looking down on you fondly.

“You’re quite wrong. This has only been an adventure to me,” you sputtle, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

“That isn’t true, my dear. I see the way you look at me. I hear how you talk about me. You are as infatuated with me as I am with you,” he takes another step.

Desperate for distance, an advantage, you speak, “It is true! You smiled at me, I was flattered. It was an adventure for a holiday mood,” you tell him, stepping back until your back met the wall.

Alastor takes a moment to place the bouquet on the couch before resuming his approach. “You may as well take my heart, It’s already full of you. You walked with it the day we met,” he vowed, placing his arms on either side of you.

“You’re a fool, Alastor,” you shutter, silently relishing in his presence. Alastor smiles brightly, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep into your eyes.

“But isn’t any man who falls in love?” He asks, guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck as he leans close. With one swoop, Alastor pressed his lips against yours, locking you into a kiss. Your heart soars in your chest.

You finally got the man you desire most. Maybe dreams do come true.

𓆩♡𓆪

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