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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Note

Hey angel!! hope ur doing well!!

i was wondering if I could request roommate!marauders where they have crushes on reader buttt she already has a bf but he's just a total jerk.... and u sorta get the idea?? (if u haven't done one like this already)

much love!!! <3333

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: douchebag boyfriend, marauders fancy reader but don't genuinely want her to cheat or end her relationship for them

(poly)roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s heartbreaking how lovely you look first thing in the morning. Sweet, rumpled pajamas, plodding gait, sunlight stretching over features still soft with sleep. You raise your hand to cover a yawn as you enter the kitchen, eyelashes still drooping like they’ve weights sewn into them.

“Morning,” you say on the tail end.

“Morning.” James opens one arm to you. You step into the hug automatically, and he drops a kiss to your head, his own private indulgence. You’re eyeing the omelet he’s frying up with his other hand. “Want one?”

“Mm, wish I could,” your voice is a somnolent mumble, “but Dale’s taking me to breakfast in a bit.”

James tries not to react, but his hold on you stiffens some. From the living room, he hears Sirius scoff. “Oh.”

“I’m sure your omelet would be better.” You pat his side, moving out from under his arm to go to the coffee pot. “We’re going to this cafe he likes, and they never have anything I want. Still, I can hardly show up full.”

James feels himself frown. Typical of your boyfriend to take you somewhere you don’t even like. Perhaps he’s a tad biased, but James thinks you should eat one of his omelets and show up full just to teach Dale a lesson.

He plates up the one he’s just finished. You tail him into the living room as he delivers it to Sirius, curling your feet up underneath you on the couch. Remus is sitting in the armchair reading the paper. He and James have already had their breakfasts, but you and Sirius are always the last up on weekends.

“Are you finished with the funnies?” you ask Remus.

He looks up at you with a tenderness James doesn’t know how you can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, shaking out a page. “Here.”

Sirius snickers at your choice of reading material as you reach across him for it. You nudge his thigh with your knee. “Bite me.”

“Anywhere you’d like me to, babe.” He winks.

You roll your eyes and fold the page to read, well used to Sirius’ flirting. Similarly to how he’d done with Remus, Sirius’ ill-advised tactic for winning you over involves alternating between taunting you relentlessly and acting like his affection for you is all one big joke. It only barely worked on Remus—James’ interference had been required there, and that was before he’d admitted to himself his own feelings for either of the two boys—so James doesn’t understand why Sirius would give it another go with you.

“Oh.” Remus closes his paper, seeming to remember something. “I was wondering if you might have time to go with me to the farmer’s market this morning. We’re out of eggs, but I can’t haggle with the woman like you do.”

You give him a sorry sort of smile. “I would, but Dale’s meant to pick me up at ten.”

“Oh, well.” Sirius rolls his eyes, chewing malignantly on a bite of omelet. “If Dale said he’ll be here at ten, then surely that’s what’s happening.”

You bump his thigh again good naturedly. “Be nice.”

James bites his tongue, and even Remus reopens his newspaper with a tad more vigor than necessary. Sirius is by far the most vocal with you about your boyfriend’s flaws, but your roommates all hate him. The guy’s a prick. James would never in a million years try to convince you to leave your partner for them—and despite Sirius’ joking, he knows neither of the other boys would feel right about that either—but if you broke up with Dale, he would be very tempted to throw a party.

James really doesn’t understand how someone like you could end up with someone so holistically unpleasant as your boyfriend. He’s rude, inconsiderate, he doesn’t express any gratitude for the sweet things you do for him, and he is never where he says he’s going to be when he says he’s going to be there. He shows so little regard for anyone but himself. If he told you he was going to pick you up at ten in the morning, he’s just as likely to arrive at three in the afternoon. Even for your half-hearted defense of him, it’s nearly ten and you’ve made no move to change out of your pajamas or get ready, because you know he won’t be here on time. It irks your roommates to no end to see you tolerate such poor treatment.

“Maybe you can go with Remus to the farmer’s market,” you tell Sirius. “You seem like you could negotiate.”

“Sirius doesn’t know how much eggs are supposed to cost,” Remus says idly.

“Oi!” Sirius objects through a mouthful of omelet. “I do so.”

James smiles at him. “Really. How much do you think eggs cost, love?”

Sirius manages to take another bite while James is asking, so his mouth is conveniently too full to answer.

“I can manage it on my own,” Remus says with indulgent fondness. “Dove, do me one favor, though?”

You lift your coffee. “Sure.”

“Don’t let him summon you outside with his horn again.”

There’s a brief but thick silence while you finish swallowing your coffee and all three boys try not to look too obviously judgmental (Sirius trying the least, naturally). The purse of your lips reveals some embarrassment.

Still, your voice comes out unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal to me. It’s not like we’re in school and I need him to come to the door and meet my parents. It’s a time saver.”

“It’s rude,” says Remus gently. “You deserve someone who will come to the door for you.”

James’ thoughts exactly.

“Sure you don’t want some toast or something while you wait?” James asks, partly to dispel the tension and partly because he really does think you should eat something if Dale isn’t likely to be here until the afternoon. “You could call it an appetizer.”

You stand with your emptied coffee mug, passing an affectionate hand over James’ hair as you move between his legs and the coffee table. “Thanks,” you say genuinely, “but I’m alright. I’m going to go get ready.”

However eager James is to avoid the tension that comes from insulting (or, really, just speaking frankly about) your boyfriend, Sirius has no such concerns. “While we’re telling Dale things,” he says after you, “be sure to remind him that our flat has a three-strike roommate tears policy. Next time you come home crying, Jamie and I get to make a house call.”

Your laughter echoes down the hallway. “Sure, I’ll let him know.”

Sirius looks at James, perplexed. “Did I sound like I was joking? I was not using my joking voice.”

James pats his leg consolingly.

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indecisivemuch · 1 year ago

Text

Scandalous

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship).

Warning: allusions to sex, but no explicit details.

Word count: 2k

You and Luke have been going out for well over a year now. Yet, he never failed to make you feel like it would be an eternal honeymoon phase: whispers of sweet words about a lifetime’s worth of promises, delicate and sacred touches, looks filling in for unspoken words.

Loving Luke was as easy as having a daily routine - so natural and almost like a grounding thing from the life of a Demigod.

Currently, Luke was training with Percy. You were not too far away either, sparring with Clarisse. Despite the area being occupied by many other Demigods engaging in similar activities, Luke could not help but frequently glance over at you.

Luke has always been mesmerized by the way you combat, which he metaphorically compared to a ballerina. So precise, yet deadly. Every move was with intention and purpose.

The way sweat glided down the side of your face, your cheeks flushed from fighting, eyes darting with strategy, heavy pants in between dodging and attacking your opponent, the smirk hinted on your face - all of it made Luke’s mind grow flustered. Somehow, he found everything you do attractive.

If he was honest, his mind seemed to be doing nothing lately but think of you, especially when you’re not beside him. The memories he has harvested over your time together only transformed his brain into a cinema, which constantly played montages of you. Every morning, he’d wake up from a dream about you to the sight of you in his arms - that is before he had to sneak out of your cabin back to his. You constantly occupy every cell in his mind, like an uncontainable virus spreading. Yet, for some reason, he was not scared. He welcomed this feeling with his whole arms wide open.

You broke eye contact with Clarisse to look at Luke. Almost instantly, your eyes melted into ones filled with adoration and his own eyes mirrored the same emotions - if not tenfold.

You were absolutely enamored with how Luke looked at you. Even before dating each other, people have mentioned the eyes he was giving you. But being oblivious, you did not see what they were talking about. However, it all became clear when you started dating. You started noticing how he would look at you like you were a rare artwork he would most likely never see again or a shooting star - a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence kind of thing that left him in awe all the time. He would do it so endearingly as if it would help to absorb every detail of you and imprint them into his memory. His looks have always made you feel loved - like you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if he has not told you this verbally and through actions already. Usually, you’d feel slightly insecure if somebody was staring so intensely at you, but he did it in a way that made you feel like your flaws were created to be loved for.

However, a gasp escaped your lips as Luke was showered by a wave of the ocean. Everybody else also drew their attention to the head of Hermes’ cabin and the newly claimed Poseidon kid.

When Luke looked back at Percy, he was faced with a sheepish grin.

“I had to get your attention somehow. I tried calling your name like ten times already,” Percy shrugged his shoulder with feigned innocence, but the glint of mischief told Luke that the kid was anything but feeling guilty about soaking him from head to toe.

“Percy,” Luke groaned as he could feel the fabric of his clothes cling to his body. Percy bashfully chuckled and offered another sheepish look to the counselor who was meant to train him.

The cool water did offer a temporary fix to the boiling summer heat. But mixing that with sweat, combat, and Luke's long-sleeved shirt underneath was disastrous. The Hermes boy sighed as he slowly took off the bright orange camp shirt. After struggling slightly, he managed to pull the shirt off from over his head. However, the gray shirt he was wearing underneath got pulled up more than slightly from the extra friction between wet fabrics, revealing the majority of his back to Percy and others.

He did not think much of it until gasps - including yours - could be heard as this happened. Chris even whistled as he and everybody else spotted what Luke did not notice.

“What?” Luke asked as he pulled down his gray shirt and started wringing his camp t-shirt, trying to rid it from being as wet as possible.

“Damn, did you get mauled by a minotaur or something?” Percy asked.

Almost immediately, Luke paled at Percy’s words as he realized what the kid was talking about.

Indeed, as Luke’s gray shirt underneath got pulled up, which revealed the majority of his back, this had also put on display the scratches down his back left from nights that he spent with you. Some were evidently old and healing, as seen by how Luke’s skin was patching itself up and matching closer to his skin tone. Others were somewhat freshly red, while a few were like wounds being reopened. To make matters worse, they could spot the occasional crescent shape bruises that were indentations of your nails.

Considering your guys’ relationship was not a secret, there was no room to deny it if somebody pointed fingers at you. You blushed as people now averted their eyes to you as if this was the most scandalous thing all year. Clarisse and Chris, on the other hand, were both smirking.

The whole camp knew you were the one who left those scratches there, and you sincerely wish you could dig a hole to hide yourself from all the attention right now.

Luke’s eyes darted to you, and you offered him an awkward smile as your face grew a darker shade of red.

“No, seriously, dude, you gotta get it checked out at the infirmary. How did that even happen?” Percy only continued, somehow actually clueless about the cause of those marks. You could see Annabeth sending Percy a somewhat side-eye from nearby at his words while Grover let out a deep sigh.

You started approaching the two, hoping you could intervene and save the both of you from this situation.

“Uhm…well,” Luke started, unsure how to even answer the kid or divert the attention elsewhere as his cheeks flushed and ears tinted pink from trying to ignore memories of what you two had done the night before.

The Hermes boy has jokingly sweet-talked you before on how he might walk out shirtless after one of your rendezvous to show off the marks you left on him. Never would you two think that that idea would ever happen like this.

“Yeah, I reckon you should get that checked out,” you decided to say as you reached Luke, settling your hand on Luke’s lower back and greeting Percy. “Thank you for worrying about him.”

“Yeah, no problem. I mean, it must have been quite a minotaur to land that much of a number on him,” Percy somehow carried on and was utterly oblivious to Clarisse and Chris, who almost bursted out laughing at his latest comment. You, on the other hand, squinted your eyes at the kid. You turned to Luke and you could see it in his eyes that the boy was on the verge of laughing as well. You were sure he would have done so if it were not for your glare.

“Well, we best go heal those wounds now, right Luke?” you gave your boyfriend a look, hoping he would get the message to play along.

“Right,” he agreed almost instantly.

“Alright, bye, Percy,” you hastily spoke, before dragging Luke by his hand away from everybody's eyes.

“Bye guys,” you could hear the kid’s voice as the both of you retreated. It felt like a walk of shame as the semi-crowd parted ways for you two to leave the scene. You immediately let out a deep breath as soon as nobody was near anymore.

“Gods, that was so embarrassing. The kid basically repeatedly called me a minotaur.”

“I mean…you can be my minotaur?” Luke cheekily jested, trying to tease you a bit more over the situation.

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re not making that a thing. No, absolutely not are you ever gonna make that a nickname,” Luke only laughed at your reaction before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you into a hug. As he did so, you wrapped both your arms around his waist, face colliding with his chest the way it would usually do when you guys cuddle. He gave you a few peppered kisses on your forehead, close to your hairline.

“They’re never gonna let us live that down, will they?” You asked after letting out a muffled groan against his chest.

“Nope,” Luke admitted. Despite the Hermes boy usually easing away your worries, even he knew this would be the talk around camp for a while. Nevertheless, he unwrapped his arms around you and cupped your face with both hands. Using his callus-filled hands, yet gentle touch, he soothed your furrowed eyebrows by rubbing over them to urge you from scowling.

“But…you know what? I’m kind of glad this happened. Sure, it might be awkward and a tad bit embarrassing. But now, they finally get to see how lucky I am to have been given a chance by such a gorgeous and sweet Demigod. And…” he paused, giving you a quick kiss. “This way, any guy potentially still after you know to keep their hands off.” He cheekily winked at you after saying so.

Gods, you remember how jealous Luke would get before you were together. It was lowkey hot to see him so riled up. Though, after the both of you got together, you have always reassured him that you had eyes on him and only him.

“I guess that also means any girls still thinking they could steal you from me would know they have no chance?” you questioned, smiling ear to ear when he nodded eagerly at your words.

“Exactly. That’s a win-win in my book. I’m not embarrassed they saw what you left on me. They could talk for all I care. So stop worrying, or else you’ll start getting wrinkles,” he lightly flicked the area between your furrowed eyebrows. As you were about to complain, he quickly kissed you right where he previously flicked you, and that immediately melted away any bit of feigned irritation you had with him. He chuckled at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows untangling itself.

“Thank you,” you muttered, showing your gratitude towards Luke.

If Luke had a superpower, it would probably be calming you down. He has always managed to tame your emotions whenever they were drowning you. He was like an anchor to you, always grounded you during chaotic times. Sometimes, you wonder how you got so lucky.

You peered up at him sweetly, and the look alone made him lean down to capture your lips with his again. You chuckled at his action and kissed him back with just as much passion as he was leaving on your lips. Your hands started playing with the hair close to the nape of his neck. He let out a content sigh while still showing your lips just how much he loved them and you. However, he abruptly pulled away before dropping a question.

“Are we really going to the infirmary?” Luke hesitantly asked, bringing up your words from earlier. He watched as you gave him an amused look.

“What did you think?” As soon as his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what you wanted. He gave you a sheepish grin before the two of you quietly giggled to each other before walking further away from the training grounds.

Let's just say you two did not follow through with your words of going to the infirmary, and neither were you tending to his “wounds”.

——————————

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dalishious · 7 months ago

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Teia and Viago Master Post

It seems my overwhelming love for Teia Cantori and Viago de Riva has garnered a reputation that I’m worth asking questions about them. I’m honoured! But I think it would be easier to just make a master post about them that I can direct to, so that’s what this is.

Appearances

Dragon Age: Deception (Teia and Viago appear as unnamed Crows. It is later confirmed in Tevinter Nights that it was them)

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights; “Eight Little Talons”

Dragon Age: The Missing

Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Pre-DATV Events

9:44 – Teia and Viago are in Ventus when the Antaam attack.

Between 9:44 and 9:52 – The events of “Eight Little Talons” takes place. (Viago says they were “recently” in Ventus when the Qunari attacked, meaning it’s probably closer to 9:44.)

9:52 – Teia and Viago are in Vyrantium when the Antaam attack. They took a contract together to kill Lady Crysanthus, who was a member of the Venatori. They briefly run into Varric and Harding, who are following Solas’s trail.

Information on Teia

Teia’s full name is Andarateia Cantori. She is the head of House Cantori, which holds the seat of Seventh Talon. House Cantori’s territory is centred in Rialto.

Teia is 28 in “Eight Little Talons”. While we don’t know for sure when the story takes place, it is most likely around 9:45-9:46 based on context clues. If so, this would make Teia in her mid-30s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

Teia grew up on the streets of Antiva City with no family, surviving on thievery. She was taken by the Crows at age eight, and considers them her family now. (In “Eight Little Talons,” she reflects that she’s been a Crow for 20 years.)

Teia was the youngest Crow to gain the rank of Talon in history. She is also an outlier in that she does not come from a wealthy, prolific family background. This caused quite a controversy, where she was considered an “overreaching street rat;” while the Crows tell recruits that anyone can become a Talon, it very rarely happens.

Teia has her own set of rules to follow; for example, she refuses to kill servants unless absolutely necessary.

Teia’s best skill is being a master manipulator, with a level of astute observation in others that gives her an advantage in pretty much any conversation. She is very good at figuring out what to say and do in order to get the response she wants from someone.

Teia’s biggest flaw is, in my opinion, her naiveté. You could also say that the fact that she’s held onto strong morals and sensitivity to others is a strength, certainly. But the fact that she wants to see good in everyone, even people who arguably don’t give her any reason to, has gotten her into trouble.

Teia was in an abusive relationship in the past; Dante Balazar, who was Second Talon before his death in “Eight Little Talons”. Dante was addicted to lyrium, and would lash out at her verbally and physically. At some point Teia fought back and finally broke things off, while leaving a scar on his shoulder. Despite all this, Teia held sympathy for him.

Teia is afraid of dogs, after being chased by rabid ones on the streets as a little girl.

Teia has a tattoo marking her as a member of House Cantori on her back.

Teia’s horse is named Andoral (after the archdemon).

Teia has probably not been a Talon for very long; I would guess less than five years as of “Eight Little Talons.”

Information on Viago

Viago is the head of House de Riva, which holds the seat of Fifth Talon. House de Riva’s territory is centred in Salle.

We do not know Viago’s age for certain, but I would guess he’s in his mid-40s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard based on vibes and sensible timelines.

Viago is a master poisoner, and carries around plenty of it wherever he goes… as well as antidotes, because in addition to this, he is extremely paranoid about being poisoned himself. He does not eat or drink anything before testing it first, and he even takes a small dose of Adder’s Kiss every day to build up a resistance to it.

As one of many bastard children of the Antivan King, Viago was only given two choices in life: either live in luxurious exile, or join the Crows. He resents all his half-siblings who chose the first, and he resents the king himself. Viago may be more powerful than them all, even the king, but he is now stuck in this life. Had he not been, he thinks he could be a better ruler of Antiva.

Viago also holds resentment towards his mother, who it is hinted was an alcoholic to cope with the loss of interest from the King. Viago recalls her wine-stained “demon teeth” from when he was a child.

Viago does not give a shit if people like him or not; he only wants to be respected and feared. (Despite this, Teia tries to make the other Talons like him.) He is also used to having to constantly watch his back, and typically thinks the worst in people.

Viago tries to avoid emotional thinking, preferring hard facts and logic.

Viago has a pair of adder snakes he milks for venom. He also now has a third named Emil, choosing to keep the snake that bit and nearly killed him in “Eight Little Talons”.

Viago enjoys art collection.

My guess for how long Viago has been a Talon is somewhere around 10-15 years, based on vibes and timelines. I think he was fairly young himself when he succeeded his predecessor. I also think it’s entirely possible that the Antivan King arranged his rise to power, based on the comment in “Eight Little Talons” from Dante: “Your daddy will protect you.”

Dialogue (in no particular order)

Viago: It's frustrating, right? I'm correct to feel that way? How the occupation has pushed us all… apart? Teia: I try not to let the fledglings see it. Viago: If they had done nothing else, I would hate the Antaam for making you restrict any part of yourself.

Teia: I haven't seen that look in some time. Viago: It's called "hope." And perhaps some other thoughts. Teia: What sort of thoughts, Vi? Viago: About the future. Both long term and… more immediate.

Viago: Is my collar high enough? I need to present an example. Teia: The fledglings see their leaders standing tall against the tide. Incessantly. Teia: Perhaps it is time to set other examples. So they know that war is not all we are. Viago: Perhaps we should discuss as much. Say, at the café? Teia: Once they've scrubbed out the remains of the Antaam.

Teia: Your push against the Antaam has been admirable. Viago: Your work here is also commendable. Teia: Good, good. Why is this so awkward? Viago: Perhaps we know each other too well to be strangers.

Teia: What are you drafting now? Viago: It's a contract to murder a vacation. It requires a very particular set of skills from a very particular Seventh Talon. Teia: Very funny, and unnecessary. I'll take a break soon. Really. Viago: As it was with gods and reavers, I'll believe it when I see it.

Teia: Haven't seen you around the Diamond much, Vi. Viago: I've been preoccupied. Teia: I thought perhaps you were avoiding me. Viago: I thought perhaps you wished to be avoided.

Teia: So, will I see you for breakfast? Viago: I don't think you will. Teia: No? Why not? Viago: It's only breakfast if we sleep. Teia: Vi, you are the worst.

Teia: Despite the governor, Rook has certainly given us time to consider our options. Viago: I'd forgotten that kind of time. Just, time to appreciate… those around me. Teia: There's only the two of us here. Viago: And who else could I possibly mean?

Teia: You fought darkspawn? Viago: None of them touched me. Teia: I will inspect you later. Viago: All right.

Teia: I told her their bickering was amateurish, and that they'd need to work much harder to argue as well as we do. Viago: That was altogether the wrong message to take away from that. Teia: I thought you enjoyed our little squabbles? Viago: Among—and possibly overshadowed by—other things.

Viago: You're smirking at me. What is so funny? Teia: I was just noticing how much you're starting to look like the dog. Viago: We are free from the influence of gods and traitors for the first time in months, and that is where your mind goes? Teia: Especially when you pout! Viago: I do not pout.

Teia: I found some Crystal Grace in the gardens earlier. Viago: I didn't know flowers still bloomed in this city. Viago: And thank you. They were most pleasant to find on the desk this morning.

Teia: Fighting back suits you. Your tone has much improved since we last argued. Viago: Excuse me. I wasn't aware it was my tone that was at issue. Teia: That's all right, I'm sure you'll pay closer attention from now on. Viago: See, this is why we split. And got back together. And split.

Teia: Fighting back, making our voices heard… this is feeling like old times. The good ones. Viago: Thank you for the clarification. Teia: I meant it. Viago: So did I.

Viago: Have you been home in the last week? Teia: I won't let the fledglings see the Diamond empty.

Teia: Are you certain the fledglings should see you smile this much? You'll spoil them. Viago: It's unavoidable, I'm afraid. The cause of my smile refuses to leave the Diamond. Teia: Is that so? Viago: It is very much so.

Teia: Not all things end with clarity, as you and I both know. Viago: Fine. Endings are fuzzy. Starts are shocking. Middles… middles are worth lingering.

Rook: The Cantori Diamond is your casino? The occupation hasn't closed your business? Teia: Business may be down, but it isn't "my" casino to close. Viago: An easy mistake to make. Isn't that right, Andarateia Cantori? Teia: I am no landlord, and anyone who treats me as such shall be evicted.

Rook: Were either of you trained by Heir? Viago: Not this one. Mine was… stern. Teia: Mine spoke in the third person until you were skilled enough to be recognized as an equal. Viago: Starting with grammatical murder. Fascinating.

Teia: Why are you so frustrating? Viago: Am I? We are only frustrated by things we are truly invested in. Teia: That can't be. I just threw out your old shirts. Viago: Old? There's no such thing as old satin.

Rook: So you two are both Talons. Doesn't that make you rivals? Viago: Rank in one area is rarely applicable to others. Which is to say, only a fool would try to impose rank on Teia. Teia: Wise words from a sometimes fool. Viago: A history I would wish on no one else, lest they take it from me.

Viago: Occupied! The insult of it! Teia: It's more than insulting. Viago: It's salt in the wound. And that is my purview.

Viago: To see you so energized, Teia. I'm staring at the sun. Teia: Viago, once Rook kills Ivenci? On again. Viago: We shall see.

Teia: Viago, dear. Do you want children? Viago: I rarely see the dog.

Viago: I think [Jacobus] could be the best of us. Teia: That's a high bar. Including you? Viago: Well, perhaps second-best. Behind you. Teia: Flattery will get you everywhere.

-----

SOURCES:

Dragon Age: Deception

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Dragon Age: The Missing

Dialogue between Teia and Viago (DATV)

Letter from Mistress Trella (DATV)

#dragon age #teia cantori #andarateia cantori #viago de riva #meta #datv spoilers

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prettybabywhowrites · 5 months ago

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Gentle Love

JJ Maybank x Princess Kook GF

Who knew JJ Maybank, a boy from the cut who got into brawls with kooks and had tremendous daddy issues would end up with such a princess of a girlfriend.

It had all begun when she joined the group, becoming Kie's only Kook friend after the whole freshman year debacle with Sarah Cameron.

She got along easily with the Pogues, she cared about the environment, was a little on the nerdy side, and was always down for a good time.

JJ found her adorable, her being a kook granted her the nickname "Princess"

After countless nights of him knocking at her window late at night to get cleaned up after a fight, or simply because he couldn’t sleep without her, they became official. The boy from the cut and the kook princess.

At times he felt uneasy, worried that she would realize one day that he wasn't good enough for her, that he could never fulfill her. But his worries drifted away as soon as she called him "Baby" or ran her delicate fingers through his hair.

Gentle love was completely foreign to him. So, you can imagine the surprise when he broke down in her arms for the first time and she had nothing but love in her eyes, holding and looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. Whispering soothing words and wrapping him up in her embrace.

This whole comfort thing was new for him, he had never had anyone he could truly feel safe with, someone who loved him despite his flaws, that is until he met her.

He loved her careful caresses and featherlight kisses, he memorized the order she applied her skin products and did her hair, he grew to love going on long shopping trips with her, purely to see her cheeky smile and little spin when she tried on a dress that fit her just right.

He got accustomed to her nurturing, her gentle love, and now he wasn't sure he could ever live without it.

This is kinda short but hope you like it! Please comment any suggestions ;) Night lovelies!

#jj mayback imagine #jj obx #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x you #jj outer banks #jackson genrette #outerbanks #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #obx fic #obx #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #obx season 4 #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe obx #jj maybank comfort

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kiss-me-muchoo · 15 days ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 || 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Harry avoided commitment with you and after THE breakup, he suddenly entered into a perfect relationship with lucy; your boss. Or so you thought because you ended up having an affair with him.

warnings_ pure nonsense, age gap (undefined 20s/45), smoker!reader cheating, secret relationship, kinda asshole harry, implied sex and use of recreational drugs + mushrooms, angst, very carrie and big coded, Lucy is Natasha but not really. NO PROOFREAD

Notes_ man, i once was 19, watched sex and the city and never let go of it. well baby… WHAT WAS THAT, also listen to man of the year and summer forever, all in my Pedro playlist.

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

His arms protectively held your waist, preventing you from standing up from the massive bed. The expensive sheets cover your naked lower body and your feet hang from the bed.

“Five more minutes…” Harry said, digging his face in your back.

“You said that half an hour ago” you answered him with a chuckle.

“Do I really need to meet your sister and parents?”

“Uhh yeah. I’m pretty sure that comes with the relationship package” you try to joke, which he falls for.

You turn to look at him and beyond his wrinkles, you can see a literal baby. Harry was your perfect boyfriend, hardly finding any flaw in his life.

“I don’t need you to meet my mother” he said, feeling your fingers caress his hair.

“Harry, you got a limb lengthening surgery and she approved!” you say through cackles. “I don’t need to know her!”

“Oh, shut up” he starts tickling you until you’re back hits the mattress again.

Harry ends up on top of you and it nearly got you blushing to feel his big hands caging yours on top of your head.

“Of course I’m meeting your sister and parents, y/n” he accepts. “I made reservations at this wonderful place and got a special dinner round of meals from the chef himself”

Your smile grows because you don’t need or want any of that. Just him…

“I love you” you say from the bottom of your heart.

He doesn’t say anything.

…

You broke up with him; but you missed him so much.

Walking through the busy city, you nearly tripped in your sequin green heels when a big hand caught your arm and prevented you from making a mess of yourself.

Just by looking at you, he smirked, hung off from his phone call, and introduced himself.

He was older, but he turned out to be some years younger than your father. They were classmates in graduate school.

Harry was cheeky, confident about himself, and a flirt. That was nice, but two breakups and three years together revealed he had some issues.

Commitment issues.

You just wanted one thing from him; to say he loved you. And he couldn’t. He never did. It resulted to be so confusing to understand him and what he wanted. Because he seemed to crave a lady by his side but when it came to long-term relationships, he was all doubt, no clue.

He was never going to be enough. But you desperately wanted him to be all you needed.

Despite the age gap, the difference in social classes, and different interests; you two had a curious relationship. One that was filled with a deep connection.

It was like Harry was meant to be with you. And like you were meant to be with him.

Was it impulsive? How do you tell him with glossy eyes that you can’t do it anymore? Perhaps...

But your heart and mind were tired.

And maybe he had lured you so well because seven months later, you still missed him.

And all the things you two used to do, the places you used to visit together, the songs both of you would sing, the food you two would make. You missed everything.

There were days where he treated you exactly like what he was: your rich boyfriend. Always taking you to fancy dinners, having drinks in ostentatious bars and going to the casino.

And there were nights where you took him to sketchy clubs, smoked in alleys, and got high around parks, sharing hazy kisses and having street food past midnights. Always ending in mind-blowing sex, with the longest and greatest orgasms of your life.

Oh to be loved like that once again. Or perhaps you should say, to pretend like you were loved like that once again…

Your heels click as you walk through the crowded streets. It was only at night when you felt miserable for missing Harry. But as long as you had a busy day, your head remained clueless about the ex that was piercing your broken heart further than intended.

The fluffy coat you decided to wear that night was getting a lot of attention from strangers. It worked beautifully along a grey vintage Y2K silk dress with a boat neck that hugged you by the waist and your hair was in curls, with crimson lips and berry sparkling eyes.

You were going to work and you had to look great. Your heels made you arrive at the luxurious building that is The Plaza. At the entrance you hand the card your boss gave you to enter quickly and soon you step into an empty elevator.

Your phone vibrates and you fish it out of the pocket of your dress.

“Hello?…” you say right after answering.

“Are you working already?” It was your sister, Madeline. You sigh with a little smile looking at the number of the elevator.

“About to…” you answer. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just wanted to check on you…” Madeline says and you can only look at the eight, nine, ten, eleven, and then twelve on the elevator. “You seemed a little sad the other at the family gathering”

You sighed once again, worried that your family would notice how miserable you were feeling for missing your ex.

“Oh, Madeline. Do not worry, I’m fine” She was older than you, a successful lawyer, who always had defended you while growing up. “I swear I’m fine”

The elevator doors open and you start hearing a lot of people talking, mainly women.

You step out and as you walk down the long hallway full of rooms, you greet many women. Until your eyes focus on the people at the end of the hallway.

“Alright then, because even Dad noticed it and we both know how-“

“Shit, motherfucker fuck shit!” you whisper, audible enough to make your sister chuckle.

“There’s a shit motherfucker fuck shit situation?” Madeline asks making fun of you.

You hear someone calling your name and you press your phone tightly against your cheek.

“I’ll call as soon as I’m back home” You hang up quickly and mentally prepare for what’s about to happen.

Your boss kissing your ex Harry Castilllo. As soon as both heard your name, they quickly turned to look at you.

Never in your wildest dreams, you thought that a woman like Lucy would be dating Harry. But being honest, it was you who never seemed like the type of rich man. Lucy was older, elegant, decent, and had a career at least. You hadn’t finished building yours yet.

“You made it!” Lucy greets you, kissing you each on cheek and patting your back as she directs you towards Harry.

Your heart started beating violently and for some seconds you seriously thought you would have to run to throw up.

“So… Harry, this is my newest addition to the team; y/n” you offer your hand for him to shake, which takes him by surprise. “And y/n, this is my boyfriend Harry”

His eyes scan you up and down, searching for anything different. But the truth was that only your hair was shorter and your makeup darker. And to you, Harry looked the same, a few wrinkles added, but still gorgeous.

It had only been eight months.

“Hi! Nice to meet you, Harry” you say with a convincing nice tone. He shakes your hand and the mere feeling of his warm touch almost makes your eyes water from sadness.

“Hi, I’ve heard so much about you” he answers and you thank he followed along because you didn’t want to explain to Lucy how you dated Harry for years and blah blah blah.

“Oh, I bet about how slow I am while editing and printing for Lucy” Your boss chuckles and you suddenly feel a little more confident, trying to ignore the fact that Harry is still holding your hand.

“Liar! You are always on time” Lucy adds, you then spot the bride-to-be arriving and you greet her in the distance. “Oh, here is Paulina”

“Yeah, I should get going…” you say before Paulina comes to hug you and drag you inside one of the rooms on the floor.

As soon as you enter the room with the bridesmaids and bride, you excused yourself to use the restroom.

You sigh, leaning on the skin while trying to calm yourself.

So Harry was the man Lucy told you she met at the previous wedding she attended. He was the man who made her love red peonies.

He always gave you pink lilies and yellow poppies.

Harry was dating your boss and you had to swallow it for the sake of everything. Sure you could pretend but… you weren’t prepared to get used to it.

And the worst part was that you didn’t have many options, you had to organize each bridesmaid while Lucy focused on the bride. It was an engagement dinner that cost millions of dollars, setting the expectations too high for the wedding.

You smiled at yourself in the mirror reflection, knowing it was cringe and pathetic.

Just pretend for the night…

…

The dinner was boring, everyone talked about taxes, elite restaurants, and how to make more money. Maybe it was that you were younger, but you felt like a little child asking for cake and balloons at an adult party.

Two times you bumped into Harry, successfully avoiding him in both occasions. When you grabbed a little plate to grab different cheeses and pieces of perfectly cut salamis. And when you signed the guest book, he was behind you.

The glass of champagne you had carried for the whole night was long forgotten in the table where you had your place reserved. Now waiting for a mojito, you look so depressed. The table was empty, everyone dancing to some Donna Summer song. You had to change your seat to stop looking at the dance floor when Lucy and Harry appeared in your eyesight dancing to a slow song.

Just when you decided it was time to leave. You felt someone taking a seat beside you.

To your shock, it was Harry.

“You look beautiful tonight, gorgeous” It shouldn’t have touched you his sweet tone. But it did…

“Thank you” you limit yourself to answer.

He offered you a cocky smile before leaning forward, resting his head on the palm of his hand. The music suddenly lowered, the people scattered away and all you could focus on was Harry.

“What was that earlier on?” He asked with his usual cheeky voice.

“Nothing, I was working” You hear him chuckle but you don’t dare to look at him yet.

“I think you were avoiding me” Harry says, eyeing you with curiosity.

You remain quiet, not knowing what to say or how to act.

“How you’ve been, kid?” You have to swallow a big sigh when he asks you that.

“I’m okay, thanks” you lie, not wanting to ask about him, but you know it’ll unconsciously happen.

“So you and Lucy?…” you decide to ask once and for all.

He offers an indescribable look, mixed between half a smile and half a doubtful grimace.

“It happened out of nowhere…” is all he says.

“Sounds great…” you reply while nodding, looking away from him again.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry asks and you realize he’s drunk.

“I’m not sure. But I think I am…” you reveal to your own surprise, because it was true.

“And where is the guy?”

“In California. Working…” Harry nods and it’s obvious he’s mocking you.

You wanted to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

You see your drink coming closer and there's a little relief on you. You could only handle the situation with alcohol.

A waitress leans to place your mojito at the table and accidentally brushes her elbow with your ear, your earring getting stuck only to fall to the floor.

“I’m truly sorry!” The girl apologizes and you smile at her.

“It’s nothing, you’re fine” She smiles back with her face red from embarrassment and goes back to work.

Before you can look for your earrings, Harry does it first. Making you gasp in shock when his right hand lands on your inner thigh.

“It’s not working…” he says, whispering in your ear with a raspy voice.

Not working? He meant his relationship. And it was sending shivers through your spine.

“Harry…” you whisper back, feeling the heat of his lips almost brushing yours.

“If you know anyone interested…”

“No. It’s not correct” Your eyes defy him, quickly shutting him off. But in his drunken state it was only setting a big fire within him. “I won’t do this again…”

You don’t wait a second to stand up and leave him made a mess sitting at that elegant table. Harry eyes your back and notices you are shaking as you say goodbye to Lucy.

Some guilt started to wash away the lust he felt for you. Harry missed you ever since the moment you walked out of his penthouse.

He grew obsessed with finding someone to replace you. To fill the hole you left inside him.

But it wasn’t working.

And you, you almost fell on your knees as soon as the elevator doors closed. You sighed but the panic continued.

The cold air of the streets hit you and it only made it worse.

A tiny part of you considered giving in.

The talks, his touch, kisses, caresses. It was dramatic, but maybe no one would equal Harry.

Who could love you like that?

Your ‘addicted to the pain’ heart and mind decided to punish you with no cab ride back home. Instead, you walked at least eight blocks in heels, hugging yourself in your fluffy coat until you made it to your place. Where you sobbed as you showered and then as you listened to music while doing your skincare routine.

A part of you never wanted for Harry to forget you. You were toxic and you wanted to have a special place in his heart forever. But the moment he actually showed you he still wanted you, you couldn’t face it.

Even when… you wanted him so badly.

…

You didn’t hear about him for some days. Lucy had been so busy installing her new little office that likewise, she hadn’t mentioned Harry at all.

You were already late, it wasn’t your intention to sleep past nine in the morning. Paying the consequences of your acts, you barely had time to do your makeup. Not even the bumpy road in the subway could do much, but at least you looked fine in general.

As you exit the subway station, your phone vibrates and without the ID caller, you answered.

“Yes?” You are so late and you know it.

“How are you?” But your heart and steps stopped as soon as you recognized Harry on the other side of the line.

“Oh… uhm, I’m great. And you?” You finally answer.

“Good. Look… about the other day…” Slowly, you start walking through the city.

“Harry, I don’t think we should talk about it…” his sigh was picked up by you through the call, you were nervous. If he ended up saying that an affair was still up for consideration, you’d faint in the middle of the street. But-

“I thought about it and it’s not what I really want,” Harry says with deception, you only frown in disgust.

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us two to start… something” Your frown only got bigger as your steps hurried to get to Lucy’s office.

“Oh really?” Your sarcastic tone was enough to let him know how offended you were. As you hung up, you huffed.

Out of jealousy, sadness, anger, and deception; you felt awful.

Why was that toxic side of you gaining so much power in trying to have his attention?

As you step into the office, you shake your head, trying to erase the incorrect thoughts.

But as you greet Lucy, you can’t help but already feel like the other woman.

��

Answering calls and commanding a printer was your primary task under Lucy’s matchmaking business. You loved having a little space of your own, it seemed like the only place where you could forget about Harry despite working for his girlfriend.

Only that when he decided to visit her, it was an assured migraine.

You could hear them giggling and for a couple of seconds, when it became a little quiet, you knew they were kissing.

Lucy was such a good boss that she never minded when you were filling Excel files while listening to music. So you could decide whether to listen to your ex and boss kissing or listen to some good music.

As you type and hum some songs, you don’t know how much has passed until you see Harry and Lucy coming out of her office while laughing about something.

At the same time, a delivery guy appeared with a big bouquet of orchids.

Your fingers take off your earphones as you start listening to the conversation, oblivious to the way Harry is looking at you.

“Oh, y/n this is for you!” You turn to look at Lucy, who’s smiling widely at you.

Your cheeks start burning at the unwanted and sudden attention. Your boss places the bouquet at your desk and you can smell how expensive and fresh the flowers are. As your hands shake, you grab the card attached to it.

[ I just passed by a flower shop and these were on sale - Gavin ]

A genuine smile appeared on your face, knowing so well he was kidding.

Gavin was your age, gym-obsessed, sweet, and an already successful architect. You met him three months ago at a healthy almond restaurant. You liked him, but you wanted to like him more. And so far, you weren’t anywhere close to falling in love.

“I’m sorry, Lucy” she shakes her head while chuckling.

“It’s fine. I love that things are going great with this guy uh…”

“Gavin…”

“Right!” Lucy sweetly leaned to smell the flowers. “Now I’m jealous. Harry loves giving me red peonies, but these are so beautiful”

“I’ll get you one of these…” Harry said while kissing Lucy’s cheek.

You ignore it so well that you almost forget about his presence while picking up your stuff.

‘I let everything archived and ready for your next appointments, Lucy” She thanks you a hundred times as you say goodbye to her, barely knowing Harry.

Deep down you know it, he’s jealous.

…

After the flower incident, Harry starts calling very frequently. You try to shoo him away as best as you can. But how far away could you run when inevitably, you operated very close to his inner circle of loved ones.

Thankfully, Lucy rarely talked about Harry with you, she was more interested in any details you had for her about Gavin.

And since he was in and out of the city, flying east to west, you hadn’t gotten much development along him as you wanted.

From a hotel in Coney Island, you had just finished a not-so-good phone sex with Gavin. He might have had the time of his life for those twenty-two minutes on call, but for you, it was nothing.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to be thinking so much about Harry.

But it wasn’t fair how much he was trying to get you. He never gave you what you wanted while dating.

Although, you had to admit he seemed renewed. He seemed, honest, raw, and vulnerable while being still straight to the point. Like his romantic goals changed but it really didn’t matter. He had a girlfriend, you were sorta seeing someone and it should continue like that.

Your night at Coney Island was thanks to your sister. Madeline was dating a writer, whose sister was the publicist for the hotel events. And since Madeline’s boyfriend was a best-selling author, she invited you to the event and afterparty.

You debated whether to walk at least two blocks to get a cigarette in your hands. Since you broke up with Harry, you have avoided smoking. But now, you were falling, slowly giving in to the idea of filling your lungs with unhealthy smoke.

Right in the middle of the afterparty, a man in a suit who worked in the hotel politely told you someone was waiting on you at the bar. Frowning, you thanked him, not being able to let Madeline and his boyfriends know you were leaving.

Someone opens the door of the bar and your eyes almost pop out as soon as you spot Harry drinking inside of the place.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as your knee ends up brushing his tight.

Harry looks head down. Wearing a black sweater, jeans, and casual shoes gives the ostentatious hotel.

“I don’t know…” he admits. “I miss you, y/n”

You sigh with tiredness, your hands covering and wiping your face from desperation.

“Look- This has to stop. I cannot stand you jerking me around”

“I’m not jerking you around” Harry objects, almost sounding offended by your accusation.

“You are! Accept that the only reason why you’re after me now is because you can’t have me” you spit out, trying to lower down your voice. Harry rolls his eyes before finishing his glass of whiskey before turning to give a deep look in the eye. “Harry, I can’t do this again. You’re with Lucy, who’s my boss by the way. And- I’m seeing someone…”

He looks down at your hand grasping the wood of the table. The dim lights of the bar barely illuminate your face and Harry has to lean closer to see your lips in a thin line.

And yet, he dares to put his hand on top of yours.

“I’m breaking up with her” he says and you sigh in disbelief. Your hand moves away from his, and you step backwards, shaking your head as you look at him. “I don’t think she loves me”

“No, Harry. Go away, for real this time…” With anything else to say, you walked towards the exit, hearing Harry coming behind. Your feet try to drag you away faster than ever. And you think you’re safe inside the elevator until Harry makes it inside as well.

“I mean it, Harry!” With the closed doors and the reigning silence, you can only hug yourself in comfort.

You feel trapped, naked even. His gaze is heavy, fixated on you.

“We both feel the same…” he says. “We both miss each other”

Your back hits the wall, the curve of your ass being the only part of your body that wasn’t pressed against the cold mirror of the elevator.

“Then break up with Lucy first” you whisper in his lips. “That’s what you have to do first…”

“I know…” Harry answers getting closer.

The heat, the accelerated heartbeats, it was making you weak. His hot breath makes you get embarrassingly wet under your fine silk red dress.

It was bad enough that you were drowning in hopes of getting a kiss from him. Despite how bad that would be.

Until you stopped functioning when his lips touched yours.

Harry was kissing you. First slowly, lips melting against each other until there was only lust dispersed all over the elevator.

Each part of your body betrayed you, letting Harry ping his hands around your hips and yours sneaking around his neck.

And as a matter of karma, his knees started diving between your legs, making you open them for him, just as the elevator doors opened on your floor.

“What’s your room number?” Harry asks while moving his kisses away from your lips, starting a trail from your earlobe through the valley of your breasts.

“Twenty-one…” you whisper before letting out the first moan of the night.

Accepting how fucked up you two were. Opting to ignore whatever happened the following morning.

And all you could think about while fucked you in any possible position; was that you missed Harry so much.

…

The guilt would eat you alive.

But not much as you thought since you were letting Harry dig his head under your dress in an empty restroom at another luxurious hotel. It was risky since Lucy and your boyfriend Gavin were there too. Well, Gavin would arrive later. It was one of Lucy’s friends birthday.

The affair had been going on for weeks. Making up excuses, hiding cum stained thongs and clothes that smelled like him. You had fallen into a pit hole, being too self-aware of yourself and feeling like risking your integrity for Harry was worth it.

But as soon as you reach your orgasm, every serious thought is long forgotten.

“That was nice,” you say while trying to catch your breath.

Harry offers you a smirk that makes you chuckle.

“My knees are killing me” he reveals as he washes his face.

“That means you did a great job” you reply and now he chuckles.

“This Sunday. Your place, I bring a bottle of wine and some old records. What do you say?” You can only nod with a little smile plastered on your face.

“I’d love that” you confirm. At brief moments like that one, it felt like you and Harry were not in a difficult position.

Like there was a sense of normality. A relief from all the chaotic weeks both of you were living.

Just like when both of you were done fucking and the conversations would last four hours, until the sun was close to coming up. When he ended up cooking at your place with music playing in the background. If only…

You place your underwear in place and after a quick glance in the mirror, Harry opens the door for you.

Both of you exchange looks and when he opens the door, your world stops.

Gavin is there, looking around, probably for you, until his eyes meet yours and soon he understands.

His girlfriend came out of a private restroom, that looked empty and exchanged smiles with another man. He wasn’t stupid. He quickly walks away, visibly hurt.

“Gavin, wait!” You call for him, knowing that there would only be shame on you.

Gavin keeps walking, avoiding people drinking and talking at the party until you can grab his forearm and make him stop.

Not knowing exactly what to say, you gather some decency to at least apologize, but he surprises you before you can say anything. His blonde hair seems disheveled, green eyes filled with anger and his chin tight. Only at that moment his tall height intimidates you.

“When I got interested in you, I never thought you would end up being a big whore” he spits out with disgust and it takes you so aback that you can’t prevent yourself from slapping him across the face.

“I’m not a whore!” Harry appears beside you and pushes Gavin in defense of you. The younger man looks at you and then at Harry.

“Yeah, you both deserve each other, pieces of shit,” he says before disappearing.

Your eyes burn and you can already feel heavy, even dizzy thanks to all the looks you were receiving. Much worse when look spotted Lucy standing where Gavin was, the look on her face already screaming that she knew as well.

“I’m sorry” you say directly to her with a broken voice before sprinting out of the place.

You feel beyond embarrassed, and out of breath. You push open the doors of the hotel, your coat hanging and mopping the streets of the city.

It was what you deserved after all. What were you thinking anyway? An affair is always a mistake. Not healing the wounds from an ex too. Combining both aspects, it was bound to be collateral damage.

And not only towards Lucy and Gavin but to you and Harry as well.

You can’t take it anymore, so as soon as you lock the door of your apartment, you run to look for your secret stash. Only the feeling of smoking could soothe your anxiety over the events of the night.

You sigh, looking at the screen of your phone with the name of Harry in the screen, so you turn off your phone after reading his last messages.

[I’m sorry. I broke up with her, we need to talk]

[I was afraid once but I need to tell you those three words now]

[Call me, please]

With the lights off, dress and heels scattered on the floor, windows open, and the skyline of the city, you can only reserve yourself to smoke in the darkness.

Loving Harry had always been difficult and when he seemed more approachable and changed, you only sacrificed yourself one more time to understand it would likely never change. No matter how rich, attentive, and handsome he was, it would always be like a walk through a rose bush with thorns. One that you always seemed to opt to walk through.

______________________________

I’m seeing materialists tomorrow, part two will have everyone fitting canon better. I just love season 3 of sex and the city and watching the whole show reminded of Harry for some reason <3

Don’t be like Carrie and maybe I’ll feel worthy of making a part two of this <3

#harry castillo x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #the materialists #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #harry castillo

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onlybeeewrites · 3 months ago

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Three’s A Crowd

Request: Hello! I have request for a Coriolanus Snow x Fem! Reader. Where the reader is pregnant and has to give a speech maybe during him becoming president but in the middle of it she goes into labour.

Pairing: Coriolanus snow x Fem!reader

Word count: 1.5k

warnings: pregnancy, light mentions of labor, classism, district versus capital opinions, the reader is from the capital

~~~~~~

You weren’t the first choice. You knew that. But did it stop you from turning him away his advances?

Absolutely not.

You were kind, sweet, and everyone around you knew who you were. Growing up with the Snows and your close friends, you weren’t the standout. It wasn’t a bad thing—it just was.

You came from a wealthy family. Generational wealth that had taken a hit during the War, but quickly bounced back when your family invested in clothing manufacturing. Your family helped sponsor the reconstruction of factories destroyed in Eight, and soon, the business boomed. Your wealth grew, surpassing anything you’d ever imagined.

But despite having access to the finest fashion first, you remained the same sweet girl. Always willing to give a skirt, blouse, or dress with a flaw to Tigress, saying, “It would be a shame to waste it. I just don’t have the talents to fix it.” Tigress always smiled in return.

Watching you during the Hunger Games years ago had been painful. When the games changed, and Academy students had to mentor District tributes, you were assigned Wovey, a poor thirteen-year-old from District Eight. You did everything in your power to keep your promise to get her home. But near the end, after Wovey drank some water and died within minutes, your frustration boiled over. You demanded answers, questioned the contents of the water, and felt humiliated. You had failed, and it ate at you, gnawing at your pride.

After the Games, life seemed to return to normal—for you, at least. News broke about Coriolanus Snow’s involvement in cheating and his banishment to District 12 as a peacekeeper, and the gossip spread like wildfire.

You’d liked him—been acquaintances. You exchanged basic pleasantries, nothing more. He was smart. Incredibly so. Even in silence, his eyes were constantly assessing, watching everything.

You felt sorry for him. Sorry that he was stuck in an awful district with awful people. Sorry that he’d been manipulated by Lucy Gray, that District girl who you believed was only using him. How awful those District people were.

Then, near the end of summer, after Sejanus Plinth’s death, Coryo returned to the Capital. And he was different—hardened, colder, more toned. But the way he looked at you was also different.

It began with simple compliments during classes at University. Compliments that made you blush. Then came walks to class, studying together, dinners. And before you knew it, you were standing beside him as the First Lady of Panem, ever so cold, calculating, and calculating. You saw the side of him he only allowed you to see—the soft, loving Coryo you had come to know and love.

And now here you were. Just two years into his presidency. The grand hall of your home was packed, its glittering elite seated in perfect rows as cameras broadcasted the event to the districts. Tonight, the event was designed to be a spectacle—a night of carefully crafted rhetoric.

You stood at the podium, poised, regal, your silk gown flowing over the unmistakable curve of your belly. Coriolanus had urged you to rest, to stay seated during the event, but you insisted. This speech was important.

The initiative you were launching, The Future of Panem Fund, symbolized progress—a new focus on education and healthcare for the next generation. It reinforced Coriolanus’ image as a leader who not only brought order but invested in the future. As his wife, you played a key role in solidifying that vision.

Standing before the audience, you smiled, your voice unwavering. “Good evening. I would like to thank you all for taking the time to come tonight. I assure you, it will be worth it,” you began, the polished ease of a practiced speaker settling over you. A sweet smile, a perfect face, the ideal First Lady for their perfect President.

“For too long, we have focused on the present—on survival, rebuilding, improving. But tonight, we look beyond the now. We look to what comes next. What comes tomorrow.”

A wave of nods rippled through the audience, all of them hanging on your words. You had crafted this speech carefully, balancing inspiration and strength.”

“The Future of Panem Fund is not just an initiative; it is a promise.” Your hand rested lightly on your belly. “A promise that every child in the Capital will have access to education, healthcare, and the resources to grow strong and capable.”

Applause rippled through the hall, and beside you, Coriolanus stood composed, his sharp gaze never leaving you.

You took a steadying breath before continuing. “Because the future of Panem is not written by chance. It is shaped by those with the will to guide it. Together, we will build a nation that does not just survive—but thrives.”

The applause swelled, echoing through the hall. You allowed a brief smile, savoring the moment—

And then, the contraction hit.

Your breath hitched, pain radiating through your abdomen. You gripped the podium, forcing yourself to maintain a serene expression. You weren’t going to falter.

Coriolanus noticed instantly.

Though he didn’t move, you could feel his attention shift, his calculating mind assessing every detail.

Still, you pressed on. “This fund will ensure that every—” Another contraction. This time, your breath left you in a slow, controlled exhale. You gave a short laugh, shaking your head.

Oh.

Oh, this was happening.

You turned to Coriolanus and, in a voice that carried through the microphone, murmured with quiet amusement, “I do believe I’m in labor, my dearest.”

Silence.

Then the hall erupted.

Laughter, cheers, applause—thousands of people on their feet, reveling in the spectacle. This was their perfect moment—their President, his wife, and the arrival of their child, the future of Panem.

But Coriolanus didn’t see it that way.

For the first time, his mask cracked. His usually unreadable expression betrayed sheer disbelief.

You, however, were laughing softly, gripping the podium as another contraction struck. “Well,” you exhaled, glancing back at the crowd, “it seems the future of Panem is arriving a little earlier than expected.”

More laughter, more cheers, more applause. Half the room was celebrating, while reporters scrambled to capture every moment as though it was a privilege to witness.

Coriolanus finally snapped into action.

“Go,” he barked sharply to the peacekeepers, “Bring the doctor. Now.”

The peacekeepers moved immediately, but Coriolanus was already at your side, one hand pressed to your back, the other reaching to steady you. His grip was firm, unwavering, but you felt the tension radiating off him. More peacekeepers formed around you, escorting you out of the hall and to the private part of your home.

“You should have been resting,” he muttered lowly, his voice tight as he guided you away from the podium.

You smirked despite the pain. “And miss my big speech? Not a chance.”

His jaw clenched, but a faint twitch of his lips betrayed something softer. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you teased breathlessly, leaning into his support as another contraction hit, a small groan escaping, “you married me.”

Cameras flashed as Coriolanus led you toward the exit, his grip protective, unyielding. The crowd cheered, watching their leader—newly cemented in power—prepare to welcome his heir, the new generation to rule Panem.

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twilightkitkat · 8 months ago

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Plenty of people talk about how Logan would react to Vanessa (mainly how he'd become jealous and insecure over her relationship with Wade), but have you ever considered how Vanessa would react to poolverine?

To seeing her ex-boyfriend—the man she'd given her entire future to, expecting for them to get married—move on?

Don't get me wrong, Vanessa "moved on" too, but it wasn't the same. She started dating one of her coworkers casually, trying to create a "normal" life for herself, but you can tell her heart wasn't in it. That she liked him, maybe, but didn't love him with the same ferocity she loved Wade with.

She had been prepared to start a family with Wade. To have children together, to marry him and love him despite all his flaws and his gruesome appearance.

And yet... he started slipping away. He said he wanted her back, that he'd give up the world to save her, but what about now? When she was saved? When she was back alive, back home.

He was capable of fearing for her life, of revenge, of embarking on journeys across the seven seas to get her back. But was he capable of keeping her? Of living a quiet life with her and being content?

You can't say that Vanessa didn't try. That she didn't love Wade enough, because she did. You can see her desperation at the table, trying and failing to get through to Wade. You can almost feel the resignation as she realizes this man wasn't the one who fell in love with her.

Because, despite her support and company, Wade still felt empty. Like he had a higher purpose he hadn't achieved. He felt the itch under his skin, the ache in his chest, gnawing and raw and eating him alive. He cared, of course he did, but it wasn't enough.

And Vanessa knew this. She didn't break up with him because she was disappointed in his lack of achievement—she'd support Wade no matter what his goal was. She broke up because she realized that she wasn't enough anymore.

She might've been enough, once, before scars marred his skin and unspeakable trauma was hidden behind his eyes. Before Francis tortured and killed the man he once was, leaving behind a pile of ashes that had to build itself up from scratch into a person again.

But she couldn't understand him like she once could. Couldn't relate to his trauma when it ran through his veins. Couldn't hear the screams echoing in his ears. Couldn't silence the disgusted voices in his head when he looked at his mangled face in the mirror.

She tried to accept him, tried so hard to reach him, but she couldn't fully understand him. She couldn't. And so she let him go.

But you can't let go of a decade of your life that easily. Of course, she missed Wade. She missed him and loved him and a part of her was still waiting for him to come back and kiss her and mean it.

But then he brings Logan home.

And Logan is everything she's not. He's rough where she is smooth. Masculine where she is feminine. Mean where she is nice.

But, above all else, he understands Wade in a way she couldn't.

Understands the itch for blood. The haunting voices ringing in his head. The constant feeling of wrongness, like his body was a tool or a weapon but never quite his anymore. The pain. The suffering. The trauma. The loneliness.

And it hurts.

To see Logan do what she couldn't. To see Logan live the life she'd once dreamed of, loved and matched by Wade in all of the ways that matter.

It makes her question what she'd been doing wrong, if she could've done anything differently to finally get through to Wade. Because this was evidence that it was possible. That someone could force Wade to confront himself and make Wade content. (It's proof that she wasn't enough. That her efforts meant nothing because it was her who was the problem.)

But she smiled at Logan and Wade, together. Gave Wade her best wishes, her congratulations. She was honestly happy for him. She wanted Wade to be happy, even if it wasn't with her. She knew he deserved to feel loved and cared for and understood.

But still, a small, bitter part of her feels irrationally angry. At Logan. At Wade. At the universe.

Wade got his soulmate, his other half. He finally met someone who matched his crazy and meant it. He was radiant with joy, bouncing with an energy Vanessa hadn't seen since before his diagnosis.

And her relationship was going well. It was fine. Dermott was nice and handsome and polite.

But that was it. He took her to romantic dinners while Wade took her to arcades. He gave her flowers for her anniversary while Wade gave her the ski ball token he'd saved on their first date.

It was good. But it wasn't passionate. There wasn't the same chemistry—the same connection. Dermott asked her about her favorite color and all Vanessa could think of was Wade and her pouring over names for their future children.

But he was gone.

He was Logan's now.

Logan, who's traumatized and grieving and fucked up and an alcoholic. A broken man. (Was Vanessa really any better, at this point? A shiny new job and relationship don't cover her flaws. The emptiness.)

(At least now she understands, even fractionally, what Wade was going through. It's a bitter, sobering thought.)

He was Logan's, not Vanessa's.

Was he really ever hers to begin with?

#deadclaws #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool movie #logan howlett #poolverine #wade wilson #wade x logan #wade/logan #kitkat #vanessa carlysle #angst #poolverine angst

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golddustwomanwins · 3 months ago

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DON’T CALL ME BABY

Exbf Patrick Zweig x Reader

18+

There had to be a rule that said you should never date one of your friends. Especially if that friend was in your friend group you hung out with every day. It was awkward at first when you and Patrick broke up. Well, you broke up with him. You knew it wouldn’t work. During your friendship you saw that he had wandering eyes—and hands. He never cheated, was never unfaithful but it kept nagging at you at the back of your mind.

Could you really trust him with his reputation? Were you just another warm body to fuck? On a rational level you knew you were being ridiculous. Patrick was sweet underneath that cocky behavior. He was a flirt yes, but he was sweet. He only wanted to be loved, ignored by his parents despite the piles of money, he wanted someone to genuinely want him. Flaws and all.

But insecurities weren’t rational. You’d been dating for a year and everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

At first it was hard. Seeing him all the time since he was your friend first before your boyfriend. Art and Tashi did most of the talking when you all hung out. You were really trying to be friends, even talking to Patrick but he mostly ignored you. He had a bruised ego. You were sick of his short answers and snide remarks so you opted to not talk to him directly at all.

You had a slip up once the four of you were in the cafeteria for dinner, Art and Tashi doing the talking once again.

You were occupied with your notes for your next class, not really thinking as you spoke up.

“Can you pass me the glass, baby?”

Suddenly it turned quiet around the table and you looked up from your notes surprised. Until you realized what you said.

“Don’t call me that,” Patrick’s voice was ice as he slid the glass over to you.

You blink at him. “Sorry, it wasn’t intentional.”

“Don’t fucking care what it was, you don’t get to call me baby,” he murmured, barely looking at you. He looked completely unbothered. Art and Tashi watched you both in anticipation.

You grabbed the glass still staring at Patrick. “I know that.”

His eyes met yours in an instant. “Do you?”

“What are you implying?”

“Nothin,” he turned his head away again, staring out the window.

“No, tell me,” you countered. “Are you too much of a pussy now to say what you think?”

He scoffed, jaw working. “Fuck this shit. I need a smoke.”

The chair screeched against the floor as he stood up, leaving the cafeteria. You stared after him confused, sharing a look with Art and Tashi.

“What a little bitch,” Tashi murmured and Art scolded her.

“He’s hurt. That’s all,” Art looked at you. “He lashes out at people because he cares.”

“You don’t need to tell me that, Art. I’ve known Patrick my whole life, dated him for a year. I know how he works,” you spat back not actually angry at him but at yourself.

“It’s weird, you know? We’re all hanging out all the time, it’s hard to get over someone if you’re constantly around him,” Art suggested, earning a scoff from Tashi.

“What is he, six? I suggest he get the fuck over himself. It’s not like they were planning to marry each other. People get together, people break up,” she shrugged.

You started to pack your things up. They both looked at you surprised.

“Where are you going?” Art asked.

“To talk to him. Tashi’s right. We need to get this shit straight, we’re not five anymore,” you grumbled and left through the back door. It seemed that Patrick didn’t go far, leaning against the wall, lips parted on a cigarette.

He rolled his eyes when he saw you, lips tugging at the stick.

“You gonna ignore me now?” You approached him angrily.

“And what if I was?”

You rounded him, stepping right into his space so he had to look down at you. You hated it when he smoked. Back when you were still dating you’d scold him all the time, forcing him to sit by the window, wide open, to have a smoke.

You grimaced slightly at the smell of smoke. Patrick dropped the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe.

“We can’t go on like this. If you wanna be angry at me, then be fucking angry at me,” you told him. “But stop pretending to be this cold ice block. What happened inside was a slip of tongue.”

“Yeah?” He straightened up. “You go around calling all of your exes baby?”

“Of course not—“

“So just me then, yeah?” He was being reproachful on purpose. Wanted to rile you up, to see that flame burst in your eyes he so desperately missed.

“Patrick,” you warned him and he took a step closer, his chest bumping into yours.

“You don’t get to call me baby anymore, got that?” He was being cruel and usually it didn’t bother you that much. But his words hurt, making the soft crack in your chest burst.

“I got it,”

“Did you though?” His voice was icy. “You lost that privilege when you decided to dump me.”

“I know,” you squeeze your eyes shut to somehow ease the pain.

“I just want us to get along. For Art and Tashi’s sake.”

Patrick laughed bitterly, driving one hand through his curls. “For Art and Tashi’s sake.” He repeated.

“Is this what you want then?” You looked up at him desperately, taking in the soft lines around his eyes, the freckles dusting his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “You want us to ignore each other like nothing happened? Like we’re strangers?”

“You want me to pretend I don’t want to gouge my eyes out when I’m around you?” He spat and you took a surprised step back.

“Want me to act like I don’t hate you?”

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered. “You’re being cruel on purpose.”

A slow smirk built on his lips. “Why? You think I can’t hate you? You aren’t that special anyway.”

You glared at him. “Yeah? If I weren’t that special anyway, you wouldn’t feel the need to ignore me, would you?”

His jaw ticked at that and you exhaled to keep in your anger.

“I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you, Patrick. I broke up with you because it didn’t work out.”

Oh, he was furious. His hand clamped around your wrist like a vice and tugged.

“What—“

“Shut up,” he barked before tugging you around the corner, searching for a little privacy.

“Patrick,” you snapped as he opened the janitors closet and roughly pushed you inside. He smashed the light switch on, illuminating a lone bulb hanging above your heads. You squinted against the aggressive glare of the light.

“You broke up with me because it didn’t work out?” He snapped, his grip bruising your wrist.

“Patrick,” you winced but he wasn’t finished with you. With you and your wide, innocent eyes, looking at him like you did back then. Calling him baby like you were still his and he was yours.

“You knew it wasn’t going to work. We were friends first and I didn’t want to get involved further—“ suddenly he was all up in your face, fingers gripping your chin harshly. He tipped your head back almost painfully and you clenched your thighs.

His gaze dippped to your stance for a moment huffing. “You too good for me but still want me to fuck you, huh?”

You didn’t answer, knowing that when he got to this point, it didn’t matter what you said. Instead you let him live out his anger. The fire in his eyes flared to life, though it changed direction. He caught your neck in his hand and turned you around. Lifting your skirt, his fingers roughly tugged your panties down, resting at your knees. You bend over for him and when his fingers found your cunt he scoffed. “Of course, you’re soaking wet. Want me to treat you like this, huh?”

Without asking, he shoved two fingers inside, making you moan.

“Want me to treat you like a slut, like I don’t care so you won’t get scared. You think I’m not good enough for anything else, huh?” He spat, his fingers pumping at a punishing pace. Wet sounds echoed around the small room as you squirmed against his fingers.

“Or are you just needy? Broke up with me and found out no one fucks you like I do? Knows your body like I do?” he crooked his fingers, hitting that spot and you saw stars burst in front of you.

“Patrick,” you moaned as you came around his fingers but he never stopped moving. He bent you over further, large palm pressing between your shoulder blades. The scent of soap and detergent hit your nose but you weren’t conscious enough to do anything about it.

“You gonna be a good girl and give me one more?” His voice was rough in your ear, hand coming up to palm your tit, teasing your nipple. You still shook around his fingers, already sprinting onto the next orgasm as his fingers continued their pace. Spit gathered at your lips, Patrick hummed behind you as he felt your walls grow tighter again around his fingers.

“Did you fuck someone else?” He asked and you quickly shook your head.

“Don’t lie,” he scolded, “use your words, pretty girl, did you fuck someone else?”

“Non, uhh fuck, no I didn’t,” you admit. “I couldn’t.”

“That’s my girl,” at his words you burst again, eyes squeezing shut.

“Pat,” you gripped his wrist when it got too much but he woudln’t let go. His fingers tilted at an angle, the heel of his palm nudging your oversensitive clit.

“No, please, no more, Pat,’ you huffed, the pleasure laced with warm pain. He doubled his efforts, mouthing at your neck. “One more. Gimme one more,” he moaned against your skin. A soft sting hit you when his teeth sunk into your shoulder.

“I know you got one more in you, baby,” he huffed, his hips humping the air, searching for friction.

He suddenly tilted his fingers, his palm wandering from your breast to your tummy exerting pressure. Your eyes opened in shock, your head shaking the moment you realized what he was doing.

“No, Patrick, I’ll make a whole mess—”

“I want you to,” he murmured and you could hear the fucking grin in his voice. “Give me one more, baby. For me.”

You shook your head desperately, trying to push back the impending crash but it was too late. His fingers curled one last time, the wet sounds growing louder, his encouraging voice in your ear and you were gone. White filled your vision as you came a third time, squirting as he exerted just enough pressure for you.

Silence filled the void for a few minutes, your harsh breath the only sound breaking it once and again. Patrick slowly eased his fingers out of you, making you whimper. Almost carefully, he tucked your panties back, pulling your skirt over your cheeks. He helped you straighten up on shaky knees, smudged mascara littering the skin under your eyes.

“Look at you,” Patrick murmured, tilting your chin up to scrutinize your flushed cheeks and bitten lips.

“Lick,” he raised his thumb in front of your lips and you liked the pad obediently. He gently cleaned the mascara under your eyes, before bending down, lips finding yours. The kiss was agony. The kiss was fire and hurt. It was sloppy and desperate and far too soon over.

He nudged you towards the door, adjusting himself in his jeans. “Come on,” he nudged you forward, slapping your ass. Your fingertips brushed for a moment before you stepped outside, already expecting to cry yourself to sleep that night.

You started to walk automatically back to Art and Tashi when something tugged you back at your skirt. You looked surprised up at Patrick. A slow smirk parted his lips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He tugged you against his chest, leaning down. He pressed a sloppy kiss on your throat. “You think I’m gonna let you go after you called me baby?”

You flushed, the thing in your chest fluttering at his words.

“Take me up to your room, baby,” he said with a shit eating grin and you were happy to oblige.

#challengers #my writing #reading #smut #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut

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nadvs · 11 months ago

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　　💔　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 old wounds ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you thought you left your ex-boyfriend in the past for good. but one night, when you need a ride home, you drunkenly text him to help you.

content warnings toxic relationship, smut

continuation of this alt ending, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rafe is sitting in the sand after an evening at the beach with his friends, laughing under the night sky and knocking back a beer. He finally feels almost back to normal after the shitstorm that was your relationship.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has no idea who it’d be. It’s nearing midnight and all of his friends are here.

His body goes cold when he sees that it’s a text from you. heyyyyy can hou give me a ride home??

He inhales sharply, staring at the screen. It’s been two long months since you last spoke, bitterly parting ways.

He doesn’t like to think about it, but the way he left you to walk home that night still fucks with his head. He was pissed off and heartbroken, head foggy from all the shit you said to him.

But as your boyfriend, he spent every day wanting to protect you, and even after he lost that title, he realized he still felt a responsibility to keep you safe.

His anger blinded him that night, though, and he regrets making you get home alone. He checked your social media over and over until he saw proof that you were alive.

Eventually, you blocked him on all your accounts. But apparently, you don’t have his number blocked.

It’s a twisted joke that you’re asking him, obviously drunkenly, for a ride now, considering you could have used one from him that day.

Rafe’s thumbs hover over the screen. He was sure he hated you. But the thought of you drunk and alone wherever the hell you are, so desperate that you’re asking for help from the man who called you a bitch the last time he saw you just because he knew how much the word hurts your feelings, makes his chest ache. And he feels like a pussy for it.

You text again: ill give you avery nice thank you lol

Your words ignite a fire in his core. He’s glad he’s barely buzzed from the beer, clearheaded enough to drive. He replies: Where are you?

Minutes later, he gets an address.

You’re standing outside the house, arms crossed as the wind whips around you. You’d be cold if you weren’t so drunk. Your friends are plastered, half of them passed out around different parts of the house, after celebrating a birthday.

You’re the only single one in your group of friends and hearing them gush about how happy they are with their amazing boyfriends got to you. It’s why you decided to text Rafe of all people to give you a lift home.

You miss him. Every time he crosses your mind, you hate that your heart twists with loss. You’re grieving and you feel like you shouldn’t because the only thing that died was a dysfunctional, painful, awful relationship with someone who didn’t love you enough to improve himself for you.

But enough time has passed that you can hook up with him without it messing with you. And if it hasn’t, you’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow. You’re sad and lonely and horny and he’s the only one who can make you feel the way you want to.

The car he pulls up in is new. It’s not the one you sat in together when you broke up.

Rafe had a penchant for losing himself in booze and drugs and impulsive purchases whenever things didn’t go his way, and you wonder if this car was an indirect result of losing you.

He pulls up beside you. You open the passenger door, your orientation off from all the booze you drank tonight.

“New car,” you say, climbing in and settling onto the cushioned seat.

You try to gain your bearings, finding the seatbelt, while Rafe takes the few seconds he gets to see you clearly before the interior light fades off.

He hates how beautiful you are, how goddamn short your dress is, how there are people who get to see you every day, people you love despite their flaws, meanwhile he was someone too broken for you to stay for.

“No shit,” he mutters. Beneath the rush of seeing you again, he feels nothing but pure agony right now.

“Someone’s grumpy,” you say with a giggle. You finally look up at him, meeting heavy-lidded blue eyes. It’s sobering to see the man who left such a painful crater in your heart.

The car light dims into darkness. You can still see the outline of his hard jaw. And you can still smell him. His cologne makes you feel sadly nostalgic, yearning for the early days of your relationship.

He looks ahead and accelerates.

“You still doing this shit with your stupid little friends?” he says. He picked you up from this house a few times before. He knows your best friend lives here.

“You still mad I have friends?” you say amusedly.

Rafe hated how you used to party. He never knew what you were doing and who you were talking to and if you were safe when you were with your friends.

But he didn’t hate that you always ended up drunk calling him, slurring that you love him. That you spent the next day so hungover that you said you’re never partying like that again.

Your eyes travel over the big dashboard and the darkened flat screen above the console, the time in small, white text. 12:16 AM.

You touch the screen, activating a myriad of apps and options to fade in.

“Fancy,” you say.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, watching your shadowed fingers over the screen. Within minutes, you’re here, in his life again, touching his things, acting like this isn’t hard for you at all.

“What are you listening to these days?” you ask, pressing the music app.

“Stop,” he says sternly, shoving his hand over the screen, powering it off.

You lean back and nuzzle against the headrest, staring at his profile as he drives. In your haze, you wonder how such a beautiful man can let his soul get so ugly.

He stops at a red light.

“What, am I gonna find something embarrassing?” you ask with a soft chuckle.

Rafe hates that you have him figured out. Because yes, he would be mortified if you saw what he’s been listening to. It’s none of the stuff he puts on when his friends are around.

It’s sad, corny shit that at least makes him feel sort of understood. Shit he listens to because of you.

“You should be embarrassed,” he replies. “Getting wasted. Wearing that. It’s so fucking trashy.”

Your gut reaction is to defend yourself, to say you’re not trashy and that he’s just an asshole. But it’d just be falling into old habits, fighting with someone who loves to get a rise out of you.

So, you don’t give in. You’re better than that.

“You used to love this dress,” you say evenly. “Now it’s trashy?”

You grip the hemline between your fingers and he takes in the sight of your thighs pressed against his seat. He always had an obsession for your thighs, loving to squeeze and kiss you there.

The light turns green. You gaze at him, his teeth dug into his bottom lip. He’s just as sexually frustrated as you are. You can tell.

“You can go,” you say. “If you’re done staring at my legs.”

Rafe wants to know if you were bluffing about thanking him. Maybe you even forgot about your flirty text.

But he’s not making a move. He’s not risking rejection from you again. If you want him to fuck you, he’s not the one initiating it.

So, he looks ahead again, pushing his foot down on the gas. There are barely any other cars on the street. He’s counted three pairs of headlights since he picked you up.

“Why are you mad?” you say with another laugh.

“You’re so drunk,” he says.

“I’m not that drunk,” you reply with a shrug. “Seriously, why are you so pissed off?”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. His ring gleams in the passing streetlights. His profile is strong and concentrated, as if he’s never driven through this area before.

You realize you’re actually making him nervous.

“Is it because you miss me?” you ask, goading him. “I know you still think about me.”

“No, I don’t,” he snaps.

You thought you wouldn’t care, but his words hit you. He’s still so mean. This was a bad idea.

You shift your legs towards the window, looking out your side of the car. Rafe notices. You used to do that whenever you were mad at him.

“I hurt your feelings?” he scoffs mockingly, regaining some of his pride.

“Oh, yeah,” you reply sarcastically, your tone careless. “Like I expected you to be nice.”

“It’s pretty damn nice of me to drive you home,” he snaps.

“You just want to get laid,” you reply. By the way he doesn’t immediately snip back at you, you know the power is back in your hands. “You wouldn’t have come if I didn’t send that second text.”

You turn to look at him. You’re slipping into playing the game of wanting to make him feel like the loser. You thought were above this now. Fuck.

He sucks his teeth, shaking his head in irritation. It’s fucked up that you texted him that just to trick him into doing you a favor.

Rafe shoots you a hard look, but because he can’t help himself, he gazes down your body again, imagining using it the way he wants to.

You could see his lustful gaze a mile away. You lean closer, the coil of desire in you only tightening.

You impulsively rest your hand on his leg, your palm on the smooth nylon of his swim shorts and your fingers touching his bare knee. You can feel the soft hairs on his skin, sure he was enjoying a night at the beach with the guys like he always used to do.

You grip him a little tighter. He grits his teeth so hard it hurts. He realizes maybe you’re not playing a game. Maybe you really do want to do hook up.

“Admit it,” you taunt. “You think about me.”

“Not much to think about,” he scoffs, still trying to have the upper hand, to hurt you any way he can.

“Fine,” you say with a breathy laugh, pulling away.

Strong fingers grip your wrist, roughly guiding your hand back to his lap.

“Okay,” Rafe mumbles. “Yeah. I do.”

“I knew it,” you say with a soft chuckle, stroking your thumb over his thigh. “What do you think about? Other than how good the sex was?”

He huffs another frustrated breath as you drag your hand higher.

“Just tell me,” you whisper.

He can’t. He won’t. He’s not going to open up that wound, not to the girl who gave it to him, not when he knows it’s not safe to do with her.

Impatiently, he grips your hand again to put it on his cock. He lets out a nearly silent exhale of relief once you make contact.

The feeling of how hard he is floods your body with the warmth of anticipation, a need so hard that you feel it in your bones. You bite your lip as you massage him, already desperate to feel him with no barriers.

Rafe comes to a stop sign. He meets your gaze in the dark car, his muscles tense. He doesn’t drive ahead.

“Use your mouth,” he orders, his voice heavy.

You part your lips to say something, to keep playing up the flirty and careless attitude all the booze you drank gave you, but you’re speechless.

You’ve done this before when you were dating, sucked him off while he drove, making him feel better since he usually found something to be pissed off about whenever you partied.

He’s so damn satisfied with how eagerly you pull down the band of his shorts. He shifts, his cock springing out once his shorts are low enough.

Seeing him so hard for you gives you a sense of conceit. You love that you can still do this to him even after months of silence that were brought on by vicious fights.

Every part of him is so irresistible. You haven’t tasted him in so long.

You kneel across the console and the second your hand wraps around the base of his cock, he groans. You flick your tongue against the tip and you feel him roughly pull up your dress, ripping a few stitches, his big hand landing on your ass and squeezing hard.

You dribble spit over his pre-cum and swirl your tongue over him. You feel the car move forward as you sink lower, taking more of him in his mouth, his cock twitching in your mouth.

“Like that,” he groans. His grip on your ass is rough and painful. “Take it all.”

You reach the base of his cock, feeling him deep in your mouth, trying not to gag. The way he groans again makes you want to keep deep-throating him and you hate that you care about his pleasure. About him loving it so much that he’ll realize how much he’s missing out on with you.

You won’t let him finish like this. He owes you pleasure, too. After everything he put you through, you deserve it.

This is unreal. Rafe can hardly focus on navigating down the street with your hot mouth tight around him. He jerks off to the memories of you giving him head while he drove. He never thought it’d happen again.

His fingers dig into your asscheek, stinging you with pain. You wince, inhaling sharply as you raise your head off of him.

“You’re hurting me,” you complain.

“Tough,” he mutters.

“No,” you say. “No. Fuck this.”

You start to sit up, but he stops you, his hand shifting up to rest on the back of your neck.

“Wait, wait,” he says desperately, his voice nearly whispered into a whine. “I’ll stop.”

Rafe pushes your head down, silently begging that you’ll continue. He moans in gratitude when your lips lock around him again. He grips the roots of your hair, his other hand on the steering wheel.

You bob up and down as he drives, your cheeks hollowing. All you can hear is the quiet purr of the engine and the sounds of your wet mouth on his cock.

It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like he needs to touch you everywhere because this is a goddamn dream he might wake up from.

He lifts his hand off of your head and feels your chest, kneading your breast over your dress.

He can’t drive you home. Not yet. He’s not done with you. He’s not losing this opportunity to see your tits, to feel your pussy squeezing around his cock. He’d hate himself even more than he already does for wasting this chance.

Rafe turns into the first empty parking lot he sees, heading towards the back, facing a fence. He slows the car to a stop once he reaches the back of the lot, all the while trying not to come.

His hips start to buck up and you know he’s close, but before you get a chance to sit up, he pulls you back by your hair.

He gazes down at you, your lips glistening in the dark.

“Get in the back,” he murmurs. “Take everything off.”

He puts the car in park as you scramble to the backseat, pulling your dress off over your head and slipping off your bra and panties.

Rafe watches, his mouth going dry when he sees you naked. He pulls his t-shirt and shorts off and has to duck low to maneuver his way to the back.

The second he’s close enough, his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard as he pushes you to lie on your back. His tongue moves slowly as he takes your head in his hands and it makes you ache for him even more.

This is the type of lover he was, so rough and passionate and making you feel like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t fuck you. The sex was always good, no matter how much you fought.

You wish he wasn’t kissing you. This gesture is too sweet, and you don’t need the reminder than he has it in him to be sweet sometimes.

His cock is pressed against your stomach, wet from your spit. He pulls back, his thumbs on your cheeks as he stares down at you, barely steady on his knees.

It’s a look he’s never given you before. You’re sure you’re giving him the same one. Disgusted in yourselves that you both want this, but so in awe of each other at the same time.

Both of you are panting. You shouldn’t be here. But it’s the only place you want to exist right now.

Rafe’s eyes flit to your chest. You can see him swallow hard. He lowers to squeeze your tits, burying his head into your cleavage, kissing you wherever his lips land.

His fingers dig into your breasts, his mouth is hot on your skin, and when his grip tightens and his teeth start to graze against you, you know he’s getting close to hurting you like he did in the front seat. But your impulse is to try to withstand the pain, to just let him hurt you.

Because at least he wants you, and the way he’s breathing and touching you right now is the definition of a man unstable with desire, and you wish you didn’t care if he wanted you, but you do and he does.

His mouth closes around your nipple and you tip your head back, shuddering at how good he is with his tongue.

Rafe is in a haze. He was sitting on the beach minutes ago, thinking what a good thing it was that he spent most of the evening without you popping up in his mind, but now he’s naked with you in his backseat.

Your smell, your taste, your sounds, they’re all even better than he remembers and he hates that he can’t hate you, not all the way.

You look up at the ceiling of his car through half-closed eyes, desperate for an answer from him. You’re drunk enough to give into the gnawing curiosity of his thoughts of you. You’ve been thinking about it every day for two straight months.

“You didn’t answer me. What do you think about?” you urge again through a strained breath. “Tell me or I won’t let you fuck me.”

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. He straightens his arms, hovering over you. You take in his features. His face is creased in anger, his chest bare and broad and heaving. “Why?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re ruining this,” he says.

“Tell me.”

He lowers a hand between your legs, making you shudder when he drags up your slit. You arch your back as he spreads your lips apart with his fingers, dragging over your wetness.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he says, tone low.

He brings his hand up to your mouth, tapping his fingertips against your lips so you’ll open wider.

“Taste how wet you are for me,” he says. You oblige, eyes locked on his as he dips two fingers into your mouth, watching you with so much desire that it looks like it’s hurting him. “You’ll let me fuck you either way. I know you will.”

You gaze at him longingly as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth just to put his hand between your legs again, rubbing your slick folds.

It’s intoxicating how unapologetically depraved he can be, how hard he fights to be the boss of you, but you persist.

“Tell me or I’m leaving,” you say. “I have no problem walking home. You left me to do it before, remember?”

His jaw tightens with frustration. He loathes that you gave him the reminder. He lowers over you, his cock pushing against your thigh as he plunges a finger into you.

Rafe’s body rushes with heat at how you clench around his finger. The feeling of that tightness around his cock will be unbelievable like it was every time he fucked you. He needs this. He hates that you’re winning, but he needs to be inside you.

He leans over, his nose nudging against yours, sliding in and out of you, curling his finger every time.

“I think about how batshit crazy you always were,” he says.

You gasp when he adds a second finger, going knuckle-deep, your body rolling with pleasure.

“I think about how I much I fucking hate…” He groans, hip jutting against your leg, his cock aching. “I hate that you can do this to me, alright? I hate that I was having fun tonight and I still dropped everything to drive you home.”

You bite your lip, frowning with downturned brows as the mix of lust and sadness fill your body. You cup his lower back with both hands, urging him to finally sink into you.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. He pulls his fingers out of you.

“Beg,” Rafe says. He’s so pissed that you pulled those words out of him, so he’ll take whatever power he can have.

“Please,” you say. “Please, Rafe. I need it.”

You feel his fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing at the sides as he pulls back to look at you.

“You need me,” he mutters. “Say you need me.”

“I need you.”

He buries into you with one rough, swift moment, making you quiver with the impact.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You only have the space to wrap one leg around his hips, squeezing tight as he thrusts with fast strokes.

His breath is hot on your cheek. His chest is warm against yours. The pressure of him stretching you, hitting deep inside you, is incredible.

“You think about this all the time, don’t you?” he murmurs into your ear.

You moan in agreement, draping an arm over his firm shoulders, but it’s not enough for him.

“Don’t you?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you say.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?” he whispers.

You sigh, your hand running over the back of his neck, tugging hard at his roots just to punish him in some way, any way you can.

“Yes,” you admit.

You feel him smirk against your cheek, the car gently shaking.

“Bet you can’t even come without thinking about me,” he mutters. He only says it because that’s how he is with you.

It’s such a burden. No matter what he watches, no matter who he hooks up with, he imagines you every time he’s on the cusp of his orgasm, wishing it was you he was coming in.

You can’t admit it, so you turn your head to kiss him just to shut him up. The kiss is so slow and gentle, the complete opposite of how hard he’s driving into you.

Maybe it’s because of all the alcohol you drank, but you’re fighting the urge to cry as your lips join. You two were a catastrophe together. You can never be happy and fulfilled with the man on top of you, kissing you, yet it feels good, self-destructive but good, to spend this moment pretending like you can.

Rafe is going nowhere in life. He’s known that for a long time. But when he’s with you, even when you’re screaming at each other, at least he’s somewhere that matters.

But you took that away. You took away the only thing that meant something in his life. And he pulls back. He won’t kiss you anymore. You broke his heart.

And he fucks you harder and faster, listening to your gasps and your moans, wishing he could just finally get enough of you to not want you anymore.

The friction of his skin against your clit and the power of his thrusts makes you go numb before the orgasm hits you, pushing you into full-body trembles, moaning so loud that you almost can’t believe it’s your own voice coming out of you.

Nobody else gets you to make sounds like that.

You crumble, weakening as he continues to push into you. He nuzzles his head into your neck when he feels his peak coming, smelling you and squeezing his eyes shut as his hips stutter against yours.

You feel him fill you with a rush of heat, holding his breath as he comes. He heaves against you, his thrusts sloppy as he gives you everything he can offer.

All of Rafe’s weight is on you now. He can feel that your breaths are strained but he’s so fucking weak. He has no actual power around you. Not really.

He knows this is doomed. You won’t be together after this. This was just a fuck. And he hates that he’ll drive this car tomorrow knowing what happened in his backseat, allowing you to taint yet another thing in his life with a memory he wishes he didn’t have.

He feels your soft hands tap his shoulders, urging him to get off of you. His thighs ache as he shifts to sit in the driver’s seat.

He doesn’t bother putting his shirt on. He slides on his shorts and then starts the car. He waits for a moment, looking back but refusing to turn enough to look at you.

“Just go,” you say quietly, exhausted.

You get dressed in the back as he drives. Neither of you say anything else.

When he pulls up in front of your house, you grab your purse from the passenger seat and get out of his car, your legs wobbly as you walk up to your door.

Rafe watches you disappear into your home. He needs to watch you disappear from his life, too. Because while you hate each other, tonight, you fucked like people who don’t.

And now he has a fresh wound. Something else to think about. To regret. Nothing good ever came from knowing you. The high you give him is never worth the crash.

You don’t cry while you get ready for bed. Not when you look in the mirror while you brush your teeth. Not when you clean the night off of you in the shower.

But once you’re under your covers, alone in the dark, a hot tear runs out of the corner of your eye and onto your pillow.

You were so sure sex with Rafe would just be sex. And you feel ridiculous for the misguided self-confidence. He still has you in a vice.

You wish you were drunk enough to forget what you just did. But you’re not. You’ll remember and regret every part of it.

(continuation)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #boblurb

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coco-loco-nut · 1 year ago

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loml

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: a journey through your relationship with max

a/n: so for a little background... my ex (he wasn't an F1 fan, it was never gonna work, let's be real) broke up with me the night before this album was released, so writing this series has been very healing; however, this one was extremely difficult to write bc it's the only song i can't analytically listen to and find the deeper meanings yet, especially after losing your first love. sorry for the rant and making this short🙃

tw: emotional abuse, manipulation

masterlist ttpd masterlist part two

________

You and Max were fan favorites, it was evident to anyone with eyes who had eyes. But they say you never know what happens behind closed doors.

“She’s the love of my life,” Max would always say about you, looking at you like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. His fans could recite your love story by heart from how much he loved to talk about you. It only made sense that he could shatter that public opinion.

“Y/n and I have divorced, I would like to ask for privacy as we navigate the changes,” Max posted one day, his socials wiped of everything. Your accounts remained the same, your last post being from the fateful race months ago. You haven’t posted since. The fans should’ve realized when the WAGs and George unfollowed Max.

Your apartment was full of things that reminded you of Max, every time you walked in it reminded you of every memory. He was embroidered in everything. You look at a printed photo of when you first met him. Despite it being six months later, you couldn’t get rid of him.

~~~

All it took was locking eyes with him across the pier for you to fall in love on that breezy summer day. He walked up to you and asked you to join him, and you did. You kissed him at the top of the ferris wheel later that night, and you didn’t even know he was famous all you knew was that he made you feel safe. The breeze reminded you of the warm ocean breeze from that day, one you called the winds of fate.

Despite being young, you married him after a year of being together. Things weren’t perfect even then, he could be incredibly mean, but he was also a standup guy when it mattered. That erased any wrongdoing of his.

“You have made me a better man, you reformed me, the love of my life,” Max had said that fall evening, repeating the one line that brought you back to him every time.

You believed his words, his lies spun to make you believe the hell you were living in was actually heaven. When he takes his anger out at you, doesn’t defend you against his father, you start to second guess him but he calls you those four words.

“I’ll never leave you, Schatje,” Max holds you in his arms, your back against his chest as you both look at a tv in the Paddock. The fans loved that photo, calling your love legendary. They didn’t know about the growing hole in your heart.

Your marriage was looking like one of those black and white movies you and Max watch on snowy winter afternoons. You and Max had been talking about starting a family, but you couldn’t get pregnant and you were watching everything you loved slip away.

“God, Max, you are like a con-man. I feel like I’ve been sold a get-love-quick scheme. What happened to you?” you ask, voice laced with hurt, during an argument about it. Max just ignored you, pushing past to stream with some friend. He ignored the sobs coming from your bedroom. He told the chat that you are the love of his life when asked about you.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” some of the WAGs pulled you aside during a race. They told you how Max was shit talking you to other drivers, saying you were a waste of a wife for your inability to get pregnant, saying he should’ve never married you, pointing out every flaw he told you was beautiful when he was lying to your face. You stand up and leave, not saying a word even when the girls try to stop you. Max is confused but simply responds to your text saying you were sick with an okay.

You are laying in your bed sobbing when Max gets back from the race. You face the terrace, where you and Max would dance under the stars. You can see the ghosts of it through your tears, and you wished you could un-recall when you thought you had everything.

“Please get out of bed,” Max says, his concerned tone laced with venom. Maybe the ghosts of your relationship are embarrassed by the scene on the other side of the glass.

“No,” you cry, mourning the loss of your counterfeit relationship.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Max sighs leaving the room. You sent a text to the WAG group chat who helped you remove all your belongings from Max’s apartment into George’s apartment that he wasn’t using at the moment.

Your phone is flooded with messages from Max, so you turn it off unless you are talking to your lawyer. Max finds a divorce petition and your apartment key on the dining room table when he comes home from training a few days later. The relationship that had such a valiant roar ended with the blandest goodbye.

You sit in George’s apartment with Carmen and Lily drinking wine. You took over George’s lease after they insisted that you did.

“For someone who claims to be a lion, he sure is a manipulative coward,” Carmen says as the three of you comb through the years of lies he spun.

You took the dreams that you thought you and Max wanted and lit the match to destroy them with your divorce papers. Despite your somber eyes, you seem more at peace, even with the sadness you will carry with you until you die.

“He’s the loss of my life.”

part two

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid #max verstappen #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #george russell

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ssa-dado · 9 months ago

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1 - Orchids & Knots

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: A young profiler, recently recruited by Jason Gideon, joins the BAU and works with experienced agents, including Hotch and Rossi, on a challenging case involving a methodical killer. Despite initial nervousness, you start to bond with Hotch through wit and shared work ethic, revealing unexpected personal sides along the intense investigation.

Warnings: Usual CM case described in detail, hideous use of one bedroom trope, Gissi implied as a joke

Word Count: 4.1k

Dado's Corner: first part of the upcoming series! Still have no clue of how many parts it could have, just expect a very slow burn. My other fic - Symposium (definitely not platonic love) - is part of the same universe, hence why reader is still a philosophy enthusiast. You can enjoy this pilot as its own or read it before or after Symposium. You do you. Again, I'm aware there might be some mistakes as English isn't my first language so bear with me.

part zero - reading optional, but strongly advised ; part two

Everyone who knew you had assumed you'd take an academic route in your professional life, perhaps becoming a professor or researcher, but something you couldn’t explain had always pulled you toward the darker corners of human behavior.

You weren't satisfied with just understanding the human mind, you wanted to see what happened when it broke.

Now, you were standing still on the elevator on your way to meet Jason Gideon, the legend who had recruited you after being impressed by your sharp mind during a lecture he held at the academy.

Maybe it was because of your passion to philosophy that made you a natural curious person, always asking – sometimes asking way too many – questions, never taking anything for granted.

After that lecture you understood that profiling was a subject that rewarded what many considered to be one of your most annoying flaws. Hence why another reason you probably decide to follow that specific path, out of all the others: you wanted to prove everyone wrong.

What many didn’t see though - and most of the times you didn’t even realise yourself - is that you questioned yourself and your decisions more than anything else. Although for once, trusting more your instincts rather than your reasoning to decide to work at the Bureau, somehow sweetly felt right.

“Y/N, right?” A deep voice cut through your thoughts. You turned to see Gideon standing beside a tall man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His expression appeared stoic, yet his eyes - sharp and calculated - were the most striking feature about him, even more than the smoke coming from his ears as he was focusing all of his energies on you to read through your façade.

As you entered the barely lit bullpen, the weight of the moment hit you. The room was filled with agents, all seasoned professionals busy with their work, pouring over case files, dissecting behavioral patterns, and speaking in hushed tones about suspects and profiles. Their years of experience were palpable, but instead of shrinking, you felt a quiet resolve. You were aware you had something unique to offer - not to be cocky about it - and Gideon clearly thought so too, otherwise you wouldn’t be there.

You were trying your best to be as neutral as possible but you couldn’t deny you immediately felt a wave of adrenaline coursing through you. Knowing you were standing before one most formidable profilers the FBI had ever known and next to him the one you hypothesised to be the Bureau’s next rising star. There wouldn’t be any other plausible reasons for him to stand so close to Gideon otherwise, you thought.

“Yes, sir,” you responded, willing yourself to keep calm. Gideon had introduced you to the mystery man next to him – SSA Aaron Hotchner – or you-can-call-me-Hotch; For a moment you felt so uncool for not having a nickname yourself.

Hotch studied you further for a moment, his face unreadable, but you could tell he was intrigued. His nod was brief, but it felt like a form of acknowledgment.

Gideon smiled warmly. “Good to see you again, Y/N. I’ve been just telling Hotch here about your academic work, very impressive stuff. I’m sure the mix of philosophy, linguistics and psychology will give you quite of a unique lens for profiling.”

“Welcome to the team,” Hotch said simply, though his tone carried weight. With just a sentence he made sure to remind you that you weren’t just another recruit, you were expected to contribute. You hoped his remark would just point out at the overall high expectations everyone had of you, instead of him questioning your presence here due to your young age, less than a week passed from your 21st birthday.

"Thank you," you said, trying to balance out with professionalism. "I’m eager to get started."

Gideon gestured for you to follow him. "Come on, there’s someone else I want you to meet. David Rossi."

Your heart raced. David Rossi, the legend who had co-founded the BAU with the man standing next to you. The picture of you working with him felt surreal. As you, Hotch, and Gideon made your way to Rossi’s office, you could feel Hotch’s eyes still occasionally flicking toward you, still assessing, still quiet. His silence felt deliberate, as though he wanted to see how you carried yourself before making any judgments.

When you entered Rossi’s office, he looked up from his desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His presence was formidable, the kind of aura that came from decades of experience. For a brief moment, you felt like he was already profiling you, dissecting every nuance of your appearance and demeanor. Then, his face broke into a bright grin, and he stood, extending his hand.

"So, you’re the philosophy kid," Rossi said, his voice gruff but warm. "Gideon’s been talking your ear off about you."

Philosophy kid, as if you didn’t feel odd enough.

You shook his hand. "That’s me. Nice to meet you, Agent Rossi."

You smiled at that, already feeling some of the tension ebbing away in his presence. There was something about Rossi’s bluntness that was oddly reassuring. He was a man who spoke his mind, no pretense, no games.

"Dave," he corrected, flashing a grin. "‘Agent Rossi’ makes me sound like I could be your nonno. You can call me Dave."

"So, Gideon tells me you speak sixteen languages?" Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow. "How come? Ever consider becoming a spy?"

"Bisnonno" He quickly grinned, you had just entered his office and already flexing your Italian, he teased you first though. "Got it, Dave.". If there would have been one thing you had learnt throughout the brief 2 minutes you’ve been working at the BAU, is that profilers were no joke about their nicknames.

You laughed softly. "I was raised in a bilingual household, I have a thing for languages"

Hotch, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "It’ll definitely come in handy in the field. We deal with a lot of international cases."

His voice was calm, measured. Although you had read his file; Hotch wasn’t just any profiler - he was methodical, relentless, and someone who had climbed the ranks through sheer dedication. His seriousness wasn’t arrogance, but a reflection of his deep commitment to the job.

Rossi leaned back slightly, his eyes now flicking over your outfit, your well-fitted total black three-piece suit. “I’ll say, I didn’t expect someone at 21 to show up looking more polished than half of the bureau. You sure you’re not here to give a lecture?”

You chuckled, feeling some of the tension melt away. "This is just my definition of business casual”

Gideon smiled but quickly shifted back to business. “I brought the two of you here in Dave’s office because we just got a tough case” He says gesturing towards you and Hotch “And I want all of us to be working together in on it”.

Rossi laughed, clearly enjoying your response. "Gideon, I think you found someone who might out-dress me."

Normally at the BAU they would either work solo or in pairs, sometimes they would even assest the case from the comfort of their own desk there in Quantico, if travelling was not deemed crucial to build the profile. Only when crime would be particularly complex, they would quicky assemble a team, a small task-force of sorts, take their go-bag with them and travel all across the country struggling more with the train connections rather than with the criminals themselves.

You ironically told yourself that there wouldn’t be a much better start on your new job, your heart raced with anticipation. "What’s the case?" You asked trying to mask the slight feeling of anxiety rushing through your veins.

In a matter of seconds, Gideon quicky exited the office and had already came back firmy holding a bunch of manila folders. He handed you a thick case file, and as you flipped through it, your stomach slightly churned, reminding you this wasn’t these weren’t just pictures on your textbooks.

The unsub had left seven bodies in three states, all bound with intricate knots, posed in ritualistic displays. Each victim had an orchid placed delicately on their chest, and despite the grotesque nature of the crimes, you found there was an eerie beauty in how the unsub treated his victims.

"The knots," Gideon explained, pointing to a photograph. "They’re not random. Each one is different, and each one requires a high level of skill. The unsub is precise, organized, and deliberate. He’s treating these murders like a performance."

These killings to you were manifest of the deeply rooted paradox in human experience - beauty and pain - where both often coexist or follow each other closely. You always found amusing how beauty, whether in art, nature, or human life, often emergeed through struggle or suffering.

You looked closely at the images, analyzing the intricacies of the knots, you feel the need to add something else. "It’s not just performance - it’s communication. The knots are sending a message. He’s not killing out of anger. There’s patience here. He wants control, and the orchids, those suggest he sees the victims as fragile, beautiful objects to be perfected, but ultimately destroyed."

Even historically, humankind tended to these opposites because they reflect the full range of life’s complexities, as joy often emerges from pain, and suffering can heighten the appreciation of beauty. You kept the philosophical monologue to yourself, you definitely didn’t want to reinforce even more the prejudice your teammates could already have on you, the lack of field expertise overly compensated by the knowledge of human nature.

Hotch leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "He’s someone with discipline, military or maybe maritime experience. The variety of knots points to a deeper knowledge of how they work. He’s not just tying them for show. He’s someone who understands the function of every twist and turn."

Rossi smiled at your analysis, clearly impressed. "Not bad. Not bad at all, philosopher. " You now started to suspect Gideon had overly gushed about this particular part of your background as it seemed to be the only thing your new co-workers remembered about you.

You nodded, your mind racing. "And the orchids, they aren’t just decorative. He’s choosing them for a reason. Orchids are notoriously difficult to grow. They’re delicate but require meticulous care, which suggests he sees himself as a cultivator. He picks his victims carefully, like someone choosing a rare flower, and when they don’t live up to his standards, he... prunes them."

The team continued to build the profile, each member adding layers of complexity. The unsub’s background became clearer: someone with a need for control, a perfectionist likely with some connection to floristry or horticulture. You felt a growing sense of camaraderie as you offered ideas and bounced theories off Hotch, who slowly began engaging with you more directly.

“They do act like an old married couple” Hotch hums in a low voice while pointing at Rossi and Gideon vividly arguing far away from the two of you about something you couldn’t grasp yet. You immediately chuckle at the sight, appreciating Hotch’s efforts to bond with you yet still being very reserved and shielding himself through his rare jokes.

A few days into the investigation, you found yourself paired with Hotch all the times, a tactic you knew Gideon pulled just to make you feel the most at ease, despite the overly reserved nature of your partner.

He continued, “See, they might made you think the fraternization rules exist because of Dave, what they didn’t tell you is that he’s probably secretly married with Gideon and apparently the latter today forgot about their anniversary”. You tried your best not to burst into laughing as the Italian man furiously walked towards the two of you, Gideon quick on his feet following him with an apologetic look on his face. Damn, Hotch might have been right, the similarities in the physical language to the scenario he previously mentioned was uncanny.

“The Bureau changed our accommodation, again.” Gideon sighed “They’ll soon send us the address, we have two rooms, two twin beds each, private bathroom” He ironically emphasised the last part, as if he was offering all of you the deal of your life.

“Budget cut again kiddos” Dave announced, oblivious of the reason why both of yours and Hotch's eyes were almost tearing up trying to hold in the laughters.

“Hood rats.” Rossi flamboyantly replied “So here’s another reason to end this case as soon as possible. Figli di puttana, There's no way I'm sleeping more with Jason rather than with my own wife”. Both you and Hotch gave each other a quick mischievous side-eye that could speak more than a thousand words. As the two of them moved away from you and Hotch enough so they wouldn’t hear your next words, you turned towards him. “Dave didn’t even offer us to sleep with him in his room, you actually might have been right all along”.

“I’m always right” He replied showing the dimples on his face.

“Typical lawyer behaviour, gaslighting their way just to be right in their own distorted reality.” You poke fun at him as you reminded he told you he used to work as a persecutor before landing into the Bureau.

Hotch definitely didn’t expect such a quick-witted comeback from you. “I wasn’t aware philosophers knew humor” he teased you.

“We patented it” you smirk.

You and Hotch later surveyed a potential crime scene—a floral shop the unsub had likely visited. As you both examined the area, you could feel Hotch's eyes on you, observing how you worked, how you processed information.

"You’re picking up on a lot for your first case," Hotch said, breaking the silence. "Most people miss the smaller details."

You looked over at him, surprised by the sudden compliment. "Thanks. I guess looking at things in an unorthodox way helps, all the hours spent on Plato apparently paid off"

Hotch nodded. "It shows. Keep it up."

Together, you reviewed the evidence, each of you adding to the emerging profile. You and Hotch began to form a pattern: he’d focus on the precision of the unsub’s actions, while you offered a more abstract perspective, thinking about the emotional motivations behind the crimes.

Later that evening, after a long day of chasing leads and trying to make sense of the tangled web the unsub had woven, you all finally were set into the new accommodation.

Despite Rossi’s earlier complaints about the budget cuts, the place wasn’t that bad - it was modest but clean, with enough space to spread out the case files and work. You and Hotch were indeed been paired up to share a room, as he previously predicted, with two twin beds crammed into a space that would feel much smaller once your notes and case materials were scattered all across the floor.

As soon as you entered the room, Hotch moved with military precision, setting down his go-bag and immediately pulling out a file. He glanced around briefly, as if taking in every detail of the room in a split second, then sat down at the small desk, already deep in thought.

You, on the other hand, sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, looking around and trying to shake off the fatigue that was creeping in. It was only your first case, and yet you felt the pressure building already - both from the weight of the crimes and from wanting to prove yourself in front of someone as formidable as Hotch. Despite the intensity of the case, you couldn’t help but be amused at the situation.

“So, do you believe their honeymoon suite is just as romantic as ours?” You asked with a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.

Hotch didn’t look up immediately, as if puzzled on how to choose his next words, though you caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Yeah, nothing says romance like crime scene photos and case files scattered everywhere.”

You chuckled and tossed your jacket onto the back of a chair. “I always knew the FBI had a weird way of doing things, but I have to admit this is next level.”

As you pulled out the case file, flipping through the pages and studying the photos, you found it hard to concentrate, mostly because of how quiet the room turned out to become. Hotch was the kind of person whose silence seemed louder than most people’s conversations, and though you could tell he was intensely focused on the case, you sensed that he was also observing you – amazed at how it was the first time he ever saw someone overworking themselves as much as he did.

Breaking the silence, you threw a glance at him. “You ever wonder what makes someone do this? I mean, it’s one thing to read about it in a textbook, but seeing it in person…”

Hotch set his pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “Every time. You get used to it, but it never really stops affecting you.”

You nodded, taking that in. “It’s just so… deliberate. Every little detail, like the knots, the orchids, it’s like he’s creating something, not just destroying.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed in thought, clearly impressed by your analysis. “That’s an interesting perspective. Most people would only see the destruction.”

“You know,” you said, leaning back on the bed, wanting to return the subtle compliment “when I first joined the academy, I never thought I’d end up here, sitting in a hotel room with one of the newest best profilers in the country.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Flattery, huh? Didn’t think philosophers believed in that.”

You grinned. “We don’t, but I make exceptions.”

He gave you another small smile, his guard dropping just a little. “Well, I didn’t expect to be working with a 21-year-old who can hold their own on a case like this.”

“I’ve got to keep up with all of you somehow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re doing more than keeping up, but I’ve already told you this.”

The next morning, while poring over the case, both you and Hotch hit on the idea that the unsub might escalate soon. "He’s been meticulous so far, but there’s a growing desperation in the pattern," you observed. "He’s becoming bolder with each kill, taking greater risks. If he feels like he’s not getting the recognition he craves, he might go after a more high-profile victim."

Hotch considered this, his brow furrowing. "Someone in the public eye. He’d want an audience for his ‘art.’ We should look into upcoming events where he might strike."

Later, Gideon walked into the room with a look that told you something big had just clicked into place. "We’ve got a break," he said, laying down a new set of photographs. They were taken at a local orchid show, a high-profile event that had been held recently. "We missed it before because the show was a private event, members only. But one of the attendees matched the profile. His name is Matthew Carson, a former Navy sailor turned horticulturist."

You leaned over the photos, seeing the man for the first time. Carson was in his mid-thirties, tall, with an air of quiet control about him. "That explains the knots," you said. "He would’ve learned that skill in the Navy. And the flowers - he’s obsessed with perfection, cultivating these delicate orchids. It fits with how he views his victims."

Hotch nodded, already processing the next steps. "We need to move fast. He’s going to escalate, and the orchid show gives him an audience: a high-profile victim pool. He’ll want to make his statement soon."

The team sprang into action, coordinating with local authorities to track Carson down. You, Hotch, Rossi, and Gideon prepared to approach his house, a sprawling property on the outskirts of town, where Carson ran his own private orchid nursery.

As the team closed in, your heart pounded with anticipation. Carson’s house was an eerie reflection of his mind: immaculate, but with an unsettling coldness, orchids lined the windowsills and filled every room with their fragile beauty. It was a place of quiet obsession.

Rossi was the first to spot Carson. The man was in the greenhouse, meticulously pruning an orchid, completely unaware of the FBI’s presence. Hotch signaled for you to stay back as he and Rossi approached cautiously.

"Matthew Carson," Hotch called, his voice steady but firm.

Carson didn’t flinch. He continued trimming the orchid as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "You don’t understand," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with underlying madness. "It’s about perfection. I’m creating something beautiful."

Hotch took a step closer. "You’re hurting people, Matthew. This isn’t beauty, it’s destruction."

Carson finally looked up, his eyes hollow yet intense. "They weren’t good enough. The flowers... they have to be perfect."

You could feel the tension in the air while Hotch was doing what he did best, calmly, methodically drawing Carson out, understanding his twisted mind.

"They’re not flowers, Matthew. They’re people," You said as Hotch took another step closer. You continued "You’re not creating beauty. You’re trying to control what you can’t, but perfection doesn’t exist."

Carson’s grip tightened on the shears in his hand, his knuckles turning white. "I can make it exist," he whispered.

Before he could act, Rossi moved swiftly, disarming Carson and pinning him to the ground, he struggled briefly but then went limp, as if the fight had left him entirely. The unsub’s calm shattered, and in that moment, you saw the deep fragility that had driven his madness.

"You think you understand, but you don’t," Carson muttered as he was handcuffed. "I was so close."

As Gideon secured Carson, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The case was over, but the weight of it still lingered but before you could start overthinking, you felt a hand on top of your left shoulder. Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn around to what revealed to be Hotch “Good job on the case, partner” You shyly smile “Not so bad as your first case at all”

“I could say the same about you, especially on the way you handled Carson, but I bet someone like you is used to the myriad of compliments at this point.”

He rolled his eyes, then quickly moved towards Rossi before you could notice the smile tugged on his face - too late – you could see his dimples still showing even when he was far away from you.

Later, on the train ride back to Quantico, you and Hotch found yourselves sitting across from each other. The case had drained everyone, you glanced at Hotch, who was staring out the window, lost in thought.

"So," you said, breaking the silence, curious to know something real about the man you shared a room with for the past two days "now that the case is over, are you going to admit that you do something other than work? Or is profiling literally your only hobby?"

Hotch turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," you said with a grin, "You must have to do something outside of this. You can't just spend all your downtime preparing for the next criminal mastermind, or developing conspiracy theories" His eyes went to his side, inviting you to glance at the older profilers. Rossi was conveniently standing up from his seat and leaning in front of Gideon, showing him something on a case file while simultaneously tracing small circles with the back of his pen on the papers the other was holding.

He gave you small smirk, his eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief, then out of the blue he blurts out “I play the guitar."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You play the guitar?! Seriously?"

Hotch nodded, his expression casual, though you could tell he was enjoying your surprise. "Yeah. It’s something I picked up in college. Helps me unwind."

"Wait, wait, wait," you said, holding up a hand. "Aaron Hotchner, stoic, no-nonsense FBI agent extraordinaire, plays the guitar? I need proof. This sounds like a bluff."

He chuckled, the sound rare but genuine. "I don’t think I need to prove anything to you."

You leaned back in your seat, resting one hand on your forehead. "Unbelievable. I was so sure you didn’t have a hobby. I mean, by the way you work, I was starting to think someone else in the Bureau was keeping another big secret from us, C3-PO"

The unexpected Star Wars reference earned you a genuine laugh from him, then shook his head, a small smile still playing on his lips. "Just because I’m focused on the job doesn’t mean I don’t have other interests."

"Okay, fair enough," you admitted. "But now I’m really curious. What kind of music do you play? Classical? Rock? Please tell me it’s something totally unexpected, like heavy metal."

He laughed again, a sound you were quickly becoming fond of. "Mostly blues, actually."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. "Blues? Wow, that’s... I don’t know, I guess I expected you to say something like jazz or folk, but blues? That’s kind of badass."

Hotch gave a modest shrug. "It’s calming. Helps me think."

"I’m still wrapping my head around this," you said with a smirk. "I’m going to need to hear you play one day. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’re secretly a robot who plays FBI agent."

He gave you a side-eye but couldn’t suppress his smile. "I’ll think about it, maybe after the next case if you’re still around"

You pretended to be offended by his words "Is this a threat?!”

“I was just trying to be encouraging”

Maybe working at the BAU wouldn’t be as intimidating as you first thought after all.

As the train rumbled on, you felt a sense of camaraderie with Hotch, a shared respect that had grown over the course of the case. You had proven yourself, and in return, he had let you see a side of him that few people probably ever did.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #jason gideon #david rossi

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fluideli123 · 11 months ago

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I've watched the DP&W movie twice in theaters and three plus times on a pirated site, and I wanted to grant my analysis on Wade and Logan's relationship that not only respects Vanessa--because Vanessa was literally Wade's Soulmate until shit hit the fan and you can pry that fact from my cold dead hands. But also explains how Logan and Wade actually represent a a-spec experience and relationship that I feel like no one has really gotten into. Am I saying they're a-spec? No. But that doesn't mean queer relationships that are fairly normal in a-spec spaces doesn't mean they don't exist outside of them as well.

First of all, the only two reasons I believe Vanessa and Wade broke up was 1) Wade went back in time to save Vanessa and he told her after his usual routine of jokes and lies and 2) Wade finally believed he could be something more, a hero, only to be turned down by the people who are known for their heroism, leaving him lost.

I genuinely believe Vanessa had a hard time taking in that knowledge, but knowing Wade and everything they've been through she would get through that like the badass she is and work through it using her plans A-Z, as she always does. But I think to really stop that woman from continuing to start a family with Wade like she wanted to in Deadpool 2, is if Wade was no longer within the right mindset to do so.

Deadpool 1 introduced Wade as someone who believed he was a bad guy who got paid to fuck up worse guys, he refused the term hero, and the moment he even tried to reach for something selfless. An act that would hopefully spare Vanessa from the pain of cancer, it all got fucked up and he got turned into a monster. Someone he deemed even lesser than he was before. So far gone and completely removed from what he was loved for (his looks and personality, but how could his personality stand alone when he looked so ugly? As ugly as he always felt on the inside?)

So he turned to what he's always known: Tracking people down and making them pay. In his mind this only confirms that he's a monster, he isn't deserving of Vanessa, of anyone. Which is why he finds comfort in Blind Al, a woman who will only have to deal with his personality and not be able to see how ugly he actually is. Symbolism for showing only half of himself and not him in his entirety (not that he can hide it from her, she's too wise, knowledgeable, caring, and knows Wade better than he knows himself at this point.)

Eventually, he finishes his hunt and is still loved despite what had transpired. Vanessa still chose him, still loved him. So maybe despite how ugly he is, he can still be loved. This grounded him, solidified his self worth, have him such stability that he had a thriving relationship with Vanessa that they were SO ready to start a family, aspired to live that dream. Another act of selfishness. Only to, once again, be met by pain. Get his dream taken away, once again resorting to what he knows: revenge.

Wade wants to be a hero? He gets forcefully mutated. Wade wants a family? Vanessa gets killed. Both are immediately solved by death, but that self-loathing and sickening hatred towards himself do nothing to cure that same confirmation he had once thought he got over: That he wasn't a monster, he could be loved, be something else.

So of course Vanessa is who, even in death, looks him in the eyes and tells him he cares, he has always cared. He cares so deeply about the people in his life he meets who unconditionally love him for him as time passes, despite all his flaws.

Wade wants to be a hero? Colossus believes he can be. Wade wants to save the 13-year-old abused kid? Vanessa knows he can. He saves lives by sacrificing himself. He scarified his comfort to show Vanessa the full truth of his ugliness, he sacrificed his life for Russel to give him a better life. Maybe he isn't a complete monster, maybe he can believe again. He can be selfish, he can be reckless. So he goes back and saves more people. Heroes do that. They save the people they love. You don't hold the whole world on your shoulders, no, like Miles learned in ATSV you think of one person of the few people you want to fight against the world to protect. And he did just that.

With Vanessa back and a big family he can finally chase after what he wasn't meant for. Because it's only happened twice, it wouldn't happen again-

Rejection. He can't be a hero because people don't need him. He is the needy one, the one who wants to be needed, needs to be wanted. So, it's the crash. The final straw. He breaks. He breaks so hard because what the fuck is the point to trying if every time he is met with failure? Rejection? Pain? Loss? He becomes so stuck in figuring this all out he neglects his relationship with Vanessa, causing issues. They go separate ways, but still so close, because you don't just lose your best friend like that, even if you're no longer partners. They're always meant to be together one way or another.

So you have this broken man who is searching for purpose, years later still harboring this tiny flicker of hope that he can be greater. He can be great. He can be a hero.

His world is in trouble, he doesn't think twice saving it. He accepts he isn't perfect for this, not like all the big guys back in Avengers headquarters, but he can't let his loved ones die because of someone he's had a vendetta against the last two movies.

He literally fights and fights and fights to find someone to help him, Wade can't save who he loves he has to find someone else you can, anyone else.

Than a broken, desperate man walks into a bar to see another broken man who has since long given up.

The thing about Logan and Wade is that they don't need words. Wade blew himself up in order to die in the second movie, Logan drinks himself away, both knowing they can't die no matter how much they want to. How much they believe they deserve it.

So Wade sees a Wolverine who has potential, who hasn't hurt him (unlike the others, he gets hurt so much, guys) and places his faith in him without hesitation. From that moment on he has never truly doubted Logan's abilities nor his heroism, because he knew his Logan and if his world was anchored by a Logan than all Logan's are built with something he isn't. They're made to be heroes, made to be important. Yeah, they fight, but I strongly believe that's how two broken men say everything words can't possibly describe.

I mean what words could describe the way they go all out on each other, knowing the other can't die, the way Wade looks up at him, not wanting to regrow his entire body because he needs to save his world and understands Logan and has to decide to say something that'll convince him to help. Wade doesn't know if stopping the machine will completely save his world or if a new Logan will patch it up too, it's his own educated wish he passes onto Logan. Because just like Russel, he cares. He understands. He wants to help.

It's that faith, hope, and resistance and face of humor despite it all that causes Logan to stick by that dumb asses side. He lost everything, he is seeing someone like himself before he stumbled home drunk from the bar to find everyone dead. Someone who is capable of doing something he wasn't able to. He wants to help, more and more for Wade and less himself, a silent journey of healing following Wades steps everywhere they stumble into.

Because Logan was just drunk at a bar before being told he was needed to save a world, told he was the worst before being offered help anyone, getting praised over his capabilities, and than told again and again how he is able to be someone he never thought he could be. Much like Wade was and is.

Logan sees it. Wade most likely ignores it, much like anything else. He isn't very open with anyone other than Vanessa as we've learned.

So just- of course Wolverine is the honest one, of course he hits low, he sees himself and Wade and wants to hurt him. Wade wants to hurt him back, but only when he's directly attacked by his words and threats, a way of not taking shit. Logan took shit from the world and than didn't from Wade and his emotional rollercoster right. And I think without whatever happened in that Honda Odyssey things wouldn't have been the same. They needed that fight, that release, that hatred from themselves to burst into the form of someone else who could take it just as much as the other could.

Logan listens to Wade's home at the borderlands. Logan is given kindness and tough love. Logan joins. Logan begins to understand how most linger by Wade's side despite everything. He sees why. He's a force, he doesn't give up, he doesn't quit, not for others. It grants strength, though imperfect and messy.

Logan believes Wade deserves better. So he plans on sacrificing himself only for Wade to once again show how much of a Hero he wants to be and could be. Only for those two idiots to hold hands to madona and come to a mutual understanding and comfort that has Wade making room for Logan in his and Al's apartment.

And there is something so inherently a-spec about not being explicitly sexual with each other, having an understanding that goes beyond direct words and full truths. They they can hurt one another and it feels so good, so wanted and cherished. How they support one another by being fucked up and sloppy. They're wrecks and they help the other heal, do what they're too afraid to do.

What is more a-spec than two people looking at each other with adoration and trust? To be two people who cannot be placed within a single both because their relationship and meaning to one another isn't so neatly cut and within expectations? To love in a way that blood and standing side by side is a comfort? A steadying point in which everything becomes clearer with time?

They make me so fucking sick, they make me so FUCKING SICK.

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auggieblogs · 2 years ago

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heartbreak girl | MV1 (pt.1)

part II

Summary: "I've loved you since we were kids, y/n, ever since I saw you at your 4th birthday party. I told my ma I was going to marry you someday."

Pairings: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol (and throwing up because of it)

Author's note: Heyyyy, hiii, lovelies. I hope you all are doing good!!! This fic is heavily inspired by "heartbreak girl" by 5sos, thank you to @navia3000 for requesting this (and thank you for LITERALLY breaking down the song for me😭🫶🏻). I know it's not completely based off the song but I tried my best. Anyways, happy reading, everyone<3

P.S.- This is definitely not my best work but I tried okay??? I really hope y'all like it and hopefully there will be a part 2.

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

One thing you should know about Max Verstappen is that he harboured an intense loathing for one person in the world: Connor Smith, your now-ex-boyfriend. Max despised Connor with every fibre of his being. Connor was, in Max's eyes, a complete fuckwit, a lousy boyfriend who had repeatedly let you down. He never made time for you, often left your texts unanswered for hours, and failed to treat you the way you deserved. To make matters worse, he disrespected you, and that ignited something in Max, a desire to punch Connor's face every time he laid eyes on him, perhaps?

On the other side of the emotional spectrum, Max was head over heels in love with you. He was a silent, lovesick puppy, adoring everything about you – your infectious smile, your contagious laughter, your passion for music, and all those little quirks that made you uniquely you. Yet, despite these profound feelings, Max was too much of a pussy to confess any of this to you. His fear held him back, and it was the reason he watched you date Connor, even when he knew you deserved so much better.

But life has a way of unravelling complicated emotions. Connor eventually broke your heart. The pain was excruciating, the emotions raw and overwhelming.

Devastated, you found yourself in a mess, sprawled on your bathroom floor with a bottle of vodka in your trembling hand. Your face was flushed, your eyes bloodshot, and you felt like your world had collapsed.

Max's heart shattered into pieces as he saw you in such a fragile state. Without hesitation, he sank to the floor beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close to his chest. You cried uncontrollably, sobs wracking your body, and your breathing was ragged. Max's heart ached as he cradled your head, whispering soothing words to calm you.

Eventually, when your sobs ebbed to quiet sniffles, you looked up at Max. His face was etched with concern, but you hated that. You didn't want to be a burden to him. "He left" you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

"I figured," Max replied softly.

"I'm not the type of person who cries over a boy," you said, tears pricking your eyes again.

Max gently brushed away your tears, his touch comforting. "No, you're not," he said, still holding you close. You felt like throwing up, physically ill from the pain of your breakup. You had loved Connor, despite his flaws, and he had occasionally made you feel loved which only made you feel more confused and lost.

Unable to hold back any longer, you threw up, and Max was right there to help. He rubbed your back and held your hair, comforting you as a best friend would.

"Okay, shh, that's it," he said gently as you emptied your stomach. Afterward, he helped you off the floor, guided you to the sink, helped you brush your teeth, and washed your face. Max even braided your hair and performed your skincare routine for you.

Going to your wardrobe, he selected the comfiest pair of pyjamas and helped you change into them. Max knew he couldn't take away your pain, but he was determined to provide you with some distraction. After cleaning up, the two of you settled in to watch a movie in your bedroom. Max sat on the floor, close to the TV, and you were cozily nestled in bed.

Max still hadn't asked you about Connor because he knew you well enough to know that you would eventually talk about it. And you did.

Hours passed, and you finally mustered the strength to crawl over to Max and rest your head on his thighs. He looked down at you, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm really sorry," you said, your voice still trembling.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled by your apology.

"For being such a mess," you admitted, tears glistening in your eyes. "I know you had better things to do today. You shouldn't have to take care of me."

Max leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead. "I want to take care of you," he said softly. "You needed me, and I'll always be here for you. You'd do the same for me."

A brief smile graced your lips, but it quickly faded as you voiced your deepest insecurity, "Do you think the reason he left me is because I'm not pretty enough?"

Max's heart clenched at your words, the overwhelming urge to kiss you and hold your face in his hands almost unbearable. But he knew this wasn't the right time, not when you were so emotionally vulnerable. He had to be strong for you.

"He left because he's an idiot, and he doesn't deserve you, y/n," Max said, his tone firm and unwavering. "Looks have nothing to do with it. You're beautiful, inside and out."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you. "He's the only one who's ever loved me. I've never had a boy like me, Max."

Max's heart ached for you, and for a moment, he allowed himself to stroke your hair gently. "You've always been loved," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken emotion. "I've loved you since we were kids, y/n, ever since I saw you at your 4th birthday party. I told my ma I was going to marry you someday."

Max's confession hung in the air, a palpable tension that enveloped both of you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared into his eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. The room seemed to close in around you, and the tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "Max..."

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