#recovering from a writing block

[stvrchaser]

second chances

( pairing ) : sparrow!ben hargreaves x umbrella!gn reader 

( about ) : the brellies lost ben, but the sparrows lost the reader. the two reunite, but ben doesn’t seem so eager to catch up.

( warnings ) : angst, they actually hate each other – ben is a pain in the ass, the reader is no better, no happy ending bc they never resolve the problem… happy reading!

( words ) : 1800

( note ) : the person who requested this scenario asked for angst and i took that personally… anyway, the dialogue popped up in my head and i just had to write it down. i didn’t specify whether the feelings are romantic or not, so it’s really up to interpretation. also, i think this is the first work i’ve written in the past tense… no clue why i did that but my brain just wouldn’t have it any other way. i hope you guys don’t mind (but please leave your thoughts. i might keep writing in past tense in the future, if you guys prefer it)

*** also im really sorry about any duplicated paragraphs below the cut! i have trouble with this every time but i just can’t seem to get the formatting right :(

People don’t change overnight — everyone knows that. A person is too complex to turn over a new leaf in such a short span of time. Still, you dared to hope.

Things had gone well last night, all things considered. With the influence of alcohol and some newfound optimism for the newly-weds, Ben Hargreeves — the one who seemed to suck the life out of everyone whose oxygen he breathed — had been surprisingly tolerable. You’d hoped for it to last.

A stupid assumption, really.

From the way he stepped out of the elevator, alone, you should have known better than to keep your hopes up.

“Hey. You’re awake,” you greeted him, careful not to sound too chipper. Every second spent with him was calculated; each step held the potential to destroy the progress you’ve made, if any.

“Hey. You’re awake,” you greeted him, careful not to sound too chipper. Every second spent with him was calculated; each step held the potential to destroy the progress you’ve made, if any.

Situated by the kitchen counter, you made the best of what you had to cure a hangover — just a variation of tea, coffee, milk, sugar, and water. You supposed it made sense that your options were so limited. One can’t exactly go grocery shopping when most of the world is in ruins. You poured Ben a cup of tea, anyway. “Is Klaus on his way down?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he snapped. Whatever had been left of you that hoped things would change for the better suddenly retreated. It was as if he’d taken a needle to puncture your hypothetical bubble.

“Oh.” You tried not to sound too bitter. “Sorry. I assumed you guys patched things up after last night. You were practically attached at the hip.”

“There’s nothing to ‘patch up.’ We don’t even know each other.” He was being particularly nasty, spitting words like venom. You refused to stoop down to his level.

“Here. Have some tea,” you offer, setting the cup in front of him. Then, to lighten the mood, you tried to joke. “I don’t think the timeline changed your tastebuds, too.” He didn’t react, at first.

Seconds later, the change in him was almost palpable. It flashed through his eyes and coursed through him with such intensity that you swore you felt something in him snap.

It made him furious that you knew he preferred to take tea over coffee. Even worse, you knew exactly how to brew it. Except, of course, you didn’t know how he takes his tea. He’d never told you that. Well, not this version of you. You knew how to make Ben – the other Ben – his tea. This was just another excuse to compare the two of them again.

“Could you idiots stop smothering me?” He pushed the cup aside, a trail of steam left in its wake. The familiar hint of bergamot was intoxicating. Haunting. It flooded his senses, and while its scent was something he normally welcomed, the circumstance had made it strangely unsettling.

“We’re just trying to get to know you.” That was familiar, too – the infuriating, confounding, expected tone of compassion. One he hadn’t heard in years.

“Take the hint! I don’t want to get to know you. Any of you. I was drunk last night. Klaus kept bothering me. If I was sober, I wouldn’t have—”

Your blood boiled with fury to match his own. The personal jabs at yourself were bad enough, but there was something about the insults directed elsewhere — toward Klaus, of all people — that was simply unacceptable.

“That’s not fair,” you cut him off, your voice suddenly changed. You didn’t sound quite angry, but determined to get your defense across. “Klaus was trying to—”

“I don't care!” His fists slammed against the counter, the teacup trembling as he did. It creates a ripple, resembling that of a storm and the strong wind which might disturb the sea. Had you not been in the eye of the storm, it might have been mesmerizing. “It doesn’t seem like the rest of your siblings do, either. It’s just you and Klaus. You can stop pretending to give a shit. Maybe that’ll get him off my back.”

“Fine,” you surrendered. You meant it this time. “I’ll leave you alone. Just… go easy on Klaus, alright?” But Ben’s mouth kept plowing through your patience, like he didn’t believe you were willing to admit defeat so easily.

That was one thing they didn’t have in common, this stranger and your friend. Your Ben would have been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“You don’t even know me. I’m not your Ben. I’m not pathetic—”

“Stop it.” Your rage punctured through your patience, bleeding out in continuous droplets, steady like the ticking of a clock. “You can say whatever you want about the rest of us, but I won’t let you ruin what we have left to remember him by. Everybody loved Ben. And the fact that they were trying to get to know you meant they could have loved you, too.” You stopped yourself to draw a breath, to express your disbelief and to keep your voice steady. “Hell, they probably still do. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been a dick this entire time. Right now, you’re the closest thing we have.” The explanation only upset him.

“You sure have a fucked up way of showing it. When you walked into the Academy, what were you planning to do? Erase us out of existence? And now that you can’t do that you’re trying to play nice so we’ll do whatever you say? You don’t love me — whatever that means to you people. You probably didn’t even love your Ben.”

You had the urge to send the steaming cup flying into him so that he might feel the way his words burn. You settle and retaliate in the closest fashion.

“I’m not playing some sort of game here. We’re not trying to manipulate you into believing that you’re better off on our side. You have a family. I get that. But have you considered that, maybe, it’s so difficult to believe that we loved you in another timeline because you’ve never felt loved like that here?” Ben tensed, and you knew he considered the possibility. You knew you hurt him, too.

“You’ll say anything to convince me, won’t you?”

Maybe you would have. Maybe, you would stoop so low to exploit his grief just so he could acquaint himself with the guilt and misery you’ve suffered — agony he couldn’t care less about unless, perhaps, he learned to suffer it too.

“You want proof? All of us left the Academy the moment we could. It didn’t matter that we had nothing to our name or… or that didn’t know anything about the world. We left because there wasn’t any reason to stay. But we fell apart way before that. Do you know why? It’s because one of us died. Our Ben died. It was bad enough when Five disappeared, but at least we could hope he was somewhere out there. We could hope that we might see him again. We buried Ben’s body. And we were so distraught that we let it tear us apart. We would have done anything to have him back, even for just a day. We still want to, to make up for every year we wasted when he was around and didn’t prove to him that we loved him. We would do anything to make up for every year we’ve grieved after we lost him. If you’d just give us the chance, we could show you.”

“No! You leave me out of this. You fucked up the first time around. That’s on you. I’m not gonna be your second chance or whatever to make you feel better about yourselves. You’re just upset because we pulled ourselves together.”

His words struck hard, leaving lacerations the size of rivers in jagged topography. Had the damage been physical, you were sure it would have bled you to death. But it wasn’t. Somehow, that made it worse.

Somehow, bearing the truth in mind prolonged a bleeding heart. And it wouldn’t stop so long as you lived.

“You know what, you’re right. I’m pretty fucking upset about that, too.” Ben looked surprised. You thought it might have been the only expression you’d ever seen on him, aside from bitterness. “I died in this timeline, didn’t I? I died for the same reason you did. But look at all of you.” You might have laughed. Or sobbed. But a noise escaped you for just a split second, and Ben seemed to realize what you were suggesting. “The Sparrow Academy stays standing, even after what happened to me, didn’t it? I’m the one you didn’t care about.”

“Don’t turn this around.”

“No,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to belittle my family because we miss our brother. You don’t get to think you’re so much better when the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because you don’t give a shit about anyone else.” You let your tears fall, but your demeanor never faltered, not even as you approached him, eyes ablaze. “Being cold and heartless might have given you an upper hand, but that does not make you better than me.”

He leaned closer, still seated on the stool. Mocking. With only a marble countertop setting you feet apart, the end of the world wasn’t consuming the rest of the world outside. 

Damn the Kugelblitz, really. The end of the world should have started in that room.

“No, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re all weak. You never stood a chance. You were always going to fall apart.”

“At least I’m trying to get it together. I’m trying to piece my family back together. I tried to get to know you because I thought, somewhere in there, I could find Ben. My Ben. I just wanted my family whole again. But you? You don’t even care that I’m here.”

He shouldn’t, he thought. It didn’t matter that you and the Y/N he knew had so much in common — more than he and the other Ben, anyway. You weren’t the same. Not really. You never would be.

“Because you’re not Y/N. They would have never been so pathetic.” 

You let out a laugh, dispensed in short breaths, each of which seemed to force him to sink lower into his seat.

“And I’m sure they trusted you with their life, didn’t they?” 

Your voice sounded patronizing, but held a greater cruelty than you imagined. While impossible to envision, you had meant to this stranger as much as Ben had meant to you. Suggesting that the sentiment wasn’t returned… 

Well, it would haunt him as Ben’s death haunted you. 

“I’m sure they felt comfortable enough, safe enough, to be vulnerable around you. A cold, selfish bastard.”

“You don’t know anything,” his voice trembled. He looked pale. Undone.

Distraught.

You delivered the final blow.

“I know that no version of myself would have ever trusted, much less loved, someone like you.”

[that-was-anticlimactic]

if i loved you like i'm capable of

Chuuya stared at him, eyes wide before bursting into laughter. “Phah! Dazai was right—you are high-strung!” they cackled, slapping their knee with their hand.

“I am not high-strung!” Kunikida argued. “Unlike you, I actually have a set of ideals and morals that I strive to live by. If that makes me high-strung to the world, then so be it. At least I have those to fall back on.”

“Hm,” Chuuya hummed, all traces of laughter vanishing within seconds. Although their chests were practically touching, they somehow managed to stalk even closer. They hooked a finger around Kunikida’s collar and pulled him down, ignoring his indignant squawk and red skin.

“You seem pretty high-strung to me, even without all your ideals. Looks like you could use a break, pretty boy.”

[or, kenji, chuuya, & kunikida have a sleepover & bad flirting ensues]

🛏 7,045 words | kunichuu & kenji 🛏

a gift for my beloved @zukkaoru because they had to listen to me complain about writer's bock for two months straight, they wanted more kunicuu, their kunichuu spam yesterday inspired this, & bc i'm biased & love them <333

[geombyu]

pairing: shin yuna x gn!reader, genre: fluff, meet cute wc: 207 warnings: everything's in lowercase AWFUL

you were on the train to school, hugging your bag to your chest, listening to your favorite song, and letting your eyes drift off to her.

she always took the same train, but she didn't go to your school. you couldn't really tell which school she went to from her uniform, but that wasn't important.

she's incredibly pretty. she has beautiful long black hair, and cute eyes—the sunlight making her brown pupils glow just right. she's mostly on her phone during the train rides, like now.

feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see it was you.

she smiled and waved, and it takes you a while to process that she waved at you.

at you.

your eyes widened, and you could feel the heat rushing to your face just from a simple smile and wave. you waved back awkwardly and she shifts her attention back to her phone.

little did you know, her heart was pounding as well from the short interaction. she always saw you on the train with your headphones on, looking lost in thought.

she wanted to talk to you just as much as you wanted to talk to her.

it's funny how strangers don't know the other knows of their presence.

©geombyu/gyuury.

[seventh-district]

.

[racingliners]

I have no idea what to write for the next LITFL chapter

[thetomorrowshow]

tiger

empires superpowers au masterlist

this is a dark one sorry :( it hearkens back to the heavy angst of the main fic, so do what you will with that. i've put the entire fic under the cut just bc i'm a bit more nervous about this kind of thing atm.

cw: dehumanization, food, abuse, starvation tactics, treatment of a human as an animal (typical of the main fic)

this story takes place during jimmy's captivity.

~

The first time it happens, Jimmy’s still new to this whole thing.

He’s being good. He’s quietly kneeling under the table, his head pounding and a bad taste in his mouth. He’d been in the observation room for the past however-long, and even though he hates this meeting room, it’s nice to have a change of scenery.

Xornoth is there, of course, not touching him but instead eating something—dinner, probably, from the smell. Jimmy hates it when Xornoth eats in front of him. They know exactly what they’re doing, they know how little he’s fed. But he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t spoken in so long, he’s not even sure he’d remember how.

He doesn’t need to speak, though, as his body takes care of that for him. It’s some type of steak or something, he can tell, and the smell of it is so mouthwatering that his stomach can’t help but cry out in a desperate attempt to get its owner’s attention. It gets more than just Jimmy’s attention, though.

Xornoth stills, looks down at him. Jimmy keeps his eyes on the ground, cheeks burning. He’s going to be in trouble now, isn’t he? It seems like everything he does is a death sentence these days. What’s it going to be today? The whip? The tentacles? Just a good old punch to the jaw?

Xornoth, however, doesn’t even seem all that perturbed. Their smile turns vicious and they dab at their blackened lips with a napkin before speaking.

“Are you wanting to be fed?”

He doesn’t nod. He won’t give his captor the satisfaction. Xornoth only sighs, then with one gloved hand, plucks a bite-sized piece of steak from their plate. They wave it slowly in front of Jimmy.

And Jimmy really wants that steak. He’s not sure how long he’s been here—he was kidnapped in August, he knows October has passed, too long too long too long—but the best thing that he’s eaten in all those months has been an orange. He’s mostly been surviving off of peanut butter sandwiches with the occasional bruised apple thrown in. Perfectly cooked and seasoned steak, tantalizingly held in front of him, ready for him to take? It’s the first glimpse of proper food after forty years of manna.

“Beg for it,” Xornoth tells him, and all his hope flies out the window.

He’s not going to beg. He hasn’t sunk that low. He’s not going to die of starvation, so he’s fine with what he’s got. He gives a little shake of his head, turns his eyes to the floor.

Luckily, Xornoth doesn’t argue. They tsk, but turn back to their meal.

He doesn’t really have anything to be angry about (he has lots to be angry about, he reminds himself, he can’t forget that), but it irks him anyways. He’d somehow held onto the hope that even through refusal, Xornoth would allow him at least a taste of the food.

But soon enough, Xornoth is done, knife and fork clinking against the plate as they set them down. They pat Jimmy on the head one more time, then rise and leave the room.

That’s usually when a handful of guards arrive to unchain him and take him back to his cell, but as Jimmy waits, nothing happens. After hours of kneeling on the floor alone, he finally dares to move, shifting his legs so that he can stretch out a little bit.

Xornoth doesn’t return.

Xornoth doesn’t return for a long time.

-

When they’re back, Jimmy’s started shaking so badly he can’t make himself stop. He hasn’t had food or water in too long—his internal clock is so screwed that it could have been one day or three and he wouldn’t have any clue—but it’s too long and he can hardly see straight.

Xornoth doesn’t acknowledge it, just sits in their chair and works quietly, not even petting Jimmy’s hair. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the lack of the awful touch, but it’s as if Xornoth hasn’t taken any notice of his condition and he needs food. Xornoth is his best chance at getting it and they won’t even look at him.

Time is hazy in its passing, so Jimmy’s not sure how long it’s been before someone brings in a meal for Xornoth. It smells sickeningly heavenly, entirely indiscernible but desirable, and Jimmy can’t help that his dry mouth attempts to produce saliva. He hates this. He just wants to go home.

There’s a couple of minutes of the sound of silverware against a plate, then there’s a hand in his face. A hand with, pinched between its fingers, a chunk of seasoned potato.

“So hungry, aren’t you?” Xornoth murmurs. “Beg for it, pet.”

Jimmy’s cheeks burn. This is another one of their games, isn’t it? Starve him until he can’t help but obey. He hates it. He hates Xornoth, he hates everything about this place. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to!

His body is starving, though. He needs to try and get his strength up. He can cause accidents on purpose, now. He can escape. When he’s out of here, this moment of humiliation will be buried and forgotten.

Slowly, haltingly, he bows his head, further and further until he’s almost lying prostrate. He nudges his nose up against Xornoth’s boot, hoping to convey his . . . submission, he supposes, as bad a taste as the word leaves in his mouth.

A click of their tongue. “Come now, darling. Beg.”

He can’t talk. Xornoth knows he can’t talk. 

It’s even more mortifying than anything else so far, but Jimmy is desperate for food. He needs something, anything. He can feel that he’s going to collapse soon. He just has to survive, and survive by any means necessary.

He can’t speak, but he lets out a whine. He whines, nudges at Xornoth’s leg, gives them the most pleading look he can muster without vomiting out of disgust.

Xornoth smiles, a cruel, sharp thing. “Close, pet. We’ll work on it. Here.”

With that, they drop the chunk of potato on the floor.

It could be a trick. He could go to eat it, only to have his fingers stomped on. But he’s just too hungry to care.

He scoops it up with both hands, fingers shaking too badly to properly pick it up, and, with one more glance at Xornoth, shoves it into his mouth.

It’s so very salty that he nearly chokes, but it’s too good to lose—the rest of the seasonings are so good they make his stomach turn, he’s so hungry, so he swallows it quickly without savoring to try and fill that hole in his stomach a little bit quicker.

Then he waits, licking his lips to catch any last vestiges of flavor, to see if Xornoth will offer him any more.

They drop a small piece of pork eventually, which Jimmy again grabs and shoves into his mouth. He freezes, mid-chewing, as Xornoth takes his hands and examines his fingers. Their face settles into a frown.

“We’ll work on that, as well,” they say, dropping his hands. “In the future, you are to only pick up the food I give you with your mouth.”

Well, if that isn’t just the cherry on top?

There’s nothing he can do to change their mind, though. He’s here to survive, not to be comfortable.

He needs to get out of here, and soon. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to take eating food off the floor like an animal.

Hopefully, he’ll be out before it comes to that.

-

Graceffa finds it strange, they can tell.

Xornoth cuts the gristle from their meat, holds it at their lap. Their pet eats it from their fingers, lips brushing their gloved hand briefly.

He’s becoming so well trained.

“Why do you do that?” Graceffa asks suddenly. “I mean, it’s kinky, but I thought he wasn’t part of that?”

They don’t answer immediately, taking a moment to wipe the grease from their leather glove onto their pet’s cheek. “Tell me, Graceffa, have you ever known anyone who privately owns a tiger?” they ask once their glove is clean.

Graceffa nods.

“Those owners often use the dangerous beasts as a spectacle,” Xornoth continues, still gazing down at their pet. “They swim with them, hand-feed them, beat them—all to show that they’ve become master of one of the most formidable animals in the world.”

Their little bird isn’t listening—or if he is, he isn’t comprehending. The look in his eyes is far away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shorts.

“Pet,” they say softly, and their pet’s attention snaps to them. They jerk their head to the side. “Beg our guest for scraps.”

He nods and crawls under the table until he reaches Graceffa’s leg, nudges against his knee. “Please, sir,” he rasps, voice almost a whisper. “May I have your scraps?”

Graceffa meets their eyes, lips spreading into a slow smile. “I see,” he says lowly, picking a string of fat from the pork on his plate. Under the table, their pet licks it from his fingers, swallowing without even chewing first. He starts to shuffle back, only for Xornoth to kick him sharply in the bony thigh. Their pet cowers.

“Thank him,” they admonish. Their pet swallows several more times.

“Thank you, sir,” he manages. Graceffa laughs shrilly; their pet starts at the sound and scoots back toward Xornoth, pressing himself close to their legs.

Coming back to them for comfort and safety. Exactly as they want it.

Their hand comes to rest in his hair, and they feel him relax slightly under their touch. Graceffa continues speaking, but they don’t pay much attention. They have plans for their pet after this.

There will be blood on this table tonight.

[tenspontaneite]

Tdp give us the S4 release date so I can book a week+ off work for it challenge

[silentknives]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖

I like to be called: i’ve adopted “fizzu” as my mun name, so i’m gonna go with that.  

one thing you should know about me: in periods like these where i have the biggest writer’s block, or creative block in general, i’m 90% still interested in the plots i’ve discussed with writing partners!! just because i’m not actively writing, i still have all the established and developing plots/relationships in mind. i sometimes decide to drop threads, but i’ll always talk to my writing partner about it. doesn’t necessarily mean i’m not interested in the overall plot and character developments anymore. because i still am, i promise. :’)

thing you should know about rping with my character(s): Emily is naturally a loner, so she can be quiet and distant, and when spoken to, says things bluntly. especially when meeting new people. depending if your character is on her good side, she’ll warm up to them pretty quickly. more emotional than i initially wrote her!

joy to work with: ??? like specific people or???? 

first language: english

age range: under 13  |  14–17 | 18–22 | 23–25 | 26–29 | (30+) | 40+ | 70+ am

okay with nsfw?: (yes) | no | some nsfw**

my favorite/most common thing to rp is: ( angst ) |   (  fluff  )   |   (  smut  )   |   (  crack  )   |   (  action  )   |   ( plots )   | ( AUs ) |   (  violence  )   |   (  darker themes  )   |   (  other  )  

this rp blog: does contain ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts | occasionally contains ooc

Tagged by:  @notsoinnocentlittleangel

Tagging: anybody who’d like to participate in this!

** “some nsfw” meaning i’m willing to write some nasty, descriptive sex or violent scenes, but only if our characters have an established relationship, chemistry, or we’ve talked and plotted extensively ooc. 

[yeleltaan]

😶 + "How are you so sure that communion is necessary, Cayin?" The storm-haired knight looks over the waters of Liurnia, over his traveling companion relishing in the spoils of recent battle. "What if you have been slaughtering your brethren for naught?" @fulgurantfirstborn

Send 😶 + a really uncomfortable question and my muse has to answer it | not accepting

Bloodied hands grasp lightly at his own crossed arms beneath the fabric of loose sleeves, his arched back and bowed head completing a sitting stance which allows not even a peek into the man under the hood. With new scales still freshly formed upon his skin he chooses to let the cloth conceal most of it, easing the strain of maintaining his illusionary veil over permutable flesh. As he rests and lets change find its way through his shape he listens for any new trace, any further call to guide him towards another one of his kin- so long as it doesn’t deviate too far from his current partner’s path.

The effort is swiftly abandoned once the latter’s voice rises to pose a question, and he’s reluctant to offer an immediate answer. His consideration is not so much for the response he must return, more so centered around the inquiry that beckons it, around the knight’s decision to pose it. Out of the disguised wanderer comes a low, rugged whisper that barely breaks silence, the effort behind it gives further insight into the delay as his throat is still rough and not entirely finished adapting.

“I wonder if you’d ask me the same if I were simply eating them.” And for how much Gwynfor has been made to wait, the reply he’s offered is blunt, disjointed, before Cayin chooses to elaborate further. “...If I were something big, and old, and I happened to feed on them. Would you be so adamant then? Attempt to dissuade me from taking what I need to prosper?”

But that isn’t much of an answer, is it? He should speak candidly, lest he be assumed to avoid the topic out of insecurity.

“...Unless I fail, Gwynfor, this won't be for naught. Mine is… no small goal, and if I were to find some alternative, I cannot imagine that it wouldn’t have a large cost of its own.” But perhaps it’d be one that his companion wouldn’t find so displeasing. He ponders if he’d be nearly as vocal if it was the hearts of trolls instead, or of albinaurics, examples among other peoples coming to his mind.

“As we speak there are many seeking to achieve goals of their own, and some of them likely stand in the way of ours. We’re in a race we don’t know the terms for. Unless that alternative chooses to present itself to me, it’s not something I can afford to pursue.”

@fulgurantfirstborn

[punishing-eden]

Brain fog is real

[ghwosty]

so I've been struck with an idea for a story for first time in a long long time, but alas I have lost the ability to grammar

[moonshinemagpie]

a little sentence i wrote today

[shewroteaworld]

I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't

Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Word count: approx. 3,200

TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals

(Y/N/N): Your nickname

Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!

“Does anybody have more water?”

“Where is the damn ambulance?”

Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open. 

Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair. 

“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning, 

“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”

Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die? 

“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked. 

You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid,  couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

 “What I do?” You whined. 

“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”

“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.” 

You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.

“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.

Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to. 

Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously.  The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.

Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Honey–” Morgan tried. 

You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.

“She needs water.” JJ countered.

“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”

Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.  

You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?

Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.” 

Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.

“(Y/N), relax.”

“Honey, please–”

“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard. 

***

Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations. 

He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list. 

But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world. 

Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.

Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.

When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.

You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat. 

He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay. 

“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.

“We’re trying, she—”

“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.

Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness. 

“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face. 

“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said. 

Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice. 

“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.

Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered. 

“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”

“This was for her to drink.”

“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.” 

Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”

Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass. 

“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline. 

“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.

Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly. 

Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”

“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.

Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further. 

“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”

“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.

Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”

“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”

The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious. 

Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.

Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”

“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident. 

“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.

You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was  parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.” 

Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.

He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.

“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”

The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid. 

“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict. 

“I can’t…I don’t know.”

“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”

“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.

Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs. 

One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.

After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again. 

“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”

He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”

***

Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update. 

“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded. 

“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked. 

Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”

“Can I see her?” Spencer asked. 

“Yes. Only two at a time, please.” 

Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.

The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.

Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station. 

You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior. 

So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends. 

He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.

***

When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back. 

“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked. 

He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.

“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”

You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”

He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.

There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital. 

His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore. 

He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–

“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”

“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.

“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.

Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health. 

“What hurts?”

“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.” 

He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people. 

“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button. 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”

The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case. 

“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”

You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body. 

In Morgan's words, he’s down bad. 

“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway. 

Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.

“Um…”

Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”

You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”

“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.” 

“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further. 

He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.

You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.

“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.

“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”

Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling. 

“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.

“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said. 

Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.

He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall. 

“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”

Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”

Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”

You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end. 

And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.

There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness. 

Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”

“And who says you don't make her happy?”

“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.

Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.

“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.

Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.” 

“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.

Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”

Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.” 

Rossi left Reid staring at his back. 

For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue. 

But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.

But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.

And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.

And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.

Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)

Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)

Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.

Forever grateful,

shewroteaworld

[adviceformefromme]

How to win this month…

Speaking life into yourself daily, no more judging yourself because you didn’t go for a run, or wake up at 5am. Choosing to love yourself unconditionally. Choosing to write those affirmations and stick them on the bathroom mirror, choosing to infuse your mind with loving, kindness, gratitude and all that yummy stuff on an hourly basis.

Focus on move the needle tasks. You want to write that book, loose 100 lbs, compete in the Olympics - whatever is your PRIMARY goal in life (and choose the primary one only), focus 100% on that task. Creating momentum around this one thing each and every day. Your primary goal should be your only focus. Secondary goals, are irrelevant. Nothing comes above your PRIMARY GOAL, and doing small little tasks each day to support this is how you make progress.

Organised days. As much as the feminine loves, flow, ease, loose unstructured days this truly does not bag you the life of your dreams. Break your day into 4 hour blocks, setting tasks in each block from when you wake up to the evening. This allows organised, focused, and productive days.

Using your resources wisely, if you’re still recovering financially from xmas, or on some kind of budget, ensure you spend wisely. Choosing health over aesthetic, choosing the Pilates membership over the designer trainers. The intolerance test over the sculpting facial. Investing in the inside before the outside is a priority. Making smarter financial decisions from a place of inner love.

Main character energy. Putting yourself first on a whole new level. No more thinking about the guy who you’re not even dating, no more putting mental energy into anything other than becoming your very best self. Period. If it’s taking mental energy from your purpose , from those move the needle tasks, from your organised days, from spending wisely. RE-ALIGN, create space and re-centre and get back on the track. We're winning the race this year.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

helloooo, could you write a fic where the OC is also a f1 driver and they're Lando's rival, buutt one race weekend she goes into his driver's room to argue with him but they do more because they're both frustrated? like pure smut

The Fine Line || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!driver!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, angst, smut WC: 1.6k F1 Masterlist

No one tried to stop you as you stormed through the McLaren garage, ascending the stairs two at a time just to reach the driver's room quicker. Your heel planted on the door and it flew open with a bang and left a handle sized hole in the plaster where it struck.

"I get that you don't like me but you don't have to drive me into the fucking wall, Norris."

Lando had barely returned to the room after crashing out of the race with the collision but you were too angry to see the state of his undress, his fireproof shirt carelessly strewn across the floor.

“You really think too highly of yourself,” he scoffed, pulling the door out from the wall and slamming it closed. 

“So you didn’t cut into my line and take me out?” you dared, the video footage proof that it was exactly what he had done.

“I can’t stand you, why would I want to go anywhere near you and your precious racing line?” he growled as each step brought him closer until he was dominating your personal space.

Your lips pulled up into a taunting smirk and you tilted your head back to meet his eyes. “You are awfully close, for a man that doesn’t want to be near me.”

His eyes traced the curve of your lips before he dragged them back to your eyes and he dipped his head to whisper in your ear.  “You came here first.”

Your mouth was dry as you swallowed and the room suddenly felt too hot. “Because you put me into a fucking wall, Norris.”

“This is putting you into a wall,” he said as he pushed you back. 

You waited for the impact but his arm snaked around your back and his palm cradled your head before the contact came. His entire body was pressed the length of yours and a needy whine escaped your lips as the race high and adrenaline left your body screaming for an outlet. 

“You like that? Hmm?” he smirked but you returned it as you rolled your hips and felt his erection proudly digging into your stomach.

“Don’t take it personally, Norris, it’s not you, you just have the right…bits.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He fingers toyed with the zip and your collar, waiting to see if you would slap them away in this strange game of chicken. The only sounds were the quickening of your breath and the tear of Velcro before he drew the zip down your body and saw your skin-tight fireproof shirt beneath. 

You dragged your nails down his back and smirked as he groaned at the heat that flared from the five angry red lines. Nipping at his jaw, he bucked his hips before you pushed him away. “And I don’t care.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled when he recovered and combed a hand through his messy hair. “Just admit it, you want me.”

“I want you, Lando,” you admitted as you opened the door. “I want you…to stay the fuck off my race line.”

Two Months Later You had the cash ready in hand when the knock at your door came, but it wasn’t who you expected on the other side. 

“Blocking me?” Lando huffed as he pushed his way inside your suite. “That’s fucking low.”

You rolled your eyes at the scathing attitude. “You think I wanted a penalty? I wasn’t even impeding you, there was plenty of room if you used your eyes to look for something other than the paddock bunnies.”

You started to close the door when the food you had ordered arrived, the poor man looking unsettled as his eyes danced between you and Lando. “Are you alright, ma’am? Would you like me to call security?”

The hostility was palpable and you chuckled as you took the bag, handing the money over with a sizable tip. “I can handle him, thanks.”

He clearly wasn’t all that satisfied but nodded and left, wishing you a good evening before you closed the door. The entire hotel didn’t need to hear you and Lando’s war of words. 

“You can’t even handle qualifying,” he scoffed, peeking over your shoulder into the bag. “Is that katsu?”

“Yes, and no, you are not getting any.” You wanted to eat it while it was hot but you couldn’t ignore the papaya elephant in the room. “Did you come here for anything else?”

“Like what?”

“How would I know? I don’t know what goes on in that little head of yours. But I picture it’s something like that monkey banging cymbals together on repeat.”

“You were right with the banging,” he muttered as he helped himself to your mini bar. “Wrong with the animal.”

“Gross.” Effectively put off your food, you pushed the dish away and decided a drink was better. Lando was leaning against the countertop, his legs wide manspreading and his arms crossed, trying to look dominant. He watched you bend down to grab a miniature bottle of champagne from the fridge, not bothering with a glass as you popped the cork. 

“Want a sip?” you offered. “It’s the closest you’ll get to tasting victory.”

“God I hate you,” he growled as he pushed your hand away. 

You chuckled and took a sip of the sweet bubbles. “There’s a fine line between love and hate. I think you’re just confused.”

“Okay, I love to hate you.” 

You stepped between his legs and placed your bottle next to his on the bench. He watched with half hooded eyes as you reached for his belt and made no effort to stop you from unbuckling it. “Is that why you always find a reason to come to my room?”

“Don’t act like you don’t get off on it too.” His arms uncrossed and his hands drifted over your hips before disappearing into the back pockets of your jeans where he squeezed your ass. His breath teased the shell of your ear as a hand snaked up your neck until he cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing beneath your eye as he whispered, “I remember seeing tears last time, you came so hard.”

“Those were tears of disappointment, that you couldn’t last longer,” you lied. The bastard was right, no one could make you angry like he could but it made for some explosive sex. 

“I can go all night, baby,” Lando chuckled darkly before his hand dropped to the base of your throat and he crushed his lips to yours. His fingers tightened slightly, warning you of his strength as he pulled back and bit his bottom lip in contemplation. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you again.” 

The colours of your clothes clashed as they were abandoned to the floor, his McLaren papaya and your Alpine pink proving just how badly the two together were. But it didn’t stop you from taking him to your bed, from your bodies colliding with desperate need, from crying out his name in ecstasy. 

His body bore the marks of your nails, and yours held the marks of his mouth, where he had nipped and sucked his way across your collar. There was no care given between you in the primal need to chase a high, an outlet for the fire that burned inside of you, except for where you marked each other.

“There they are,” Lando chuckled proudly as his fingers left bruises on your hips, pulling you back to meet his hips with every long hard thrust. His pace was relentless, your thighs shaking as you lost all sense of self and screwed your eyes shut as you felt them begin to sting. 

Your throat was hoarse and your lips swollen from the dominating kisses that stole the louder cries from them. His skin was slick with sweat and his breath came in quick pants as his forehead crumpled in restraint, his teeth clenched together. 

“Go on, baby, open your eyes for me,” he taunted as a tear escaped the corner, disappearing into your hair as you shook your head. “No?”

He didn’t like to be denied and his palm slapped down on your clit, eliciting a sharp whimper as it only intensified the heat in your core. Your back arched and your lips curled into a smirk before parting with a drawn out moan as he snapped his hips even faster, the room filling with the sound of his skin slapping yours. 

“Open. Your. Eyes,” he growled, pinching your nipple sharply.

“Ah,” you cried out as your eyes flew open and to meet his. The heat exploded as you came again, the waves of the orgasm rocking your entire body and his jaw fell slack at the feel of your walls clenching tight around him.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he succumbed to his own release. He pulled out and spilled himself over your stomach, fisting his cock and squeezing out every last milky drop before sitting back on his heels panting. His face was smug as he memorised the sight before him, your eyes half closed, your lips parted, the hickeys he left on your collar, the mess he left on your belly, your clit swollen and oversensitized, your cunt dripping with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He climbed off the bed, stumbling a bit with lightheadedness before catching himself and grabbing his clothes. You rolled over like a lazy cat and watched him dress just as quickly as he had undressed before leaving without a goodbye. You would have remained silent too with his exit except you heard the telltale crinkle of a paper bag and everything you felt before came crashing back.

“Get your own fucking food, Norris!”

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE WORDSMITH.

fandom. formula one

pairing. charles leclerc x author fem!reader (fc: none)

about. bestseller author genevieve dedicates her newest book to a special person. the internet tries to find out who it is

content warnings. social media au, not edited/proofread

notes. who doesn't dream about being a world famous author?

GENEVIEVE_UPDATES

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 10'883 others

genevieve_updates The dedication in the newest Bestseller 'When We Were Wallflowers', by @/genevieve. For the first time in her career she mentiones a partner, calling him 'my love' and surprisingly also 'mon coeur'. Who could her beau be?

user NO MOTHER IS NO LONGER SINGLE

⤷ user my life is officially over...

user HE'S THE REASON WHY WE HAVE THE BEST ROMANCE BOOK OF THE DECADE THANK YOU DAD

⤷ user parents fr 🙏🙏🙏

user "our story now forever immortal and never forgotten" AND WHAT IF I CRY

user don't know if i should cry tears from sadness that mom is taken or happiness that mom is taken

⤷ user at least he makes her happy (delulu)

⤷ user you're so right, tears of happiness then

user THE F1 X GENEVIEVE CROSSOVER IS HAPPENING??

⤷ user SO I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO NOTICED PIERRE IN THE LIKES

⤷ user charles as well???

⤷ user hello wtf is happening SINCE WHEN DO THEY READ??

user "YOUR WORDSMITH"???? am i the only one loosing my mind over this

⤷ user no. i just haven't recovered yet

GENEVIEVE

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, haileybieber and 503'002 others

genevieve My summer was filled with flowers and love, so much love. It has given me enough inspiration to write yet another romance book, even if I promised to return to my beloved fantasy. Yet when the heart calls... who am I to refuse? 'Reverie, Lost in your Love' will be published in November '24!

user HOLY SHIT WE'RE GETTING FED FR

user SHE NAMED HER NEW BOOK REVERIE I CAN NOT

⤷ user reverie: a state of being pleasantly lost in your thoughts, almost dreaming

⤷ user mom is big brained fr "lost in your love"? yes, yes i will be

haileybieber I will be (im)patiently waiting, as always 💗

⤷ genevieve And I will be sending you the first draft, as always

⤷ user their friendship is so dear to me 🥹🥹

⤷ user icons supporting icons i fear

⤷ user auntie hailey better drop some spoilers!!!

zendaya We're getting another romance by our queen! Rejoice!!

⤷ user DAYA IS LIKE US FR

⤷ user WEWOOO SHE READS GENEVIEVE

user i just know the cover will be serving cunt (in the most beautiful flowers)

user REVERIE REVERIE REVERIE

user only four months left... only four months left......

pierregasly super liked by pierre gasly

⤷ user why is he so unserious 😭

⤷ user "super liked" goddamn we're finally reaching the part where he will rate posts he likes

CHARLES_LECLERC

liked by pierregasly, andferrari007, arthur_leclerc and 1'032'883 others

charles_leclerc Nothing better than summer, sun, beach and a good book in my hands. And of course good company 😉

user the tan 🫠🫠

user IS THAT A GENEVIEVE BOOK??

⤷ user oh my god you're right

⤷ user and it's one of her fantasy ones, from her fae series 👀

⤷ user charles has taste

user first he's in her likes and now he's reading her books... how do we tell him

⤷ user hear me out, genevieve and charles *gets shot*

⤷ user KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, MOM DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER THAN HIM

⤷ user i trust in mom and i trust that she wouldn't fall for a vroom vroom man

pierregasly you already finished the other books?

⤷ charles_leclerc Breezed through them 😆

⤷ arthur_leclerc He's waiting for November

⤷ pierregasly aren't we all?

user the filter is back..

⤷ user the filter never left

GENEVIEVE

liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya, gigihadid and 3'029'746 others

genevieve "J'adore ton sourire, ma belle." I remember hearing these words for the first time, I remember his own smile he gave me back then, and I just knew, I love him. Thank you, Charlie, mon coeur, for standing by my side, for being my inspiration, my defender against the cursed writer's block. Your passion inspires me to write even more, so I'm proud to announce once again, another romance book. 'Winterbliss and Midnightkiss' will be available in March '25.

charles_leclerc Tu es incroyable, ma belle ❤️

⤷ genevieve Right back at you, my champion

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ARKHAM MAID 2024