#podium with computer

[y2k-2day]

Toni Braxton - You’re Makin Me High (1996)

[optimisticallyamountain]

The X games this year has an AI segment with a stupid fucking blue owl that predicts the winners I’ll literally kill myself at the top of that super pipe

[holy-anxiety-batman]

I'm at work and I just saw an actor come out into the hall and go into a corner and then a stagehand come out and go down the hall the other way and neither of them saw each other but I saw both of them do the exact same stretch at the same time. That was neat.

[mrsstarkey1]

getting rafe hooked on dress to impress

my fav thing i’ve ever written i can’t even lie

word count: 1.2k

obx masterlist

you yawned loudly and abnoxiously as you walked into rafe’s bedroom. you kicked your shoes off, grabbing one of rafe’s t-shirts from his drawer, changing out of your uncomfortable clothes. “didn’t think you were coming back, it’s late as fuck.” rafe said, looking at you oddly as he sat up on the bed against the headboard.

“longest fucking day of my life. need to unwind.”

rafe smirked, reaching his whole body over the bed to grab your forearm. "like the sound of that," he mumbles.

you let yourself move toward him, but you groan, “not like that.” rafe momentarily pouts, but doesn’t let go of your arm. in fact, he pulls you closer onto the bed with him urging you to cuddle up into him.

he snakes his arm around you, soft fingers tracing circles into your side. "wanna talk about it?"

you yawn and shake your head, "nah, can we just watch a movie or something?"

rafe nods, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand. "you don't wanna watch some chick-flick do you?" he asks, grimacing already.

you sigh dramatically, “i guess not. fast and furious?”

rafe obligies, satisfied with your suggestion. you get comfortable on the bed, your head rested on rafe's shoulder and your phone rested on his chest as you scroll through tiktok.

about 20 minutes later, you see a video about the new halloween update on dress to impress and gasp before you can stop yourself. rafe jumps slightly, eyes wide. “jesus christ, what’s wrong?”

"sorry, nothing," you grin apologetically, "can I borrow your laptop though?"

he looks at you like you've lost your mind, but he still grabs his macbook from the nightstand, handing it over to you. you sit up excitedly, leaning up against the headboard.

you open the laptop and sign into your roblox account, side eyeing rafe as he gives you an odd look. "the fuck are you doing?"

"playing a game," you respond innocently.

he raises his eyebrows, "roblox? wheezie used to play that shit.. when she was 8," he says, judging you hardcore.

you glare at him, "you don't understand," you sigh. "just watch me play, it's genuinely fun."

he watches you click on dress to impress, making a disgusted face. "yeah I can't defend you on this one," he says and you shove his shoulder.

"well have you ever played dress to impress?" you ask him.

"obviously not," he says, his sassy side on full display.

"well don't judge then. just watch and i'll let you play a round when i'm done," you say with a smile, patting his cheek softly.

"hell nah," he says, directing his attention back to the movie.

you shake your head, giving up on getting him to play. you start a round, looking around at all the new pieces they added. the theme is holiday for your first round, so of course you do halloween.

you notice rafe's eyes on the computer screen as his curiosity clearly starts to creep back in despite himself. he watches as you piece together combination of a witch hat, spiderweb dress, and dark boots.

“what even is this shit?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly intrigued.

you grin, not taking your eyes off the screen since you only have a minute left. “you compete with other people to make the best outfit based on a theme. you'd be pretty good at it, you've got great style," you say, trying to persuade him.

he gives you a look, shaking his head, "sounds dumb as fuck," he says, and you just laugh. he's silent for a moment before turning slightly to have a better view of the screen, "so what you just like... dress them up and shit?"

you nod, watching the time run out. "yes, then everyone votes on each outfit and the top 3 get on the podium. see," you point to the screen, "the voting's starting now."

an outfit that's completely off theme struts down the runway and you grimace, "see like that one's ugly as fuck so i give it a 1. oooh look, this ones mine," you say with a proud smile. "doesn't she look great?"

rafe shrugs, "i guess."

you ended up getting third place, losing to two terrible outfits. you curse under your breath, before turning to him. “you wanna try a round?” you smile, looking up at him.

rafe scoffs, glancing back at the movie, but curiosity gets the better of him. “alright, fine, hand it over.” he takes the laptop.

"okay the theme is beach day," you tell him.

he hums in response, looking around at the clothes aimlessly. "rafe, you gotta pick something that actually matches,” you say, stifling a laugh as he pairs a yellow bikini top with neon green shorts.

"shh, I have a vision," he says, dismissing your words. "wait why the fuck doesn't she have a face?"

"you gotta go to the makeup and hair room, over there," you point at the screen.

he scrolls through the makeup options, finally decided on one. "mhm, she bad ain't she?" you chuckle, knowing rafe is secretly loving this.

time runs out just as he adds the coconut drink, and you see him watching the screen eagerly, waiting for the voting to end. one girl dressed in long pants and a jacket walks out and he looks over at you, disgusted, "this bitch didn't even look at the theme." all you can do is laugh and nod your head in agreement.

when rafe places second, he smirks, looking way too pleased with himself. "ha," he says, "i did better than you."

you roll your eyes. "yeah you're done playing," you say, snatching the laptop back.

the next night, you texted rafe that you were gonna come over after your morning shift and you didn't get a response, which was odd. you let yourself into his house with the key he'd given you. "rafe?" you called out, walking into the living room. "you here?" no response.

you furrowed your eyebrows, walking up the stairs. maybe he was just in his room, you thought, taking a nap or something. you creak open his bedroom door, met with the scene of him sitting on his bed, looking intently at his laptop.

his eyes shoot up to look at you and he slams his laptop closed, guilty look in his eye. you raise your eyebrows, "what were you doing?" you question him, walking toward the bed.

he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, shaking his head. "nothin.'"

your eyes narrow, "were you watching porn?" you joke, sitting down next to him.

he sighs, "worse.." he trails off. he mentally debates for a minute, before pulling his laptop back into his lap, opening it slowly to reveal dress to impress on full display.

your hand shoots to cover your mouth, laugh escaping your lips anyway. all he does is glare at you, "this is your fucking fault."

you lean into him with a laugh, "I know I know, sorry. don't be embarrassed, rafe." you press a kiss to his lips.

as you kiss him, you can’t help but laugh again, glancing at his screen. "okay wait that's actually a cute outfit. you're getting good," you nudge him, "fashionista," you add quietly with a chuckle.

he looks at you straight-faced, "I'm only playing this dumbass game because you dragged me into it. i was just bored so,” he gestures to the screen.

“sure, rafe, whatever you say,” you tease, cuddling up beside him. "feel free to keep playing, don't stop at my expense."

he scoffs, but gives in and restarts the game.

you wrap your arm around his middle and watch as he puts together outfit after outfit, the grin rarely leaving your face.

you just love your little fashionista.

----

requests are OPEN 💌

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Fifteen

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.

Notes — Guys.... they are so gone for eachother.

Feed the writer with your reactions/thoughts/feelings!<3

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

By the time they reached the club, Ana’s pulse had slowed to something low and humming, her thoughts a strange mixture of bitter-sweet memories and something molten that pooled low in her belly. She knew this feeling—that half-dreamy, half-heightened buzz—before now, she’d only ever gotten it from chemicals—Oscar made her feel it sober.

The car slid to a smooth stop outside Valhalla’s unmarked steel doors, their surface glossy under the amber streetlights. Ana blinked up at them, mouth suddenly dry.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, fingers brushing lightly against the inside of her thigh again. Not high, not demanding. Just enough to remind her of his presence. His control.

Ana nodded, then realised she hadn’t spoken in minutes. Her mouth felt a bit like it’d been stuffed with cotton wool. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m—yeah.”

He turned off the ignition and climbed out. By the time she opened her own door, he was already around the car, waiting to offer her his hand. She took it without hesitation.

Oscar didn’t let go.

Inside, Valhalla was low-lit and warm, the music thumping like a heartbeat behind the walls.. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. She had come here before—but never like this—she’d never walked in with Oscar before.

Oscar’s fingers tightened just slightly around hers as they approached the front desk. The woman behind the podium—lean, beautiful, in leather and velvet—looked up with interest.

“Name?” she asked.

Oscar gave his. No hesitation. Then, “And Anneliese Wolff.”

Ana startled slightly, turning toward him. Her voice dropped to a flustered whisper. “I thought I had to do that myself.”

Oscar didn’t look at her. Just reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a slim card with a faint golden crest stamped at the corner. Valhalla’s mark. He slid it across the table.

“Lucian gives permission for Doms to sign in for their subs,” he murmured. “You’re with me tonight, baby.”

Her breath caught—at the possessiveness in his voice, at how quietly certain he sounded. Like it was already settled. Like she was already his.

The woman behind the podium didn’t even blink. Just scanned the card, typed something into the computer, and nodded. “Welcome back, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar thanked her and slipped the card back into his jacket. His hand never left hers.

Ana let herself be led.

He walked a half step in front of her, not enough to feel patronising, but enough to shield. She noticed it immediately. The way he subtly manoeuvred his body between her and anyone they passed. How he scanned the room without turning his head fully. How his grip adjusted when they passed a loud laugh, or a sharper sound, anchoring her without words.

She swallowed. Her fingers tightened around his.

“Like seeing you in my colour,” he said softly, nodding toward the slim Hermès bangle on her wrist.

She smiled faintly, heart racing. “Yeah—I—I like it too.”

“You did well, not questioning me when I told you to wear something specific,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.

Ana felt herself flush from chest to cheekbone. Her breath stuttered.

He noticed.

They passed into the deeper corridor that led to the private wings. Soft velvet curtains, the distant scent of warm spice and leather. Conversation fell away, muffled by the plush walls.

As they rounded a corner, someone turned sharply and nearly collided with them.

“Shit—sorry—oh!” Jules skidded to a halt, her eyes widening. “Ana?”

Ana blinked. “Hi—”

“Oh my god,” Jules cut her off, already closing the distance to wrap her in a hug. “I texted you but I didn’t want to push—then Oscar said you were okay and—fuck, I’m so glad to see you.” She pulled back slightly, her hands still on Ana’s shoulders. “My brother’s been—well. You know.”

Ana gave a faint, watery smile. “Yeah. I heard.”

Before Jules could say anything else, the office door opened at the end of the hall, and Lucian stepped out.

He looked tired.

Dark circles under his eyes. The shadow of a bruise high on his cheekbone. His sleeves were rolled, and Ana’s eyes caught on his hands—scabbed, raw-knuckled, bruised.

All the air left her lungs.

Her eyes filled instantly, and not from anger or disappointment or guilt. Just the strange, breathless ache of someone doing something reckless and brutal and deeply, stupidly loving.

She looked to Oscar—just a glance, a flicker.

His head dipped. Just once.

That was all she needed.

She let go of Oscar’s hand.

Crossed the distance between them without a word.

Lucian froze when she approached, his mouth parting like he might speak—but Ana simply reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his chest.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for weeks.

And then he held her.

Not hard, not possessively. Just held.

Jules watched with something tender in her eyes. Oscar leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely, a small smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth. His gaze stayed on Ana. 

She didn’t cry.

But she did stay there for a long time.

Long enough to let Lucian know, without a doubt, that she wasn’t mad at him. 

—

Valhalla didn’t roar like most clubs did. It hummed. Smooth, velvet-laced edges on every sound. Laughter, music, whispered commands—nothing shrill, nothing chaotic. It was a place that asked for presence. Demanded it, in a way Ana hadn’t understood until now.

Oscar’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they moved through the side corridors of the main lounge. Not guiding. Not pushing. Just there—a quiet point of contact that said: I’m still here.

Ana was quiet at first. Lucian’s hug had left something soft and strange in her chest, and her limbs still felt a little too loose, like she hadn’t fully put herself back together yet.

But Oscar didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t fill the silence or ask if she was okay. He just walked. Let her lean into him when the lighting shifted or someone passed too close. Let her move at her own pace.

The lounge opened into warm pools of amber light, couches arranged like constellations. Some were empty. Some weren’t.

Ana’s gaze snagged on a low chaise, where a woman lay across a man’s lap, her dress bunched at her thighs. His hand landed on her skin in soft, rhythmic slaps. It wasn’t a performance. No one stared. It was just... part of the room.

Ana looked down quickly, her face flushing. “So—um.”

Oscar glanced at her, smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah?”

She made a vague gesture. “The, um—spanking thing. That’s... normal?”

“It can be,” he said easily. “Depends on the dynamic. Or the level of power exchange.”

“Power exchange?” she echoed, frowning slightly.

He steered them gently toward a quieter alcove. “You wanna sit for a second?”

She nodded, grateful.

They slid into a plush leather booth beneath a flickering candle. Oscar settled next to her, arm draped loosely along the back of the seat.

Ana twisted the bangle on her wrist. “So, like... if someone gets spanked here, it’s not always sexual, right?”

“No,” Oscar said. Patient. Warm. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s emotional. Sometimes it’s just... fun. Think of it like language. Everyone here’s fluent in a different dialect of the same thing.”

She bit her lip. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“Can’t take credit. Heard Lucian say it once.”

She smiled faintly, then glanced over at him, unsure. “Okay. So what are the... roles? I know Dom and sub, but someone said ‘brat,’ and someone else mentioned a ‘handler’?”

Oscar’s chuckle was low, fond. “Yeah, there’s a whole glossary. A ‘brat’ is usually a sub who pushes back—disobeys on purpose. It’s playful. A challenge.”

Ana scrunched her nose. “That sounds exhausting.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. Not really your style, huh?”

She flushed. “I don’t... I don’t think I’d like being punished.”

“I wouldn’t punish you,” he said gently. “Not unless you asked for it. And even then, it’s never about shame. It’s not supposed to break you down. It’s supposed to make you feel safe. Taken care of.”

She looked at him, voice quiet. “I like it when you... make me feel good. And happy. And when it’s just us.”

He tilted his head, curious. “You wouldn’t want an audience, then?”

Her eyes widened. “Would you?”

“No, baby.” He smiled, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “No.”

Ana exhaled, heart easing. She turned the bangle slowly around her wrist again. “So if I don’t know what I want... does that make me a bad sub?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “No. You’re new. And you’re being honest. That’s what matters.”

Her throat tightened. “What if I never want anything... sexual?”

She might. Could already feel a low flicker of heat in her belly. But she needed to ask. Needed to know—that if all she ever wanted was this, softness, safety, it would still be enough.

Oscar didn’t flinch. “The whole point of this is for me to respect what you want. Not what you think you’re supposed to want—and you already know that my feelings for you aren’t contained to this—to our dynamic.”

Ana blinked at him, stunned by the ease of it. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” he said. “But it should be safe. And soft. And slow. We don’t have to do anything for a long time. Or ever.”

Her eyes prickled. She ducked her head. “Fuck. I wish I hadn’t done my makeup.”

Oscar’s hand slid lightly over her shoulder. “You look so pretty. Mine.”

Something settled in her at that. She didn’t fully understand it yet, but it rooted deep.

She drew in a breath. “Can we just... walk around some more? I—Lucian has shown me around, and Jules did too, but I—“ Her cheeks flushed. “I felt awkward asking them questions…” 

“Of course,” he said, already rising. He offered her his hand. 

Ana took it.

He led.

And she followed—not out of fear, or habit, but from the quiet, blooming trust that for the first time in a long time, following didn’t mean losing herself entirely.

—

They moved deeper into the club.

Valhalla revealed itself slowly, room by room—each a little different. One lounge flickered with candlelight and quiet murmurs. Another hummed with soft music and the rustle of leather. A third opened into a more open space, where floor mats and equipment were set up with an almost clinical elegance—rope, cuffs, weighted paddles arranged like art.

Ana slowed as they passed that last one. A couple stood near a low table, talking in quiet, focused tones. The woman was nodding, eyes bright, while the man demonstrated how a set of cuffs latched around her wrist. It wasn’t lewd. If anything, it felt… like preparation. Like consent in motion.

Ana tugged Oscar’s hand. “Are they—that’s negotiating, right?”

He glanced over. “Yeah. Looks like it. They’re probably discussing what’s okay, what’s not. What words to use. Safe-words. Stop points.”

She watched, fascinated. “They look so… casual about it. Not like they’re about to—” She broke off, cheeks flushed.

Oscar smiled sideways, his voice low. “About to what?”

She gave him a narrow look. “You know what.”

“Still wanna hear you say it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the flush on her neck deepened.

Oscar chuckled softly, and shifted his weight.

It was subtle—but Ana noticed the small exhale he let out, like he was grounding himself. The way his hand left hers briefly to adjust the front of his jeans before returning to her waist.

Ana blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Are you okay?”

Oscar cleared his throat. “Peachy.”

She stared. And then something slow clicked behind her eyes. Her mouth parted slightly. “Wait—are you—are my questions making you get turned on?”

He gave a sharp, helpless little laugh. “Jesus, Ana.”

“You are!” she gasped, delighted, scandalised. “Why?”

Oscar tilted his head, eyes dark, amused. “Maybe because you’re walking through a kink club like a baby deer, asking questions with those big blue eyes are yours.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. “That’s—Oh.”

He huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

She flushed. “So is that, like… your thing? Lucian told me about it. He said—he said that’s why he thought that we’d be a good match. The corruption thing?”

Oscar’s expression sobered slightly. “Yeah, baby. It’s—it isn’t in a creepy way. I just…” He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s something about being someone’s first, having that trust. About treating them right. Making sure it’s soft enough, that they’re safe.”

Ana swallowed, throat tight. “That doesn’t sound like corruption.”

He shrugged. “It is, in my head. You were this perfectly untouched thing, and now you’re here. With me.” He glanced at the way her fingers curled inside his. “Letting me teach you. Letting me lead you.”

Her breath caught.

He cleared his throat again, clearly fighting to rein himself in. “Anyway. That’s just… one part of it.”

“I think I like asking you things,” Ana murmured, voice a little breathless now. “You talk like you know everything.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly. “Not even close. But I know enough to keep you safe. And I know how to read you.” He paused. “You’re very readable, you know.”

Ana’s mouth quirked. “That’s not a compliment.”

“It is,” he said. “I like it.”

They kept walking, Ana tucked snugly into his side now, his arm wrapped low around her waist. She moved with him easily, their rhythm quiet, synced.

As they passed a velvet-curtained archway, the soft snap of rope cut through the hush, followed by a low, coaxing voice. A man, carefully guiding his partner through the next knot.

Ana slowed, curiosity blooming. “Can people fall asleep during that?” she asked quietly.

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“I read somewhere that rope can be meditative. Like… floating. During sub-space, or whatever.”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ve been doing homework.”

She shrugged, sheepish. “Didn’t want to be, like… totally clueless.”

“You’re not.” His voice dropped a little. “You’re just curious. And it’s killing me.”

Ana’s breath hitched. She turned her face away, hiding the flush creeping up her neck.

He didn’t push. Just reached out, knuckle grazing her chin, gently tipping her face back to his. “You wanna sit? Get a drink?”

She nodded, breathless. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

They slipped into a smaller lounge off the main corridor—low-lit, intimate, scattered with candles and velvet booths. A quiet bar glowed in the corner. The bartender gave Oscar a nod, already reaching for a bottle.

Ana slid into a booth, fingers fidgeting with the warm curve of her Hermès bangle. Oscar sat beside her, not across, his thigh pressed lightly to hers, arm stretching along the backrest like it belonged there.

“What do you feel like?” he asked.

“Something pink,” she said, grinning. “I don’t care what it is. Just… pink.”

Oscar gave a low chuckle. “Coming right up.”

He returned a few minutes later with a glass that sparkled like a chandelier—pale rose, fizzy, rim sugared in pink crystals.

Ana sipped. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. It tastes like cotton candy and happiness.”

“Told him sweet,” Oscar said, amused. “Didn’t know it’d come with sparkles.”

“I love sparkles,” Ana said. “This is so fun.”

Oscar leaned back, watching her. There was something raw and soft in his eyes, something a little too undone. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

She was still giggling into her drink when a familiar voice chimed behind them.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Ana lit up. “Jules! Hi—sit.”

Jules slid into the seat opposite with her usual fluid grace, eyes flicking between Ana’s glowing face and Oscar’s obviously smug one.

“I knew it,” she said, delighted. “Everything worked out, then?”

Ana bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

Oscar raised a brow, then glanced at Jules. “Tell her how pretty she looks.”

Jules blinked, then turned to Ana with mock seriousness. “You do look edible tonight. Did you—”

“Boutique,” Ana said, grinning. “They had five colours, but obviously I chose black.”

Jules leaned in, interested. “Think they’ll still have it if we go later this week? That lace neckline’s insane.”

“I’ll call ahead,” Ana said. “Have one held for you. Also…” she added brightly, “Oscar’s taking me for milkshakes after this.”

Jules blinked. “Really?”

Ana nodded. “I’m going to get chocolate and banana mixed. It’ll taste like banana bread.”

Oscar sipped his drink, smiling into the rim.

Jules sat back, arms folded. “You two are disgustingly cute.”

Ana nudged her under the table. “You can come, if you want. For milkshakes. Oscar won’t mind, will you?” She turned to him, her eyes big. 

He shook his head slowly like no, of course I wouldn’t mind. 

Jules raised an eyebrow. “Babe, don’t invite me on your date. That’s weird.”

“If she wants you there, you can come,” Oscar said easily.

Ana blinked. “Oh—wait. Is it… Oh, it’s a date. Did I just make this super awkward?”

Oscar looked at her, soft and amused. “We met at a sex club. If you want your best friend on our date, she can come.”

Jules grinned. “Uninvite me, babe. He’s too gone for you to be honest with himself and say he just wants you all to himself.”

Ana turned to Oscar, flustered. “I uninvite her.”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

She sipped her drink, then brightened again. “Will you judge me if I get fries and dip them in the banana bread milkshake?”

Oscar’s hand slipped under the table, brushing lightly over her knee. “No. Of course not.” He said, werdly—tightly. 

“You’re lying.” She frowned at him. 

He sighed, deadpan. “Maybe I just… won’t kiss you for a little while afterward.”

Jules snorted into her drink.

Oscar gazed at her, a quiet shift in his tone. “You wanna head out soon? Or stay a little longer?”

Ana looked around the lounge, eyes flickering over the velvet booths, the low lights, the quiet hum around them. Then back to him. “Maybe just a few more minutes.”

Oscar nodded. “Whatever you want.”

—

The car smelled like leather and milkshake.

Ana had her legs tucked up in Oscar’s passenger seat, shoes kicked off, one straw between her lips, and a second milkshake cradled between her thighs. The chocolate-banana blend was thick—too thick—so she kept working for it, tongue curling slightly with every slurp.

Oscar was trying very hard not to watch.

She looked too at home in his car, like she’d always belonged there. Her black lace dress was rumpled from the club, a streak of glitter still clinging to her collarbone, her Hermès bangle catching glints of passing light as she reached for a fry.

Then she tilted her second cup too far. Missed the holder.

Splat.

A slow glob of banana-chocolate sludge oozed onto the pristine white stitching of his passenger seat.

Ana looked down at it. Then at him. Then winced. “Oh. Whoops.”

Oscar stared. Just for a beat. Long enough to feel something die inside him.

It was dairy. In the seams. Of his painfully expensive, custom-leather seat.

Ana, seemingly unfazed, sucked idly on her straw and watched a seagull fly overhead.

Of course she was unfazed. She’d grown up with the kind of money that he couldn’t even comprehend. That considered property portfolios across three continents just… normal. A milkshake spill was nothing to her. 

And instead of annoying him, it made something low and possessive curl in Oscar’s chest.

God, he wanted to laugh. Or pull over and ruin the seat properly. Or win his next race by thirty seconds and walk into contract negotiations with a smug grin and a single goal: enough money to buy six more of these cars—one for every flavour of milkshake she might spill.

She was spoiled. And it didn’t repulse him.

It made him want to spoil her more.

Still, he made a quiet sound in his throat. Half-choke, half-laugh.

Ana blinked at him. “What? Are you okay? Do you want some fries?”

Oscar dragged his gaze from the mess, back to the road. “No, pretty girl. I’m good.”

She smiled like sunshine. “It’s a really good mix.”

“It’s not,” he said, voice dry.

At the next red light, he reached over and brushed a smear of chocolate from the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Her skin was absurdly soft.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” She beamed, syrup-sweet.

Oscar shook his head, hopeless, and stole a fry from her lap. Dunked it into his own shake like it wasn’t a betrayal of everything he believed in.

Ana gasped. “Did you just convert?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, chewing. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

She giggled, leaning her head back against the seat as they rolled through the golden wash of city lights. “This was the best night,” she whispered. “I—I’m just really happy. Right now.”

Oscar glanced over. Her face was tilted to the sky, the faintest smile still hovering on her lips.

“Me too,” he said, quieter.

They drove a little longer. Then, softly—“You’re gonna have to let me drive one day.”

Oscar blinked. “You can drive?”

“Yes!” she said, earnestly. “I have my license and everything. I learned in my papa’s Pagani.”

Oscar blue-screened for a second.

“Please, Osc,” she went on. “I’ll even wear driving gloves so my hands don’t slip on the wheel.”

He stared. “Is that… something you normally have to worry about?”

Ana leaned in close, milkshake in hand, sugar still sticking to the corner of her mouth. “Sometimes,” she said, dead serious. “I have really, really soft hands.”

Oscar swallowed.

All he could manage was, “Okay.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[babydoll372]

Could u do the Wanda stalker one but inersex em x reader 🧎 please

Paparazzi

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x governor!reader

Word count: 2776

Warnings: dark fic, stalking, smut, Wanda has a penis, audio recordings, masturbating (w), bratty!r, dom!wanda, jealousy, slight internalized homophobia (r), p in v, slight breeding kink, slightttt humiliation kink, some arguing, obsessive!wanda

The cameras flashed repetitively in your face as you held your hand up to block them out. You sighed as you stepped onto the podium stand, adjusting the microphone to your level and giving a half-grin to the audience of paparazzi and reporters. You wore suit pants and a respectable white blouse that had only one button undone, your makeup fresh along with your hair. Wanda was losing it.

Wanda stood behind one of the cameras, watching your every move through the lens with a smile. You weren’t popular, no, you weren’t liked at all due to your ferocious attitude as people proclaimed; but she loved you. She loved the way your lips moved with every sentence, the way you shut down inappropriately asked questions, the way you smiled sarcastically at men who aggravated you, and the way you still held so much power over the people who despised you. And best of all, you knew it. You knew it and you were unbelievably cocky about it.

“I will now take questions,” She heard your angelic voice speak, followed by a stampede of inquiries about different policies. She watched you subtly roll your eyes, giggling quietly to herself as she could imagine you strutting backstage to her someday and venting about the annoying antics you faced daily. At the same time, she’d simply kiss your lips softly and apologize that you ever had to face such an issue. After all, you were heaven-sent to her, she couldn’t handle the idea of you struggling.

“Y/N, when will you start handling the complaints of tax dollars being spent carelessly in this state?” She heard a small scoff from your end before you inched closer to the microphone, your eyes boring into the man’s soul.

“First off I’d appreciate it if everyone could actually listen to what I say when I speak. I clearly stated the answer to that already and I will not be repeating myself today. Next question.” Hands raised instantly again, everyone desperately wanting your attention on them for just a moment while Wanda could only stand back with the large camera in her hands, wishing you'd hear her and speak directly to her with intent.

“Ms. Y/L/N, the upcoming election is nearing and you are the only person we know of who is yet to sign up. My question is, do you plan to run again for the next four years or do you believe your time here is done?”

“I don’t believe that has any correlation to what we are speaking of today…but I’m not sure yet. And I still have a week to decide so I will be using them wisely.” You took about three more questions before stating your goodbyes, and Wanda hopelessly watched as you left the scene, your eyes never once trailing to hers. She could hear her neighboring cameraman speaking about your appearance once you left and the cameras quieted down again, and she felt anger boiling deep inside of her. How could he? Doesn’t he know you’re off-limits?

Later that day Wanda took her camera home and uploaded them to her computer. She was an independent journalist and photographer, so luckily no pictures of you taken by her were sent off to a company before she could admire them. While they were uploading she opened her email and took a shaky sigh as she copied and pasted your contact from a website she found, her fingers anxiously typing away each letter. She felt as though she was holding her breath for too long when she finished the paragraph, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she analyzed each word and sentence multiple times. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on her only try with you. The email read:

Hello Ms. Y/L/N,

My name is Wanda Maximoff, the founder of Journal Today. I have written to you today in hopes that you will extend your services in an interview with me. I would love to capture a side of you that people often overlook. I know that you are unsure about electing this coming term but I believe this interview will guarantee a new insight from the outside world about you and your purposeful work, making you a great candidate in the election.

I am available through email or phone, which is listed below. If you agree to this interview, you will be given the option to come alone or with any additional protective persons. You will be granted a free meal including drinks, appetizers, entrees, and desserts if requested. You will be allowed to look over my questions before the meeting and agree upon removals and replacements. Along with this, you will be able to choose the time and day. If you have any questions or an interest, please feel free to contact me whenever you are best accessible. Have a lovely rest of your night!

Wanda Maximoff

She clicked send with her eyes closed so she wouldn’t second guess herself even more, averting her tab to the files of photos now mostly uploaded. She quickly started to search them for the best-suited ones, yet had trouble getting through them with the growing tension beneath her boxers and with her inefficient timing to roam each one.

“Fuck, baby…you look so good…” She muttered under her breath as she continued scrolling, her palm suddenly finding her crotch as she let out a small, quiet moan. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, yet the image of you didn’t disappear as it played out in her mind while she leaned back in her chair, slowly unzipping her pants and easing her cock out of the confinements. She wasn’t entirely erect, but she was definitely growing harder by the second. She imagined your talkative mouth being shut up her length, replacing her hand that was slowly stroking herself. Your tongue enveloping her tip and soaking up her pre cum furiously as if you were driven off of it. She wanted your bratty attitude to change for her and only her. She wanted everyone to believe you demanded such high respect and class, yet only for her would you get on your knees and let yourself succumb to the degradation.

And as she came she moaned your name loudly, not caring if her neighbors somehow heard each syllable because soon they would memorize it. Once she got her hands on you…

—

“I’m so glad you took up the offer of meeting with me, Ms. Y/L/N.” Wanda giddily spoke, trying but failing to keep herself professional and requiring to take a sip of her hot coffee to hide her blush.

“Let’s please speed this up, I have a meeting in an hour and the ride is half of that.” You sighed, swirling your drink around as if you were uninterested. Wanda nodded and grabbed her audio recorder and started the quickened questions, also taking any notes she needed to remember later on, even if she’d never forget a thing you said to her.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking-“

“I hate when people start with that, just ask your damn question, Whitney.”

“I-it’s Wanda, actually…uhm, anyways, people have been wondering why the governor is lacking a significant other. While it may not seem to matter, it usually presents as a greater quality in a candidate when they are tied down to someone because it shows they are committed and usually a nicer person. Do you believe this may be a quality that’s been holding you back considering you are the only female in the running?” You stopped stirring your drink the moment a lover was suggested and brushed a hair behind your ear, trying to remain stoic.

“I…didn’t really think people considered that when candidates were running. Would you say you consider it?” You asked in a slightly quieter, more hushed tone, almost embarrassed at the lack of knowledge on the piece.

“Well…yes, generally speaking. It usually takes longer to get a sense of someone’s character when they are single compared to when they are married if they’re running for office. Even if you’re up against a cruel old man and anyone could tell you are the better option with more research, it just always helps to have a wife or, in your case, a husband.”

“How do you know I’d want a husband?” Her eyes widened and her face turned pale, her heart suddenly beating with an increased pace. Does that mean you like women? Or were you just teasing?

“I- I didn’t mean to assume, ma’am, I’m very sorry-“

“It would ruin anyone’s campaign if people knew they were gay, Whitney. I would love a wife, but that’s not in my future if I want to hold some sort of power and make some sort of change around here.” Your voice grew slightly higher, yet still in a hushed tone. Clearly, the topic upset you, the thought of never being able to love someone freely and being questioned on it hurt Wanda too. Especially when she thought of that being with you.

“Again, it’s Wanda…” She muttered under her breath, looking down in slight guilt at how you reacted. She didn’t receive a complaint on any questions she sent over to you, but she guessed you probably decided at the last minute to do it because your PR manager forced you to and didn’t even glance at the questions. Suddenly you stood up and grabbed your belongings, speaking as you did so.

“I don’t know why I just told you that- fucking idiot. Don’t you dare leak a thing I just told you!” Wanda quickly stood up beside you, trying to assure you silently that she wouldn’t, but she didn’t know what to say. Seeing you mad at her like this…infuriated her.

“Please don’t leave, ma’am-“ She grabbed your arm as you turned. “Don’t you dare fucking leave. I have worked my ass off to speak with you, I deserve a lot more than the disrespect you’ve been shoving in my face!” She yelled out, making others stare with curious gazes. You looked up at her with wide eyes, slowly looking around you and gulping your nerves away. For some reason, maybe it was her overpowering stance or her gorgeous face directly against yours, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no.

“…okay. Okay, I’ll…I’ll give you a few more minutes then.” You meekly got out, and Wanda grabbed her items and left some money on the table before taking you with her. You kept trying to ask where she was guiding you, but she didn’t answer. You ended up in her car with the audio recorder on the dashboard, Wanda’s eyes holding a frustrated look to them.

“Why are we in your car, Wanda…?” She scoffed, crumbling up her paper full of questions before throwing it on the dashboard as well.

“Now you want to remember my name? Huh? Who the fuck is Whitney?” You didn’t stare her in the eyes, your body feeling shrunken in her seat and under her intense stare. Suddenly, you felt her hand on your chin and gasped as she was suddenly much closer, her breath against your face with each word spoken as she forced your eyes onto hers.

“I asked you a question, so fucking answer me! Who the fuck is Whitney?! And why won’t you shut up and answer my fucking questions like I asked?!” You flinched at her tone but instantly responded in a quieter voice.

“I- I don’t know a Whitney, okay?! It was just to make you mad. And I don’t know why…I just- got upset, I guess.” She took a deep inhale through her nose and before you knew it you were off, her car speeding down the road as she’d shut your questions up. You arrived at an apartment not long after, and it didn’t take long for her to rush you in, the audio recording still going.

—

“Yeah? That feel good, Ms. Y/L/N?” You heard Wanda’s name faintly through the pleasure you felt. Your eyes rolled back as her cock pounded into your tight hole that greedily held onto her. She huffed with each thrust, smirking to herself as she watched your tits bounce back and forth and reached forward to grope them. Your nipples were painfully tweaked between her fingertips and you could only moan louder.

“Mm- more!” You desperately cried out, your mascara smudged around your eyelids. “Please…call me Y-Y/N…” She chuckled coldly, keeping one hand on your supple breasts as the other trailed down to your neglected clitoris. You whimpered in overstimulation, your orgasm nearing and ready to hit as your hips jutted and your waist moved with the rhythm she fostered.

“Oh, what did I do to earn this privilege? Tell me, was it this,” She pinched your sensitive bud and watched your mouth fall open in a joyful agony. “Or this?” She then lifted your thighs, letting them inch closer to your upper body as your legs fell near her shoulders, allowing her a new access point as she rocked her hips into your body. Her crotch collided with your pelvic bone that was covered in your smooth skin which would most likely bruise later on.

“T-that! Please let me cum, Wanda- I…fuck!” You felt her hand come down on your cheek, eliciting a further whimper.

“Don’t speak to me like that, baby. You beg me the right way or you won't get anything at all.” You nodded hopelessly as your eyes squeezed shut, your mind fogged with the impending orgasm you were chasing.

“Please, Wanda, I- I really need to cum! Please let me cum all over your cock!” She hummed, moaning under her breath, the noise making you shudder.

“What’s in it for me?” She had a dirty smirk on her face that you’d regularly want to wipe off, but currently, all you wanted to do was prove to her that you were good enough to deserve this.

“I’ll let you cum inside me, p-please! Please, I’ll do anything if you let me cum…”

“Yeah? You’ll have my babies? You’ll let me fill your womb up with my cum until everyone’s wondering who the dirty mistress is that knocked up the oh-so bratty Ms. Y/L/N?” You felt a tear roll down your cheek at not only the humiliation of your following nod, but by the edge you were held on.

“Oh, you’re so desperate for me…c’mon, you dirty little whore…cum all over my cock.” There were nearly no seconds wasted, your release soaking her length as she stuttered inside of you, her semen painting your walls a thick coat. She gripped onto your leg tightly, kissing along the skin of your ankle and calf as it was the nearest in sight to silence her moans. It took a few minutes before either of you were breathing normally again, and she slowly pulled out of you once you were ready.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes?” She asked, to which you tiredly nodded, the meeting you were meant to attend had long been forgotten about. You let your eyes shut, not watching as Wanda grabbed the voice recorder from her jeans pocket that laid on the floor. She then went to her room, took out the hard drive quickly and connected it to her laptop, pressing upload in mere seconds. She grabbed one of her shirts and shorts and returned, handing them to you along with a water she grabbed from the kitchen.

“I’ll let you rest for now but once you’re up we need to shower. That sound good, baby?”

“Yeah…Yeah, that sounds great, Wanda, thank you.” You lazily kissed her cheek as she grinned, helping you change into the clothing before announcing she’d be going to the bathroom really quickly. She walked back into her room and smiled at the wall in front of her, her fingers grazing over the hundreds of photos of you. Each one held importance. Some were when you didn’t know anyone was there, some were when you thought you were home alone, and some were from conferences similar to the one a few days ago.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N…I can’t wait to show you how much I love you.” She whispered to herself, slowly leaning closer as she pressed her lips to a few of the images, the ones that were her favorites. She glanced over to the computer still downloading the long recording and grinned wider.

“And I can’t wait to hear your voice all day long, my love…you’re never leaving me now.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"TOP OF MY SCHOOL"

SYNOPSIS: How an archer!reader first met Green Arrow and became White Arrow.

You've always been an overachiever, but that's not your fault; most people are underachievers. If your mom ever taught you anything, it was to reach for the stars and aim for the biggest and brightest one there is, and watch it explode into tiny little stars that can inspire the next dreamer and believer. So here you are at this archery tournament; you worked so hard to reach the finals. Your fingers might hate you, but that trophy will be in the manor, shining brighter than all the trophies and medals collected by the rest of the family. It's big, golden, and stunning. You don't care about the prize money—pfft, you're rich. You care about outshining all the Waynes, especially your father. Bruce's awards would look like baby medals compared to yours, and he'll notice you; he'll notice his baby and all the hard work they've done. The damage to your fingers is temporary, but the win is forever; the win is for life.

So there you are, hitting bullseye after bullseye, smirking like never before, perfect position, back straight, eyes forward. Who would you be if you didn't win? You wouldn't deserve the name Wayne if you didn't win; you wouldn't deserve to show your face outside of the manor gates. Ha, you would even say your name. Final game, and you're up next. Oh, you were gonna knock the judges off their feet, and you're gonna play them for fools when this is all said and done. So remember your stance: feet apart, back straight, head forward, elbows straight, bowstring near eye level. You could feel the tip of your fingers slipping with the toughness of the string for the bow, but you won't let it bother you; smile through the pain.

You look up at the stands; you see your judges and the people in the stands. You see Alfred and your school friends, but the seat you left for him is empty. You've been telling him about that tournament for days on end; you didn't shut up about this. You made him write it on his schedule board and his computer, yet he still isn't here. Rage is seeping through you. Bruce, you promised! He went to Damian's soccer game—the one he LOST—went to Jason's spelling bee, and Steph's track meets, but this is the most important moment of your life, and he isn't here. You wouldn't stop talking about it at the table, even when you knew no one was listening. This was your dream; this was your life goal, and he dropped it for what—a stupid ballet recital from Cass?

You're staring up at the stands, that empty chair you left for him. You felt the arrow slip through your fingers, and a loud "WISSH" went past you. Turning back fast, you saw that you hit orange, throwing you off your win streak of only hitting bullseyes. But it's okay, as long as the other kids don't outdo you when it's their turn. But they did; that slip-up was their chance. Every single time the arrow points red, you feel like they are aiming at you, shooting down your pride, your ambition, your hard work—everything you did to get here. You felt each arrow piercing through your very being, leaving you bloody. Your fingers clenched; you could feel the trickle of blood coming from your bandages. You knew you were going to lose when the game was set and match, and you were on the podium.

The judges were handing out the awards, and you closed your eyes, hoping that someway, somehow, you won. You had your hand open for something, but then felt another thing wrapped around your neck. It was a medal—a medal. Maybe it was gold, and the real trophy was coming out. But when you opened your eyes, you saw a silver medal wrapped around your neck. Silver, not gold. Silver. You felt red-hot tears prickle down your face. You wanted gold. You had the best shots each round; you missed just one—just one. You didn't deserve this; you didn't. But if you looked over your shoulder, you could see the kid who won—the tears of happiness that flowed down their face, holding the trophy way up high. That was supposed to be you. You were supposed to be the one highest on the podium. You meant to take this trophy to Bruce, show him what you could do, show that you were worth the time and trouble, and for one moment, he could see you as one of his own. He could see you as his. But no, you let your emotions get the better of you, and you lost.

You saw Alfred and your buddies running over to you, and you wanted to cry even more. You didn't deserve the hugs or their love because you didn't win. You didn't win. Running off the podium, grabbing your bag, you heard them calling you, but you don't stop. Your feet are moving on their own, gasping for air, and you finally stopped running. You're in the middle of Gotham City's streets, and you finally break down crying. How will you win his love? How will you win his affection if you can't win a stupid archery match? Then hell, the Justice League—and you saw him right there, the great archer himself, down on his luck. He was beaten down and bruised just like you; his bow was nowhere to be seen, and you heard so many swooshing sounds that your ears could bleed. Half the Justice League is in Gotham, including Batman. You ran over to him, not running over to Batman—he can handle himself.

"Mr. Arrow, are you okay?" You heard a groan through the sound of buildings crashing down and people screaming and running away. You shouldn't be here on the ground; he shouldn't be here on ground level. But you couldn’t leave him. What kind of fan would you be if your favorite superhero died right in front of you? You have to find his bow. Shit, where is his bow? You're running around like crazy. Still, you saw the green bow. The earth shakes, making you look up; it was some kind of brick monster and he was gonna crush you. You rolled over, grabbing the bow and finding an arrow. You tried to run over to Green Arrow, but the floor was breaking underneath you, and you couldn't reach him. Falling on your back, you had to stop it somehow. If you didn't, Green Arrow is dead and gone.

You have to win. You have to save him. Putting the bow up to your face, back straight, eyes forward, elbow straight, bow near eye level—through a small hole in the beast's chest. If you could hit it, the fool is done for. But what if you lose? What if you don't win? What if this silver medal around your neck proves that you're a loser? You put your arm down just for a moment, but you heard the groan of Green Arrow. If he can lose, so can you. But if he can win every other day, you felt the toughness of his bowstring; it cut your fingertips, making you bleed. The pain makes you want to cry. You stained the bow with blood—your blood. It's gonna be his life on your hand if you don't shoot. Aim, shoot, aim, win, win, win, your brain screamed at you.

Letting the arrow fly, it hit the core, making the monster crumble. You finally won; thank God! You fell to your knees, looking down—blood coating the green bow red. You felt a hand on your shoulder; it was his. "Nice shot, kid!" That gruff voice—his voice. You're a winner, not a loser like the first time and the time before.

[menagerofmischief]

shrimp cocktail, cold appetizer, lobster, coca-cola, yes dessert, served by oscar piastri

Dia's Diner Menu

shrimp cocktail rivals to lovers cold appetizer rough sex lobster "I love watching my cum leak out of your pussy" coca-cola somnophillia dessert aftercare

Oscar Piastri x Ferrari!driver!reader

TW: one bed trope, unprotected sex (wrap you willy please), sleep dry humping

WC: 2k

A/N: I enjoyed writing this one a lot. Also I wanted to say I'm so thankful to all of you that sent requests and that I can't wait to write all of them but you'll maybe have to be patient with me because I'm a student and am pretty busy with school. I hope y'all are gonna enjoy this one.

Some bigger force, God or karma or fate or whatever else there is, was definitely out to get me. Because this had to be the worst fucking night of my life. I’m not being dramatic when I say that.

Why was this the worst night of my life?

We just made it to Singapore for the upcoming Grand Prix and went straight to our hotel. The whole grid was staying at the same place since it made things more convenient. I go up to the reception to check in and get the key to my room, all but ready to collapse into the mattress and sleep the jet lag off. 

“I’m so sorry Miss,” the receptionist says, tapping her fingers against the keyboard, glancing up at me every few seconds. Finally she looks up, her expression apologetic. “It seems there was a mistake with the booking and we double booked your room.”

I fight off the urge to groan and roll my eyes, instead plastering a smile on my face. “It’s fine, it’s not that big of a deal. Just put me in whatever room is available.”

She makes a face, looking down at the computer again and then returning her gaze to mine. “I really am sorry but there are no other rooms available right now.”

Now I really did groan. “Fantastic. Can I know who the other person occupying the room will be?”

Before the receptionist had the chance to answer, my worst nightmare in human form came up to the desk, standing right next to me. “Hello. I’m here to check in - it’s under Oscar Piastri.”

The woman - I finally glanced at her name tag, seeing her name was Alice - looked between us, then down at the computer before looking at us again. “Sir, as I was just explaining to the lady here, the hotel double booked your room by accident.”

“It’s fine just put me in a -”

“There’s no available rooms.” I cut him off. “Just the one.”

Oscar looked at me, narrowing his eyes. McLaren’s golden boy, affectionately nicknamed ‘the polite cat’ by the fans was the biggest thorn in my side for a long while now. Everything started back in F2 with our on track rivalry which grew with each race. Then I signed into F1, fulfilling my childhood dreams of racing in red and thought I escaped him. I thought too soon apparently because after my announcement post, his followed soon and I was once again back on track with him.

Did I have a reason to hate him? Absolutely! Was it awfully petty and possibly over-dramatic? Very likely. It was my first race in F2, I was about to finish P2 it was amazing. Then he crashed into me and drove us both into the wall, causing us both to DNF and lose out on a podium.

We have hated each other ever since.

“It’s okay - we’ll share.” Oscar’s voice brought me out of my thoughts, quickly turning my head to look at him.

“What!?”

Oscar took the key from Alice and dangled it in front of me, a smirk on his face. “I said we’re gonna be bunking.” He pulled the handle of his suitcase, “Come on then, Y/n”

✿ ✿ ✿

“You stay on your side of the room,” I said, putting the chair in the middle of the room to make it a half marker. “And I’ll stay on mine.” The one queen size bed would definitely be a problem as well, but one I would mention later.

“And how are you gonna go the bathroom since it’s on my side?” He asked, his voice holding a teasing tone.

“Bathroom if free ground, hallway too” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest.

Oscar’s gaze dropped down, stayed for a few seconds and then his eyes met mine again. He hummed, “And if I wanna open the window then what? Since it’s on your side.”

“Don’t act smart,” I told him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“You wound me!” He gasped, pressing a hand over his heart.

“Shame it’s not fatal.”

✿ ✿ ✿

This was definitely the weirdest night of my life.

With only one bed in the room, no couch and neither of us willing to put our body in uncomfortable positions sleeping on the chair or on the floor, night before practice - Oscar and I made an agreement to share the bed.

One of the extra blankets from the closet was bunched up and put down the middle of the bed separating the two us. Not that it served much purpose considering that it was kicked down and off the bed while we were sleeping.

I woke up, rubbing my eyes to adjust to the dark and then I felt it. The slow, yet desperately feral rolls, the pressure and the pleasure. I had to press a hand against my mouth to stop myself from moaning, taking in deep harsh breaths through my nose.

I came to a realization about three things, so goes:

Oscar had moved a bigger part of his body onto my side of the bed.

He had pulled me close and caged me in his arms sometimes during the night.

He was grinding his very much hard cock into me -  in his sleep.

My cheeks were on fire and it felt like the rest of my body was too. The pajamas, which I purposely picked out because of how light they were, felt suffocating now.

I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, my body moving on its own. One leg pushing slightly forward, opening just enough space for Oscar’s hips to chase mine and my ass slowly barely grinding back into him.

I was enjoying this much more than I should have and it was wrong. God, it was so wrong. But when his erection was rubbing so perfectly against me, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I was wet, I knew I was. I could feel how soaked my panties had gotten and the uncomfortable feel of my slick underwear did not escape me. As the pressure increased I couldn’t help but let out a moan.

The noise felt deafening in the silent room and my eyes widened. Oscar’s body stilled and my breath caught in my throat, the dread of having woken him with my moans taking over me.

A moment passed, two moments passed. Then Oscar’s hands tightened around my body, pulling me even closer to him, my ass pressed just against the outline of his dick. One of his hands moved down my stomach, dipping into the waistband of my sleeping shorts and going straight down into my panties.

He ran a finger through my folds, coating it in my slick and it took everything in me not to moan. “You’re fucking dripping,” his voice in my ear made me freeze. Awake afterall. “This wet from me humping you? And here I thought you hated me.”

The pad of his finger touched my clit, a gasp falling from my lips at the pleasurable feeling. “Did you enjoy me rutting into you while I was sleeping, you dirty dirty girl?” He added more pressure, rubbing circles on my clit and this time I didn’t hold my moans back. “Woke up halfway through, when you started grinding your ass on me like a bitch in heat. You seemed so into it, I thought I’d just keep going.”

“Wasn’t,” I whispered.

“What was that?” He growled into my ear.

“Wasn’t grinding on you,” I said, through gritted teeth.

His fingers pinched my clit and my whole body surged forward, mouth falling open to let out a loud moan. “Don’t lie,” he said, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, you will.”

Oscar pulled his fingers out of my panties, making me whine at the loss of friction on my clit. His chuckle vibrated through the room. He got up onto his knees on the bed, arms coming forward to grab my shoulders, and pulled me roughly so I was laying on my back.

I couldn’t help but look at him above me. His eyes were full of lust, pupils blown wide and cheeks red. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, he looked absolutely ethereal. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, fingers hooking into the waistband of my sleeping shorts.

I held his gaze, a shaky breath falling from my mouth. “Don’t stop.”

In one move he pulled down both my shorts and my panties, throwing them behind him without a care. Then he took off his own shorts, followed by his boxers - that ended up being thrown somewhere too. He pulled me up enough to take my top off, and then pushed me down again, leaving me completely bare. 

Oscar leaned over me, his mouth drawn in a smirk, his breath hot on my face. “Tell me not to kiss you.”

“Kiss me,” I whispered. He didn’t waste a second, as soon as the words were out of my mouth he was surging forward, his lips pressing harshly against mine, tongue pushing into my mouth. He pulled slightly back, my lip caught before his teeth and he gently bit down, making me whine into his mouth.

“Fuck me,” I panted into his mouth. “Please just -”

I didn’t get to finish what I was saying as he pushed himself into me fully in one go, making me scream. His hand pressed against my mouth, muffling the noises I was making. “Do you want to wake the whole hotel up?” He asked as he began thrusting, pulling himself out until only the tic was still in me and then forcefully pushing back in again. “Some people came here to sleep, not to listen to you moaning like a whore on my cock.”

His other hand went between us to rub my clit. I was practically sobbing as he worked his fingers in fast circles around my clit while roughly thrusting into me. My vision was blurred with tears that were spilling from the corners on my eyes.

Oscar’s hand moved only a little, leaving room for me to speak but close enough for my lips to brush against his palm with each word. “Cum,” I babbled. “Gonna cum! Oscar, please!”

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “Gonna cum for me like a good little slut? Go on then - cum”

I came with a moan, wrapping my legs around his waist and caging him in. Oscar fucked me trough my orgasm, his own following. He twitched inside of me before cumming, painting my walls and making me whine at how full I felt.

He pulled out of me slowly and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. After a moment he returned with a wet, probably warm, towel in his hands. He kneeled on the bed and gently spread my legs with his hands.

“Fuck,” Oscar groaned. “I love watching my cum leak out of your pussy.” His fingers dipped to collect some of his cum which had spilled out of me and was slowly dripping towards my ass, and pushed it back into me, causing me to gasp.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead and somehow my cheeks burned ever hotter. After he gently cleaned me up and terrorized me to drink water, he laid down in bed next to me and pulled my body into his, arms wrapping around me.

“Are you finally going to let me take you out to dinner?” He asked, his voice husky and breath hot against the side of my face.

I hummed, my eyes barely open and already feeling sleepy. “Don’t crash into me while I’m winning on Sunday and we’ll see.”

“That was one time!”

I chuckled, placing my hands over his hand on my stomach. “Yeah, I’ll let you take me out to dinner.”

Believe it or not this might have actually turned out to be one of the best nights of my life.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part one part two part three part four

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you’d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[cupcakeinat0r]

A Nerdy middle-aged loser Miguel w a dad bod who teaches your genetics class.

He has a huge crush on you even though he knows he shouldn’t but how tf couldn’t he????

With the way you always walk in a minute or two late, making the whole class look at you as you strut in with your quiet “so sorry!” and your cute little outfits that show off the best parts of your body.

Miguel’s eyes would follow you and the way you set down your bag, whipping out your computer, ready to absorb all the knowledge that Prof. O’Hara has to offer like a sponge. He usually has to stand behind his podium because watching you hang onto every single one of his words with those parted, glossy lips and curious eyes made him embarrassingly hard.

Or the way you took notes, your cute little organization of colors and annotations. Your kindness in giving notes to your peers because you wanted to see everyone succeed. Even though you may not have looked like it, you were a smarty pants, too. And he found that extremely hot.

During his lecture, he’ll sometimes catch you applying lip gloss or fixing your hair in your compact mirror and think to himself how gorgeous you are and how lucky your boyfriend that you totally already have is.

Cuz there’s no way he could pull someone like you. Those days are over for him. Plus, you were way out of his league.

But he can’t help but have a sliver of hope every time you leave class with an adorable smile and small wave.

“Thank you so much, Professor O’Hara! Great class today!!”, your praise never ceasing to make him slightly flustered on the inside.

Before you, he totally fucked his own hand like everyday. He’s a lonesome man. But now that you were in his life? That man goes home everyday, imagining his had is your luscious, tight cunt, replaying your cute voice in his head over and over again.

What he has no idea is that his praise has the same effect on you.

Anytime you had a question or were worried that you weren’t understanding a concept, Miguel would comfort you, with the most gentle words and voice.

He was such a cute man. It’d be so easy to praise him and baby him, telling him he’s sooo smart and such a good teacher.

His well-kept black hair w tiny hints of gray throughout, his black rimmed square glasses, his little cashmere sweater + button up combos that hugged around his broad chest, enormous biceps, and pudgy belly. He was sooo dreamy. He made it so hard to focus.

You’d go up to his desk after class needing clarification on a topic. He’d tell you to sit down, eager to help you with the class (or anything ever, he’d do anything for you if it meant keeping you).

His cologne would fill your nose as he bends over the table, a strand of hair falling on his forehead, pushing his glass up his nose as he towers over you as he explains what ever it was you were confused about.

It never helped because you never caught a single word. You were too busy imagining his soft stomach rubbing against your back as he bends you over the table, plowing you while saying those sweet words of encouragement into your ear.

And those veiny, hairy arms and hands wrapped around your waist as he bounces you on his fat cock, making those adorable glasses of his fog up.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re doing great, as always.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.”

“I know, mama, It’s a hard concept to grasp, but you’ll get it. I know it.”

It made you scream on the inside. You wanted so badly to be a good student for him so that he could talk to you this way every single class.

Pt.2 here!

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

[writergirlll]

Will you write a lazy day with Charles Leclerc and Leo? Maybe Charles came back exhausted from a race that didn't go so well and all he needs is a hug from his girlfriend?

LAZY EVENING/ CL16

Charles Leclerc x reader

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but I enjoyed writing it! It's just a lot of fluff sorry guys!!

Charles was always good at what he did. Cooking, making things, cuddling with your dog, or driving in Formula 1. He broke the curse of Monaco and thus began his huge career. But this race he ran didn't go too well, due to Ferrari's bad strategy and bad tires. And so he got a DNF in the first qualification and placed 5th in the overall race.

Which is certainly not a bad thing, especially since this race was in Las Vegas, where there are always the most participants and the track is very difficult to remember, but for Ferrari, who had to finish the season well, it wasn't enough.

Charles was mainly angry with himself. He knew that he should have tried harder and that he had messed up the race, but all he wanted was to finally get out of the cameras and pitiful stares and get cozy in bed with his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, You wasn't at his race because you had to stay at the hotel and do computer work due to work reasons that you hated. However, you definitely did not miss the race and watched it until the end, when Verstappen, Sainz and Norris stood on the podium.

But as midnight slowly approached and you tried harder and harder to stay awake to wait for Charles, your eyes closed until they closed completely and you fell asleep over an open laptop with work and the TV on with the main broadcast of interviews with F1 drivers.

When Charles came home, he expected you to be waiting for him. Therefore, he opened the door sharply, put his backpack on the floor and gave a small shout; "Love, I'm home"!

You twitched and grunted slightly in your sleep before turning over on the couch to face the TV and snuggling further into the blankets. You didn't plan to open your eyes because in your sleepy state you didn't realize that Charles was home.

Hearing no response, Charles frowned slightly and slowly walked into the living room. When he saw how the TV was on with F1 and you were sleeping on the couch, he couldn't help but feel happiness and love.

You were his everything. In good times and in bad, you were his sunshine. And that's why when he saw you sleeping in front of the TV with the footage of the other Formula 1 drivers, it warmed his heart. He knew very well how sad you felt when you couldn't make it to his race.

He slowly walked over to you, kneeling by your head and slowly brushing your hair away from your face. Then he bent down so as not to wake you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled a little under his touch as you realized who it was and slowly opened your tired eyes. “Hi Char” you smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Congratulations on the race” you smiled.

He leaned into your touch and his smile brightened even more. “Shall we go to sleep?” he asked as he saw you close your eyes again even though you were trying not to and you slowly nodded.

“And where is Leo?” he asked one more question before he could pick you up in his arms and carry you to bed. You didn't answer anything and just lifted the blanket, where a small golden dog was hidden by your lap, which has become your "child" for the six months you've had it.

When he saw Charles, he immediately got up and ran his short legs to him for a kiss and a cuddle.

After Charles cuddled up to him, he scooped you up in his arms as a reward for having to wait for him and carried you to bed with Leo at your heels.

He slowly laid you down on the bed, you shifted to your side and waited for him to take off his shirt, change his pants and come to you.

Before long, he finally appeared by the bed in just his shorts and you couldn't help but bite your lip when you saw him like that. You still didn't understand how someone like him could be yours.

He climbed into bed behind you, pulling you to his side and you rested your head on his shoulder. One of his hands caressed your back and the other brushed your hair away from your face. Again. You should probably get a haircut..

“I love you do you know that?” he whispered in your ear and you raised your head to be directly facing him.

“How could I not know Char?” you smiled and leaned down so your lips met his halfway. It was a loving kiss that you thought was more of a good night, but later it got more and more passionate.

When you were both out of breath, you had to pull away from each other. “Are you sure you want to go to sleep?” he asked, looking all over your face.

You did, you think them even though you were actually 100% clear. "I'm not sure..." you whispered before smiling and bringing your head closer to his.

"I think you know" Charles smiled lightly and connected his lips to yours again, this time in a hungrier kiss.

[duvetchico]

warfreaks

a yu jimin x fem!reader college smau

NOW PLAYING ; Lackin' by Denise Julia “ see i won't stop 'til i got you down on your knees. i won't stop until you're beggin' for me, beggin' for me, please. ”

synopsis yonsei university’s new campus-exclusive social app was supposed to make connections easier—not drag y/n (bassist of the local emo band dissonance) back into gay yearning hell for jimin, the hot student council secretary with a fake boyfriend and homophobic parents.

masterlist. playlist. dissonance ft. managers.

YU JIMIN business administration major, student council secretary, lesbian with a boyfriend (jeno is dying), parents: homophobic. friends: homosexuals

AERI UCHINAGA marketing major, gay enabler #1, schedules everything except her breakdowns

KIM MINJEONG computer science major, student council treasurer, permanently fighting for her life bc she can’t count but jimin covers for her

NING YIZHOU fashion design major, student council event planner, uses school budget to buy useless shit like a fog machine. keeps threatening to twerk on the podium during assemblies.

HWANG YEJI law major, student council president, crushes on ryujin publicly and violently, “this meeting is now about her”

WONG HENDERY psychology major, vice prez of student council, obsessed with yangyang, signs forms wrong on purpose

YOON KEEHO communications major, student council’s emotional support animal, somehow not gay (debatable), therapy friend who needs therapy

LEE JENO physical education major, basketball player, jimin’s fake bf fr, he knows she likes y/n and he’s tired (might start rooting for them out of spite)

[writerseclipse1]

lucky charm [max v.]

summary: max wins at the us grand prix (2021), and he can't help but insist you were his lucky charm.

warnings: making out, fluff.

word count: 0.7k

“…for the first time, on us soil, max verstappen wins the us grand prix!” cheers erupted from the fans and the redbull crew. you heard your father whoop, fisting the air in celebration.

all you could do was nod proudly, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed in front of your chest. you pushed yourself off of the wall, high fiving the crew and congratulating them on their amazing job during the race.

you all exited the pits a few minutes later, grouping up below the rostrum. checo waved to all the fans and took his place on the third podium step.

next up was lewis who, despite the rivalry between the two teams, he was your friend as well. he was one of the people who taught you how to drive a formula 1 car and actually be good at it.

and last, but certainly not the least to step onto the rostrum was max. you smirked, clapping along to the people beside you. he punched the air, grinning widely as he scanned the crowd, spotting you and winking discreetly. you only rolled your eyes and shook your head but clapped for him nonetheless.

he received his trophy from the one and only shaquille o’neal, the height gap between them despite max’s position on the top podium, making you snort. not long after their presentation of trophies, they started to drink and spray their champagne on each other, soaking their suits and no doubt their fireproofs.

after all the celebrations and the picture taking that led you to change your shirt, it was time for the interviews. max left for the interviews and you went to the red bull building, assessing the information gotten during the race, seeing what you needed to work on even if max drove without error. your typing on the keyboard of your father’s computer and the clicking of the mouse echoed in the room. 

“so this is where you’ve been,” max mused, leaning against the doorframe of your dad’s office. you ignored him with a smirk on your face. you kept checking the data, not even sparing him a glance. you heard his footsteps get closer but you paid it no mind, feeling his arms slither around your waist.

“don’t ignore me, schatje,” you felt his breath on your neck, nudging your neck with his nose. “appreciate me.”

“i swear, verstappen, if my father sees you here,” you whispered, abandoning your work and turning in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck regardless of your recent words. “you’re gonna get fired, probably die too.”

“i’ll take my chances,” he mumbled, tilting his head and his eyes darting to your lips. “besides, if this makes us official, even if i die in the hands of my boss right after, it would be worth it.”

you chuckle, his lips gently pressing themselves on your own. his mouth was gentle, taking his time with you, his hands slowly roaming your waist and pushing you back into the desk. your hands took his cap off, one hand holding onto it while the other combed his locks.

you detached your lips from his, chuckling when you saw his cheeks all red. you adjusted the cap in your hands, placing it on your own head and he bit his lip, fixing your hair.

“keep it. ‘looks better on you.” he complimented, tilting your head up so he could steal another kiss. you laughed, massaging his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“you ever notice that whenever you attend my races, i win,” he spoke up, making you hum. “and if you weren’t here, i lose. badly, might i add.”

“huh,” you comment, raising your eyebrows. “you’re right. i wasn’t in silverstone but i was there in italy, i wasn’t in azerbaijan, but i was in france. now, i wasn’t in monza, but i was here. cool.” you add, making him throw his head back, laughing.

“guess you could say that you are my lucky charm, liefje.” he suggested and you agreed, nodding your head. you two were too focused on each other that you didn’t notice a third party wander into the room.

“what the fuck is this?”

you froze and max gulped, his gaze moving to the door, his eyes widening.

“oh shit.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: fic look familiar? this is an old work from my old account @/theonly1outof-a-billion!

[pierregazly]

ambivalence ꨄ george russell

george russell x fem!gasly!motogp!reader

warnings: mentions of george's crash/dnf from singapore, sad!george, poorly translated french. [wc: 1.5k words]

in which george doesn't know how to feel; he's devastated about his own finish... or lack thereof, but the love of his life just finished P2 in her own race and he can't help the joy from taking over.

mercedesamgf1

tagged georgerussell63

liked by yngasly, georgerussell63, alex_albon, and 406,705 others

mercedesamgf1 he fought SO hard out there. 💪 a heroic effort by george. unlucky to miss out on a well-deserved podium, right at the very end.

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username absolutely gutted for george... but yall really couldn't show up to the podium for your other driver cuz of this??? slimy lol

username it wrecked my heart watching the last 5 mins of that race honest to god (lets celebrate no rbr in the top 3 tho !!!)

username guy signs his contract and starts this shit? sounds like a bit of a mistake huh

username george :((((

yngasly 💗💗

liked by mercedesamgf1 username congrats on ur p2 finish yngasly!!! you deserved it so much

username id sooo have such an ick if i were yngasly rn and my bf and brother both sucked at their jobs today while you kicked ass.... embarizzzing

yngasly

liked by pierregasly, georgerussell63, pecco63, and 175,543 others

yngasly what an incredible weekend, and an even better race! so proud of the whole team, and honoured to be taking home the p2 trophy this weekend. ciao italy 🇮🇹

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pierregasly nous savons tous qui est le gasly le plus talentueux 💪 (we all know who the most talented gasly is)

pierregasly proud of you! 🤍

username that's our fav motogp girl, kicking ass as always yngasly!!!

username god im so obsessed with her

username she was SO close to that p1 position i was screaaaaaming at my computer omf

georgerussell63 proud of you lovely 💗

georgerussell63 can't wait to celebrate with you when i get to see you angel

username i would die for the relationship georgerussell63 and yngasly have... it's so pure love

yngasly has posted a story

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georgerussell63 thank you, love. sorry we both can't be celebrating today. yngasly oh georgie...

The plane left the tarmac almost 7 hours ago, just a few short hours left until it landed in Singapore. The plane’s shifty Wi-Fi allowing you to watch the current race going on in the Singapore streets, your boyfriend maintaining a good speed, and a good position throughout most of the race.

Your stomach dropped immediately when the commentator’s voices picked up, George’s name dropping from their lips as the cameramen panned to his car.

The inner turmoil started the moment you watched the replay of the Mercedes hit the wall during the final lap. You, alongside every other person watching the race, were not expecting such a dramatic end to an even more dramatic race.

It had been an incredible day before this, your own P2 finish still pushing high levels of joy through your body. It had been an exhilarating race, after qualifying in P6 just the day before, you were able to jump up 4 positions, holding everyone off behind you as you maintained your speed and composure to finish the race in your highest finish this season.

You were almost immediately carted off to the airport once all your media responsibilities were completed. You had booked a flight to Singapore that would get you there just a few hours after George’s own race was over, allowing you to surprise him after weeks of being apart.

What you didn’t expect was the internal dread that was currently encompassing your body, unsure of how George would react when you arrived at his hotel door after how his race just ended. He would be happy to see you, regardless, but would he be upset at you for coming after the end of your own successful race? Would he want to be alone? Would you end up having to spend the night in Pierre’s room, leaving George to wallow in his own self-pity?

It was all you could think of as the map showed the flight radar on the screen in front of you, the estimated time of arrival dwindling down the closer you got.

You had texted George the moment you saw his crash.

Are you okay???

That looked bad

I saw the video of you walking away, you looked like you were in pain… I’m so sorry mon amour :(

You drove an amazing race… I’m so proud of you

If you want to talk you know you can call me, I love you :(

He had let you know he was a little sore and would probably be back to the hotel late so he likely wouldn’t be calling you tonight. It’s what prompted you to call Pierre the moment you were off the plane, the phone ringing a few times before he picked up.

“Incredible race! I watched a bit of it before we had to get in our cars, you kicked ass. Jumped up 4 places and everything, let’s goooo,” he trailed off the end with a small ‘woot’ of celebration, his gigantic smile prevalent even through the phone.

“Thanks Pear, but I wasn’t calling about the race. My flight just got into Singapore; do you think someone from your team could come pick me up? Or like anyone? George doesn’t know I’m here… it was supposed to be a nice surprise.”

The sigh was loud through the phone, Pierre agreeing to have someone from Alpine come to the airport.

“You should know… George is devastated. Charles says he was crying his eyes out when he saw him walk by, said it looked like he was super distraught. I don’t know how happy or excited he is going to be about your race today.”

The tears sprouted to your eyes immediately, you had already seen on social media that George may have been seen crying, but to hear it directly from someone who had seen him… the sadness wreaked through your body.

“I don’t care about my own race, right now. I’m happy enough for myself, he needs someone to be there for him.”

It didn’t take long for someone from Alpine to pick you up and drop you off at the hotel. You had bothered one of the men from George’s PR team earlier in the day to text you what room number and hotel he was staying at, promising him it was all for a surprise that wouldn’t cause any issues for George or the team.

Your knuckles rapped against the door in front of you, sounds from inside the room halting the noise encompassed the air. You couldn’t tell if he was coming to the door or not, no noise now coming from the room. Just as you were about to knock again, the door swung open to reveal your boyfriend.

His red-rimmed and puffy eyes were the first thing you noticed, a clear indicator that he had been crying. The small smile that grew on his face was real, a tiny bit of happiness shining in his eyes as he took in who was in front of him.

“Oh, Georgie…”

You dropped your bag to the floor, pushing your body into his. His arms wrapped around your frame, his head pressing into the junction where your neck and shoulder met, your own arms wrapping around his taller frame. You played with the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him as tight as you could, allowing him to push any emotions he was currently feeling into the hug.

“What are you doing here?” He murmured into your ear, his arms tightening around your body as if he was trying to fuse the both of you together.

Shrugging in his arms, you continued to hold his frame tightly in your own. “Thought it would be a nice surprise, was going to fly with you to Japan after and spend some time with you. Haven’t seen you in a while, I guess.”

George pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before pulling away, a sad smile falling on his lips. “You drove an incredible race today, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

You couldn’t help the pull at your heartstrings as he praised you for your own race, even after the devastating end to his own. It was obvious he was trying to keep the sadness at bay, to not ruin your own accomplishments.

“Thank you, mon amour. I don’t want to talk about my race, though.”

George grabbed your bag as he gestured for you to walk into the room, allowing the hotel door to slam behind you as he placed the luggage next to his own. “I don’t really want to talk about my own race, either. I’d much rather talk about yours.”

He pulled you onto the king-sized bed, immediately wrapping his body around your own as you snuggled into his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against your ear, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on the indent of your spine through your shirt.

“I feel like such an idiot. I’m not a rookie, I shouldn’t be making those kinds of mistakes, I lost complete control of my car at the worst possible time and cost myself one of the best finishes this season. It’s not fair,” he choked the words out, his nose pressing into your hair as he took a deep breath, trying to keep the inevitable tears at bay.

“Georgie… it happens, mistakes happen. It sucks, don’t get me wrong, but we all make mistakes. Do you know how many fuckups I’ve had this season? Don’t get me started on how many Pierre’s had, it doesn’t make you rookie-caliber to mess up one race. You’ll come back stronger from this; I swear.”

You could feel the small shrug of his shoulders as he pulled your body closer to his own, a light press of his lips to the crown of your head the only indication that he heard you.

“I can’t believe you got P2. I was trying to watch it while we were getting ready, someone said you jumped up 4 places huh?”

You nodded your head, a bashful smile pulling onto your lips, “It wasn’t that impressive, I’ve done it before.”

George nudged your side, prompting you to look up at him, a small smile edging onto the Brit’s lips, “That was your highest finish of the season though, darling. I’d say that’s pretty impressive, no?”

“I don’t want to overshadow how you’re feeling to be happy about my own race, mon amour. That’s not fair to you.”

Nudging you again, you felt his fingers dig into your ribs lightly, an indication he was telling you to stop talking. “You’re not overshadowing how I feel, I’m devastated, and I’m pissed at myself for how my race finished. It doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be happy for you, to feel some type of joy over the fact my best friend just finished P2.”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his gently, a ‘thank you’ imbedded in the way your lips moulded together. George pulled you closer, pulling back to rest his head against your own once again.

“At least my crash damage numbers aren’t as high as your brothers. Did you see he finally hit the millions a few days ago? Knew he’d beat me there.”

“Oh my god, George. Not everything has to be a competition between you and my brother.”

georgerussell63 has posted a story

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yngasly love you forever and ever mon amour 🫶🏻

i've had a few requests for motogp!reader x george, so i hope this meets your expectations 🫶🏻 i literally know nothing about motogp so i'm so sorry, i tried to make it broad so it didn't seem like im dumb lol love yall!!!

taglist

@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @princessria127 @iloveyou3000morgan @love4lando @asfaraslifegets @decseptapril @somanyfandomsbruh @fangirl125reader @imagandom @motorsp0rt @jspitwall @sarahedwards16 @glitterf1 @christianpulisic10 @carlandonorri-s @smoothopz @eugene-emt-roe @epitios @ihrtdan @myloverjk-blog @glow-ish @avxntxrine @goldenmclaren

if your name is struck through/bolded it wouldn't let me tag you. please let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

[joutsummer]

nevermind, johannes is in the front group, stop the count!

this ruta del sol breakaway is actually physically painful to watch

[twinsimming]

Level Up! Video Game Skill by Twinsimming 🎮

Happy New Year 🥳 Here's my first mod for 2024!!

This mod expands on The Sims 3's hidden Video Game skill by making it similar to the skill of the same name in The Sims 4.

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Requirements

This mod requires The Sims 3: University Life.

Overview

New Video Games

Tournaments

Stadium Tournaments

New Moodlets

Video Games

Sims can now play all 6 computer games available in The Sims 3, regardless of their Nerd Influence level. They also have access to 9 additional computer games from The Sims 4. All of these games will raise their hidden Video Game skill.

If you have @olomaya's Voidcritters mod installed, your sims can also “Play Voidcritters” on the computer to level up their Voidcritters skill along with their hidden Video Game skill.

The “Play Chess” interaction has been moved out of the “Play Video Game…” pie menu to avoid it getting lost among all of the new options.

Tournaments

Teen and older sims with level 2 hidden Video Game skill or higher can compete in video game tournaments on the computer. There are five tiers of tournament, each costing more in entry fees and being harder to win, but offering larger cash prizes.

The tournament tiers, required levels, lengths, entry costs, prize amounts, and chances of winning are as follows:

Amateur (Level 2) - 2 hours, §25 entry fee, 1st Place (§150), 2nd Place (§100), 3rd Place (§50), 40% chance of winning

Novice (Level 4) - 3 hours, §50 entry fee, 1st Place (§450), 2nd Place (§300), 3rd Place (§150), 35% chance of winning

Semi Pro (Level 6) - 4 hours, §75 entry fee, 1st Place (§750), 2nd Place (§600), 3rd Place (§450), 30% chance of winning

Pro (Level 8) - 5 hours, §100 entry fee, 1st Place (§1050), 2nd Place (§900), 3rd Place (§750), 25% chance of winning

Elite (Level 10) - 6 hours, §125 entry fee, 1st Place (§3000), 2nd Place (§1500), 3rd Place (§1000), 20% chance of winning

If your sim cancels the tournament interaction for any reason (mood failure, buff timeout, etc.) they will automatically forfeit the tournament. But they can enter a new tournament right away without a cooldown.

Placing in 1st, 2nd, or 3rd grants positive moodlets (Winner!, Runner Up, or Bronze Baby), along with prize money. If your sim doesn’t make the podium, they don’t get anything but a negative custom moodlet called Loser.

Win or lose, your sim won’t be able to compete in another tournament until their moodlet expires.

Certain traits can either increase or decrease your chance of winning a video game tournament by 5% (note: this value stacks the more traits your sim has):

Increased Chance Traits - Lucky and Computer Whiz

Decreased Chance Traits - Unlucky, Absent Minded, and Loser

A sim’s hidden Video Game skill and hidden Arcade Machine skill also factor into their overall winning chance.

Stadium Tournaments

If your sim is at least level 6 in the hidden Video Game skill, they can compete in video game tournaments held at the stadium rabbithole on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays @ 1:00pm.

There are Semi Pro, Pro, and Elite level tournaments available, with a slightly higher entrance fee than computer tournaments, but they offer much more prize money and celebrity points if your sim comes in 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place.

The chances of winning these tournaments is the same as their computer tournament equivalent listed above.

Semi Pro Stadium Tournament (Level 6) - 4 hours, §150 entry fee, 1st Place (§3000), 2nd Place (§2000), 3rd Place (§1500)

Pro Stadium Tournament (Level 8) - 5 hours, §175 entry fee, 1st Place (§6500), 2nd Place (§5000), 3rd Place (§3500)

Elite Stadium Tournament (Level 10) - 6 hours, §200 entry fee, 1st Place (§10000), 2nd Place (§8500), 3rd Place (§7000)

New Moodlets

*Winner!: Given when a sim comes in 1st place in a video game tournament, lasts 8 hours, +25 mood

*An existing moodlet that is repurposed for this mod.

Runner Up: Given when a sim comes in 2nd place in a video game tournament, lasts 8 hours, +15 mood

Bronze Baby: Given when a sim comes in 3rd place in a video game tournament, lasts 8 hours, +5 mood

Loser: Given when a sim fails to place in a video game tournament, lasts 8 hours, -25 mood

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Mod Recommendation

I recommend using Dandelion Sprout's Unhide Hidden Skills mod to track your sim's hidden Video Game and Arcade Machine skills.

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new script mod so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, and Script Mod Template Creator.

Thank You

Thank you to @simbouquet for extracting the video files and answering all of my questions!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims