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Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.
I don't have external meltdowns.
I could. I don't let it happen.
I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.
So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.
She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.
Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].
It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.
They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.
I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.
I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.
I couldn't understand what made her like this.
But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.
If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.
And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*
And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?
My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.
Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???
And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.
I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*
She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.
I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.
So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.
But I told her hundreds of times.
I probably should have just screamed at her.
#good stay out of our yard' and he didn't seem to know what to say to that#but other than that I don't think anyone in my adult life has ever seen me turn aggressive at all to the point where people 100% like to#play games of testing my patience and my boundaries because they think my tolerance is infinite#but like I have autistic rage tantrums on both sides of my family and they are just happening inside my head#And somehow it took me until now to realize that being that way was actually -expected- of me by my parents and especially my mother#and that by keeping myself outwardly level headed to be considerate I actually took away whatever signals she can understand#to have empathy for how I must be feeling#I mean it's still all on her#but it makes so much sense of why she's fucking *like this*#And why my sister thinks I hate her just because -she- stopped texting -me-#but that fucking guy#Every time I was like#In my adult life I have screamed at someone ONE whole time and it was 1000% deserved#And I threw heavy objects around one whole other time and in my defense I didn't do it in front of the guy he just felt the ground shaking#heard the thuds and came back to the logs blocking his path because that fucker wouldn't stop parking in our yard after being asked#and then TOLD not to about 10 times because he was acting entitled to just park in our yard and was crushing my plants???#seriously I don't know what his deal was but he wouldn't stop telling me how much the ground shaking scared him like it was supposed#to get my pity like I think this guy took one look at the logs I had just tossed down and was suddenly afraid of this “woman” he was#bullying in their own yard and so my ability to feel bad for scaring him had gone straight out the fucking window#I looked at him and said stop parking in our yard instead of your own you are killing my plants#he'd just fucking be like 'well the last people to live here let us D: :)“ and I'd be like ”good for them?“ ”stop“#and he'd just keep doing it#I was having a week of insomnia and was finally having the best dream#the kind of sex dream you have like twice in your life#and this fucker had just gotten some noisy ass little bike with a spoiler on it#and starts it up right under my window at 3am from IN OUR FUCKING YARD#so I had a nice long anger nap and just after he got home from work and was sleeping in his house#I picked up these chunks of deadwood tree from the back#there was like 3-4 logs that used to be a WHOLEASS fucking oak tree Like these logs were not as heavy as they -looked- but they were still#this fucker deleted half the tags I wrote and I am not retyping that fuck you tumblr so fucking hard
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sixties-doctor-who-stan · 1 year ago
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I’ll be honest the more I see people criticise the Chibnall era the more I’m like “fuck it I guess I’m a Chibnall stan now”
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maxiwaxipads · 6 months ago
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City of Borealis, Briar Valley
(i promise i wrote this all in advance a long time ago and I'm not insane <3) The City of Borealis is the hub of Briar Valley’s most populous city with its nearby arcane institute, Grey Wings Institute. Over the years, technology has slowly been implemented throughout Borealis and built up its own population. Borealis was once a part of a befallen human nation which still continues many of its past traditions. (Note: The "War of Morrow" is related to Lilia's dream and that will be the name I will refer to it as) (I should mention this might not fully comply with the information we currently have with Book 7 or the Briar Valley itself. I wrote this a while ago.) (I didn't include all the information I have. Because if I did, finding the notes and piecing them together would be more trouble than necessary.)
Borealis has a known tradition of its Iridescent Festival that celebrates new hopes for prosperity and generates a supple amount of blessings throughout the city. Flowers themselves are decorated throughout the city, and many attendees are donned with them. This year’s Iridescent Festival is expected to be big and an invitation was forwarded to Malleus who’ll also bring you along.
From the rest of Briar Valley, the City of Borealis is quite distinct due to the Briar Valley’s lack of modernism. Borealis is populated with either students of the Grey Wings Institute, scholars, or the local population.
Compared to the rest of the Briar Valley, the City of Borealis is considerably more diverse and contains citizens from all walks of life.
Regarding technology within the City of Borealis, as mentioned before it’s a slow implementation. Despite being more modernized compared to other regions of the Briar Valley it carries technology considered outdated compared to other countries. (The same as everything else, anything regarding outside exports is largely outdated information or technology.) (Even information or materials arrive months or years later within the city) (Information outside the region is passed on slowly, and issues such as magazines or newspapers are often a few months or years old)
The current City of Borealis, it retains half its size than it was 400 - 500 ago. Due to the War of Morrow, its other half was shrouded within a suffocating mist originating from ancient incantation where all dies before there’s sunlight met. Anything that escapes its grasp is either the deceased or old ruins. Sometimes even rare plants curated from a high-magic density can be found growing around. (Cursed forest rumored to be caused by the ‘Rhizanthes Witch,’ or the Witch in Red after killing her king in the name of revenge) (Result of Ancient Incantation rather than natural phenomena, I imagine some try growing rare plants nearby for the amount of magic they hold in one place) (Heavily guarded to prevent anybody from accidentally or intentionally getting caught in the mist) (Though it is being studied, and there is research to see if the ancient incantation placed upon it can be removed)
I imagine one of the Iridescent Festival’s famous traditions is lantern-making. Thousands are released into the sky before they’re permitted to burn with the usage of magic after reaching a certain height.
The City of Borealis, while a territory of the Briar Valley, wasn’t originally a part of the nation, but was previously the royal capital of the Kingdom of the Dawn before its ultimate demise. (Lacked proper leadership, and was on a steady decline) (Compared to 500 years ago, the present is majorly different than the past)
Three Wise Sages (TWST version of the Three Good Fairies)
Wise Sages who've existed since the founding and falling of the Kingdom of the Dawn. Their existence has since been erased since the War of Morrow, with only 2 members of their bloodline believed to be existing.
Uri Ipomoea (Fauna's TWST) has sworn her loyalty to the Briar Valley’s heir apparent, Malleus Draconia. Employed as the Headmage to the Grey Wings Institute, and entrusted as the Lord of Borealis from the current queen.
Betrayed their kindred to side with humans to create the Kingdom of the Dawn. Saw potential with humanity. They are pacifist by nature and refused to participate in wars and battles, though it took the War of Morrow to topple their vows of nonviolence. Morrigan was forced to fight as a general, Aine was assassinated by King Henrik’s order, and Fianna fled after the death of Aine.
(I wrote a lot on these, but basically, Fianna is related to Flora, Morrigan is related to Merryweather, and Aine is related to Fauna)
(While pacifists, that doesn’t mean they weren't petty) (Fianna betrayed her creed of remaining peaceful and killed King Henrik) (Vanished, her fate is believed to be unknown) (Morrigan if you want to count her, though she was technically forced to participate as a general in the War of Morrow) (Aine was killed for her transgression of the war against King Henrik) (In front of Uri who witnessed the death of her mother)
Heralded as the “Three Wise Sages” for their dedication to education and learning. Their efforts led to the creation of the Grey Wings Institute as an arcane school sponsoring solely women. (Before confusing anyone, the present Grey Wings Institute sponsors all genders but first intended to only teach women)
(Could never teach Ancient Incantations in fear of starting a war with the Briar Valley(?)) (Though the sages personally practiced the usage of Ancient Incantations) (They’re able to demonstrate it, but never teach it)
(Originally, the reasons of the War of Morrow started because of King Henrik’s meddling and desire for conquest(?)) (While the Sages are an influential force in their own right, I imagine there isn’t much they can do, except lessen the impact)
(Infamous for their rivalry with the Fairy of Thorns(?)) (Their encounters are enough to make a novel series)
Similar to how Malleus comes from an egg, the sages are conceptualized as flowers. (They feed off their mother's magic until the flower itself can circulate magic on its own) (Basically, it's like asexual reproduction(?)) (that's why they have no dads <3)
Characters/OCs
Uri Ipomoea is the Headmaster of the Grey Wings Institute and the Lord of Borealis. Originally, it was Malleus's grandmother who was forwarded an invitation to the Iridescent Festival, but she forwarded it to Malleus. A young child during the War of Morrow, she is unconditionally loyal to the City of Borealis and strives to continue its growth. (Fauna's TWST)
Mirin Wich-Tree is Uri's adoptive sister and currently attending as a second year at the Grey Wings Institute. Vice-President to the Student Body. (Merryweather's TWST)
Rhodes Strangleweed is from the small village of Dregs on the outskirts of the Briar Valley. Her mother, Fianna Rhizanthes came to this village after her murder of King Henrik. Rhodes is unaware of her mother's true identity until meeting Uri. A 2nd year attending the Grey Wings Institute, a member of the sewing club. (Flora's TWST)
(i have a lot written about them, this is only a gross summary of their characters </3) (all 3 are fae) (fun fact!! they all share the same signature spell but have different incantations) (that are all longer than necessary)
(i have other OCs on GWI's other students, though they aren't relevant to the Iridescent Festival story sadly) (mainly on the student council)
Unique Flora
Sillows are a species of flower within the Briar Valley cultivated to create textile fabrics from its thorny shrubs. Although most abundant within the Briar Valley they occur naturally throughout Twisted Wonderland. Their petals are also collected to make floral teas, as described sweet and savory.
(I imagine because of the Briar Valley’s abundance of naturally occurring magic, Sillows from this region are more flexible when it comes to manipulating fabric with magic itself)
(Like it’s more dynamic to use magic to manipulate the fabric’s form(?)) (They’re quite abundant and considered a culturally special flower to the Briar Valley and the Dawn)
Unique to the Briar Valley, Lumin flowers are known for their luminescence that glow similar to an aurora in the dark. Their natural light is dim, though channeling magic within these flowers will also cause them to simmer even more. Lumin flowers are specially decorated during Iridescent Festivals and glow even brighter when blessings are distributed throughout the city. (Wither once plucked)
(Thousands surround the city) (First appearing as tucked flowers that have yet to bloom) (Decorated during a planned performance of the "Primordial Prayer")
Iridescent Festival
Unique within the City of Borealis which was once a part of a befallen nation, the Iridescent Festival is the celebration of new hopes and prosperity. Thousands of unique flowers are decorated across the city with lanterns symbolizing and hanging to mimic stars. Festival participants don cascading costumes made for dancing and may find themselves wearing decorated hats reminiscent of the wise sages. (<-Often these hats are plain and unadorned for loved ones to embroider and decorate on) (But some might like making unique hats of their own)
During the Iridescent Festival, GWI opens its doors for visiting hours with school activities paused for about a week. Students and faculty host food stalls, games, and performances. I imagine GWI is basically a cultural exchange and more untraditional instead of what the rest of Borealis offers.
Primordial Prayer [Love Stretching Aeon]
Once integral to the Iridescent Festival until the death of Borealis’s Sages, the “Primordial Prayer” is expected to take place upon the final day of the festival which releases numerous blessings founded on good luck and betterment for the future. During the Primordial Prayer, thousands of Lumin flowers glitter luminously throughout the City of Borealis.
The Primordial Prayer itself is a blessing crafted by the Three Wise Sages to inspire hope and bring happiness to the people. Celebration towards hopes of the future and meant to inspire happiness in anyone who comes forth across the spell.
A powerful incantation that only the Three Wise Sages kept to themselves and could solely perform. It’s a potent blessing that shows itself like embers of snow.
Lumins under the performance of the Primordial Prayer are said to glow yellow which is often compared to the stars.
Considered to be a once-in-a-lifetime to those who witness the Primordial Prayer, it’s often played during the last day of the Iridescent Festival. Those who experience the Primordial Prayer firsthand often describe it as comforting and beautiful.
Full Incantation - “Love surmises my existence, feast upon my heart, and nourish from the accomplishments I’ve curated for those I developed yearning.
I, desperate for a beloved’s eternity, understand this as a fraught wish.
Awake your long-held dreams from slumber, as I cast the snowy plain of stars from the heavens onto you. 
Longing, as this moment defines devotion and relaxing the weight upon the waking days.
Illuminate the unchained glisten of the suns and moons, as I cascade a blinding hope upon your hearts. 
Primordial whispers, answer to my call; Primordial skies, answer to the delimited daybreak. This devotion shall hold longer than nigh. Primordial Prayer.”
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wonder-worker · 11 months ago
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What are your favorite Plantagenet-related novels, and why do you love them?
Hi! I'm so sorry, I don't read lots of medieval English historical fiction, and the ones I have read are pretty terrible (three guesses which).
Once again: sorry! If anyone else has any recommendations, feel free to share them!
#ask#I've heard that Sharon Kay Penman's Plantagenet trilogy is pretty good? I haven't read it though so I can't say#'The Sunne in Splendour' (Penman's WotR book) was absolutely terrible though#It has all the hallmarks of a classic Ricardian novel. It IS one of the classic Ricardian novels I think?#Richard is an entirely innocent selfless righteous man with a glorious and divinely-blessed reign who's the victim in every situation#Isabel Neville was treated awfully. Margaret of Anjou was treated awfully#Elizabeth Woodville was somehow treated worse than both of them combined and was ridiculously sexualized on top of it#Penman's tagline for her should've honestly been 'You thought THIS character was bad? Never fear - Elizabeth Woodville is 10x worse!'#The book goes out of its way to emphasize how she was the worst thing to ever happen to England; how the Woodvilles made the 1450s look#like 'petty squabbling'; how Elizabeth made Margaret of Anjou look like a 'veritable saint by comparison'#also I distinctly remember her own husband yelling at her that she would sleep with a leper if it meant her becoming queen#This line just about sums it up: 'Warwick doubted there had ever been a Queen as little liked as the woman Edward had taken as his wife'#I'm like 99% sure that Cersei Lannister was primarily based off Penman's Elizabeth. The similarities are uncanny#Though Cersei is nonetheless treated better and given infinitely more depth than Elizabeth was - that's how badly she was depicted#I want to call her a Disney villain on steroids but frankly that would be inaccurate because even they are given more respect#I was always interested in Elizabeth but this book was one of the main reasons I became so defensive of her#What else...?#Penman's characterizations of Thomas Gray and Edward of Lancaster were pretty on par with classic Ricardian novels so I wasn't surprised#(though I will say that despite Edward of Lancaster being treated terribly he was still afforded more depth and sympathy than Thomas was)#What did surprise me was the fact that she wrote ANTHONY WOODVILLE as a violent scheming thug. Yes really#Honestly anyone remotely related to the Woodvilles is portrayed as cartonnishly evil#And EDWARD V oh god. This 12-year old kid is depicted as a cold cruel capricious tyrant who's more Woodville than royal (classism anyone?)#I'm 99% sure Joffrey Baratheon was based off Penman's portrayal of him. His dynamic with Elizabeth certainly matches Cersei's with Joffrey'#... anyway this rant has nothing to do with anon's question#sorry
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duskyashe · 1 year ago
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CAMP NANO DAY 23
[AO3]
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The first thing she noticed as she woke up was the uncomfortable pinch of sticks and pine needles digging into her skin. It was an unfortunately familiar sensation, what with how often she'd found herself tripping and being thrown around the Preserve. She'd gotten better about all the tripping with time and exposure, but sadly the throwing was still happening just as much, if not more, than it had been during her sophomore year.
The second thing she noticed as she woke up was the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind. Well, that and the sound of peaceful breathing nearby. Still half asleep, she noted the breathing with a soft hum before dismissing it as nothing to be concerned by. She was in fact almost lulled back to sleep by the calming mixture of the breathing and the rustling leaves, if it weren't for the next thing she noticed.
The third thing she noticed as she woke up was the gentle thrumming of a new bond in her chest, anchored near her heart. She had bonds with Scott and the rest of the pack, she'd had them for a few years now, but those were different, just a ball of strings whispering of here-pack-belonging-here that occasionally flared with unease-discomfort-pack-protect or joy-pack-happy-here that were clustered in the center of her chest, each flavored with something of her packmates to give them some definition. This new bond, however, was very different. For one, it almost felt as though it were coming from her heart and not just anchored near it. For another, it was less a string and more a sturdy rope of mine-here-content-tired-sleep. Mentally brushing against the new bond triggered the source of the steady breathing to let out a deep sigh of contentment as she heard the muffled sound of leaves crunching and felt fur brush up against her hand.
Wait. Fur? Stiles thought in groggy confusion. Her brows scrunched up as she fought through the last of her sleepy haze to open her eyes and actually take in the world around her. As she blinked awake and finally registered the early morning sun trickling down through the branches of the trees, she found herself staring at the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. Laying in front of her, close enough to easily touch, was a massive black and silver wolf, curled up with it's—his—back to her, as though to protect her from anyone or anything looking to attack her. With a dense copse of trees at her back and the gorgeous wolf at her front, Stiles had to admit, she hadn't felt as safe as she did right then since before finding out about the supernatural.
Reaching her slightly extended arm out just a little further, she gently started running her hand through the wolf's slightly coarse coat, smiling softly as the new bond warmed with a sleepy peace-enjoyment-mine-more. I don't recognize this wolf, she thought to herself as she continued stroking the wolf's salt-and-peppered fur, but I feel like I recognize him.
She continued to lay there on her side, head pillowed on one arm, in her well worn Ironman pajama shirt and Batman pajama bottoms, barefoot and jacketless, just enjoying the feeling of running her hand through her wolf's fur—and it felt right to think of him as her wolf, as he was hers, just as she was his. It was as simple as that. Stiles didn't know how long she'd been laying there petting her wolf before he finally started waking up. She felt it first in their bond, a feeling of tired-grumpy-content-reluctance, before he started twitching ever so slightly under her gentle touch. He pressed back into her hand gently before rolling away and onto his feet with a great big wolfy yawn and a dramatic stretch. Finished with that, he turned and plopped back down in front of her on his stomach, though facing her this time.
Stiles gazed deeply into familiar hazel eyes and suddenly knew exactly who her wolf was. Sitting up, she, too, yawned and stretched before brushing off the twigs and pine needles from her arm. She shifted to sit cross legged in front of her wolf and looked him in the eyes once again. The bond briefly flared with hope-hesitance-mine?-wistfulness before settling down to here-content-safe-hope-here. She smiled softly at her wolf and opened her arms, sending a pulse of yours-here-happy-safe-mine as she uttered the name of the man she'd been dreaming of ever since he left the last time. "Derek," she entreated softly, an assurance and a plea all at once.
Hazel flashed blue as her wolf all but leapt into her arms, nuzzling into her neck, scenting her gently yet thoroughly. She wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled back as much as she was able, running her hands down his back and sides to help make up the difference. She felt more than heard him whine as relief-yours-joy-here-mine flashed down their bond as Derek settled half on her lap, half curled around her, still protecting her even as he took comfort in their closeness.
"I've done a lot of reading since I last saw you," she muttered to him as she lovingly stroked his pitch black ears. "It took me a bit to remember, but I've read about this, the bond between us, as well. You really trust me that much?" With your heart, your wolf, your very soul, she didn't say. She didn't have to. He heard it anyway.
Derek lifted his head from her lap. Warmth-love-trust-always flooded the bond as he nudged her cheek with his nose, giving it a small, playful lick before resting his head on her lap once more. Stiles grinned at him as she resumed petting his ears and pulsed a brief love-warmth-trust-same at him.
Before Peter had left to places unknown, he'd given her a key and a USB drive, told her it was for her eyes only, then placed a brief, gentle kiss on her forehead before strutting away. After watching him drive off into the midday sun, she'd ran up to her room and grabbed her laptop before diving onto her bed to get to work solving whatever logic puzzle Peter had left her. After fourteen hours of hard work, she had been left with an address, a passcode, and a reminder that this was for her eyes only. Plugging the address into her phone's GPS had taken her to Beacon Hills's oldest and most prominent bank. Showing a teller her license had ended up with her in front of a safe deposit box, inserting the key and leaving with a passcode locked e-reader with a sticky note attached, yet again reminding her that it was for her eyes only. It had taken her nearly a full year to finish reading everything Peter had put on that e-reader for her, most books obviously being electronic copies of the lost Hale library.
Among those books were the personal diaries and journals of previous Hales. Among those was the tale of the Hale Gift. The gift that allowed all Hale wolves, not just their alphas, to take on a full shift form. That gift was the ability to bond with another so completely that two became as one. What one had, so did the other. If one half of the bond was human, the wolf of the Hale was shared between them and grew to be as strong as any two wolves together. That amplified strength of the wolf of the pair was what allowed the Hale to achieve a full shift. However, in order to form such a strong bond, both parties had to trust each other implicitly, with everything they were and ever would be.
At the time, Stiles had wondered why Peter had practically placed that journal front and center for her reading pleasure, but now she couldn't be more glad he'd done so. If this had happened before she'd read about it, she couldn't even begin to imagine how she might have reacted, nor did she want to. She'd loved Derek for a long time now, she didn't want to hurt him, especially through her own ignorance.
"Come on, Sourwolf, let's go find you some clothes so we can talk face to face instead of face to muzzle," she declared, standing up before grimacing at the feel of rocks and other unpleasant things beneath her feet. "And maybe some shoes for me, too," she grumbled, looking down at her feet. Derek just chuffed out a wolfy laugh before heading off in the direction of civilization.
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I, ah, started falling asleep while writing that last paragraph (⁠^⁠~⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ I didn't take my normal Sunday afternoon nap, and it's showing (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠;⁠) on the plus side, I managed to finish writing this before I after fell asleep!
This fic was prompted by a dream I had two or three days ago lol the only thing I remember from said dream was that the MC was female, she woke up to a wolf sleeping in front of her, and her first thought wasn't panic, it was "I don't recognize this wolf, but I feel like I recognize him". My waking mind decided it was a fem!Stiles/Derek fic just waiting to be written, so here we are!
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knoxprox · 1 year ago
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My father tried to argue with me that writers refer to themselves as “artists” not “writers”.
Like as someone who wanted to be a “professional author” when I was little and who still considers myself a writer (if only without much motivation/energy) but also as someone who reads a ton online, I tried to explain that the term “artist” implied visual art of some kind, that artists and writers might refer collectively as “creatives” but most (you can never say all cause there are always outliers) writers will introduce themselves as a writer not an artist.
When I explained this, he made some dismissive comment about “just what you’re seeing on the internet”… as opposed to what?! you dont know any authors irl… but also like my guy you don’t even like books, you don’t read by choice and definitely not for fun, you don’t engage in any discourse about it but I do… I kinda think my info is what we should be trusting, even if its is from the internet…
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almadelsur · 12 days ago
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💋 The Secrets One Keeps
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summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe
warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything
a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・
JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.
“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.
In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.
You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.
“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”
Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.
Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.
“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.
“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.
“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.
“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.
Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.
You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 
“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 
“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 
“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart.��
“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.
“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 
“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 
JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 
“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.
Boy was he mistaken. 
——————————————————————
“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.
“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.
You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.
“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.
“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.
“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”
“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.
“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”
“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.
“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.
“I fuck pogues.”
“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.
“Exactly so what’s the issue?”
“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”
He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.
“What's funny?” You challenged.
“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.
“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.
“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.
“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”
“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 
“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.
“Mhm,” You lied.
“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.
Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.
“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.
“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.
“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.
He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.
You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.
“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.
“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 
“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”
“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”
“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.
“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.
“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.
“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.
You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.
“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”
And fuck you he did.
——————————————————————
The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.
Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.
Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.
“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”
You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.
You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.
“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.
“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.
“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.
“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.
“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.
“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.
“No?”
“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.
“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.
“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”
With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.
“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.
“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.
“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.
“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.
Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.
“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.
“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.
“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”
“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.
“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“
“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 
Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”
“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”
“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.
Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.
She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”
A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”
With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.
“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.
“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.
“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.
“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.
“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”
“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.
“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 
Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.
Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.
“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.
“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.
He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.
1- You’d always share your snacks.
2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.
 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.
Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.
“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”
“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.
JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.
2K notes · View notes
floraesky-a · 1 year ago
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❝It's so lonely at the top with nothing to show for it, isn't it? How long have you harbored this grief inside of you for?❞
( for bad end!sougo, ofc )
" Now, what is it that you think you know about what I have or don't have to show for anything ? " Coldness is found in the tone of the king, yet if one knows to look for it then they can also place a hollowness in that same tone ( most miss that part entirely of course ).
The King radiates power, but it means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He can destroy anything he wants, which he does. He can meddle in time, which he does. He can manipulate those around him to do his bidding, which he does and will continue to do. Yet, none of this means anything, it's all a show of power and destruction, how far someone will go when they lose the people that makes them human and makes them feel like they can be good.
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She speaks of grief and there's laughter to meet her ears, as a response to her words. " You think you can understand me ? You think that you have any idea of what I have felt, of what I have harbored ? " There's power rolling off of him, there's a glow to the red in his mask, one might even wonder if that red glow was in his very eyes underneath it all.
" You know nothing. You will know nothing . . . But perhaps death. "
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julssreidd · 2 months ago
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Your Wife, Huh? ; Spencer Reid.
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pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader.
summary: When a police officer raises their voice at you, Spencer comes to your defense, but in his attempt to protect you, he accidentally refers to you as his wife.
word count; 435 words ( i expected this to be longer when i wrote it)
likes and reblogs are always appreciated! my inbox is always open, too.
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You were absorbed in your work at the police station, surrounded by a clutter of case files and evidence reports. The atmosphere was a cacophony of voices and ringing phones, but you managed to focus on your task.
A loud, gruff cop strolled by, glancing at you with a mix of disdain and impatience. “Hey, can you get that stuff out of the way?” he barked. “We’re trying to get some real work done here.”
You looked up, surprised by his tone. “I’m sorry, I’m just—”
“Just what? This isn’t a personal office!” he interrupted, raising his voice even further.
Before you could respond, your boyfriend, who had been working next to you, noticed the exchange. His face hardened with frustration. He approached quickly, his demeanor shifting from calm to protective.
“Excuse me,” Spencer said, his voice louder than usual. “There’s no need to speak to her like that. She’s here to assist with the case, and she’s doing a critical job.”
The cop, taken aback by Spencer’s sudden assertiveness, tried to brush him off. “And who are you to tell me how to do my job?”
“I’m her partner,” Spencer said, his voice firm. Then, in a moment of heated protectiveness, he blurted out, “My wife and I are trying to do the work your team couldn’t, so how about you show her some respect?”
The cop’s eyes widened in surprise, and after a moment of hesitation, he muttered an apology and walked away, clearly unsettled.
You couldn’t help but grin as you looked up at Spencer. His face was flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering irritation, but there was a soft, endearing quality to his expression.
“Your wife, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.
Spencer’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax,” you said, chuckling. “I’m just teasing you. But you know, it did make me feel pretty special.”
Spencer cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Well, one day you will be my wife,” he said, a hint of seriousness in his voice.
You laughed, shaking your head. “Please, do not propose to me right now. This is so not romantic.”
Spencer’s eyes widened in mock offense. “How dare you think I would propose like this? You know me better than that.”
You both laughed as he kissed you briefly before you two got back to work, the tension from the earlier confrontation melting away.
As Spencer watched you handle the paperwork, he realized that the conversation had sparked a new thought: it might be time to start looking for engagement rings.
1K notes · View notes
5sospenguinqueen · 3 months ago
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A Million Kisses - Arthur Leclerc x Reader
Summary: You and Arthur have spent your entire life terrorising Charles. But when he turns the tables on you, bringing up a topic you’ve largely ignored since your teenaged years, the dynamic changes.
Warnings: Swearing. Fluff. Bullying Charles
2024 timeline. Pinterest pics. Childhood friends to lovers trope
F1 Masterlist
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scuderiaferrari just posted
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liked by its_yn_ln, arthur_leclerc and others 
scuderiaferrari just friday things 
1,997 comments
pierregasly you all know what’s coming
user1 oh dear, not a charles post
its_yn_ln another day, another thirst trap. bet he posted this himself
arthur_leclerc not what i wanted to see when i opened up my phone 
→ its_yn_ln agreed, i think i’ve gone blind 
user2 every charles post summons yn and and arthur
arthur_leclerc where’s the carlos content? only reason i followed
→ charles_leclerc i’d like both of you to piss off
→ its_yn_ln that’s not a nice way to talk to your fans 
alexandrasaintmleux 💕
→ its_yn_ln did charles force you to write that so that it seemed like somebody liked him?
→ arthur_leclerc don’t be silly, yn. he took her phone and wrote it himself 
user3 not the terror twins at it again
user4 poor charles has been suffering from this ever since he joined f1
→ user5 and prior, it just wasn't as well documented lol 
user6 i bet charles begs admin to cancel his posts because he lives in fear of the comments
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charles_leclerc just posted
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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly and others
charles_leclerc beach days 
1,616 comments 
pierregasly looking good, brother (but i’m praying for you for when they see this) 
its_yn_ln and i thought narcissus loved himself 
→ charles_leclerc i miss the days before arthur befriended you 
→ arthur_leclerc so before we were both born?
→ charles_leclerc exactly 
scuderiaferrari making the most of summer break
→ user7 he’s actually begging for you to take him back so that he doesn’t have to spend another minute with yn and arthur 
its_yn_ln put your chitties away 
→ user8 when people ask me what my fav part of f1 is, i show them yn’s comments 
arthur_leclerc not shown is charles eating waves every two seconds 
→ charles_leclerc still did better than you. you wouldn’t stop staring at yn long enough to concentrate on the waves 
→ user9 what did he sayyyy
→ user10 my ynarthur heart is screaming
→ user11 um, guys, who else thinks there’s truth to this
→ user12 no because they have NEVER let charles have the last comment yet neither clap back at this??
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its_yn_ln just posted
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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and others 
its_yn_ln as charles once said, beach days ☀️ although my post is better because it has me and arthur in it 
965 comments
arthur_leclerc anything is better with us and not charles 
→ its_yn_ln more fun too 
→ arthur_leclerc that’s just me, chérie
→ user14 i’m not screaming, you are 
alexandrasaintmelux belle fille
→ its_yn_ln pas comparé à toi. still not sure what you’re doing with charles
→ alexandrasaintmleux doesn’t she look gorgeous @/arthur_leclerc?
→ arthur_leclerc you and charles deserve each other
charles_leclerc and no thank you to the brother who lent you his yacht for your date? 
→ alexandrasaintmleux bébé, it is not a date? remember they made it quite clear
→ charles_leclerc all i’m saying is i do not look at or touch my friends like that 
→ joris_trouche be weird if you did
→ charles_leclerc see @/its_yn_ln weird 
→ its_yn_ln blocked 
francisca.cgomes stunning
→ its_yn_ln marry me?
→ pierregasly @/arthur_leclerc come get your girl 
→ its_yn_ln don’t you fucking start 
oscarpiastri was he holding your hand so you didn’t fall into the water?
→ arthur_leclerc it’s what any good friend would do 
user15 yn and arthur seem to be getting awfully defensive lately 👀
→ user16 no. they’ve always talked about how annoying it is to be accused of being more than friends so how about you don’t contribute to that 
→ user17 yeah but things between them seem to be different lately and now the drivers are publicly commenting on it? 
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arthur_leclerc just posted
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liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others 
arthur_leclerc from 2 months to 22 years. it’s been a delight to share every special moment with you. happy birthday, mon problème 🥳🤍
1,027 comments 
its_yn_ln i can’t believe you dug out that baby photo 😭 i look forward to another year with you by my side x
its_yn_ln although waking up to find out you had broken into my apartment and filled it with balloons was a bit of a shock
→ charles_leclerc you might need to get used to seeing that ugly mug first thing in the morning
→ user1 what does this mean?! 
lilymhe okay but the tiara and the shades? iconic
→ its_yn_ln i’m an icon
→ charles_leclerc that’s not how you translate diva 
alexandrasaintmleux happy birthday, yn. can’t wait to see you at dinner later
→ its_yn_ln can my birthday present be you leaving charles at home?
pierregasly happy birthday, yn. drinks on me later
→ its_yn_ln okay, you’re forgiven for teaming up with charles
→ pierregasly i’m not team charles. i’m team ynarthur
→ charles_leclerc we had shirts made
→ arthur_leclerc not today, guys. 
→ user2 oo he used a full stop. he’s pissed
user3 guys, do we think the baby is just a phrase like ‘chaos baby’ or a pet name?
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user4 arthur truly is the epitome of ‘if he wanted to, he would’
→ user5 never saw him put in this much effort for any of his previous relationships but yn gets the full princess treatment 
user6 anyone else see that arthur liked @/PastryMan’s tweet about yn
→ user7 okay but let’s not read too much into it. he could just appreciate the compliment fans are giving to his best friend instead of the usual hate people associated with drivers get 
→ user8 also, he was likely highly intoxicated last night lol. pr training vanishes at that point
→ user9 or, hear me out, like his brother and close friends are suggesting, he’s in love with yn 
user10 okay but proof or it didn’t happen @/NoRizz. you wouldn’t be the first one to spread gossip about drivers 
→ user11 okay, i take back my previous comment. i have since seen proof
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charles_leclerc just posted
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liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes and others
charles_leclerc let’s take a moment to appreciate my photography skills. (oh, and the fact that i am a genius and should not be doubted or ridiculed again) tagged: its_yn_ln, arthur_leclerc 
2,024 comments 
its_yn_ln insert ‘i am stupid’ charles radio here. even YOU think you’re stupid and like you said, we shouldn’t argue with you 
→ charles_leclerc i hate you 
→ its_yn_ln okay but i distinctly remember you asking to be my maid of honour yesterday so…? fake news 
arthur_leclerc can’t really boast about your photography skills when these are all grainy/blurry 
→ charles_leclerc i hate you 
→ arthur_leclerc you literally cried when you caught us sleeping
→ its_yn_ln so loud that it woke us up 
→ user12 he really is their #1 stan
francisca.cgomes the cutest couple 
→ pierregasly what about us?
→ its_yn_ln you don’t deserve her
→ pierregasly what did i do? 
→ pierregasly you should be thanking us! if not for our torment, you and arthur never would’ve been forced to confront your feelings
lilymhe tell that man to get his hands off my wife
→ its_yn_ln look away! it was a moment of weakness 
→ arthur_leclerc she’s loved me for 22 years. she’s only known you for 5, back off
its_yn_ln bébé, why is your brother so obsessed with us?
→ arthur_leclerc he has nothing better to do
→ charles_leclerc merde, i thought sucking each other’s faces would keep you too preoccupied to attack me
→ arthur_leclerc never
→ its_yn_ln well, maybe if you stopped taking pics of us when we did, we’d be more inclined to 
━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━
Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)
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xreader-writing · 3 months ago
Text
STILL HERE | "They're eating sushi!'
✦ Sumarry: Y/n comes to her ex-boyfriend Lando Norris' defense when he's being canceled, and Lando couldn't be happier about it.
✦ Pairing: Ex!Lando Norris X Actress!Reader. | Timothee Chalamet? 👀 | ✦ WC: 1.491
A/n: English is not my first language, forgive my spelling mistakes dear.
LAST | S.MASTERLIST | NEXT
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Y/n sighed and put her phone in her pocket.
"What happened?" Her castmate Timothee asked, handing her a cup of coffee.
"As if you didn't know." She said laughing, and he smiled back, scratching the back of his neck.
"Well, but it could be another reason!" He said laughing, making her laugh even more.
Timothee looked at her and noticed her worried look.
"I read your text, it must have helped him a lot."
"Yes, but Lando is a little immature sometimes, and that makes things worse." Y/n sighs and runs her hand over her face.
"I wouldn't like being his lawyer." Timothee says making Y/n laugh.
"Thank God you act then, huh?" The two laugh and stay silent for a moment.
"Don't think too much about it, he has to deal with the consequences, I would say you've already done too much for him., none of my ex-girlfriends ever wrote me a cute text like that when I got canceled." Timothee says laughing and Y/n laughs more.
"Oh, poor him." She says, squeezing Timothee's cheek with her free hand.
"But seriously, I bet he's completely crazy about you right now." He says, raising his eyebrows and Y/n rolls her eyes.
"WHERE ARE MY TWO PROTAGONISTS?!" They hear the director yell, and Timothee whimpering covering his face with his hands.
"For the love of God, I just want a break!" he pretends to cry and Y/n rolls her eyes pulling his hand away.
And Timothee was completely right, Lando was checking his phone every 30 seconds to see if there were any messages from his ex-girlfriend.
"Stop checking your fucking phone Lando, her not going to call." Carlos said, patting Lando on the shoulder.
The pilots were all together on a "guys' night", but Lando couldn't keep his head there.
"Yeah, she was really nice to make that Instagram post for you." Charles says sitting next to Lando.
"Sorry, I'm lost." Max says trying to make sense of the matter.
"Didn't you see? They're canceling Lando." Charles says pushing Lando's shoulder.
"He seems pretty happy for someone who's being canceled."
"That's because Y/n made a post on Instagram defending him." Carlos says and Lando smiles as he remembers.
"Y/n? Your ex-girlfriend?" Max asks, still a little confused.
"That's her." "But you don't think she wants to get back with you just because of that, do you?" Pierre says, breaking Lando's smile.
"Why else would she do that?" Lando says a little louder now and Pierre scoffs.
"She might be completely over you, which is why she doesn't feel uncomfortable doing it." He shrugs, irritating Lando.
"That doesn't make sense..."
"Actually, it kind of does." George says thoughtfully.
"Why did you guys break up?" Oscar asks, and Carlos scoffs, taking another sip of his beer.
"I broke up with her." This gets Pierre's attention.
"Why would you do something crazy like that?" Pierre asks, laughing.
"Because... Iwantedtoenjoy." Lando says this so quietly and quickly that the pilots look at each other in doubt.
"You wanted to what?" Chales asks and Lando covers his face with his hands.
"I wanted to have fun, but I couldn't do that if I was dating."
When he finishes, there is silence in the middle of it, and wide eyes towards Lando.
"If you broke up with her, why the fuck do you want to get back together?" Pierre asks indignantly.
"Okay, let me get this straight, you broke up with your girlfriend of two years because you wanted to be with everyone until you caught a sexually transmitted disease?" George says and Carlos laughs.
"No, look, I don't know, I just wanted to have fun, okay?"
"Oh, I would have had a lot of fun if I was dating her." Pierre says laughing, making the others laugh along.
"Fuck you!" He says, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen to get some water.
"Wait Lando, it was a joke!" Pierre says laughing but Lando gives him the middle finger.
"Was it a joke Pierre?" Charles asks
"No" Pierre says laughing
Lando finds a bottle of water and leans against the counter, drinking it and checking Instagram.
He never unfollowed her, and she never unfollowed him, like she said, they remain friends. In fact, she has always been much more mature than him, and he remembers how she reacted to the breakup like it was yesterday.
"It's not you, okay? It's me." Y/n sighs and massages her temple.
"Lando, I know it's not me, and it's okay that you don't want to be with me, I just need to know why, that's all."
"I want to have fun, I want to go out with guys without having to worry about someone else holding me back." Y/n scoffs at that.
"I never stopped you from going out with your friends."
"I know, but you end up getting in my way."
"You end up getting in my way." That's what he said to the woman who put up with him day and night.
"That's right Lando, if I'm just a stone in your way, I better go." Y/n says this with an expression that leaves Lando upside down, Y/n has always been very reserved when it comes to feelings.
"I don't want to lose your friendship Y/n." Lando says as soon as she turns her back. She sighs and looks at him smiling.
"You're not going, you can count on me if you need anything."
And yes, he did and she was there, just like she said she would be.
Lando went on Y/n's Instagram for the tenth time that day, maybe to read her text again, or to see if there was a new post or story from her, he doesn't really know.
He just wanted some kind of update, that's all.
He feels his heart beat faster when he sees that there was a new story from her, but before he can press the photo icon, a hand squeezes his shoulder making Lando almost drop his phone.
"Damn Carlos, what a scare." Lando says, dropping the water bottle and putting his hand on his chest.
"You weren't upset, were you? You know how Pierre is." Carlos says, patting Lando on the back.
"I know, I'm just pissed at myself, that's all." Lando says, pressing Y/n's photo icon and immediately regrets it.
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"What the FUCK is this?" Lando screams and Carlos snatches the phone out of Lando's hand to look at it too.
"Oh my God, Lando, they're eating sushi!" Carlos can't help but laugh and Lando takes the phone back, looking at those images.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
"I don't know why you're so nervous, she said herself that they were on a break from the movie, besides, you guys aren't even dating anymore." Lando looks at Carlos without answering.
Carlos knew he was a little drunk and stressed, and he knew Lando would have to deal with the consequences even in that state.
Carlos sighs as he hears Lando sniffle.
"I miss her..." He says softly, wiping his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve.
"Oh Lando, come here." Carlos pulls Lando into a tight hug.
"I know you feel that way, but things can still work out, it's not like they're posting pictures on social media or anything." Carlos tries to joke, but Lando lifts his head and walks away from Carlos, fiddling with his phone.
"That's it, I need to go on his social media."
"I didn't say that-"
"Son of a bitch!" Lando yells and Carlos closes his eyes.
"Lando, please-"
"Look at this!" He practically rubs his phone in his friend's face showing a post from Timothee.
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Liked by youruser, carlossainz55 and other people
Tchalamet 🫡
@Youruser
Youruser 🫡
Tchalamet 🫡
User1 I hope they get together Geez.
User2 I don't know if I want her or him
User3 I think she deserves someone good for her
User4 I hope this movie gets nominated for an Oscar
-
"Why the hell did you like, Carlos?" Lando yells in Carlos' face.
"I liked it? I didn't even notice."
"Yes, you liked it damn it, whose side are you on?" Carlos observes Lando's state, controlling himself not to laugh.
"I'm on her side, for sure."
"This isn't going to stay like this, not at all." Lando starts doing something on his phone and Carlos sighs for the thousandth time in that half hour.
"Don't do anything you might regret later."
"There, it's done!"
"You must be possessed or something."
Timothee was looking at his Instagram and raised his eyebrows, surprised by what he saw in his notifications.
landonorris started following you
Taglist
@emryb @sltwins @lottalove4evelyn @weekendlusting
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stellaaarree · 1 year ago
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LOOK AT HIS POUTY LIL LIPS.ABSOLUTELY BEGGING TO BE KISSED!!
teasing miguel hehe! (fluff)
you come in, miguels most likely messing around with his gizmo. propping yourself on your tiptoes, two fingers hooking into the fabric of his suit you give him a lil smooch!
“¿para qué era eso, bonita? t: what was that for, pretty?” miguel asks, his voice a little raspy and his eyes dumbfounded. “you’re pouting.” you state, still propped on your tiptoes, holding his suit.
in response miguel’s hands land on your hips, picking you up and setting you on the desk, slotting between your legs with an even more pouty expression he grumbles. “i do not pout.” a laugh slips past your lips as you watch him get all defensive. pissing him off further you ruffle his hair. his hard-ass demeanour pleading not to crumble, especially not in the semi public.
“cariño. t: honey.” he hisses. replied with a single “whaaat?” and a giggle. its too late to save himself though. lyla in the doorway, already taking pictures of miguel (our big bad spiderman.) slotted between your legs and having his hair played with as he pouts like a baby.
“lyla.” was all miguel needed to hiss before lyla was already gone, taking her camera with her. that was gonna be blackmail for a while.
you try to do a coy apology, getting half way through your “sor-” before miguel stops you with a “don’t you start, pequeño demonio. t: you little devil.” making you giggle and pull him into another little kiss by his spider suit.
A/N, holy shit!! i came back this morning to see over 200 likes on my posts?! i actually love you all so much!! also was gonna ask, would you guys read stuff that i wrote about ghost (cod mw2)?? let me know haha because i have a few ideas >o<!!💝💝
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vatelixx · 22 days ago
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On the concept of ‘want’, (part 1):
Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)
part two here.
SMUT!! (and fluff, and aftercare because im not a total hedonist), allusions to both Spencer and Reader being switches (but he’s mostly just down bad), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader (to everyone but him), reader has a very very high IQ when it comes to everything but a pretty genius— Spencer just wants that cookie so fucking bad.
Warnings: sub spencer (but also not entirely; he talks about human anatomy as he destroys her), maaaaaybe slight corruption kink (what? who wrote that there???), mentions of prior bullying and insecurity, first time (for Spencer, yess devirgin that hot nerd!!— do you think the BAU will get him a cake after?), brief mentions of past hypersexuality for reader, kinda rlly domestic. Some undertones of degradation but predominantly praise. Begging, crying (pussy so good he cried), etc etc
w.c: 5k (I feed)
a/n: Spencer’s first time getting fucked, my first time writing smut (we’re both going through it here). I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, so i’ve reverted back to my tumblr roots (im home i’m home). This is a new acc so like…. hi!!!
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Right person, right time. It’s a concept that Spencer Reid is more than aware of. Define luck, at surface level, it’s a made-up hypothesis, idealistic, fantastical. Conjured up to aid the desperate (or the delusional). It’s something he refused to humour, obstinate to the notion, well, that was until you came spitballing into his life, sharp features, sharper tongue. You could cut with your words alone, a weapon to the BAU, jagged and fast-thinking, and so entirely unattainable. Rorschach tests, and an endless sea of profilers, it doesn’t matter— he’s not sure anyone is ever capable of truly pinpointing you.
Rocky start— after you became a permanent member to the team, it took months to coerce you into dropping your guard. A year and 14 days, to be exact.
But, it was possible. Hardened words and blunt comments shifted into something more with time. A gravitational pull, perhaps, that led to evolution— you, softer with him, more tender than you’ve ever showcased before.
Maybe it was that night when he told you about highschool, about what they did to him, boys like him, who were too intellectual for their own good. Different, in every sense of the word. Bullying at such a young, impressionable age can have prominent effects, chronic stress inflicted on an underdeveloped brain, they tied him to goal posts, stripped him naked, endless torment that he still carries with him now. Maybe that’s why you lowered your defenses. Put down the sword.
And sure, he never expected anything, nor asked for anything. He was definite that he wouldn’t get to experience cliche-dating. Longing glances and anticipated moments. It’s not like he was ever the most appealing candidate, too nervous, too neurodivergent. It’s hard to grow out of the mentality that no, everyone isn’t making fun of you, not when it consumed the entirety of his adolescence. That you can walk into a room, and not be seen, targeted, as an outcast. He’s just different. But he’s also human, and the chemicals in his brain do make him want.
You apparently. Because, you looked at him softly once, and he was done. Ruined. Gone for good. Or, in Morgan’s personal opinion, whipped.
And illogically, you wanted him too. That wasn’t ever part of the equation.
But theres a pattern now— dates every weekend. Movies, cafes, museums, an endless onslaught of you. Because somehow, thanks to luck, you reciprocated. He’ll never understand why, you’re too beautiful (it’s a hazard), but he tries. He tries.
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December. A haze of christmas markets and blanketing coldness. You kiss him outside and he thinks he might be dying. You make him burn cold. He’s a logical person, so obviously he’s aware that he’s only freezing because your hands are shoved in his pockets, a desperate bid to seek warmth, but regardless, it’s more than he ever expected.
He laughs against your lips, fingers gripping the front of your coat as he draws you backwards so that you’re resting against a wall. “Mm..” he hums, “You should kiss me more often.”
Everyone knows. The entire team is aware of this, an unspoken agreement that your lingering moments and aimless touching are not platonic in the slightest. You work with profilers, secrets are never quite effective. Everyone knows, but it’s taboo, something that needs to be left undisturbed. Do they expect you to break him? Does he? Maybe, maybe it would be worth it— to hurt for you, because it’s always been you. He’ll take anything, he’s not greedy. He’ll live off scraps if he has to, anything to satiate this want that burns solely for you.
“Actually.. you should just always be kissing me,” he suggests, tone soft, “Every day of the week. All the time. And—“ he laughs, “You should also stop stealing body warmth. It’s rude. Hypothermia usually occurs when body temperature dips to around 95F, oh oh but there are so many factors to consider—“
“Is this you trying to imply you’re cold?” you ask.
“Perhaps. Or maybe i’m implying you should be working harder to warm me up.”
You’ve grown soft, he thinks. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this level of affection. But its okay, you justify, mostly because it’s him. Spencer, and his pretty smile, and strange habits (sitting cross legged on tables, drinking coffee with excessive sugar, endless facts and a plethora of soft yearning glances at you when you’re interrogating— as if you’re not tearing an unsub to pieces). It’s terrifying, constant eggshells, because you can’t hurt him. Not like the others, distant fragments of your past.
You laugh in response to his comment, admiring the sight of him: flushed, with swollen lips and dilated eyes. He deserves to be like this, so thoroughly assured that despite all odds, you’re invested. All cards on the table. “You have a lot of requests, boy genius.”
He smiles boyishly. You’re hard lines, sure, a blade that can draw blood, but somehow, somehow, he’s always left unscathed. “Alright,” he answers, “You want requests? Here’s one, stay the night. Come over, stay over, i’ll cook breakfast and try not to burn it— and, and you can have the good side of the bed.”
“Spence,” you mutter, because of course there’s an underlying intention to ‘staying over’ and you're trying to be good here. To not let this fall into your past mistakes of sex and inevitable self-inflicted disgust. A cyclical cycle that clings to your skin. Everything is so new to him, the intimacy, the affection, and it’s nice being able to witness it— to see his reactions to innocuous touches, always disbelieving that he’s capable of this.
Fresh-eyes, so untainted to the sharpness of modern ‘love’.
You cup his face, god, under the dim shadows of the streetlight he’s beautiful. It’s a little alarming to be honest. More so disheartening really, because despite how much you remind him, he never believes you— obstinately refusing your compliments, as if you’d ever mock him. No, he’s different. He’s tender and disarming, and sometimes it feels unholy to touch him with calloused hands.
But, to Spencer, there is nothing unholy to this; the second you touch him, the entire universe crashes down into a singular moment.
“Just stay the night,” he reaffirms. It’s taken him over a month to get to this point, to be able to voice his wants, to comprehend his wants. Now, his thumb traces its way down the side of your face, tangible, real. “And tomorrow morning, there’ll be coffee and pancakes and—“ he laughs, “And there won’t be any regrets. I promise.”
You’re looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly disbelieving (because he’s somehow stumbled through the minefield of you without any consequences). He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t make me beg. I will beg.”
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To confirm, he makes you incautious, irrational, willing to blatantly disregard any sort of control. Of course you end up at his apartment; the moment he mentioned begging, you were already half-way down the street.
Spencer’s place is… well, it’s everything you’d expect of him. Scattered novels adorning the floor, a mess of untidy thoughts, neglected papers on science, endless open textbooks left half-abandoned for other pursuits. It’s so him, clean but discombobulated.
He wants to apologize, make excuses for the lack of order, he probably should. He doesn’t do that though. He only crosses the room, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you, just gazing down. He has no idea what’s to come— for once, there are no patterns, no statistics he can reference.
So, he reaches for you, fingers tugging at the edges of your jacket. “Arms. Up,” he instructs and god, it’s a stupid order, but you follow it without any protest. He folds it over the couch, abandoned. Putting it back on alludes to leaving, and he’s hopeless enough to never want you to leave.
His hands then gravitate back to you and he starts to tug aimlessly at the material of your shirt. It’s been raining, and the fabric is soaked. “Hm,” he hums, “Off. Take it off.”
You laugh at that. Straight to the point. You don’t follow his orders, because one was certainly enough, and you’ve never been the type to obey blindly. Instead, you grip his waist, drive him back towards the nearest surface. An end table, some books go clattering, light damage, they’ll survive. His response is a gasp, a hitch of the breath.
“I was promised the good side of the bed, breakfast, pancakes. But sex? Hm, did you invite me over just to get in my pants? I’m wounded, Reid.” you mutter, pressing a series of soft kisses along the curvature of his jaw.
“No! No,” he retorts, breathless, “I was going to get you some comfortable clothes to change into. Damp clothes breed bacteria. You made this dirty,” Adding, “And not in the way I was concerned about.” under his breath.
You roll your eyes, “Oh, here we go—“ sure, you have the experience he lacks, but you’ve been on your best behavior. Dirty? That’s an insult to the exhausting self-restraint you’ve upheld recently.
“Yes— i’m the dirty one here, clearly.” you scoff, “Just casually corrupting you,” You tug him away from the end-table because you don’t want him bruised in any way, shape or form (it’s actually distressing; when you’re working, you seem hellbent on making sure no one even thinks about laying a hand on him. Unsubs be damned.)
Ego-centric, completely independent, individualistic until he came along.
You push him back against the couch, watching as he stumbles, as he falls. For a minute he just lies there, looking up at you with hazy eyes— pupils dilated and lips parted on a half-pained gasp.
And it’s a sight to see, the brilliant prodigy, the young genius, his normally-composed features now twisted into something stricken. His hands tighten around the material of the couch and he lets out a sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan.
“Oh—“ that’s just a clear-cut moan, “You can definitely definitely keep corrupting me, in fact I endorse it. Completely.”
“3 PHDS, 2 B.A’s and you’re currently asking me to corrupt you? I don’t know, Doctor Reid, that’s certainly very forward,” you say, moving to sit on his lap, aware that you really should entertain this spot more often, even if you’re at severe risk of deflating.
Deflating. God. When did it come to this?
He laughs, “You’re the only person in this entire world that makes me act without a single coherent thought,” IQ abolished. “So yeah,” he murmurs, fingers tracing mindless patterns across the exposed strip of skin above your waistline. “Defini-definitively corrupt me.”
It’s taken so much to get to this point. So much to unpack, to understand, from Spencer’s perspective. There’s a lifetime of bullying that he has to dismantle, and sometimes he still anticipates the punchline when you kiss him— the biting laughs, not entirely dissimilar to school, when someone would belittle him, fake being his friend just for entertainment value.
So, when you stumble into the bedroom, when you remove his shirt, he knows this is improvement. He’s fighting this internal battle, unsure on how he should act: coy or defiant. Both, really. He wants to cover himself up, to pretend like you don’t disarm him, to fight and fight until you make him bleed. Anything, he’ll take anything from you.
“You are so so pretty,” you mutter when he’s sprawled out across the bed. You’ve never been someone to resort to praise; sex had always been cold and clinical, something to relieve stress, to undermine the burden of work, and the endless weight of sanguinary. But now? If he is the eye of the storm, then you’ll happily commit to the chaos of this.
“Careful, you’ll make me inherit a disorder here.” he mutters. Narcism— he’s the least likely to ever develop such symptoms. “Or cry. I could cry, it’s a potential. Maybe break-down?”
“Or,” he adds, his hands tracing up towards your shoulder blades. “All of the above. The trifecta of issues. It’s very likely.”
He rolls over on top, you’re down to just your lingerie now, pretty lace contrasting against your skin. Removing your clothes had been a whole ordeal, he’s fairly certain he almost died; you’re the epitome of beautiful, and he’s not sure how he ended up with everything when he was so resolute, silently accepting, he would always obtain nothing.
“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know, I feel like my body has lost the ability to function at the moment.” he breathes out.
“You should definitely kiss me,” you confirm, posing it as a choice, one that he has any say over— when in reality, youre already tugging him closer. Lips meeting lips. It’s not sane how the world fades into a nebulous haze the moment your mouths connect; time remains constant, logistically, nothing has changed. But it’s just so much that for a moment you doubt the concept of existence, doubt everything but him.
Genius falling for genius. Only you could laugh when he traces molecules into your skin. Spelling out words with elements: Livermorium, Uranium. LV U, it might not be an exact replica of the three worded phrase, but it certainly gets the point across.
“Spence—“ you bite into his lip, tugging the soft tissue between your teeth.
He groans, whimpers, pulls you closer, eliminating every infinitesimal distance between, slotting his hips against yours. He draws away from your mouth, lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck as he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it against the bed. His free one is now wandering, slipping beneath your panties to touch.
“Do you know how much I studied about human anatomy after you first kissed me?”
“Weeks.” he answers when you respond with a muffled groan. Your hands are on his back now, tracing the journey of his spine. He’s in over his head, but there’s so much want, so much he wants to do but never thought he would be capable of. And oh, when he begins to draw circles against your clit, slow experimental halos, those soft touches of yours evolve into grasping, gripping. By the time he’s got a finger slotted inside, he’s fairly certain he’s being scratched. Nail indents and faint white lines, souvenirs.
“I know about every erogenous zone the human body possesses, every single one.” He says, because whilst he might lack in physical experience, he has enough intellect to memorize placement, biology. Plus, he’s a fast learner. His finger bends, and both of you moan.
“Spence— fuck, feels good.” you gasp, tangled hands clutching tighter, tighter again until your knuckles are white and you’re trembling.
The human body is something of a fascination to him; the way it reacts, how each nerve and ligament can respond to even the most tentative of touches. But you aren’t every human, you are you, and he has an insatiable desire to discover and catalog every single response your body gives.
He adds another finger, slowly, eyes fixed on your face, gauging the reaction. When he curls both digits, a sharp exhale is your response. “I’m convinced I’ve discovered new anatomy facts in the last few months, just because of you.”
Maybe it’s not fair that he’s so good. First times are supposed to be fumbling and awkward, a mess of hormones and inexperience. To say you haven’t been touched like this before is a severe understatement. The meaningless sex, the onslaught of bodies doesn’t measure up to him, the way he’s so focused on how you respond, on what your body enjoys— it would be endearing (and it is!), but you're currently too preoccupied to voice such a notion.
“Doing so good, holy shit—“ you mutter, blissed out beyond comprehension. You're making art on his back, only vaguely aware of the pain. Though when you realize you’ve scarred his skin, you're drawing away, moving to tangle your hand in his hair instead. But Spencer doesn’t even care, doesn’t even register the inflictions; he likes the physical marks you leave behind, a tangible remnant of all you do to him.
And sure, he’d laugh, usually, at your responses. But it’s hard to laugh, when his own ability to form any coherent sound has been completely destroyed. He’s a mess, his breathing shaky, and his brain is a constant buzz of fragmented musings consisting of you, you, you.
He draws his fingers out, earning a discernible groan, maybe a fuck you (which he does intend to do). But right now, he’s already slotting his face between your thighs, removing those soaked, ruined, panties of yours. He doesn’t have a single thing to compare it to. But he already knows this is his favorite place to be, and he’s fairly certain he’ll be spending most nights between your thighs, learning and memorizing every reaction and noise, each movement, and the ways to repeat them.
He runs his tongue along your clit, savoring just how wet you are, a mess that he can bury his face into. You’re looking down at him with something akin to shock now, and he can only laugh, blow air against your clit, then drag his tongue back over the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth to suck.
His movements are tentative at first, unpractised, but soon gaining confidence. He doesnt need to do this, you're aware— you could take him now. And yet, hes here, between your thighs for no reason other than want. Your reaction is visceral, because it’s always been about efficiency in the past, quick touches to get you there before the other person can derive their own pleasure from the act.
He’s not like that. God, hes not like that at all.
“Oh,” is all you can say, gripping his hair down to the root, instructing each movement until he gains incentive, finding repeat patterns that your body reacts to. Then, you can only arch and moan, noises filtered out into the air. He’s back to opening you up now, two deft fingers pressed inside, working diligently to tear you apart.
“Oh? That’s all you have to say to me? Oh?” he retorts.
“Shut up,” you huff, “Put that mouth of yours to work.”
“Mhm— I plan to. God, you’re so perfect.” he mutters, voice distorted, muffled. “That’s it—“ he fights the urge to explain exactly what’s occurring in your body every time his fingers abuse that spot. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy.
He’s certain he’s memorized most areas of your body from years of pining, and that’s what brings him an unrepentant sense of satisfaction. Because he was memorizing your body, you, long before he even got the chance to touch or taste you.
“Wanna stay here,” he says, and he’s being petulant now, because there’s something so good about being reduced to movements. To follow the pattern, to take care of your body, mindless to anything else but you. Pussy-drunk, to put it less eloquently.
“Shit,” you buck up against his mouth, watching as he buries his face entirely into you, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, nose bumping bumping your clit, consuming his senses entirely.
“Use my face, yeah. ‘M all yours anyway.”
“Fuck, fuck fuck— Spence. Gonna cum—“
When you fall apart, inevitable, he doesn’t stop— not until you’re boneless and spent beneath him. Back arching, stars burning through closed eyes. Pretty constellations that have you blissed out beyond belief. The pleasure is white-hot, feverish in intensity.
And then he’s moving, shifting his body back over you. He’s all soft touches and languid kisses against your mouth, not bothering to break contact as he settles himself fully over you, the weight of his hips pressing into yours. He’s hard, dick pushing up against his boxers, his sexual libido had always been low until you came into his life. Now, his wants seem to fight for release constantly.
“My turn, I believe.” he grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Not that you have to, of course. It’s not an obligation, uh— more so a beg?”
“Of course it’s an obligation,” he goes to protest, to say you don’t owe him anything, so you sigh. ��A thankyou, maybe?”
Fumbling hands, still shaky from pleasure, undo buttons. Unclasping his belt, removing loose fabric until he's bare before you. There’s something nervous to his gaze, something unspoken, lingering in the air. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay,” you promise, before your eyes shamelessly look down. He’s straining, pre-cum lingering at his tip, dick pressed up against his stomach now. “Fuck, okay— yeah. Good. Great even.” first time you've ever stumbled over a sentence in your life.
There’s so much to be concerned about. The fact he’s naked, that you could destroy everything with a few serrated words, years and years of rebuilding, reconstructing. But you don’t— and he can’t help but laugh nervously. “Glad to be up to your standards. I’d uh, hate to disappoint.”
“Always the over-achiever,” you respond, shifting away from him— there’s amusement to your expression when he groans, pitifully, when he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.
Predictable. Condoms in his bedside table. At least he's prepared. You open the wrapper with your teeth, discarding it somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs and sheets, too hellbent on finding him again.
Oh, in this position, you have full, unrestricted view of his body. Endless planes of skin, begging to be marked, sentenced indefinitely to your touch. By the time you straddle his hips, hes a flushed mess beneath you. “I— um, you look really really pretty right now.” he stumbles, idiot.
His dilated eyes take you in. Every contour and curve, the way your hair hangs over your face, eyes up eyes up eyes up. He fails when you run your hand across his dick, thumb brushing against the tip. By the time you’ve slipped the condom over him, hes gone. Bucking and moaning, and so so much better than his hand could ever be.
He wants to be inside of you, but it’s hard to think right now, let alone vocalize the words. I want, he thinks, I want everything, with you.
Your name is on his tongue, muttered and repeated, a reverent prayer of sorts. He needs to gain back his control here, to return to equal footing.
“Yeah—“ he breathes out, “So much of an overachiever, considering I had you making all of those noises—“ his words falter, die out, when you sink down. When you take him. Wrapped around, tight. Warm heat that sets alight every nerve in his overstimulated body. He has half the mind to apologize for his comment because you’re about to ruin him, he knows.
“I thought you wanted me to corrupt you, hm?” you retort. The pace is slow, mostly for his own sanity. Though, the feel of him, the way he slots into you, warm skin pressed against warm skin is intoxicating, and it’s a battle to keep your composure. To not just fall apart under the weight of him.
“What’s that, pretty boy? Struggling? Because you were so egotistical a few seconds ago? Where’s all that ego gone? Straight between your legs, I think.”
A whimper. It’s a whimper, a pained thing ripped straight from his throat. He’s making indiscernible noises now, messy sounds pooling from his swollen lips. The praise, the strained undertones of degradation? It’s too much. But god does he love you for it, because that’s you through and through. Sharp, and brittle to everyone but him, he wants to look, he does, albeit he has to turn his head to the side, bury half of his face in a pillow because he’s gone. At this point, he can only take it.
“I— um, mhm. Yeah,” he slurs. He’s almost incoherent at this point; he’s been reduced to nothing, just a mass of skin, bone, and flesh at your disposal, to own and use and he can’t find it in himself to feel humiliated about it, not when it’s you.
“Can’t— um, I was wrong, you’re— oh god,” the sounds of your body hitting his, back arching as your pace picks up. “Oh, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry —baby, can’t, can’t take it. That’s…”
It’s a lot for his first time, that’s for certain.
“Yes, you you can. I know you can, Spence.” you mutter, interlocking your fingers, letting them hang near your hips. “You feel so good— so so fucking good. Look at you, so brain dead for me. Taking it all so well, love.”
Love?— oh he wants to be buried with that one. He’s a mindless disaster, impenetrably devoted to you alone.
He doesn’t even know how he’s saying words at this point, it’s as if his brain-to-mouth connection has been severed by your very presence itself. It’s not possible to form a coherent thought when you’re riding him like this, taking him so deep that he’s seeing stars. There’s tears pooling in his eyes, he looks pretty when he cries. Especially when it’s derived from pleasure, when he can let go of the burdens, everything he’s endured, when it’s just sensation. Nothing more, no more thoughts.
There’s safety here, an element of home, home home bliss, that has him keening. He wants to stay buried here forever, where nothing can ever hurt him again. When it’s just you, and your pretty words, and your exploitative power to destroy him. You never do, anyway. Even when you could, you restrain.
“Can’t, ’m gonna…, Please, please, don’t stop.” he whines, “Pleasepleaseplease— oh, can’t— I can’t.”
He grips you tight, rolls you over, mostly so he can feel you closer. The sight of you riding him was excruciating, but this is worse because now there’s no gap separating you. Now, he can bury his face into the crook of your neck, burn himself in the warmth of your touch.
“Spence..” you mutter.
“I know. I know—“ hes ruined, sloppy thrusts, whimpers catching against the stifling air. “Feels s’good.”
He doesn’t know what to do, how to breathe, so he just runs his thumb over your clit, watching your prominent reaction, watching as you gasp, moan— oh, and then you’re clenching around him, tightening the pleasure, and yesyesyes.
You’re too gone, moving still, and he can only cant his hips forwards, buck and squirm until he’s sobbing under the weight of your ministrations, releasing so hard that he can barely remember his name, no cognitive function, in the haze of his orgasm.
“There’s my boy— so pretty for me.” he can vaguely hear you saying, and if you’re talking him through it, he can only hear snippets of praise now anyway.
“Mhm— mhm. Yours, yeah.” he mumbles, body sinking against the sheets, a few little whimpers escaping his lips as you milk the rest of his pleasure from him.
Tangled limbs and sweat-stained skin. “You okay?” you ask in the aftermath.
“So okay,” he agrees, shifting closer, back pressed against your torso— sue him for being little spoon.
──────────────────
The next morning, you wake to an absence of Spencer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. So, you're quick to fumble over the buttons of one of his shirts, fabric creased, matching the tousled nature of your hair, disheveled, remnants of the ruination of last night.
For a moment, you consider that he might’ve left — but there he is, in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast.
“Hey,” you mutter, leaning against the counter to watch.
Scratches adorn his back, indent marks from your nails, crescent reminders, stain his waist, and he’s content to wear them. If anything, he can’t wait to add to the budding collection.
Pancakes. The good side of the bed. Coffee. All of his promises from last night are being thoroughly met, even if he’s burning the food, and shit, he didn’t realize the coffee would be finished so soon. For all his calculations, he’s fairly off-center today.
And then, you come padding across his kitchen, embellished in only his shirt, unbuttoned near the top to expose your collarbone, and he’s fairly certain the last remainders of his IQ disappear.
“Hi! Hi,” he says, wide-eyed, “Um, making.. breakfast. You look, wow yeah.”
Breakfast lays forgotten.
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artdcnaldson · 5 months ago
Note
in the sex lessons au, reader was definitely introduced to porn by patrick. i bet he also gave her massages that “required” her to take off her shirt and bra and always ended up with his hands on her nipple….
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Rating: E (18+)
Warnings: SMUT (mutual masturbation, exhibitionism kinda, more manipulative perverts but that’s par for the course)
A/N: how did you know I eat this up. I wrote a 3 part Steve Harrington fic with this exact plot like…. This is my bread and butter simply. Unedited sozz
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It was easy to succumb to temptation when it was just the three of you— holed up in Art’s dorm, hidden away from the rest of the world.
A few cans of beer, cold from his mini fridge, the warm press of your legs on top of Patrick’s, of Art’s chest against your back. There’s a movie playing on Art’s laptop— some shitty action movie he’d rented for the three of you.
“Have you ever watched porn?” Patrick asks you bluntly.
Your eyes widen in surprise. “What? No— websites like that give you computer viruses, and stuff.” Art laughs, his body shaking with it. You suppose it is a little childish, but you’re being completely earnest. “What? Doesn’t it?”
Patrick laughs, shakes his head. “If that were true I would’ve gone through a thousand computers by now.”
You grimace, toss an empty beer can at him. “You’re so fucking gross.”
But Patrick just laughs, takes another swig of his beer, leans forward curiously. “So… I mean, do you just use your imagination when you’re touching yourself?”
Heat burns in your cheeks, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up.”
“Well, how do you know what you need to imagine if you’ve never seen anyone fucking? Is it just sweet kisses and hand holding?”
You kick him and Art comes to your defense like the sweetest knight in shining armor. “C’mon, Patrick, leave her alone.” Art’s hand is splayed across your tummy— firm, warm, protective. Patrick pretends like he doesn’t hear him, leans closer.
“I wanna know what innocent little fantasies you get off to. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It’s hard to resist Patrick when he’s so close, when Art’s so close, when you feel warm and dizzy all over.
You sigh softly, relishing as he presses his warm body against your side, so it’s Patrick and Art and you sandwiched hot between them. “You realize you’re being a major fucking perv, right?” You ask in a low tone, meeting his gaze through your lashes. He nods, and you’re so conscious of his hand between your knees as his eyes bear into yours. But he wants you to continue, so you swallow and go on. “I dunno, sometimes it’s not about a fantasy. It’s just about me wanting some stress relief, or, like, my body needing it and it’s too hard to ignore.”
Art’s fingers flex against your stomach and you take a slow breath. “But, I mean, I guess I fantasize about being desired, like, taken care of I guess,” you mumble, mortified that you’re admitting it.
Patrick grins, runs his thumb along the inside of your knee. “That’s so sweet.” You roll your eyes, take a long drink, and try to ignore the heat in your stomach. “Do you want to see what Art likes to watch?”
Art’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. “No, no, we’re not doing that,” he says firmly. Patrick brushes him off, ignoring his pleas as he grabs the laptop and pulls up his trusty porn site. You peer over Patrick’s shoulder, eyes going wide as he opens to the home page, to all the recommended videos.
Your jaw drops, just a bit, and you let your eyes rake over the screen. It’s all right there— flagrant. Pretty girls with dicks in their mouths, pussies, hands. Lewd titles, the preview videos playing brief glimpses of obscenity.
“Aww, Art, this is so adorable,” Patrick teases as he scrolls. “Girl best friend deepthroats like a champ. Morning lovemaking ends in creampie.” Art mumbles something against your shoulder, blushing so hard you can feel the heat emanating from his skin.
Patrick clicks the latter and it opens to slow, deep kissing. A mess of tongues, rife with need. You know it’s normal to watch, to an extent— a right of passage, or whatever. But watching it feels so voyeuristic, so invasive. Especially when you’re practically in Art’s lap, when Patrick’s hands are hot against your skin.
Patrick gets bored of soft kissing and wandering hands and skips five minutes ahead in the video. By the time the buffering catches up, they’re fucking onscreen, all slow and sweet. Still kissing, still holding hands. But you also see the way the man’s cock sinks into her, can hear the moaning, the wet sounds of her body taking him in.
Art exhales a shaky breath against your skin, makes you shiver. He’s hard, you can feel that clearly against you, and you know he’s provably fucking mortified over it. But he doesn’t move to turn off the video, doesn’t do anything. His hand twitches against your stomach and you realize he’s still holding you.
The video is short— too short, you decide. The man finishes, you get a close up of the woman’s pussy, of cum dripping from her entrance. It makes your face burn, makes desire burn equally as hot as your embarrassment. The video ends, and Patrick stops auto play.
“Art, that shit is so fucking boring.” It snaps your attention from the paused screen over to him, who seems completely unaffected. You might actually believe he was unaffected if he wasn’t visibly hard.
You peer over at Patrick curiously. “What do you watch?”
He smiles, like he’d been waiting for you to ask, and grabs the laptop. Art makes a weak complaint that Patrick is going to fuck up his recommendations, but is ignored. Patrick logs in to an account and opens a tab for liked and saved videos.
Oh. You lean forward for a better look, expression twisting between shock and interest and confusion and disgust. Patrick’s tastes vary widely— venturing into areas you hadn’t even known were sexual. It’s like he had thrown everything at the wall to see what would stick, and everything just stuck.
“Oh my god, Patrick,” Art mutters, equally as intrigued as you are. “What the fuck, dude.” Art steals the laptop, scrolling through thumbnails of feet and anal and gangbangs and piss and bdsm dungeons and girls in stupid fucking schoolgirl costumes.
Patrick grabs the laptop back roughly, scrolls and clicks. “This one’s good, it’s perfect for when you just want to cum fast. Art, I know you don’t have that problem.”
Art flips him off and looks at the screen, reading the title aloud. “One hour squirting and cumshot compilation. Could you be any grosser?”
“Yes, actually. Sorry I don’t watch your sweet lovemaking bullshit.” Patrick shoves him, then Art shoves him back, and suddenly the laptop is on the floor in front of you and you’re just watching while they squabble on either side of you.
The video is exactly as described— it skips all of the pretense, all of the build up. It’s just people cumming, over and over and over. Your body feels like a live wire as you watch, lit up all over.
You squeeze your thighs together, conscious of the heat and wetness between them. Patrick clocks it— of course he does. A smirk plays at his lips.
“Maybe it’s not so disgusting, Art. She likes it.” Patrick relishes in the hazy, innocent look in your eyes as you meet his gaze. Relishes in the embarrassment and the need. “It’s good, huh? Getting to watch?”
You nod and Patrick takes your hand, slips it beneath the waistband of your shorts. “Go ahead. You want to.”
You shiver, temptation itching down to your fingertips. Sensing your hesitation, Patrick spits into his hand, slips it into his own shorts. You manage to hold out a few more seconds before you let your fingers brush over your clit.
“C’mon Art, don’t be a fucking creep,” Patrick says, moaning as he works his fist faster. Art swears under his breath and quickly shoves his own hand into his boxers.
You’re all so close, bodies pressed together hot and firm. You can feel the way their bodies move with each stroke, the way their thighs tense as they instinctually buck into their fists.
You moan, head falling against Art’s shoulder. His hand splays against you, inches up, brushing against the underside of your tit. It makes you whimper.
Patrick grabs your face, redirects your attention back to the screen. “Keep watching, it’s getting good.” His voice is strained, affected.
He usually lasts longer than this when he’s in your hand or your mouth, but maybe the video really was that good. Surely it didn’t have anything to do with you, panting and writhing as you rubbed at your clit beside him.
For once, Patrick cums first— doubling over, groaning muffled into your hair. Then it’s Art, whining so pretty, pulling you closer, mouthing at your shoulder as he comes down. And then you, overwhelmed by the two boys on either side of you, cumming with a rush of wetness that ruins your already soaked panties.
You sit there panting as the video continues playing— obscene wet, lewd sounds, wanton moans. Art hits stop, shuts the laptop and kicks it away.
You wonder why every time you hang out with them, it always seemed to end like this. And you wonder why you don’t mind, not even a little bit.
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captainreecejames · 5 months ago
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Can't Have a Good Thing || My ex is a footballer LS2 edition
[masterlist][my ex series masterlist]
summary you go from dating an american footballer to an american driver
pairings ex!christian pulisic x reader, logan sargeant x reader
warnings probably a little anti pulisic but i still love my baby
notes pictures are from pinterest so thank you to all those lovely users (as I wrote this my english teacher from 11th grade came into my job and it was not fun!)
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May 2023 ynusername posted -------
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liked by cmpulisic, reece and others
ynusername final chelsea game of the season, love you guys
chelseafc awww we love you too yn ❤️ by author
cmpulisic always love having you there ��� ynusername wouldn't want to be anywhere else
username1 look at my girl dawg, chelsea is embarrassing her ↳ username2 please, christian didn't even play
reece once a blue always a blue ↳ username3 NAH WHY IS THIS SO CRYPTIC ↳ username4 you can't say shit like this then leave DUDE
username5 that chrisyn interaction screams for help ↳ username6 i wouldn't be surprised if they're not dating anymore but trying to keep up appearances ↳ username7 breakup statement incoming ↳ username8 can we get fabrizio to comment on wag breakups please!! ↳ username7 lol can you imagine a here we go! breakup is official! peak comedy
cesarazpilicueta 💙 ↳ ynusername love you too capitan!
July 2023 real life ---------
It’s been a rough few months in the house for the two of you. Christian’s time at Chelsea was most likely coming to an end, and you had just started a new project at work, so your time was filled with that. Nights spent making dinner and laughing together turned to plates left in the microwave and lights out early. Mornings started with short wake up kisses to hardly whispered goodbyes.
In fewer words, the relationship was falling apart. You barely knew what was going on in each others lives anymore, it’s no surprise when he tells you he’s leaving Chelsea.
Chris is still in Florida with his family, enjoying the last few days off before preseason. You had been with him for the 4th of July, but needed to fly back to London almost immediately for a new project and you’re exhausted. When he Facetimes you it’s almost 11:30 at night and your still sitting in your home office, but with how excited Chris is, he can’t tell that you’re operating on extremely low levels of energy. You want to be excited for him, but you can see the writing on the wall.
“Hey babe.” You know what’s coming, but it doesn’t make the shock any less. “I’ve got some big news.” He waits for you to say something, but all you do is blink and nod. “AC Milan are going to sign me.” He waits again for you to say something. “Did you hear me? I’m leaving Chelsea.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” Your lack of enthusiasm confuses Christian.
“Then why aren’t you excited?”
Your apathy turns to frustration quickly and you shift in the chair. “Because, Christian, I’m not just going to blow up my life in London to follow you to a new city. I’ve got a job here and it’s going well. I don’t want to have to start all over again. Not to mention learning a whole new language. Have you considered how isolating that would be for me?”
“So what, I just rot at Chelsea because you don’t want to move?” He is now just as defensive as you, words biting at the holes that have formed in your relationship, making them grow.
“I didn’t say that!” You sit up even straighter, putting your phone down against the computer so it stands on it’s own.
“Well it sounds like you don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want to pack up my life and move to a new country where I don’t know anyone.”
You could see the fight leave his body as he came to the same realization you did. “What’s going to happen to us?”
“I think we’re done Chris.” You can feel your heart break that last little bit with the words you say. You love Christian, but with everything you’ve gone through, it’s not enough.
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September 2023 real life ------
In one hand you held your phone, looking down at the details of your train back to London, in the other a hot chocolate to warm you up in the brisk wind of Oxford. It’s how you missed the body in front of you and ended up falling straight on your ass because of it, hot chocolate splashing onto your shirt.
“Fucking hell,” you whispered, pulling your shirt away from your body so it didn’t burn.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” said an American accent. You groaned in your head, not wanting to deal with this. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.” They put a hand in your face, gesturing to help you up, which you took. 
“No, it was my fault, I was staring at my phone,” you told them as they pulled you up. He was strong, and also probably a little awkward as he was still holding your hand.
“Me too, so I really won’t let you take the blame.” His awkward smile was also cute, but you tried not to think that, it wouldn’t agree with your ‘no boys agenda.’ “Do you need another hot chocolate?” The cup was empty at your feet, making you wince. 
“Yeah, probably another shirt too.” It’s at that point that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, and he drops it.
“Let me get you one.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You’re still very early for the train, but travel anxiety is terrible and you want to leave soon.
“I insist.” Something about his smile and red cheeks makes you say yes to him, and you’re really not sure why. “I’m Logan, by the way.” He’s leading you back into the line of the cafe, smiling at you still.
“I’m YN,” you tell him.
ynusername posted ---------
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liked by logansargeant, benchilwell, and others
ynusername exploring oxford finally
bsfinstagram babe you run into any quidditch players ↳ ynusername bitch you know i'm swearing off athletes
username7 damn why are you so beautiful
samkerr 💞 ↳ ynusername ugh bestie i love you
pulisick10 'SWEARING OFF ATHLETES?' Christian mate pulisic what did you do!?! ↳ username8 that is so fucking harsh though like pulisic really did a number on our girl here ↳ pulisick10 ben chilwell still in the likes tho ↳ username8 nah her and ben are friends, like ben was always close with christian and just cause he left doesn't mean that she can't be friends still ↳ username8 also she's still good friends with the women's team ↳ pulisick10 well that's cause the women are better ❤️ by ynusername and bsfinstagram ↳ username8 NOT HER LIKING THAT but also won't argue with that
logansargeant at least the weather was good ↳ ynusername youre right, thank you english sun who comes out once in a blue moon ↳ bsfinstagram I'm questioning things ↳ ynusername well you shouldn't
username11 she's sworn off athletes but has a formula 1 driver in her comments... ↳ username12 fake bitch ↳ username13 two people can be friends right? ↳ username12 she breaks up with christian because of the distance but is talking a driver like he isn't gone more than half the year, she's definitely fake for that ↳ username13 how do you know that's why they broke up ↳ username14 she doesn't she's just being a hater ❤️ by ynusername ↳ username11 damn all this fighting on my comment thread?
username12 not yn liking so many comments, do you read them ↳ ynusername gotta appreciate a good laugh ↳ username13 yn stalks her comments like a real one should
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yn's messages -----------
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November 2023 yn's messages ------------
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real life --------
Your hotel room is kind of a mess, with clothes thrown around and various pieces of paper on the floor. It’s not really a surprise to Logan, even though he hasn’t known you very long.
After a long day exploring New York City in fairly okay weather, the two of you are relaxing in your hotel room before dinner. “Can I ask you something?” Logan asks. He’s currently sitting in the desk chair, feet propped up on the desk and head hung back. 
“Go ahead.” You’re on your bed, laying like a starfish.
“Would you say yes to going on a date with me?” You sit up straight, staring at him with wide eyes as he doesn’t move.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“No, I’m asking if you’d say yes to me asking you on a date.” His clarification makes you narrow your eyes, but he still doesn’t move. 
“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”
That gets him moving, turning the chair to look at you. “So would you say yes or no?”
“I’d say no right now.”
“What about in a month?”
“In a month, when we’re both back in England, I’d probably say yes.”
“Cool,” he shrugs, going back to putting his feet on the desk. “Then I’ll ask you again in January.”
ynusername posted ---------
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liked by logansargeant, alexalbon and others
ynusername look who came to visit
lilymhe booooo bring me next time ↳ ynusername you're welcome whenever, he invited himself ↳ logansargeant literally not true you asked me to come ↳ ynusername stop lying! i wanted thanksgiving but you have this job that makes you fly across the world to drive a stupid car or something
oscarpiastri look at him jumping for joy for you ↳ ynusername yeah well, what can i say, I'm a dream come true
bsfinstagram ahhhh just under 2 weeks until you come home!! ↳ ynusername I missed you so much ↳ bsfinstagram debrief over wine incoming!
username18 nope she is definitely dating this driver ↳ username19 it's so weird cause like if she really broke up with christian because of distance then isn't this just so much worse ↳ username20 i don't think they broke up just because of distance, things were probably weird for a couple of months before hand cause she wasn't going to as many mens games, she was definitely going to the women's games though.
timothyweah did you get a hotdog from the hotdog guy? ↳ ynusername yes... why? ↳ timothyweah cause they're good and i just want to make sure that you did ↳ ynusername okay timmy
chelseafcw don't stay too long we miss you ↳ ynusername aww, i miss you guys too
May 2024 ynusername posted--------
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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others
ynusername Miami you can be pretty but you're on my shit list
landonorris no whyyyyy ↳ ynusername idk might have something to do with my boyfriend dnfing at his home race. ↳ landonorris oh, okay ↳ ynusername but i guess congrats on your win ↳ landonorris thanks ynnnnn! ↳ oscarpiastri someone is still drunk
logansargeant ohhh he's handsome ↳ ynusername yeah and he's got a jealous ass girlfriend so beware ↳ logansargeant love you too babe
username23 finally confirmed that they're dating only seven months later
1K notes · View notes
logaenhowlett · 1 month ago
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THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IN HER HANDS - L.H.
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Summary: After months of watching you relentlessly try to gain control of your powers, Logan finally takes matters into his own hands.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader
Warnings: Fluff - so much damn fluff, Slight angst, Language
A/N: Suffering from writer's block on a plot-driven angsty Logan fic so I wrote this to focus on something else. Shout out to End by Frank Ocean. Enjoy!
MASTERLIST
“You’ve been going at it for hours.”
His voice makes you pause, shifting your concentration to the man leaning against the door frame. Logan watches as you swing your head down, possibly frustrated by his interruption.
“Professor said I’d get better at this,” You swipe the sweat off your face, grabbing your drenched shirt as it clings to your skin, “It’s been months and I'm nowhere near strong enough.”
He huffs in amusement, he would often catch you in moments like these, tiring yourself hour after hour till you were exhausted enough to finally pass out. It reminds him of his early days at this place. Young and eager to prove himself to everyone here, that he was capable of being good once again.
“Old man doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about.” A measly attempt to shut down your self-deprecation, he knows nothing will convince you otherwise, that much he learned over the last few times he tried reasoning with you. When you shoot him a questioning glance, he relents, raising his hands up in defense. “Alright. But you’re not doing any good wearing yourself to the bone.”
“I just want to be like Storm and Scott and you.” 
“Well, if that’s the case, the bar ain’t that high.” A teasing grin shining as he approaches you, the annoyed expression on your face does little to stop him. “Come with me.”
“What?”
He chuckles at your confusion, wandering dangerously close into your personal space. “I wanna show you something,” He murmurs.
Flirting isn’t a new concept to him at all. Though you never get used to his attempts, always brushing it off with the assumption that it’s just a game.
“Logan - I need to keep practicing.” You take a few steps back, creating a little distance from his very distracting presence. “It’s the only way I’ll get better at controlling this.”
“Okay.” He drags out, “You can still keep doing this when we come back.”
As you contemplate his request, he knows he has you convinced, a grin tugging on his lips. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
When he leads you to the mansion's garage, you recall all the times he'd whisked you away from moments of misery and fatigue. He seemed to have this innate ability to know when you're in over your head, too absorbed into whatever you were doing to take a step back and relax. A tinge of embarrassment creeps into your thoughts, feeling bad for him to constantly keep checking in as if you were incapable of knowing your limits. Fuck, I'm a mess. You snap yourself from going down the negative route, shifting your focus to Logan, a chuckle escapes you.
“You know he hates it when you steal his bike, right?”
He swings a leg over, revving the engine. The sound seems to unintentionally comfort you, your mind having subconsciously associated it with him. Despite Scott being the owner of vehicle, he rarely saw it since it was Logan’s choice of transportation. Fucking dickhead, he used to curse up and down, unwillingly giving up after Charles reasoned with him one too many times. You remember the entire ordeal, having to intervene during one of their many childish fights when Scott attempted to blow up Logan’s ass.
“I’ll fill up the tank.”
“No, you won’t.” A short laugh leaves you as you wrap your arms around him.
He flashes a smile, tilting his head back to ensure you’re properly seated. “No, I won’t.”
You hardly pay attention to his driving, instead mindlessly watching the scenery zip past. It wasn't the first time Logan had taken you on a ride. In fact, after the initial fear, you had grown fond of this time you got share with him. A quiet and peaceful journey where you could turn your restless mind off and simply enjoy each other's company. An unspoken vow of trust had always lingered between you two, which was something he cherished more than he could ever express. He smiles softly at the weight of you resting on his back as the breeze encompasses around you.
“How’d you even find this place?” You ask, sliding off the seat as he kicks the stand.
“Used it for shelter during that snowstorm a while ago. The bike gave out on me.”
You hum in response, spinning on your feet to look around. It's an abandoned gas station that had definitely seen better days. Despite all the damage and vandalisation, it was an oddly interesting location, a lake nearby overlooking lush fields. Nothing in Logan's expression gives away his intention of bringing you here. He slowly steps backwards, a hint of a smirk tugging his lips and when he's a decent distance away, “Hit me.”
“What?”
“Use your power, sweetheart. Don’t be scared, you can do it.” It's rather encouraging and not at all akin to his usual cocky tone.
“Logan - what, no!” You exclaim, finding his proposal ridiculous. “I’m not - I can’t even fully control it. What if I hurt you?”
He scoffs, amused you could even suggest such a thing, “Well, you’re gonna have to control it, aren’t ya?” When you make no attempt to try, his gaze softens, “I can take it.”
You take a deep breath, channelling your focus to create a ball of energy between your hands. Despite being small, it hits him with enough force to push him back a few steps. A groan leaves him as he clutches his stomach, you shift to run towards him but he lifts his hand, making you stop.
“Again. Don’t hold back.”
This time you think of Charles, remembering all the lessons and training sessions you've had with him. Where you had always doubted yourself, he had constantly reassured you and your ability to control your gift. The ball of energy grows more between your hands, crackling with intensity. Using all your might, you aim at Logan once again, hitting him square in the chest, thrusting him back several feet, the impact denting the ground in the process. He stands up feeling a bit lightheaded, though that sensation disappears as he flexes his muscles, grateful for his healing factor.
“I did it!” You laugh in surprise, running to him.
His arms immediately wrap around you, slightly lifting you off the ground. “You did it,” He says with a faint smile, taking in your satisfaction.
Caught up in moment of finally making progress, you notice the lack of space between Logan and you. And suddenly, his hands on your waist, his tender expression, it all becomes too much, making you pull back. “You’re insane. That could’ve gone so wrong,” You spit out, trying to relieve some tension.
“I trust you.” He whispers, softly.
Your body seems to be on fire, everything about this begins to overwhelm your senses. With a shaky breath, you try stepping away from his gentle grip.
“Why do you always run from me?” His words still your movements. His eyes can't seem to find yours, instead settling on the charred ground beneath him, "I know… you feel this too.”
“I’m - I don’t…”
“Let me in, sweetheart. I won’t run away.” He approaches you, giving you the space to reject his advances. ”I promise.”
When you don't respond, he hangs his head low, accepting your decision. “Let’s go home,” He mumbles.
As you walk down the hallway to your room, you can't seem to shake the urge to run back to him. You take a moment, hand grasping your doorknob before you spin around. Within seconds of knocking on his door, he swings it open catching your distinct heartbeat on the other side.
“Logan - I just…” The words die on your tongue. Every little feeling you'd held for him comes rushing forward. As he stands there, growing concerned for your wellbeing, all you can think about is kissing him till the air leaves your lungs.
“You okay?”
That's enough for you to slam into him. You grab the collar of his white shirt, pulling him down. Your lips find his own, slowly moving against the soft flesh. It takes him less than a second to comprehend what's happening before he reciprocates your actions.
You tilt your head back, inhaling his comforting scent. He continues peppering kisses on your face, unable to stop once he finally got a taste. “I'm sorry, I was scared. I am scared,” You whisper.
“I know. But I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you.” He murmurs against your lips, “If you let me.”
Your smile sends flutters to his heart. His low chuckle echoes within you as he leans down, capturing your lips with a hunger he'd suppressed for as long as he could remember. When your moan teases his senses, he lifts you with ease, one arm securing your waist and the other gently stroking the underside of your thigh. He lowers you down onto the bed, noting your exhaustion from earlier. Sliding right next to you, he presses a light kiss on your temple, pulling you into his warm embrace. A silent promise that he'll never let you go.
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