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asxgard · 1 month ago

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Heartbeat | [1/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!f!reader

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Summary: You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: episode 13 hurt a lot so I wrote this to cope. Likely will write more specific stuff after I’ve fully processed.

Word Count: 4.4k+

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (16ish years, I have a problem okay? The age gap trope feeds me), established relationship/marriage, hospital/medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, panic attack, foul language, angst (it’s who I am), gore/gun violence (Pittfest), vague details from ep. 11-13, pet names (baby, my love), non-graphic shower scene, fluff at the end because we deserve it after that episode???

not beta read

You had met Dr. Robinavitch when you started in the ED as an attending. While your love blossomed slowly, it bloomed into so much more than you were expecting. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, from dating secretly to Dana and Jack finding out only a month after, to getting engaged just a year later.

You had done what you could to keep it from the hospital administration, but the time came where you got married and paperwork needed to be filed. You kept your maiden name to ensure there was no confusion, plus it added to your privacy. Everyone you worked with knew you were married, just not to each other, but it was more of an open secret to some of the nurses and other attendings.

Gloria nearly moved you to a different department. She tried separating you by shifts, maybe hoping you would leave and find work in a different hospital. Michael was technically your boss, after all. In her reports, however, she found that when you two were on shift together, it was seamless. Like you two operated on a frequency that no one else was even aware of.

Despite the bumps in the road, and Michael’s aversion for talking about his feelings, you made it work. Some shifts could be frustrating, and that sometimes got carried home, but you respected each other immensely. Michael was not keen on letting such a good thing in his life go that easily, and eventually opened up about Adamson and the toll the pandemic had taken on him.

After that hurdle, everything else was easy. Eventually, you decided to grow your family, and you got pregnant not even five months later.

—

On the fourth year anniversary of Adamson’s death, you were surprised to find Michael preparing for a shift.

“Didn’t you take off?” You asked, watching him dress into his scrubs.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Peterson had a family thing, and I know they’re short staffed.”

You frowned, “You could’ve asked me.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, turning to look at you and his heart swelled at the sight. “I don’t want you to cancel your appointment.”

You sat on that for a moment. For as busy as you both were, Michael had made time for every appointment you had after finding out you were pregnant.

“I know, I know. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

That satisfied you. For all Michael was, someone to break his promise was not one of them.

“I was hoping to find out the gender today,” you said with a tiny smile. “But a little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

He looked grateful at your words, moving to kiss you. He tasted like mint, holding your head so gently in his hands. Your hands moved to his chest, wanting to hold him against you, but you released him.

“Jake know yet?”

He smiled, “Yeah. He asked to take his girlfriend instead.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned, “Oh?”

You and Jake had gotten close slowly, him being like a step-son to Michael, but now you loved the kid.

“If you need anything, just call, alright?”

He nodded, grabbing his coffee, giving you one last lingering kiss before heading out the door.

—

Your day was mildly uneventful, taking your time with a handful of chores before sitting out on the balcony to have lunch. Your OB appointment had gone well, and you got a recording of the heartbeat, knowing Michael might need to hear it after his shift.

As time moved, you missed that Michael had not been able to be there with you. You missed his touch and his presence beside you. Dinner came with a takeout box of your latest craving, before your phone rang.

Jack Abbot’s name flashed on your screen. You still worked a few shifts with him from time-to-time, but Michael had you mostly scheduled for days, with him.

“Hey,” you said when you answered.

“Did you hear?”

“That’s so specific, Jack,” you said, opening the fridge to scan your snack options.

“There was a shooting at Pittfest, unknown number of casualties. Closest trauma center is PTMC.”

Your heart stuttered to a stop, “What?”

“Heard it on the scanner. You’ll likely get an alert that it’s all hands on deck, but I wanted to give you a heads up before traffic got too bad.”

Despite not being super close with Jack, you were still friends and you knew he had your back. While you hated being treated with careful hands at work now that you were pregnant, part of you still appreciated the gesture of it. It was like something unspoken had happened between Michael and Jack months ago, both of them moving to take the more combative patients whenever you were around.

“Shit, Jack.” You breathed out, rushing into your bedroom to grab your scrubs. “Fuck, Jake is at Pittfest. Let me try to reach him.” You fumbled through your drawers, taking a deep breath through your nose. “I’ll be in. See you soon.”

“Drive safe!” He said before the call disconnected.

After changing, you moved to grab a few odd snacks and water bottles, stuffing them into your lunch bag, along with your cell phone charger. Who knew how long this was going to take, or if Michael had had the chance at any point today to eat. He hadn’t texted or called, but that was not uncommon. The Pitt never made it easy, which was why you were grateful that you worked most of your shifts with your husband.

You tried reaching Jake, leaving a voicemail and a text message before reaching out to his mother. You briefly explained the situation and asked for an update as soon as she heard anything, before you promised the same.

When you got into your car, you took a deep breath to steady your heart before beginning your way to PTMC.

Michael called you, your phone ringing through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hey, don’t have much time, but I need you.” He told you, his voice quiet but full of so much emotion.

“I’m already on my way. Abbot called ten minutes ago. Tried calling out to Jake, too, he didn’t answer. Told his mom to reach out to either of us if she heard anything.” You said in a rush, coming to a stop at a light. Almost there.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The mass alert came through your phone as soon as he hung up. Thank fuck for Jack.

You made it into the parking garage, waving at the security guard now posted at the entrance. You sat in your car for just a minute to get your bearings, knowing tonight was going to be a shitshow.

As you entered the Emergency Department, you saw patients leaving, escorted by nurses and admin staff — and you moved quickly into the back. It was a circus, but you spotted Michael and Jack and beelined for them.

Michael’s brown eyes caught you as you approached and his face relaxed, though his shoulders were still tense. Dana was beside them, and her usual quip of “Oh I get Dr. R squared today?” did not fall from her lips, but she was sporting a black eye. You looked at her in alarm, but she waved it off.

“Just another happy customer.” She said, but you only frowned at her.

Michael spoke next, introducing you, and then quickly running down the new faces to you: Dr. Mel King, an R2, Dennis Whittaker, an M4, Victoria Javadi, an M3, and Dr. Trinity Santos, an intern. You tried to remember their names, but knew you would not likely remember them in the chaos.

You went to quickly put your stuff down, and when you turned around, Michael was standing there. To everyone else, he appeared neutral, controlled, normal. To you? He was wearing his shift all over his face and you could see plainly that it had not been a good one.

“This is going to be stressful, I should’ve let you stay home—”

While you appreciated his concern, you would have come anyway. “I promise, if I get too stressed out, I’ll let myself take a few minutes. But you have me. What can I do to help?”

“I need you in pink zone.” He told you, moving right back to business. “You’ll be with McKay and Javadi, and incoming night shift. But I need you at the head of it.”

“You got it.” You said, honored he was trusting you to run point on your zone.

—

While the victims did not stop coming, you found yourself moving mostly on instinct. Assessing, treating, moving along — trying to do your best to teach when you came across any of the new faces. You flitted into red zone when there was a particularly bad patient and then moved to triage so Dr. Shen could take a quick bathroom break.

When you assisted Michael, you moved together like a well oiled machine — and despite the tragedy, it came to you both naturally. You only barely registered the tension between Michael and Dr. Frank Langdon — a senior resident, and someone Michael had taken under his wing. You would have to remember to ask about it.

Time moved by in a blur, but you were painfully aware of every minute, every patient that came under your care. All the blood, all the death, all the tragedy.

It only got worse when Jake arrived, thought were thankful he was alive. He was asking about his girlfriend when you approached.

“Jake?” You got his attention as you began to take in his appearance. Jesus Christ, he was covered in blood.

“It’s mostly her blood,” he told you blankly, eyes moving around the room at the carnage. “It’s mostly her blood.”

You called for a wheelchair, your gaze searching for Michael. He was working on a patient, giving CPR from the look of it, the patient blocked from your view by the charge desk.

“Take a seat, Jake.” You told him softly, gently touching his shoulder. “Let me take a look at you, yeah?”

He sat down, his head swiveling around to locate his girlfriend. “I think—I think I got hit in the leg.”

You nodded, moving him into the yellow zone so you could bandage him up. You were not related and there were no official familial ties, so there were no problems of ethics — at least that was what you told yourself.

He moved to stand, and you pushed his shoulder back down.

“Let me assess you and then I promise I’ll go check on your girlfriend, okay?”

Jake nodded numbly and moved onto the gurney so you could look at his leg. His injury was not as bad as you had feared, and while you knew he would need stitches, you made do with some bandages for the time being.

“What’s her name?” You asked, trying to bring his attention back to you.

“Leah,” he told you, voice heavy with emotion. “I need to see her.”

While you did not understand the full panic he was experiencing, you knew Leah was in good hands.

“She’s with Robby, Jake. Leah is getting the best care.”

He was still not looking at you, and you got him set up with an IV antibiotic drip.

“Jake? Jake, can you call your mom for me? Cell service might not be great right now, but can you try? She’s worried about you.”

He took that information in slowly, before nodding.

The call did not go through, but you made him promise to keep trying while you assured him you were going to check on his girlfriend.

By the time you reached Michael, he was calling time of death and your heart constricted. You wanted to scream. By the look in his eyes, you can see he wanted to as well. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you and when you turned, he simply shook his head at you. You easily translated that to ‘your husband is not doing good’.

“I couldn’t save her.” Michael whispered, and only you caught it.

You gave his hand a subtle squeeze.

Jack was there then, reading the situation perfectly, “No one could have saved her. Maybe if this was a normal day, but it tore right through her heart. There was not much we could do.”

Fuck, you thought, she’s so young. You hoped she did not suffer.

Michael moved to find Jake and you followed him, but he stopped you.

“Can you take over for me in red so I can let Jake know?”

Every part of you screamed to go with him, but you nodded, turning to step back into pace with the work. You tried to push away your emotions, packaging them away to deal with later, but compartmentalizing was tough. You felt guilty for never meeting this girl, someone Jake had so obviously cared a lot about.

You attempted to get lost in the work, but you caught sight of Michael wheeling Jake out of Peds — the current place they have been putting the deceased — and the look on your husband’s face made your heart plummet. He had moved back into the room, leaving Jake just outside and you quickly gestured to a passing nurse to get him back to yellow.

The security guard did not make any comment when you walked into Peds, and you were devastated at what you found. Aside from the deceased, the number of them slowly ticking upwards, it was the sight of Michael on the floor in tears that truly struck you.

After ripping the curtain closed behind you, to block the view into the hall, and give you both just a small amount of privacy, you moved back toward Michael. It had been a long time since you had seen him like this. He had broken down when he told you about Adamson and the weight of his choice, and once he had even broken down after a particularly bad argument, but nothing like this.

“Baby, baby, hey,” you crouched down beside him, but you did not move to touch him.

His breath caught in his throat, but his sobs continued, hyperventilating with his arms pulled across his bent knees.

“Michael,” you tried, a name you had never called him when within the walls of the hospital.

His watery gaze met yours for just a moment, before his eyes were back in his lap, face scrunched. His ears were red, as well as his face, with red rimmed eyes that broke something in you.

“Michael.” You stressed again, moving so your hands hovered just above his arms. “Can you look at me?”

“I—I—I couldn’t—fuck—I didn’t save her.” His breaths came in short bursts, in in in out, in in out, tears coming down his face, his cheeks red.

You found yourself at a loss on how to help him — you knew none of his thoughts were rational at the moment, and anguish rushed through your veins, feeling so helpless. So useless.

An odd idea struck you, and you pulled out your phone before you could doubt yourself. You flipped through a few of your apps before settling on the one you had used to record your baby’s heartbeat.

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” You asked gently. You took a deep breath in through your nose and then out through your mouth.

You didn’t give him time to respond before you were pressing play on the recording. The sound of it filled the room with something other than Michael’s panic, and he quieted just enough to listen to it.

“That’s our baby.” You told him, though the sound of it was obvious enough, racing steadily like hoof beats.

His eyes found yours, and while he was still breathing quickly, he seemed to have returned to the reality around you, rather than stuck in his head. Relief took a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

“Can you breathe with me?” You asked again, finally touching his arm.

His hand found yours immediately and squeezed, but he nodded. You took a few more deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching as he mirrored you.

Aside from the quick beats of your baby’s heart, the deep breaths you both took filled the room. You desperately tried to ignore the dead around you, trying to solely focus on the man in front of you. When the recording came to a stop, Michael’s hand twitched toward your phone.

“Can you play it again?”

You nodded, pressing play and handing him your phone. The fast heartbeat filled the space again, and he cradled your phone like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

“Very active today.” You told him. “Wouldn’t sit still.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but it was gone in a moment.

“I have a video file that they sent me from today, but I didn’t want to look at it without you. Figured if either of us looked long enough, we’d be able to tell the gender ourselves.”

“Can we?” He asked, looking at you with tears still in his eyes.

You smiled, moving to sit next to him. You did not know how long the moment was going to last — sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for either of you. You tried to ignore it, trying to center yourself in this moment with Michael, forgetting about the outside world for just a moment.

Clicking on the video you had saved, you both sat quietly watching your baby move. Michael grabbed your hand in his and held it close to his chest. This was only going to be a bandaid, but any distraction was a welcomed one in that moment.

“They’re healthy. Measured 6.6 inches, 11 ounces.” You rattled off, moving your other hand to his head and running your nails along his scalp and through his hair. Any time in the past that he had had a panic attack in your company, you found that at the tail end of it, he enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. Like it was grounding.

Michael’s hyperventilating had fully stopped, though a handful of tears still slipped through. His face was still scrunched in pain, but he watched the video attentively.

“You did all you could, my love,” you whispered. “No one could have saved her. Not even if it was all of us and just her. I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

You hushed him, “Jake is still in shock. He’s grieving. Whatever he said to you, he didn't mean it.”

“No, no, he does. I didn’t save her. I told him I would. I told him.”

You brought your lips to his temple, closing your eyes and willing no tears to come. You couldn’t, not now.

Michael tapped on the video again, watching as your baby moved, kicking against your womb like it was their job.

“It’s not your fault.” You told him, moving across the floor until you met his gaze. “I would never lie to you, you know that. I promise. If anyone could have saved her, it would have been you.”

His face scrunched again like he was going to cry.

You held him in your arms, squeezing him tight to your chest, hoping perhaps the more you squeezed, the more he would believe you.

You held his face in your hands, and willed him to look at you. “I love you so much, Michael. This was not your fault. Blame the shooter, they caused this whole thing. Jake will see that eventually, you haven’t lost him.”

Brown eyes held steady on yours, searching them with a gaze that nearly made you shy away. But you hold strong, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Robby! Robby!” Dana’s voice came through the curtain, before it was pushed aside.

Dana only blinked at the sight of you, you knelt in front of your husband, both of your faces twisted and pained.

You found your voice, “Just two minutes, Dana. Please.”

She only nodded, closing the curtain again and disappearing.

“I can’t promise the rest of this is going to be any easier, but,” You paused. “Fuck it, if you want to leave, we can blame me right now. Say I have high blood pressure and you want to make sure I get home safe. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

You remembered all the times he covered for you when your morning sickness made you late, or when he had taken time away from the hectic flow to talk you through a bad case, or a death. When he shouldered the weight of an abrasive family member or aggressive patient, even before you were married. The times he let you leave early when you were having a bad day, or encouraged you to take breaks even when he didn’t.

“Let me try to take care of you right now. Please. Whatever you need.”

Michael took a long breath, rubbing his eyes. “Let me just splash some water on my face. After…stay by my side?”

“Done. If you need a minute, tell me to take a break and come with me. I can shoulder that right now.”

You did not say it because you thought he was weak, but simply because you felt you had the capacity to bear the brunt of the remainder of this shift. People knew he was going to worry about you regardless of the situation, so him ‘checking in’ would not phase them.

“Michael,” you started as you both moved to stand, him offering a hand to help you, “You’ve always been so great with Jake, just give him some time.” You paused, “You’re going to be an amazing father to our child.”

Tears flooded his eyes again and you felt like you had just made it worse while trying to make it better.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. How on earth did I—”

You cupped his cheek and hushed him again, bringing his face to yours until your foreheads touched. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you softly, before bringing you into a hug, careful of your growing bump.

When you parted, he took one last deep breath before facing the chaos that awaited you both out in the ED. You knew the heavier parts of your conversation were going to have to be shelved until you got home.

Michael moved toward the closest bathroom and you rushed back to red zone. There were no words to exchange with Jack, but with a knowing glance at him, he seemed to understand.

“Robby’s moving me to red. Bilal’s got pink covered.” You told him, referencing the night attending.

Abbot only nodded.

When Michael returned only a minute later, you watched him — had you not known him that well, you might not have been able to guess what had just transpired. You were thankful no one else in the hospital knew him as well as you did.

You got back to work, busying your hands to try to stop your mind from worrying too much. Whatever he had done in the bathroom, he had clearly thrown his panic attack into a bag and stuffed it deep inside his mind. It made your heart ache, but you would help him unpack it once you were both in the safety of your home.

Michael still made sound decisions, and not once did you feel the need to question his judgement. Jack was steadfast with you both, and you were grateful for him.

—

It was 10pm by the time the dust began to settle and the situation finally simmered to a more controllable level. You were beat and you had only been there a few hours, Michael encouraging you to take a seat and have some water while he checked on a handful of things. You took that moment to find Jake — who now had been stitched up and was with his mom.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really wish I could have met her.”

He nodded numbly, “You would’ve really liked her.”

A sad smile formed on your lips, “I’m sure I would have.”

You wanted to tell him to go easy on Robby, but the words did not form on your tongue. It was still too soon, and while you did not want Jake to blame him, you knew it wasn’t the time or place.

You parted from them sadly, before going to check on the med students and finally finding Michael with Jack.

It was a half hour later that you both finally left, Michael following you silently to your car. You were still digesting it all, wondering how the hell you were even going to begin processing it.

At home, you both quickly discarded your scrubs to the floor and made your way to the bathroom. It went unsaid that you both needed to wash this shift off, more so mentally than physically, but being clean would certainly make you feel better.

It was amazing how well you had learned to read each other, and you held onto him under the warm water for a long moment. He kissed the side of your head before grabbing the soap, sudsing up his hands and gently cleaning your skin. You relished in the feeling of him.

Once you rinsed off, you returned the favor. You moved your hands over his arms, his chest and then his back. You added a kiss here and there, knowing he enjoyed your touch just as much. He held your belly in his hands, eyes faraway again — but you brought your hand to his face to get his attention.

You kissed him, holding onto him and trying to translate all the things you felt into it. He returned the kiss and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

It was quiet, but cathartic.

You both dried off, and changed before collapsing into your bed, Michael immediately pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the calming sound of his heart.

Moving off his chest, you pulled him close to you and let him rest his head on you, his hand going to your belly. His breathing was slow and controlled, but you knew his mind was racing. You held him tight, your fingers going to his hair.

“I’d like to talk about today.” You said. “Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow, or this week. But eventually.”

He was quiet, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes on your stomach. “We can do that.”

“I’m here when you’re ready.” You told him.

He moved to press his lips to yours, peppering your face with kisses, before bringing you back to his chest. He held you for a long time and you did not even dare let go.

“I saw what it was.” He said.

“Oh?” You questioned against his chest, leaning your head back to look at him.

“Our baby.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

He grinned and kissed you deeply. Truth was, it didn’t matter. And as you held each other, you knew it was all going to be okay.

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#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #pregnant reader #female reader #the pitt episode 13 #the pitt spoilers #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes #dr robby x reader

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dollfacefantasy · 3 months ago

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BIRTHDAY GIRL ♡

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend forgot your birthday :( how ever will he make it up to you...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: happy birthday to @fearcvlt!!! one of my sweet friends who i love so so much. i hope you're having a great day bb <3 alsooo just fyi to everyone, there will be no part 2 to this.

From the moment Clark woke up today he’d been busy, busy, busy.

Given that it was a Saturday, he hadn’t expected the influx of tasks thrown at him. However he’d never been one to complain, so instead of moaning and groaning, he handled each thing as it came.

In the morning, he had to go into town to pick up a few things for his mom. On the way back, he had to stop by the Talon to discuss some details of a recent wall-of-weird incident with Lana. At some point later on, Lex was then calling him up and asking for his assistance on something.

He felt like he spent more time behind the wheel of his truck that day than on his own two feet with how much he was having to go back and forth across the familiar streets.

Really, every moment of Clark’s schedule over the past week had gone something like this. Packed full from dawn till dusk. He had tests to study for and essays to write. His regular responsibilities on the farm never let up as did his small circle of friends asking to do something or the other. And recently, there’d been a strange string of accidents that he felt compelled to investigate.

Last night specifically, he’d been occupied with Chloe and Pete. What was supposed to be a couple hours of research stretched into a few laps through the woods looking for a variant type of meteor rock and then a car ride to Granville and back. Once he finally got home, he passed out for a couple hours and then scraped himself out of bed to get through all of today.

Now in the evening, he finally had a moment of quiet. He sat by himself on the Torch’s computer, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he looked into connections between all the components they’d found over the last several days. His eyes flicked across the tiny words glowing on the computer screen. Most of the time Chloe handled the research aspect of their investigations, but he felt so close to having this resolved. With a few more details, he could have this thing cracked in an hour.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door pulled his attention away from the article in front of him. He knew from the quick rhythm of them, they belonged to Chloe. His eyes flitted to the entryway as she appeared. She greeted him without any words, her usual smile and slight wave serving as enough for the two of them as she came in and set her stuff down at her desk.

“You must be really invested in this whole thing if it has you working late all alone,” she teased while shrugging off her coat.

“Something like that,” he responded as his gaze drifted back to the screen, “I’m glad you showed up. I think I really have something on this guy.”

“Oh that’s good,” she said, looking much more interested at the prospect of new information. Coming up behind him at the desk, she skimmed the article over his shoulder. “You know, I thought you’d be with your girlfriend tonight, Clark,” she added as she reached for the mouse to scroll down.

His brows furrowed at the mention of you. While he could talk about you for hours and hours, he didn’t understand the point in her bringing you up now. It felt like a joke going over his head. She’d said it with the normal dose of teasing she used towards him, but the statement as a whole sounded earnest.

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just thought you guys might do something for her birthday. I know she’s not having a party, but I guess I assumed she’d still want to hang out with you,” she answered. The way she said it was so casual. It wasn’t meant to mock or come off as a gotcha. That was what it felt like though because in that moment Clark realized something.

He forgot his girlfriend’s birthday.

Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t completely spaced the event. Last weekend, he’d planned this all out in his head. He called in a reservation at your favorite restaurant, stashed away a few small things to give you, even made a note of where he was gonna buy you a cupcake from. It was just that over the past week, he’d gotten so busy and distracted that those plans faded to the back of his mind. Today, he hadn’t even looked at the date, hadn’t even put together that today was your special day.

But none of the excuses mattered. No matter how he put it, when it actually counted, he forgot your fucking birthday. And maybe he could have played it off like everything was a surprise, that he’d only been pretending to be so oblivious and inconsiderate, if not for the fact that his truck should have been in front of your house an hour ago because he told you he’d pick you up for dinner.

He shot up out of his chair so fast that it fell backwards and smacked against the floor. His hands ran through his hair as he frantically tried to think of what to do. Such a strong wave of panic washed over him that he almost burst into super-sprint right in front of Chloe.

“Clark, you didn’t,” she said, looking back at him. He didn’t even have to say the words for her to surmise the reason for his reaction, “That’s bad, even for you.”

“I know,” he agreed, blue eyes still wide and full of worry, “How could I forget? God, I thought about this. I had all of it figured out. This was the one thing I wasn’t gonna miss.”

“Well the day isn't over yet…” Chloe offered with a slanted look.

He rubbed at his brow for a second before nodding. Of course he was gonna try to make it up to you. His mind just didn’t work as fast as his body. He still had to figure out how on Earth he was going to explain this, let alone justify his absence to you. But he could do that on the way to your house. He really didn’t have any more time to waste.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have to go try to make the most of how ever many hours are left,” he mumbled.

She nodded in support. “I’ll take over here. You go save the day,” she said.

As soon as Clark was out of her line of sight, he bolted. He zipped into a blur, ditching his truck in the parking lot in favor of his own speed. Later he could come back to drive it home. He didn’t have seconds to spare at red lights or finding parking as he collected the things he needed.

It took him around five minutes to pull everything together. He grabbed the pale blue gift bag from his house, picked up a cupcake from the store (the last one they had), and snatched a bouquet of flowers on his way out.

Every step of the way to you, words of apology ran through his mind, ranging from I’m so so sorry, I’m such an idiot to I swear the truck just broke down, I couldn’t get service, but I’m here now. He tried to think of something that would make this salvageable, but truly, this was his worst screw up with you so far. He’d been late to dates before. He’d forgotten important things. But standing you up on your birthday? That might be the fatal blow to your relationship.

He slid to a stop in front of your porch steps. All the windows in your house were dark. He knew your house would be empty with your parents out of town, but he couldn’t even see the glow of your small tv shining up in your room. Dread bubbled inside him as he realized you could have still gone out without him. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t deserve it, but the possibility didn’t sting any less.

Steeling himself for the possibility of no response, he walked up the wooden steps and across the floor panels to your front door. He took a moment to run his fingers through his windblown hair. With one more deep breath, he shifted the flowers to the crux of his arm and knocked on the door. The gift bag hung off of his other wrist while that hand held the small box with your cake in it.

Five seconds passed and then another several moments of silence too. He resisted the urge to knock again. You could just be taking your time.

But after another bout of quiet went by, he tapped his knuckles against the door again three times. If you didn’t answer this time after another minute, he’d have to regroup, he told himself.

That minute went by the same as the last though, and he still didn’t want to leave. He considered saying something or calling for you through the door; though, at this point in time, he wasn’t sure if his voice would be a strong selling point.

He waited another handful of seconds before raising his fist. Third time’s a charm, right? But before his fingers could make contact, he heard the lock unlatch and the knob twist in that clunky way it always did. Relief fizzled all through his body before he even saw your face.

The door cracked open. From what he could see, the interior of your house was as dark as the windows led him to believe. The nearest streetlight doused the small sliver of space in a faint glow. He could see your leg covered in fuzzy pajama pants and the side of your upper half adorned in an old oversized t-shirt. Your face appeared seconds later. At first, your expression looked neutral. Well you looked sad, but you didn’t look angry, which was what he had been afraid of.

Then your eyes lifted to look at his face, and once they registered the sight of the person before you, that fire lit up in an instant.

Immediately, you tried shutting the door, but he was quick. He stuck his foot forward, jamming his boot in the entryway to stop it from closing. The pressure didn’t really hurt, but he still winced for show.

“Baby, wait,” he pleaded, “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I deserve it-”

“Save it, Clark,” you gritted through your clenched jaw.

You threw your entire body weight against the door in an attempt to shut him out. He could hear your feet scraping against the floor along with your soft grunts as you tried forcing it closed. It would probably be cute if he didn’t feel so guilty.

“Just hear me out,” he tried again, “I’m sorry for being late. I’m really sorry. There’s no excuse that would make it ok, so I won’t even try to give you one. But please, sweetheart. I brought you some stuff, and it’s still your birthday-”

“You’re more than late! Late is fifteen minutes! Late is when thirty minutes pass so you call and explain you’re stuck in traffic! Late doesn’t mean an hour goes by and you finally show up because you realize you don’t have anything better to do, so you might as well!” you cut him off.

You couldn’t have said anything worse to Clark in that moment. He never wanted you thinking this was intentional, that he chose to be anywhere else that wasn’t with you. Now he pushed back a little. He leaned into the door, using his strength to scooch you further into the house and allow himself room to slip inside. As he did, he let some grunts slip out and even took a few seconds to give the illusion that you had a fighting chance.

“I swear this wasn’t on purpose. I’d never choose to make you wait or make you think that I don’t care or something,” he continued. A hint of desperation laced his words now. “I didn’t even forget. I’ve been planning this, and I had it all laid out in my head. I just… I just lost track of time. And it’s my fault, but I can make it up to you if you let me.”

You had turned away from him once he actually made his way into the house. Your body stood stiff as a board. He couldn’t even see your face to get some kind of read on how his words were coming across. And even worse, you weren’t saying anything back. He hesitated, mentally debating whether he should proceed with his pleas or give you a second. But ultimately, the former won. Logic and Clark didn’t mix well when it came to getting in your good graces again. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Honey, I know I missed the first part of the night, but I’m here now. And you’re here, and you look beautiful like you always do. And it’s still your birthday and I have some stuff for you,” he added.

“It’s not about the stuff, Clark. It’s not about what day it is or whatever,”you responded. You turned around to face him again. In the darkness, he couldn’t really make out your features, but your voice cracked. He didn’t need any light to know how your eyes were watering right now. How your lip was wobbling in that timid pout.

He hated that he was so familiar with your disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, though this time they came out much weaker, like the sound of a dying soldier.

You took in a shuddery breath, either in preparation to yell at him or to maintain what you had left of composure. Neither happened right away. That almost felt worse, leaving him to burn under the heat of anticipation.

“I just… I don’t understand you. You can be so sweet. So caring. You make me feel like you really love me, but then you do stuff like this,” you finally said. Your voice cracked again, but this time it nearly stopped your words from coming out. You were losing a battle of your own against your tears.

“I do really love you,” he replied without a second thought. He dropped the flowers onto the nearby end table, shoving the gift bag and small box on after it. His arms opened for you as he took a step forward. He only hoped you wouldn’t push him away.

But you didn’t. You took the same step with your own feet and let him embrace you. The warmth of his body engulfed you all at once as his big arms looped around your frame. One of his hands found your head, cradling it against his chest.

“I do love you, baby. Always. I never want you to think I don’t,” he said softly.

You sniffled and squished your face against his chest. He held you tighter against himself. It didn’t feel tight enough. It never did for Clark. He always wanted you closer, held more securely, but he had to hold back if he didn’t want to shatter your bones.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry,” he cooed, planting a few kisses on the top of your head, “Don’t cry, babe. Please. I’m not worth it, alright? I don’t want you so sad over my stupid mistakes.”

While you weren’t saying anything, the weight of your emotions filled the air all around you. They were practically tangible to Clark - the disappointment and betrayal. The insecurity he caused. The pain he inflicted. He was almost glad you usually stayed silent while crying because he didn’t think his Kryptonian DNA would save him from being crushed by your words. At the same time, you didn’t have to speak them for him to understand the potential sentiment. He could tell from the muted nature of your sadness right now. You had gotten your hopes up. You believed that because tonight was special, it would be different. He would show up, and it wouldn’t be like countless other dates and occasions.

He stood there with you in the hall, rubbing your back and rocking back and forth with you a little. After a few minutes, he nudged your head back with the tip of his nose. “Let me see those pretty eyes, baby,” he whispered.

His own vision had adjusted to the dark by now. When you tilted your head upwards, he could see the small spheres all glossy, your lashes wet with the recent tears. He leaned in and kissed the shiny streaks running down your cheeks. The right one first, then the left. His hand cupped your face with all the care in the world.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured as he brushed the tip of his nose against yours.

You gazed back into his bright blue eyes. God, you knew you should make this harder for him. He deserved to work for your forgiveness, but nothing made you weak like Clark. One glimpse of his eyes all wide, looking at you like a scolded puppy, and any anger towards him melted away like ice left out in the summer.

He laid a few more kisses along your face, moving his lips from one feature to the next. “You’re too sweet to be crying like this on your special day,” he said.

His thumbs swiped away remaining tears while your eyes began to dry up. Warmth filled your body again, blooming up in the hollow cold left by your prior loneliness. Looking at his face pushed the sadness away. Maybe today hadn’t been totally ruined.

“I won’t let this happen again, alright?” he told you in a hushed tone despite no one else being in the house. He made sure not to promise though. “I’ll get a calendar or something. I’ll write notes for myself. I’ll write ‘em all over my body like in that movie we watched last summer.”

“The movie that you left halfway through,” you said, your voice gently teasing now.

He exhaled sharply, and a smile spread across his lips. His eyes held a degree of shame still. It felt wrong to laugh about something like that when it was a piece of the issue at hand. But he could tell you were trying to lighten the mood, and he wouldn’t make you feel bad about that.

“I still got the idea,” he defended and ducked in, giving you another long kiss.

His arms pulled you tighter against his body while his hands swept down onto your back. One stayed between your shoulder blades as the other ventured South. His fingers glided over the small of your back, coasting over the top of your ass.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said.

You bit your lip at the sensation of his roaming hands. Allowing him a few more smooches, you finally pulled back to catch your breath for a moment.

“How do you wanna do that?” you asked.

He grinned, those sharp canines peeking out near the corners of his mouth. “I have something in mind, but any way you want is fine, baby,” he murmured.

“You can try your way…” you agreed. You had an idea of what he was picturing, and it wasn’t something you felt the urge to interfere with.

“Try,” he repeated playfully before pulling you into another series of kisses.

The two of you stumbled away from the front door and your gifts left on the end table. His feet followed yours down the hallway in the direction of your bedroom. Your back bumped into the wall a few times before you both slipped through the entrance of your room and found your ways to the bed.

The backs of your thighs hit your soft mattress first. Your smooth skin rubbed against the floral sheets spread over your bed. You let yourself fall back, and Clark’s body went with yours.

You shifted around, scooting up so that your head was on one of the plush pillows near the top of the mattress. He ended up with his frame hovering above your own. Only a few seconds passed before he pressed his lips to your again. Sometimes it felt as though Clark could kiss you all night. He paid so much attention to your lips, put so much dedication into every flick of his tongue and teasing pull with his teeth.

Your hands tried to return the same amount of reverence with their touches. You rubbed them up over his broad shoulders and along the nape of his neck. Your fingertips twisted the ends of his dark hair before sliding between the strands and scratching his scalp.

A groan rumbled up from his chest. You responded with a softer moan of your own. To go with the sound, your legs rose up against his sides and pressed into his hips. You pulled him closer, subtly urged him to tend to you where you wanted him most.

He finally pulled his mouth off you a minute later. His breaths now came out in harsh pants. The warm air fanned over your face while you stared up at your boyfriend. A cute shade of pink filled his cheeks while his pupils dilated with lust for you. His lips shimmered with your saliva under the faint light of the moon beaming through the window.

“My perfect, pretty girl,” he mumbled before dropping his head to your neck.

His attention focused there now. He kissed all over the column of your throat, moving without much strategy. Most of the time, Clark was very eager for you. He explored your body based on pure desire and nothing else. It always ended up feeling good for you though. Seeing his passion was half the pleasure.

While his lips worked above, his hands groped at you below. His large palms massaged your hips and smoothed up and down your sides. His fingers kneaded your soft flesh. The feel of it alone had him starting to fill out in his jeans.

“You deserve so much, baby. So much more than I give you. Gonna try to make you feel how much you deserve,” he muttered against your skin, lust-fueled thoughts escaping without resistance.

At your waist, his fingers hooked over the hem of your pajama bottoms and gave the fabric a shove. “Lift your hips for me, honey,” he directed.

You did so without a question, allowing him to pull the garment the rest of the way off. It was so frustrating for Clark sometimes. He had the ability to literally tear your clothes to shreds. If he wanted to, those pants could have been gone faster than you could have asked him not to rip them. But for now, he still had to play the game by normal rules.

He moved his way over to your collarbone and placed a few kisses along the neckline of your shirt before migrating South. His hands fell from your hips to your thighs. He gave them the same treatment, squeezing and grabbing. But he wasted no time in parting them.

With one palm on each, he spread you open for himself and settled between your open legs. The sight of your panties greeted him. The dainty cloth covered the precious part of you he was aching to see. He stared at the material for a moment. It wasn’t wet yet, but it was tight against your folds. He could see so much of you without really seeing anything at all.

Leaning in, he kissed your pussy over the fabric. It was chaste. Something less sinful than anything he’d done to your mouth. His thumb came next. He ran the thick digit from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit. He kept the pace nice and slow, teasing enough that a shudder came over you as you fought the urge to squirm.

His eyes flitted up to your face. He couldn’t get enough of how cute you were. The desperation was written all over your face.

“I’m not gonna tease, sweetheart. Not on your birthday. Not when I already made you wait too long,” he cooed.

His long index finger hooked around the seat of your panties and gave them a good tug. He worked the small scrap off of you and tossed it to the floor. They landed near the mirror. He only noticed because beside it was a dress, slung over the back of a chair. It was lacy and layered and cute. Probably the one you had on earlier. He could only imagine how sad you looked while taking it off and swapping it out for the more comfortable clothes you had on now.

He had to make this good for you.

Returning his focus to the junction of your thighs, his eyes fixating on your cunt in front of him. Your folds gleamed with the beginnings of arousal. His teasing had been just enough to get the fire started inside of you.

He looked back up at your face and brought his own that much closer. “You don’t know how lucky I feel to call this mine,” he said before kissing your clit.

A broken whine crackled out into the air. The touch was so gentle, so soft. It didn’t really feel like much. But the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his mere existence had your body reacting like a live wire right now.

Clark stuck out his tongue and dragged it up the wet expanse of your pussy. The first couple licks were exploratory, but after a few more, they became greedy. He lapped at your cunt. The tip of his tongue swirled over your entrance and danced across your sensitive bundle of nerves. His eyes fluttered shut at the taste of you.

Meanwhile, more sweet noises poured from your lips. You whined and moan, a few times only managing to choke out a breathy mewl. One of your hands clutched at his hair while the other alternated between clawing at the blankets and covering your face. It flipped back and forth between the two, trying to find the one that would bring some stability.

Nothing you do could fight off the feeling of him though. His lips spread and closed, making out with your pussy. He got louder down there. Wet noises echoed between your thighs. None of them bothered him. He was wrapped up in the task of pleasing you. Nothing else mattered.

Clark didn’t get embarrassed in moments like these. Sometimes while on top of you he could get flustered, but with your pussy like this, he couldn’t string together the thoughts that would cause actual embarrassment. All he could fathom was a craving for more of you.

In these moments, you surrounded him completely. Your thighs wrapped around his head, pressing your skin against him. Your taste flooded his mouth. Your scent filled his nose. All he could hear were your needy cries. It was heaven, absolute paradise.

Grabbing your legs tighter, he held you in place more. You hadn’t started squirming yet, but by the time you felt the urge to, you’d be pinned in place. Somehow he put more effort into this now. He boosted your hips a bit before devouring you.

His mouth worked with desperation you’d never seen from him before. You called out his name before choking out another moan and letting your head fall back. He ground his hips into the mattress below him, chasing whatever physical pleasure he could find to match the bliss he felt inside.

While on top of you, Clark could run his mouth. Endless babbles of praise and cooed praises would fall from his lips. But right now, he was fixated on using his mouth for something more important. He could feel your muscles flexing against his tongue, clenching around nothing. You were getting close.

“That’s it, baby. Feels good?” he asked when he finally pulled himself back for some air. His fingers took over his mouth's duty, rubbing your clit fast and with good pressure.

Your hips bucked as a yelp flew out of you. Despite that, you still nodded as fast as you could. “Mhm. Gonna cum,” you whimpered, as if he needed the warning.

“Go ahead, birthday girl. You can cum whenever you're ready,” he said. He smacked a kiss on your thigh before diving back in and nuzzling into your cunt. His tongue swirled with fervent admiration before lashing over your little bud.

The rapid motion flicks you right over the edge. You gasped before whining. Your hips squirmed while you closed your fingers into a fist around Clark’s hair. You grabbed the soft tresses so tightly you might have pulled a few out. He didn’t complain about any of it though. How could he? It felt like everything in the world was perfect when he had you like this.

He rolled his own hips against the mattress a few more times. You were so caught up in your own release that you didn’t hear the whimpers coming from him. You didn’t catch the vibrations from his moans reverberating against your skin. His own pleasure did nothing but spur him on to keep working you through yours.

As you started to come down, he was still going. His movements were a bit sloppier, but he didn’t have any plans of stopping. It was when you whimpered and pushed at his head that he backed off.

He looked up at you. Despite the smirk on his face, his voice came out gentle. “No more? You too sensitive?”

You nodded. “If you can stay, we have the whole night,” you offered.

His smirk broke into a full smile, and he crawled up the mattress to peck your lips. “I can stay. It’s still your birthday after all. We got some more celebrating to do.”

“Mhm,” you agreed. You kissed him again, tasting yourself as your lips met. Your hand trailed down his body to the waistline of his jeans. Before you could even ask, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and guided your limb back up.

“I’m fine, baby,” he said with a sheepish smile, “Plus it’s your birthday. It’s supposed to be all about you.”

“Oh my god, you’re really pushing the birthday thing,” you teased.

“I’m gonna keep pushing it until midnight because it’s true,” he said back. His hands cupped your face while he looked down at you.

After the two of you messed around a little more, Clark remembered the things he had left out by the front door. Pushing himself off the bed, he headed for the door. He was quick about getting your things, but he paused on the way back.

Instead of going straight to you, he walked into your kitchen. Rummaging through some of the drawers crammed full of spare parts and random coupons, he found a half-used pack of birthday candles and a lighter.

After opening the box that held your cake, he put it on a plate and jammed a pink-striped candle into the icing of your cupcake. With a click of the lighter, he topped it off with a small flame.

He headed back to your room, walking slowly so as to not have a surprise-ruining mishap on the way. Once he appeared in the doorway, you glanced at him. Your eyes caught on the lit up cupcake, and your whole face brightened. He chuckled and walked further into the room. Seeing that made the beginning of the evening sting less.

“You’re not singing,” you teased as you sat up on your bed and watched.

“That’s because I want you to have a nice birthday,” he replied.

The words brought actual laughter out of you, but you sat there patiently waiting as he walked over with the plate. He sat down beside you and held the plate before you. The whole time he remained careful, conscious of not getting the flame too close to any part of you.

“You gotta make your wish now,” he said and kissed your cheek.

Smiling at him, you thought for a second before turning towards the small flicker of fire. You stared at it for a moment, and then blew a small stream of air. It danced under the breeze before dissolving into thin smoke. He reached over and popped the stick of wax out for you, so you could eat your treat without impediment.

“What’d you wish for?” he asked as he brought the frosting-coated end to his lips.

“You know the rules. If I tell you, it’ll never come true,” you answered and took a bite.

He rolled his eyes, giving you a little poke to the side. “What about last year? That one come true yet or is it still a secret?”

“Still a secret,” you affirmed. You extended the bitten cupcake out to him. “Want some?”

“No, I’m alright. Already had my dessert,” he teased as he got up to throw away the candle. The words earned him a whine and a smack from you along with some grumbling about him being corny. But you had a smile on your face now, and that’s all he could want.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent smut #clark kent x you #clark kent imagine #smallville x reader #ch: clark kent 💌

1K notes · View notes

mariasont · 4 months ago

Note

hi pookie! <3

i loved loved loved the recent lipgloss fic! could you write smth about perfume? like bimbo! reader smells sweet asf and all of a sudden reid (or hotch) comes into the office smelling suspiciously sweet

tytyty!! <333

Suspiciously Sweet - S.R

a/n: hiiiiiii pookie!!!!!!! thank u so much for requesting i loved this lololol

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fluffiest fluff, established relationship, spencer's relationship almost being exposed, hotch saving his ass, hotch hinting to having a secret girlfriend (aka my girl bimbo!assistant)

wc: 1.3k

You had a very distinct scent. This wasn't a bad thing, no, far from it. It was sweet and intoxicating, it reminded him of ripe peaches in the height of summer and cherries soaked in syrup, with a hint of something citrusy that reminded him of lazy afternoons in the sun. Was that too poetic? Spencer wasn't sure.

He noticed it everywhere. In the office, where it announced your arrival before you said a word. He noticed it at home. His pillows, his sheets, even the collar of the sweater you'd borrowed once — it was all steeped in the same honeyed scent that lingered after you left his bed, as if you were something he couldn't wash away — not that he wanted to.

This was why Spencer had started sleeping in on weekends when you stayed over. It wasn't laziness, not exactly, but how could he resist staying wrapped up in the thing that reminded him most of you?

Especially on those mornings when you were still half-asleep and clingy, burrowing into him with sleepy little hums, like you were trying to fuse yourselves together, and somehow, it worked. Your scent didn't just stick to his things, it stuck to him, sinking into his skin and leaving him a little dazed by the time you finally rolled out of bed.

Sure, he could rationalize it with some scientific explanation about heat transfer, molecules, or something equally clinical. But science (and he hated to admit this) didn’t account for how it made him feel.

Unfortunately, those feelings, didn't do him any good when one of those slow mornings he was becoming so fond of turned into an emergency call from Hotch about a case.

Now, he found himself here, hunched over the impossibly small sink in the jet's cramped bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw for what felt like fortieth time today. The scent wouldn't budge. It was as though it had soaked into his skin. He knew it was his fault, he couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming across every inch of your body morning.

It wasn't that he minded smelling like you, but focusing on case details and running probability algorithms became infinitely harder when every breath reminded him of how tightly you had wrapped yourself around him just hours before.

He let out a bated breath, shutting off the sink before pushing his way into the main cabin of the jet. He found his way to his favorite seat, third back on the left side, which happened to be located far enough from the engines to minimize auditory distractions.

Morgan looked up, sniffing once as Spencer slid by. "Man, I don't know what it is, but something smells good in here."

Spencer tensed, his stomach dropping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he fought the urge to whip around. Surely it wasn't that strong. It couldn't be.

Rossi glanced up from his crossword, brows furrowing.

“Huh. I was thinking the same thing. It’s faint, but it’s nice. Like fruit or… maybe something floral?” Rossi’s nose wrinkled as he added, “Certainly an improvement over Morgan’s cologne.”

Spencer ducked his head so fast it could've looked like a nod, his cheeks burning as he avoided everyone's gaze.

JJ came out of the coffee area moments later, glancing at the case file in her hand as she passed him. She stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, then frowned.

"Wow, Spence, you smell really good. Did you finally cave and buy cologne?"

Spencer blinked up at her, every ounce of blood in his body rushing to his face.

"Uh, no," he said flatly, trying to mask the embarrassment. "I suppose I woke up smelling like this."

Technically not a lie.

He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. Emily tilted her head, brow furrowing before a wide grin spread across her face. Not a good sign, he concluded.

"Wait a second," she said, pointing at Spencer. "That smells exactly like outside of Cruz's office. I pass it all the time."

Spencer cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around the armrests as his mind scrambled for an explanation, any explanation, to divert their growing attention. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He was doomed. This was it.

Spencer’s pulse was thundering in his ears, his face still flushed, when Hotch finally set down his pen.

For a second, Spencer braced himself for the worst, the horrifying moment when even Hotch would add to his scrutiny.

"That smell? It's the same hand sanitizer Cruz keeps in his office. He offered it to me after a meeting, probably the same stuff Spencer borrowed when he spilled his coffee this morning."

Spencer looked to Hotch, mouth opening and closing before nodding as if in agreement. "Yeah, that's... probably it."

The rest of the ride passed, to Spencer’s immense relief, without further incident. Morgan gave him a few odd looks now and then, but Spencer was too preoccupied, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out why Hotch had saved his ass.

When the last of the team finally stepped off the plane, Spencer hung back, letting the others pass. Hotch did too, falling in step beside him. His pace was slower than usual, his gaze fixed forward, but when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for Spencer to hear.

"Word of advice, Reid, next time, carry mints and a travel sized bottle of something unscented. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Spencer’s head whipped around, his face going a deep shade of red. Hotch, meanwhile, kept walking, his expression completely neutral, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

"He said what?"

You were laughing uncontrollably, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake and left you gasping for air, your hands grabbing him for balance. Rollers filled your hair, a ritual you'd patiently explained to him before, and loose wisps curled around your face.

And your smile, well, he was perfectly certain it was the prettiest he'd ever seen you.

"Yup," Spencer confirmed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You froze mid-giggle, eyes narrowing.

"Wait, wait, wait, how does he know that? Is Hotch speaking from experience or something?" You blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, what if Hotch has, like, a secret girlfriend? What if it's someone at the BAU? What if it's Garcia?"

"It's not Garcia, and it's definitely not a secret." Spencer raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if the answer was obvious. "Hotch has been dating his assistant for years. He thinks it's some big secret, but it's... not. He picks her up lunch at least twice a week, and his closed-door meetings with her? Not as inconspicuous as he thinks."

You gasped, practically bouncing in place as you grabbed Spencer's sleeve. "Shut up! I didn't know that! I love her clothes. Do you think she'd tell me where she shops? That red skirt she wore the other day was everything."

“You don’t need any more skirts,” Spencer said, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your hip and ribs, pinching just enough to make you squirm on the countertop. “If your closet gets any fuller, you’re going to have to rent out a second apartment just for storage.”

You giggled, tightening your legs around him and clinging to him like a koala, your arms looped snugly around his neck.

"That's why I have your apartment," you said, sticking out your tongue. "Plenty of space for my skirts, and you get to see me model them. Win-win."

"When you put in like that, it's kind of hard to say no."

He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, teasing and testing, like a flicker of fire before it catches. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter blending into his smile. The kiss deepened, honey-slow and sweet, golden warmth spreading through his chest as you pressed closer, closing every last bit of distance between you.

When you pulled back, his lips still tingling, you grinned. "Wow, you really do smell like me."

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join my taglist here!

#spencer reid x bimbo receptionist reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader #spencer reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #🌺 maria writes

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hellohomura · 12 days ago

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25.02.2011 ⏳ today's timeline

idk if theres like canon pmmm lore abt it somewhere in an interview madokaheads lmk but i like to think their magical girl forms as being manifestions of their idealised selves while also reflecting certain facets of their psych. which could explain impracticality in battle attire like idk. homuras stiletto heels. sorry i know i knoww its magic its the genre shes a support not dps char their bodies feel less pain re their soul gems etc etc but whenever i watched homuras magical girl training montage i just thought abt how much it must hurt running on those lmao that being said id like to think their magical girl forms Can change like with shifting values or convictions but usually not very noticeably and only with small differences when they do due to their short lifespans. id imagine their forms just becoming dimmer/desaturated maybe with minisculely corrupted design elements like slightly warped motifs/off pattern details before they fall into despair to reflect disillusionment in the ideals and beliefs that manifested them originally. or maybe missing details to show how they dont remember what theyr fighting for. but id imagine them to look just slightly off like theyr barely holding it together before they burst and hatch into witches (itd be very cool to think of rare instances where magical girls hav complete upheavals in their belief systems and narrowly avoid becoming witches to manifest completely different forms instead. still itd just an intermittent form before the inevitable) but in homuras case since shes been a magical girl for around 100 loops i wanted to design a form that could reflect her psych after repeating a decade of adolescent trauma taking aspects of her original manifestation and fracturing, repeating, layering them to the point where it looks like its about to collapse in on itself before crystalising. she has much longer hair to convey how subconsciously she feels like she should be aging. longer sleeves that swallow her hands like clothes she shouldv grown into by now. two bows, the black one of her original length to represent the withered innocence of her wish and the shadow of her despair while its strangled by the bow of her original purple that stubbornly sits on top and stretches past it. added fingerless tactical gloves for her significantly accumulated knowledge in mechanical and explosive weaponry. i wanted to make her outfit giv off more of a witchy vibe too. shrug initially i drew her 1st version with nothing changed from her canon design besides braiding her 2 side bangs and i drew the wider heel on her 10th loop version but i rly wanted to do the diamond heel for her final one and the progression of her heel becoming sharper just made more visual sense if i switched it lol oh also i liked drawing her bangs shadowing so much of her eyes but i thought itd b fun to draw more of her eyes showing to symbolise how she metaphorically can see more clearly now. nothing about her physical non magical girl form changed but i think if homura can use her time magic to heal her eyes she can also use it to idk freeze her hair in a certain position so it doesnt get in the way instead of a haircut ghjfgdfgd anyway its fun for me to imagine her not noticing with how focused she is on saving madoka until one day she sees her reflection and is taken aback at how unrecognisable shes become to herself even while her actual body remains unchanged

#hello homura!#homura akemi #puella magi madoka magica #魔法少女まどか☆マギカ #2025 #sorry i talk too much. hope this makes sense and isnt just me repeating myself a lot

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inthehexcore · 5 months ago

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pages and books

summary: The quiet Enforcer stops by your quiet library. Multiple times.

content: STEB! librarian!reader gets sick, fluff, can't think of much else! probably ooc

wordcount: 2.397

a/n: i love Steb so much... inbox/requests open!

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The sun in Piltover shone as bright as it always did. It lit up the entire library, and you could not help but hum as you pushed the cart of books around. The warmth of the rays only made the building look more beautiful, something which you were not aware was even possible.

The high ceilings with curved windows and hand-painted images, detailed golden pillars, royal blue seats with dark wooden tables. Not all of your fellow students liked the library. To be fair, there were tons of other stunning places all around Piltover, but yours was here.

You spent so much time surrounded by the books that you just ended up taking a side job as the assistant. It meant pouring coffee and putting back books, but it also meant reading when everything was cleaned and drinking the sweet tea that was technically only meant for the professors.

With the library not being the most popular spot, it also allowed you to brush up on skills and even pick up new things to learn. The history of Piltover, Professor Heimerdinger's autobiography, varieties of plants, but most recently, you found a book about sign language. It was interesting for sure. Every time you put the loaned books back in their spot, another one got added to the stack of other books that you still wanted to read during your breaks.

So, as per usual, you sat at the window near the counter. Even with it being your break, you still liked to be close to your workspace, just in case someone came in.

A steaming cup of tea stood beside your book as you flipped through the pages, admiring the photographs of Piltover's 'ten most beautiful buildings', occasionally stirring the cup of tea and taking a sip out of it. Stuck in your own world, though your gaze moved to outside the window ever so often. From here, you could see the main square - the market, Enforcers, students.

The watch around your wrist kept ticking away, reminding you that your break had already stopped a few minutes ago. A neat bookmark got placed between the pages of the book as you turned around, nearly dropping the hot beverage that you were holding.

Right in front of you stood a tall Enforcer. His face was blank and his hands were clasped behind his back. You were nearly jealous of his posture - you must have looked idiotic with how hunched over you were sitting.

"Oh, Officer! I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long."

The man slowly shook his head, his eyes set on you as you moved back to the counter, placing the book that you were reading back on its space. He took a step closer, his arms still behind him.

"What can I help you with today?"

He held out his hand, a small note hidden in the grip of his glove. A short list with some of the most specific books you had seen in a while. Even though you did not dare to ask him why he needed all of these, you could not help but try to theorize.

Maybe he was working on a weapon, or what if he went off into the wilderness and build a house out of nothing but sticks and mud?

"Ha, this might take me a moment to find. Would you like some tea, Officer?"

Quietly, he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. He just had his break - after bringing these books to Commander Kiramman, his day was basically over. Patrol for an hour, and then it was time for him to relax. Finally away from all the loud sounds of the city. But being in the empty library was not unwelcome, either.

"I will be back in a sec!"

It was much longer than a sec.

With every minute, you got more and more anxious. How could you keep an Enforcer waiting for this long? There was no one in the entire library! Your footsteps sounded heavy and you felt like every breath you took was one too loud. But, after fifteen minutes and lots of going up and down ladders, you finally found all the books on his list.

"And... Phew! This should be all," you wiped your hands, "Do you need help bringing it to... your office?"

Silently, the Enforcer shook his head again, reaching for the stack of thick books as he held them in his hands.

"Oh! What name can I put these on? That way I can remember, for next week!"

Next week? Oh, to return the books.

The man looked around him for a moment before his eyes fell on the small notebook next to you. He glanced at it as he looked back at you. You furrowed your eyebrows for a moment before going 'aha!', reaching for your notebook as you opened it on a blank page, handing him your pen. If you could have, you would have chuckled. A strong officer writing in your sparkly notebook with a neon-coloured gel pen.

He put the pen back down, nodding before taking one step back.

"Thank you so much. Till next time, Officer Steb."

Even with the interaction being a little under a week ago, you still had not moved on from it. His intense, blue gaze, his straight and confident posture. His handwriting even - it was immortalized in your notebook.

You found yourself looking for him through the windows, and while walking through the square, you would keep an eye out for his tall figure. 'He still has two days to return the books,' you thought to yourself. Most people even turned their books in late. But he was an Enforcer, so you highly doubted that he would.

Humming again as you placed the books back on the shelves, your cart now empty. Except for a few students in the far corner of the library, you were all on your own. You didn't mind - it left you with some time to finish up the essay that was due for tomorrow. So, with a sigh, you pushed the cart back to the counter.

There, in front of the small spot where you always sat, stood Officer Steb. It seemed to immediately lift your spririts as the cart suddenly felt much lighter.

"Officer Steb!"

His ears slightly moved back a little, not expecting your voice to suddenly pop up, but as he saw you, he gave you a nod.

"And, how did you like the books?"

He only nodded in return, placing the stack of books down on the counter. All of them had been put in alphabetical order - he must be an organized man. You pulled up his page, making sure that you had all the correct books as you nodded, scribbling down all the extra information before handing him the handwritten receipt.

"Could I do anything else for you, Officer?"

Steb was quiet - he was quiet often times. Out of his pocket, he fished another note with a few more books on it. The Undercity's History, a cookbook, 'Haircutting for Dummies!', and some more titles. You glanced up at him, trying hard not to let chuckles escape from you.

"Are these… All for you?"

You spot the tiniest shape of a smile as he shook his head. He tapped his Enforcer badge as you nodded, an 'oooh' as you looked back at the list.

"Be right back!"

This time, you found the books much faster. Not that Steb minded if you took a while - he enjoyed the library. He liked the books, the smells, the sun - you. Maddie offered to bring all the loaned books back to the library, but by the time she could even think about standing up, Steb was already out the door. The rest of the Enforcers shrugged it off as the man just wanting to spend some quiet time on their own. It was what he did.

But you.

How… Happy you always were. Cheery, but not overwhelmingly so. A bright flash of the sun through dark clouds. A stark contrast to his stoic demeanour, fire and water.

"There we go," you hummed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you pushed the cart back to the desk, "Can I put it under Officer Steb again?"

Hearing his name coming from you felt new, refreshing. He nodded, reaching over for the stack.

"Well, if you use the haircut book, let me know."

Steb snorted with a smile before clearing his throat, quickly standing back up straight before nodding. He was looking forward to next week.

For months, he came every single Tuesday, always around the same time. It must be during his break, or during his patrol. Only once had someone else shown up, Officer Nolan, as she introduced herself. She was nice and very talkative, so the two of you spent quite some time at the desk, chatting away. The week after that, Steb had written something extra on a note that he had stuck in a book.

'Sorry for Officer Nolan'

It had made you laugh.

Every week, the list of books would be different from the one before. Not only that, but the topics of said books could not be further apart. It was after a month of wondering that Steb answered the burning question that you had in mind. 'They are for the entire squad. They make a list, I get the books.' It made sense. So now, every week, you would try to guess which of the Enforcers would be reading which book. A fun little game, and thankfully Officer Steb would humour you, nodding or shaking his head depending on if your guess was right.

Over time, it felt like a friendship. More details of Steb came to the surface, and he would ask about your day. Favorite foods, hobbies, things you both hated. Officer Steb did not speak much, but he was comforting company. If bringing the book was his last task of the day, then he would stay at the library for a moment, starting the book that was meant for him. The last few times, you also placed a cup of tea next to him when he wasn't looking. It was like a challenge to see if he noticed you sneaking up on him - he did, but he would have never told you.

Today had been a bad day.

You slipped on your way to the library, there was a group of loud kids in the library, your head was pounding and you were not sure if you were feeling hot or cold. With a pack of tissues in your hand, you sniffed, squeezing your eyes shut.

The large windows and bright sun felt like a curse as you wished for nothing more than it to be dark outside. At least the group of rowdy teenagers had finally left.

When you heard the door open again, you nearly groaned in annoyance. If they returned, then you would have had no other choice but to hide in the back, away from the noise.

But after the creaking of the door, there was no other noise. You raised an eyebrow before lifting your head out of your hands, being met with no one other than Officer Steb.

"Oh, Officer Steb," you sniffed, your voice hoarse and odd-sounding due to your blocked nose, "I nearly forgot the date."

While usually dressed in his Enforcer uniform, he now wore something much more casual. You had never seen him outside of the dark blue and gold - the black and dark green suited him. Without his beret or helmet on, you could also see his hair. You wondered if he used the 'Haircutting for Dummies' book for it all those months ago. According to Steb, the book was not for him. His eyebrows creased as he scanned you, squinting his eyes.

"Yeah, not the best day," you shrugged, wiping your hand on your shirt, "But there is no one else to run the library, so… Me it is."

He quietly stared at you for another moment before gesturing to your notepad again. The sparkly cover held many pages of his handwriting - so many that it might as well have been his. You silently hand it over, your head aching with every move you make.

'Stay here, be right back'.

Steb turned on his heels, walking right down the hall and out the door. You only raised an eyebrow before looking over the stack of books and writing down all the information you needed. After what felt like an eternity, you finally sat back down in your chair, your fingers rubbing at your temples.

The Enforcer came back not long after, a small bag in his left hand. He placed it on the counter - as quietly as he could - which made you look back up.

"You're free."

Steb's voice was so different from what you imagined.

"I-" you frowned, "Excuse me, Officer Steb? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Just Steb is fine," he looked away, "Commander Kiramman has contacted the owner of the library, your boss, and you have permission to leave now."

How had he done that?

Your bag was still packed, resting against the side of the counter, almost jumping in excitement that you got to go home.

"You are sick, yes?"

"I mean… Sadly so, I'm guessing."

He nodded, slowly reaching out to you before slightly raising an eyebrow. You breathed in, nodding as his hand made contact with your forehead. Cold, so cold. Your eyes almost closed at the sensation, the feeling of his cool fingers nice against your burning face.

Sadly, the moment ended all too soon as Steb reached into the small bag, pulling out an assortment of different painkillers and medicine.

"Once a day," he held up one of the packets, "Maximum of three a day, six hours inbetween."

He had gone out to get you medicine? You nearly wanted to start crying, your tired eyes and heavy limbs glad that they would almost be able to rest. Not to mention the bursting and pounding of your heart. Despite feeling horrible, a smile still formed on your face.

"I… Steb, thank you. I can't believe this."

He took your bag off the ground, waiting for you to lock everything up before exiting the library, side by side.

"Thank you again," you said, though it came out not nearly as loud as you thought it would have.

"Have to take care of my favourite librarian," his comment nearly made you fall over, though he would not have let that happen, "I bring you home, you take the medicine, and I see you next week?"

#arcane imagines #arcane #arcane fics #arcane x reader #steb #steb arcane #steb x reader #steb fics #steb imagine

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rosiebbydoll · 20 days ago

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The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 1

Chp. 1 - Chp. 2

Summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, (more tags will be added)

wc: 7k

chp warning: fluff, tension, angst?, crack, Sukuna is a beefy asshole, also kinda chaotic

a/n: hello!! this is my first fic i’ve ever posted ! i’ve been so nervous to post, but here I am! please be kind! but also please comment and let me know what you think! I need input! I appreciate all feedback. reposts are appreciated and I truly hope you enjoy! love, rosie <3

What a fucking morning.

It’s not even eight o’clock, and it already feels like the world’s longest week. It’s always something, isn’t it? It started with the fire alarms blaring at two in the morning. This new apartment was supposed to be your haven, a fresh start. Well, that is what your “wonderful” landlord told you.

Instead, you found yourself wrestling with the outdated, screeching fire alarm. There you were, at two in the goddamn morning, beating the alarm with a broom, praying it wouldn’t wake up the entire building. Nobora watched, half-asleep, as you battled the infernal noise, her small form silhouetted in the doorway, clutching her dragon Squishmallow for comfort. She barely even reacts to the loud crash of the alarm falling to the ground. The shattered plastic does not even phase you either. You simply shrug, throw the broom down, and pick up Nobora to put her back to sleep.

You finally got her back to bed just before three. It’s fine, maybe I can still get some sleep. You lay your head down on the pillow, just starting to drift off when — is that moaning? You freeze in realization that the neighbors were in fact getting it on. These are also the neighbors you have yet to meet because moving has kept you so busy. You wanted to have a baking night with Nobora and bring them some cookies, now it will be just a little awkward, well for you anyway.

Their bedroom must be right next door because you could hear every detail. The walls seemed paper-thin, vibrating with their animalistic moans, leaving you no choice but to stare at the ceiling, hoping it would end soon. You felt a pang of envy mixed with embarrassment, your cheeks flushing in the dark. It was as if their moans were mocking your solitary existence.

“Oh fuck, yes, baby,” came the muffled yells through the wall.

“Dirty fucking bitch — take it.”

“Ahh, fuck—”

“Mhmm, give it to me!”

You sighed and shoved a pillow over your head, trying to muffle the sounds. I wish I was getting dicked down. You hadn't been with anyone since Nobora's father, too consumed with work and motherhood to even entertain the idea.

Hours ticked by with the soundtrack of someone else's late-night porno party echoing in your ears. You must have dozed off around four or five because you woke up at six, bleary-eyed and grumpy, unfortunately, ready to start your day. You always wake up an hour before Nobora. You’ve trained your mind to wake up no matter what. It's a precious, peaceful time. Just you, a shower, and some coffee to brace yourself for the chaos of single motherhood. It was a ritual, a grounding moment before the world demanded everything from you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and headed straight for the shower. But today, even the water conspired against you. It was lukewarm for about thirty seconds before turning ice cold. You rolled your eyes, sighed again, and let the frigid water wake you up. It was a cruel reality check, a reminder that not everything was within your control. The icy blast shocked you awake, but instead of feeling refreshed, you were simply aware of everything and still very fucking tired. You lethargically wash your body and hair, fully used to the freezing temperature.

Now wide awake you turn off the shower and step out shivering. Muscle memory has you reaching for a towel hanging on the rack. Instead of grabbing a plush soft towel, your knuckles hit the wall. With a frown adorning your face, you scan the bathroom for another towel. To no surprise, there isn't one in sight. Of course. I never finished the laundry. So, you tiptoed into the hallway, freezing and dripping wet. Another groan escaped your lips as you made your way to the laundry room.

Passing by the kitchen, the rich, inviting aroma of fresh coffee filled the air. A small comfort in a morning of mishaps. Yet, as you entered the kitchen, you found yourself sprawled on the floor, your head throbbing from the hard linoleum. The culprit? Water from your shower pools on the tiles. Slipped and fell hard, right on your ass (and head).

Sitting up, you gingerly touched the back of your head, wincing at the dull ache from the linoleum’s unforgiving surface. The jolt of the fall had shaken you, and as you surveyed the chaos around you, a wave of frustration washed over you. The kitchen was a battlefield, and you were its weary soldier.

The hot liquid-!Wait. Hot? The damn Coffee. The pot hadn’t been placed properly, and now it was everywhere, seeping under appliances and decorating the counter in erratic splatters. It was as if the universe had conspired against you, testing your patience with every spilled drop. The laugh that leaves your body was loud, it was a pure reaction to the shit day you are having so far. Thank god Nobara is a heavy sleeper.

You sighed deeply, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, and headed to the laundry room to retrieve a stack of towels. You snatch some towels from the still unfolded pile of laundry and head back to the mess. Wrapped in towels you try and clean the mess that was the kitchen moving with deliberate care.

As you wiped the counters, you couldn’t help but think of how once, in another life, you might have found this situation amusing — a fun story to share over drinks with friends. But now, it was another chore, another hurdle in a day that seemed determined to test your limits. You were always doing something, always busy, never having time for anyone but work and Nobora.

The mom’s guilt engulfs you as you think such a thing. Nobora is your girl, you’d do anything for her. She isn’t a bad kid at all, she’s almost perfect actually. You’re just burnt out from repetition. It’s all becoming too much. You need to find something to shake up your life, or you might explode over the next coffee spill.

With the kitchen finally tamed, you started another pot of coffee, meticulously ensuring the pot was secure. Three double-takes later, you finally moved on. The comforting aroma of brewing coffee filled the air and you took a moment to breathe it in. With a deep breath you finally exit the kitchen and with urgency walk down the hall to go change.

The messy bed you totally ignored to make is calling you back to it. Oh how you wish you could start this day over. But, that’s not how life works unfortunately. Searching for a decent outfit in your closet, you toss them onto the bad and quickly dry your hair and put on some makeup. The goal is to look somewhat presentable before you tackle the rest of this long day.

Dressed in a white turtleneck, black blazer, and matching pants, accented by gold earrings and a watch, you felt a sense of composure return. Catching your reflection in the hallway mirror, you acknowledged the woman staring back with a small smile.

You step back into the kitchen with a quick glance at the clock: 6:40. Not too bad, considering the coffee debacle. With a fresh pot brewed and your daily agenda meticulously filled, you savored a sip from your favorite mug, feeling the familiar rhythm of your routine reassert itself. This routine was your anchor, a vital structure in the whirlwind of motherhood and a demanding career as head librarian.

Nobora, thankfully, was a dream child, attending an early-start preschool conveniently located near the library, a perk courtesy of her father's connections. The usual schedule: drop-off at 7:55, arrival at the library by 8:15. That gives you just enough time to prepare for the day before doors open at 9. Every task was strategically planned. Although, you’ve learned to leave room open for chaos.

The library was your second home, a sanctuary that healed you in ways you couldn’t describe. As head librarian at the city’s main library, you were doing what you loved, and Nobora thought you were some kind of book fairy, bringing her new tales to explore every night.

You knew every corner, every hidden nook where sunlight filtered through tall windows, creating perfect reading spots. The children's section was your pride and joy, a magical realm you'd cultivated with careful attention. Colorful bean bags, twinkling fairy lights, and hand-painted murals transformed the space into something extraordinary. You'd spent countless weekends perched on ladders, brush in hand, bringing storybook characters to life on the walls while Nobora "supervised" from below, offering creative direction with the confidence only a child could muster.

Your colleagues often joked that you had a sixth sense for matching readers with their perfect books. It wasn't magic, though – just years of careful observation and a deep understanding of how stories could heal, inspire, and transform. You kept a mental catalog of every patron's preferences, their reading journey, their emotional needs.

As you sipped your coffee you read the daily news on your phone. Your eyes shift up to the doorway as you heard soft footsteps. You smirked, turning to greet your daughter. “Good morning, baby,” you smiled as Nobora entered the kitchen, clutching her dragon Squishmallow. Her hair was a messy halo around her face, eyes were still heavy with sleep.

“Hi, Mommy,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. Her presence was warm and melted every stressor away. Thinking of how used you are with her in your life makes you eternally grateful. She is your motivation, what makes everything worth it.

You kissed her head, lifted her into her booster seat, and adjusted the strap. “Eggs or cereal?” you asked, knowing her answer before she even spoke.

“Cookies ‘n Crunch,” she replied, yawning. You nodded, grabbing her favorite princess-themed bowl and spoon, and pouring cereal and milk with care. Her world was simple, unburdened by adult worries, and you envied her innocence. You watched as she ate, her small hands clutching the spoon with determination, and you felt a surge of love so strong it took your breath away.

"Want some orange juice?" you asked, already reaching for her favorite cup – the one with little dragons that changed color when filled with cold liquid. Her eyes lit up as she nodded, momentarily forgetting her cereal to watch the purple dragons turn blue.

"Mommy, look! They're changing again!" she exclaimed, her voice still scratchy with sleep but filled with wonder. These small moments of magic, watching her delight in something as simple as color-changing cups made everything worthwhile. You settled into the chair beside her, sipping your coffee while she alternated between spoonfuls of cereal and careful sips of juice. Her little feet swung back and forth, occasionally bumping against the chair legs in a gentle rhythm. The morning light streaming through the kitchen window caught the gold flecks in her pretty eyes – eyes just like yours – and you found yourself mesmerized by how much she'd grown.

"I'm gonna get your backpack ready, 'kay?" You ask as you stand up from the kitchen table and begin to walk to her room. You hear a muffled "kay" as she shovels more cereal in her mouth. You enter her mess of a room that you will have to clean later and grab her bright blue glittery backpack with two Tamagotchis hooked to one zipper and a gaming controller keychain hooked to the other. You're sure to grab her notebook, pencil bag, hat, and extra clothes and shove them into the back.

Your fingers brush against a crumpled drawing from yesterday, and you carefully smooth it out. It’s a crayon masterpiece of you and her at the library, surrounded by what looks like floating books with wings. You smile, tucking it back inside before zipping everything up.

Returning to the kitchen, you set her backpack beside your tote bag, already packed the night before. You hummed in satisfaction, feeling the day improve. Nobora, your sweet child, brightened even the dreariest mornings. Her presence was a reminder of life's beauty, the reason you pushed through the exhaustion. You watched her, a small smile playing on your lips as she finished her breakfast, her face lighting up with a mischievous grin.

“Momma, I’m finished,” Nobora announced, smiling as she devoured the last of her cereal. You helped her out of the seat, instructing her to pick a sweater from her room. Letting her choose her own outfits was a new routine, fostering her independence, though you often had to fix the socks. Watching her grow, witnessing her small victories, was your greatest joy.

You marveled at how quickly she was becoming her own person, her personality shining through in everything she did. As she picked out her clothes you rinsed off her dirty dishes along with your empty coffee cup and set them in the sink to be put in the dishwasher later.

She returned in a red sweater with a bow at the collar and black jeans, handing you her Converse to tie. Her socks matched this time — bright yellow but matching nonetheless. The sight made you smile; just last week, she'd insisted on wearing one polka dot sock and one striped one, declaring it "fashion." You'd let her, of course, because sometimes the best parenting was knowing when to let go.

"Hair clip or tie?" you asked as she followed you to the bathroom, her little feet padding softly on the floor. The morning routine was a dance you both knew by heart, each step familiar yet somehow special every time.

"Clip, please," she says as you lift her to sit on the bathroom sink. You style her hair, securing sparkly black clips on either side. Your fingers move with practiced ease through her hair, so much like your own. "Oh, absolutely gorgeous," you say to her and help her off the sink, placing her back down on the ground. She giggles and smiles brightly at your compliment, running down the hallway. "Alright, let's get going," you call, helping her into her coat.

"Toji is picking you up tonight with Megumi, okay?" Nobora nods as you open the door. She immediately makes a U-turn and darts back to her room, grabbing her Gameboy (it was once yours, once upon a time).

"I wanna play on the way to school." Her enthusiasm is contagious. You roll your eyes, chuckling. “Alright, come on.”

As you open the door, your neighbor’s door flew open. A boy with pink hair bolted out, followed by another boy with brown hair, slightly longer. Their playful shouts echoed down the hallway. You paused for a moment, watching them, a small smile on your lips as they reminded you of your Nobora.

“Yuji, don’t forget your lunchbox,” the older boy called, his voice a mix of authority and warmth. Your eyes widened. “Shit! Her lunch,” you muttered, rushing back inside to grab the bento box from the fridge. You let out a deep breath holding the bento box to your chest and did a quick mental checklist.

Phone. Wallet. Keys. Bag. Lunch. Nobora.

Nodding, you headed back out, only to hear Nobora’s screaming, “That’s mine!”

“I just wanna see what level your Charizard is,” Yuji replied, pulling at Nobora’s Gameboy. You sighed, stepping forward to intervene, but your neighbor emerged, tall and imposing, with tattoos everywhere you could see (even his face), gauges, and hair matching Yuji’s. His presence was commanding. You found yourself momentarily distracted by his presence, his aura both intimidating and oddly captivating.

"No! I just got him to level 45 and he's special! Let go!" Nobora's voice rose higher, her fingers tightly wrapped around her precious game. The battle music from Pokémon could still be heard faintly from the device's speakers.

"It took me forever to train him! Mommy helped me!" Nobora's eyes were starting to tear up, her protection of her prized Pokémon becoming more desperate. You and the handsome stranger both let out a sigh at the same time. He steps over to Yuji and bends down. The older boy is standing to the side staring annoyingly at the younger one.

"Yuji, let go of the damn game. We gotta go," the man ordered, his deep voice and kinda terrifying.

"But Uncle Sukuna, I just want to—" Yuji started to protest.

"Now."

Yuji huffed, releasing the Gameboy with more force than necessary, sending Nobora tumbling backward. The device flew through the air in slow motion, a perfect arc of impending disaster.

Your heart stopped as you watched it fall, helpless to prevent what was coming. The sound of plastic meeting tile echoed through the hallway like a gunshot, followed by the distinct crack of something breaking inside. The Pokémon battle music cut off abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

Time seemed frozen as everyone stared at the broken device on the floor, the magnitude of what just happened sinking in. You could see Nobora's lower lip starting to quiver, her eyes filling with fresh tears as she stared at her beloved game system – the one that had been your constant companion through high school, the one you'd lovingly passed down to her, the one that held all her carefully trained Pokémon.

Fuck.

You quickly collected Nobora, who was now crying, and picked up the broken Gameboy. “It’s okay, baby. Maybe I can get you a new one,” you soothed, rubbing her back. You felt a pang of guilt, wishing you could shield her from every hurt and disappointment. Yuji and the other boy bowed their heads, their expressions a mix of contrition and curiosity.

"I'm so sorry," the older one said, his voice sincere. His eyes darted between you and Nobora, genuine remorse written across his features.

You forced a smile, locking your door with slightly trembling hands. "Oh, it's okay. Accidents happen." But Nobora was not appeased, her tears flowing freely as she buried her face in your neck. You hugged her tightly, whispering reassurances, feeling her small body shake with sobs against you.

The man beside you eyed you up and down. You slipped the broken Gameboy into your tote and grabbed your car keys, trying to appear unfazed as the realization hit you like a truck. He was the one you'd heard last night, the source of those passionate sounds that had kept you awake.

His gaze was intense, but you were already turning away, checking your watch with growing anxiety. You were running late, and between the broken Gameboy, Nobora's tears, and this uncomfortable revelation about your neighbor's nocturnal activities, you just needed to get out of there. The sooner you could escape this hallway and its impossibly attractive but clearly complicated new neighbor, the better.

"Please, miss! I'm so sorry!" Yuji pleaded, his pink hair falling into his eyes as he bowed repeatedly. You sighed, turning back to the boy, your heart softening at his genuine distress. Before you could respond, the man groaned, "Yuji, she said it was fine, chill." His tone was exasperated but not unkind. The way he looked at his nephew spoke volumes about the care hidden behind that intimidating facade.

Yuji wiped his eyes and ran to the man, clutching at his uncle's shirt like an anchor. The other boy was standing beside him rubbing his arm to try and comfort him. You walk over and bend down to be on his level, Nobora sniffling in your arms. Her tears were subsiding, curiosity beginning to peek through her sadness.

"I'll tell you what, since we're neighbors, you can make it up to us." You smiled, and the boys looked at you, confused. Nobora perked up, listening intently, her grip on your neck loosening slightly. "How about you boys come over and play with Nobora one day, to make up for her game." The offer was simple, a gesture of peace in the morning's storm. You knew Nobora could use some friends in the building, and despite the rough start, these boys seemed sweet enough.

The tall man rolled his eyes, but the boys grinned widely, their faces lighting up like Christmas trees. "Yes, please!" they chorused, bouncing on their toes with excitement. Their enthusiasm was infectious. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a small flicker of hope amidst the chaos. Maybe something good could come from this disaster of a morning after all.

The man eyed you again, smirking. You gave a half-hearted smile, quickly making your way down the stairs to your car. You were behind schedule, thanks to the forgotten lunchbox and the Gameboy incident.

After strapping Nobora into her car seat, you handed her an applesauce pouch, her comfort snack for rough mornings. Her sniffles subsided as traffic cooperated on the way to school, the gentle hum of the engine and morning radio filling the silence. It has felt like the longest day you have ever lived, and work hasn’t even started yet.

You pull into Nobora's school and park, you peek at the clock on your phone and to your surprise, you're right on time. The morning chaos hadn't derailed your schedule after all. You unbuckle Nobora, and wipe her face with a wet wipe, gentle strokes removing the traces of tears. Her eyes are still puffy, but at least she's stopped crying.

"I'll get you a new Gameboy, okay, honey?" you promised as you held her hand, crossing to the school. The morning sun cast long shadows across the playground, where early arrivals were already running and laughing. Her nod was small, her expression pensive as she clutched your hand tightly.

You considered calling out of work, but no, she'd be fine. She was tough, just like you. She'd likely forget the whole ordeal by the time she got home, distracted by whatever adventure she'd find with Megumi during the day. The thought was a comfort.

Inside, you approached her classroom. "Good morning, lovely ladies," greeted her teacher, Kento Nanami, with a smile. He was one of the kindest people you'd ever met, always patient with the preschoolers and offering his help whenever needed. His presence was calming and alluring, too bad he's engaged.

His blonde hair was perfectly styled as always, his wire-rimmed glasses perched precisely on his nose. The way he managed to look both professional and approachable in his crisp button-down and neat slacks was a daily miracle, especially considering he spent his days surrounded by paint, glue, and the general chaos of preschoolers. You'd seen him handle tantrums with the same grace he used to teach ABCs, never losing his composure or that gentle smile that made all the moms (and a few dads) swoon.

Nobora mustered a small smile and entered the classroom. You watched her join her classmates, grateful for the safe haven her school provided. Despite her puffy eyes and earlier tears, she was already gravitating toward the reading corner. Kento and you watch her for a few more moments before he turns his attention to you.

"Rough morning?" Kento asked, his eyes full of understanding. His voice was gentle, a reminder that you weren't alone in your struggles. He had this way of making everyone feel seen.

"Oh yeah." You rolled your eyes, pulling the broken Gameboy from your tote. The device looked even more pathetic under the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

"How did that happen?" he queried, examining the device with a gentle curiosity. His fingers traced the crack in the screen as you let out another sigh and chuckled.

"Well, there was this little—" you began, interrupted by small hands tugging your leg. You looked down to see Megumi, Toji's son, clinging to you. His dark hair was slightly messy, just like his father's, and his eyes held their usual stoic expression.

"Oh, there's my favorite boy!" You bent down, kissing his cheek. He rolled his eyes in that dramatic way only children can master, but you caught his small smile as he headed into the classroom. The way he tried to maintain his aloof demeanor while secretly enjoying the attention was so quintessentially Megumi. You turned to continue your conversation with Kento, but Toji appeared, flicking your forehead playfully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Ah—Toji, stop. Not in the mood," you protested, swatting his arm. He pouted, showcasing his lip scar in that way he knew made him look both dangerous and oddly charming. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?" He teased.

You scoffed as Kento glared at him. "Watch your mouth, Zenin," Kento said sternly, though you could see the hint of amusement in his eyes. You giggled, stepping aside to let a tired ooking mom pass with her twins.

"What?" Toji raised his hands in mock innocence. "I'm just asking our friend here why she looks ready to commit murder before nine in the morning." His grin was infectious, even as Kento shook his head disapprovingly.

"Some of us try to maintain a professional environment," Kento reminded him, adjusting his glasses with practiced patience.

"Some of us need to loosen up," Toji shot back, earning another stern look from the teacher.

Before this moment could be fueled by any more tension, you turn to Toji. "You can keep her until five tonight, right?" you asked, checking the time. 8:05. Ten minutes until work. You still needed to get to the library and set up for the senior book club that started at nine.

"Yeah, she can stay as long as she needs, pretty," Toji nodded, his casual use of the endearment as familiar as breathing. After all these years of friendship, his playful flirting had become just become normal.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "I owe you one, you know."

Toji grinned, that mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Oh, I know what you could—" He winced as you pinched his arm, cutting off whatever inappropriate suggestion he was about to make in front of the children. "Oi!" he exclaimed, rubbing the spot where you pinched him.

You laughed at his pain and checked the clock one more time. You turn and waved goodbye to both men. Nobora was playing with Megumi as you left, their laughter echoing down the hall. The men wave back and watch as your figure grows smaller as you inch closer to the exit, finally getting to go to work.

"She's gonna run herself ragged," Toji muttered as you walked away, his usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. Kento nodded, adjusting his glasses with a heavy sigh. "She doesn't want help, I've tried." Toji bit his lip, staring off in the way he did when he was genuinely worried. Kento turned to greet another parent, their voices blending into the morning's symphony of children's laughter and parents' goodbyes.

You speed-walked down the hall, hoping to avoid further encounters. But as you approached the exit, a man and a little boy entered — your neighbors. Your stomach dropped, a familiar flutter of anxiety mixed with irritation rising in your chest. Not now, not another awkward moment with your hot, broody neighbor.

Yuji spotted you, his face lighting up with that pure childhood enthusiasm that made it impossible to stay angry. "Neighbor!!" he called, waving frantically as if you were across a football field rather than just a few feet away. You couldn't help but smile, bending down to greet him despite your rush to leave.

"Well, hello! Yuji, right?" He nodded eagerly, his pink hair bouncing with the movement.

"Do you go to school here?" the little boy asked you with the cutest smile. You let out a small chuckle at the innocent question.

The tall man scoffed, the sound dripping with condescension. "Obviously not. That little girl whose game you broke does." He says to Yuji, the harsh reminder making the boy's smile falter.

You felt a flicker of irritation at how unnecessarily cruel he was being to the child who was clearly still feeling guilty about the incident.

Ignoring his harsh tone, you focus back to Yuji, maintaining your warm smile. "Which class are you in, sweetheart?"

Yuji's eyes light up, previous guilt momentarily forgotten. "Mr. Nanami's class! It's my first day!" His enthusiasm was contagious, practically bouncing on his toes as he spoke.

"That's awesome! You'll love Mr. Nanami, he's one of the kindest teachers around," you assured him, your heart warming at his eagerness to make friends despite the morning's rocky start.

"Nobora’s in there too! I am sure she’ll be happy to see you," you smile and hope Nobora wont hold a grudge.

Sukuna clears his throat and nudges Yuji with his hand, "Better hurry brat, you're gonna be late." Yuji's eyes widen and he quickly says goodbye to you both, making sure to hug Sukuna before darting down the hallway.

You wave to Yuji and stand, smoothing your blazer in a nervous gesture.You both watch him run down the hall, Kento greeting him with that warm smile of his.

An awkward silence settles between you and Sukuna, heavy with unspoken words. You turned, locking eyes with him, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. You wanted to say something, anything, but words failed you. Instead, you smiled politely, starting to walk away. His gaze was steady, and intense, following your movement, and you could feel the weight of it on your back.

"Hey!" his deep voice stopped you. You turned back, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah?" You force a smile on your face.

"Sorry about my nephew. I can give you money to replace—" His offer was unexpected, his tone almost apologetic. You swallow thickly as you can tell this apology is hard for him to say.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it! That thing was old anyway. I had it since high school." You laughed, realizing you were rambling. His presence was both unsettling and oddly comforting. You flash him a warm, genuine smile this time, trying to show there is no harm in the situation.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. It was silent between you for a few seconds before he spoke again, "I'm Sukuna, by the way." He stares down at you with eyes that seem to be burning a a hole through your skin. That smirk isn’t helping either.

"Huh?" you replied, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor. The man who had been so harsh with Yuji moments ago was now attempting something almost like charm. It was jarring, like emotional whiplash.

"We're neighbors, right? And my nephew destroyed your daughter's prized possession, so I guess we're on a first-name basis now." He smirked, running a hand through his hair, his confidence palpable.

Your cheeks flushed pink. How did this stranger affect you so much? Was it his handsome face, his rippling muscles, or the way he looked at you like you were something special? Or maybe you’d just been deprived for too long.

Blinking away your thoughts, you quickly introduced yourself. “Right! Neighbors! Yeah, your... nephews can come over whenever they like! I’m still unpacking, but they’re welcome!” Your words were a bridge, an attempt to navigate the unfamiliar terrain between you.

You stretched out your hand, offering a friendly handshake. Sukuna's fingers wrapped around yours, warm and firm. Your breath hitches as you feel an unexpected jolt of electricity run through your body and your quick to pull your hand back.

You both walked toward the parking lot. “So, when did you move here?” he asked, eyes ahead, his tone casual.

“About three weeks ago. It’s closer to work and Nobora’s school,” you replied, staring at the ground, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves. His presence was both comforting and unsettling.

“Oh, so do you know Toji?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly with a hint of amusement.

Toji owned the apartment complex. He’d offered you a place to stay, insisting on a roomy two-bedroom with a laundry unit (he made sure to boast that up). You, him, and his late wife had been high school friends. After she passed, you supported each other in every way possible. He was your best friend, fiercely protective, and his son, Megumi, was like your second child.

“Oh, yeah, we go way back!” you said, nearing your car. Sukuna raised a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. The expression made your stomach twist with unease. You stopped in your tracks and turn right in front of him, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" The word came out sharper than you intended, but you were too rattled by his scrutiny to care. Your fingers curled into your palm as you met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by those burning crimson eyes. The way he was looking at you – like he knew something you didn't – made your skin prickle with irritation.

His silence stretched between you like a rubber band ready to snap, the weight of his unspoken judgment hanging in the air. You could feel your pulse quickening, a mix of anger and something else you didn't want to examine too closely simmering beneath your skin.

Sukuna bit his lip, shaking his head. "Nothing, just not surprised." His words dripped with judgment. You watched in disbelief as his entire demeanor shifted. The almost friendly neighbor from moments ago morphing into something darker, more predatory. His presence loomed over you like a storm cloud, that playful smirk twisting into something cruel that made your skin crawl. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as his crimson eyes raked over you, calculating and cold.

You cocked your head to the side, squaring your shoulders despite the chill running down your spine. "I'm sorry?" Your voice was steel wrapped in silk, a warning dressed as politeness.

The familiar weight of judgment settled on your shoulders. You’d felt it before, seen it in the eyes of others who thought they knew your story. People always jumped to conclusions, their minds diving straight into the gutter. And here he was, this arrogant stranger, about to prove he was no different. The realization cut deeper than you wanted to admit, a reminder that no matter how hard you worked, some people would always see what they wanted to see.

His presence seemed to grow more imposing as he stepped closer, invading your space with deliberate intent. The parking lot suddenly felt too small, too intimate for this confrontation. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a mix of anger and something else you refused to acknowledge making your pulse race. The scent of his cologne – something expensive and woodsy – mingled with the morning air, making it harder to maintain your composure.

He turned to face you fully, his crimson eyes boring into yours. "You don't think you're the first woman Toji's given a sweet deal to?" The implication in his tone made your blood boil. "Man's got a type, and you fit it perfectly." His words hung in the air like poison, each syllable dripping with judgment and assumptions that made your skin crawl.

As a mother, you have taught your daughter to kill people with kindness, always turn the other cheek. And you try to live by the same rule, but that rule can go fuck itself right now. You've dealt with enough men who think they can read your whole life story in a single glance, who believe they know everything about you based on nothing but their own twisted assumptions.

You have been holding it together all morning. Ever since those stupid fucking smoke alarms. Now thanks to this dickhead, you have the perfect moment to take all that built up stress on him.

You laughed, a bitter sound that echoed through the parking lot, before stepping closer until you were mere inches from him. The woodsy scent of his cologne filled your nostrils, but instead of making you weak in the knees like before, it only fueled your rage.

"Even if I was fucking Toji, which is none of your business. How fucking dare you." Your voice was low, dangerous, each word precise and sharp as a blade. The morning sun caught the gold flecks in your eyes, making them flash with fury.

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly, that infuriating smirk faltering as he realized he'd severely miscalculated. You weren't backing down. Instead, you were a force of nature, unleashed and unafraid.

Your finger jabbed into his chest, punctuating each word. "How fucking dare you assume I need anyone, especially a man, to help me live? You're a piece of shit, and to think I actually thought you were hot." The admission slipped out before you could stop it, but you were too angry to care.

Sukuna was stunned and, annoyingly, a bit turned on. No one had ever spoken to him like that without getting their ass kicked. The way your eyes flashed with fury, how you'd stepped right into his space without an ounce of fear. It stirred something primal in him. Your finger jabbing into his chest had left a phantom burn, and the admission that you'd found him attractive only made it worse. He couldn't decide if he wanted to shut you up or hear you yell at him some more.

You were trying hard not to explode from anger. Instead, you laughed again, the sound sharp and bitter, turning to leave.

"And if I hear your limp-dick ass fucking some bitch again, I'll go to Toji myself and have you kicked out," you added, slamming your car door as you enter it with enough force to make the vehicle shake. The sound echoed through the parking lot like a gunshot.

Sukuna stood there, shocked, his crimson eyes fixed on your retreating car. For once, that infuriating smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression of genuine surprise. Your words had struck deeper than he'd expected, leaving him with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest

You flipped him off for good measure and sped away, tires squealing against the asphalt. What a fucking morning. Your body was vibrating with anger, hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel as your mind replayed the encounter in an endless loop.

The audacity of that man, standing there with his stupid attractive face and his baseless accusations. Who the fuck does that guy think he is? He doesn't know you, doesn't know the years of friendship and loss that bind you and Toji together. He has no right to even assume anything about you, to reduce your entire life to some cheap cliché.

Once you arrived at work, you were flustered and running on pure adrenaline. The familiar sounds and smells of the library usually brought you peace, but today it was just another stop in your hurricane of a morning. You practically sprinted inside, your heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor.

"Morning, boss!" Ino called from behind the returns cart. "Coffee's fresh in the break—" He paused, taking in your expression. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," you managed, though your tone suggested otherwise. "Senior book club setup?"

"I put out some chairs, but—"

The sheer force of your anger fueled you like rocket fuel. You threw yourself into the preparations, arranging chairs with military precision, setting out water pitchers and coffee urns with such efficiency that even Mrs. Tanaka, arriving early with her famous lemon squares, raised an eyebrow.

"My dear," she said, placing a gentle hand on your arm as you aggressively straightened a stack of discussion guides, "Whatever he did, he's not worth the energy."

You froze, wondering if your morning's drama was that obvious. Mrs. Tanaka just smiled, her eyes twinkling with knowing wisdom. "When you get to be my age, you can spot man trouble from a mile away. Now, have a lemon square." She patted your hand and continued to put out her delicious treats she crafted.

The simple kindness in her voice almost broke you. Almost. Instead, you took a deep breath, accepted the offered treat, and managed a genuine smile. There would be time later to process the morning's chaos.

You looked at the clocked up above and saw it was finally time to open. Ino quickly unlocks the main doors and people start to slowly shuffle in. The first book club members were taking their seats now, their cheerful morning chatter filling the room.

You squared your shoulders, pushing thoughts of crimson eyes and woodsy cologne to the back of your mind. You had a job to do, a daughter to raise, a life to live. You didn't need the drama that clearly came with Sukuna's presence.

With one last sigh you force a smile on your face and try to push the stress aside.

What a fucking morning.

summary/notes: AHHHH!! hi it’s me again! I truly hope you enjoyed this! chapter two is ready to be read through one final time and then it will be published! I wanted this chapter to kinda introduce the chaos that will ensue with these two! also, had to include my other husbands, Toji and Kento. again, please let me know how you felt! I truly love writing this story. and I hope you enjoyed! thanks <3

#jjk #sukuna #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujitsu kaisen #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #sukuna fic #dividers by @enchanthings - a

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pitlanepeach · 15 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, silverstone 2021, racing injuries, detailed description of a panic attack, angsty as heck

Notes — Uh....... welcome to the Silverstone chapter (im sorry)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Silverstone)

In the days leading up to Silverstone, Lando filmed a video for Quadrant. Amelia sat just out of shot, watching the gameplay unfold with a grin that said, this is ridiculous, and I’m having the best time watching you all make fools of yourselves. When Lando stacked it and landed awkwardly on his arm, she was there in an instant, fussing over him.

A small portion of the clip made it into the final edit. Her on her knees, laughing, while Lando pouted dramatically, waving his arm around like it was much a more dramatic injury than just a scratch. It was lighthearted, sweet.

Everyone went crazy for it.

—

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N. Quick question. does anyone have any spare gloves?

Valtteri B. Like... racing gloves?

Lando N. Nah, just regular gloves. Leather, ideally.

George R. I’ve got some driving gloves in my car.

Pierre G. Of course you do.

George R. What’s that supposed to mean?

Pierre G. Nothing, nothing.

Lando N. Can you bring them to me? Amelia’s a bit icky about touch today, thought gloves might help. We’re heading to the track now and I couldn’t find any at my parents' place.

George R. Yeah, I’ll give them to Will.

Lando N. 👍

—

It wasn’t a stim. It wasn’t a meltdown.

It was just… discomfort.

She sighed in relief as Lando slid the brown leather gloves onto her hands. She swallowed, wiggling her fingers and letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

The leather was soft and probably expensive, considering the gloves were George’s.

Lando squeezed her hands. “Better?”

She nodded, smiling. “They match my boots.” She held her gloved hands next to her knees, where her brown riding-style boots reached.

He snorted, laughing softly. “I don’t think George planned that, but I’m glad you feel fashionable, baby.”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wandered over, wiggling his eyebrows. “Excited for your home races, mate?” The question was aimed at Lando.

Amelia watched Lando, noticing how his face shifted; something complicated, something soft, but also guarded.

“Yeah. Just want to do well,” he shrugged, his smile a little too tight.

She frowned, instinctively leaning in. “You will.”

His smile flickered, uncertain. “I hope so.”

—

Max didn’t ask about the gloves. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her into his driver’s room, ignoring her confused protests.

He slammed the door, sat on the cabin bed, and stared at her.

She hovered, uncertain, glancing at the door before looking back at him. “Um…”

“I want to tell her the truth,” he said, eventually.

She stared at him for a beat, trying to decode his words, and then, slowly, her eyes widened. “You— I thought you told her months ago! Are you serious?” She choked out.

Max winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I know I should’ve done it sooner, okay? But I— I didn’t want to spoil it…”

Her anger flared, a sick heat bubbling in her stomach. “I told you to tell her the truth. That I’d hate to be lied to like that. And you carried on?” She was trembling. “So…. What. She still has no idea? About you, about all of this?”

He lowered his gaze, shame written across his face.

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping back. “I can’t even look at you. How could you—” She choked, nauseous, thinking of the girl who had no idea she was about to be dragged into this mess. “Has she told you she loves you?”

He was silent.

She let out a pained sound, high-pitched and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just… pass your thoughts on the car after practice to GP, yeah?”

Then she turned and walked out, her body coiled tight, her mind a storm.

—

She stormed through the garage, ignoring the stares from the engineers, and found Lando, her dad, and Daniel standing together.

Her dad spotted her first, eyes going wide. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Her dad sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t new. It had mostly happened during puberty. She’d always been hard to anger, but when it did happen, she needed an outlet.

“We’ve got some old tire blankets we can pile up. Should be soft enough.”

She nodded, her gaze distant.

He instructed a mechanic to start gathering the blankets in the back of the garage, away from the cameras and spectators.

Lando cupped her face, bending to meet her eyes. “You okay? What happened?”

“Max is an asshole,” she spat.

He blinked, shocked, before stepping back and nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go help with the tire blankets.” He hurried off.

She looked at Daniel.

He shrugged, making a face. “Max is an asshole sometimes, isn’t he?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

Then, out of sight of everyone, she took her frustration out on the tire blankets.

—

Max won the sprint race, setting his brakes on fire on the grid in order to boost the temperature in his front tires and give him a better start. It was risky, but it paid off, and he won. That took precedence over the extra work he’d given the garage crew overnight.

Another haul of points in their fight against Lewis.

Amelia didn’t have it in her to celebrate. She forced a smile for GP, nodded at Christian, but stepped away from the pit wall and headed straight to the back of Max’s garage, where Jos was sitting.

“Did you know about her? His girlfriend?” Jos asked. “I assume you did.”

Amelia stared at a spot of engine oil on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to push for more, but she stood up and walked away before he could.

Lando finished P5. He fought with her childhood hero on track and came out ahead. For that, he deserved her attention.

—

She found Mark Webber just before the F2 feature race, holding a folded white envelope. She passed it to him as discreetly as possible, careful of the cameras and prying eyes around them.

He took it, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Let him open it when—if—things go wrong. It’s a good offer. The best he’ll get.” She’d made sure of that. She wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks if Otmar did what she suspected he might do.

Mark studied her for a moment. “You made this happen?”

She nodded.

“Come on, kid,” he said, after a beat, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure Oscar would love a chat before he has to get in the car.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Do you think he’ll mind if I look at his steering set-up? I’m so curious—”

—

Lando drove them from the track to the hotel. She liked his car. All sleek, black lines and a polished interior that looked like something out of a magazine.

“Is this your dream car?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

It was nearly ten, the sky darkening, and Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other casually draped over her inner thigh. She’d swapped out her team kit after the sprint for his favourite skirt, keeping it casual but elegant for the evening’s media events. Daniel had made him do a shoeey on the main stage.

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at her with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a Jolly.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. “A— A Fiat Jolly?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

She couldn’t help but smirk. “A Jolly? That’s your dream car?”

Lando shot her a mock glare from the corner of his eye. “Baby…”

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shook his head, exasperated but still smiling, his eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll get one, baby, and I’ll force you to let me drive it everywhere.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be able to match all of my outfits to it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Lando rolled his eyes.

—

Max and Pietra were waiting for them in the hotel lobby the next morning. Amelia squeezed Lando’s hand as they approached, giving him a fond glance before skipping over to Pietra, who greeted her with a bright smile and a glance of appreciation.

“That dress is gorgeous!” Pietra remarked, her eyes lighting up.

Amelia smiled, twirling a little. “Thanks. It’s my favourite. Oscar De La Renta. I can wear it on the pit wall as long as I throw on a team jacket.” As they walked through the lobby, Amelia leaned in, lowering her voice just enough so the guys wouldn’t overhear. “He won’t say it, but Lando thinks it’s a lucky dress. Pushed me into wearing it today.”

Pietra smiled knowingly.

“Baby!” Lando’s voice called from behind them.

Amelia turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got your iPad?” he asked, him and Max now caught up to them.

Amelia patted her bag, feeling the familiar weight. “Got it.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on it today, yeah? Group chat’s a bit tense at the moment.”

She frowned. “What’s my iPad got to do with your group chat?”

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He kissed her.

—

Everyone could feel the tension between her and Max.

She sat in the strategy meeting, arms crossed, her focus locked on the data sheets in front of her. The only time she spoke was to correct a mistake or suggest a differential, her tone cool and efficient. Max, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, the weight of whatever was unspoken between them hanging heavy in the air.

When the meeting ended, she walked with GP to the garage, discussing overcorrection and heat cycles.

She managed to avoid Max entirely.

But just before the cars were due to leave the garages to line up on the grid, Jos found her. He was calm, but there was something demanding in his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” he said quietly, eyes hard. “But I need you to put it aside and focus. This is an important race. He needs to win.”

Her response was a sharp nod, her jaw set. Without a word, she walked over to Max’s car. She leaned into the cockpit, eyes meeting his through the visor. The surprise in his eyes at the sight of her was fleeting; she knew he hadn’t expected it. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If you don’t tell her by next weekend,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’ll find her and tell her myself.” Then, before he could react, she kissed the cheek of his helmet. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Win it, broer.”

Straightening up, she glanced at the mechanics; her unspoken signal to let him go. She turned back to Jos, who watched her with quiet approval. He gave a small nod, and she walked away.

—

She rarely walked the grid while the cars were setting up, but something about this year pulled her there. She found Lando under his umbrella, shielded from the sun, sipping from his bottle.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. She kissed his cheek, adjusting his fireproofs. “Be safe, do well. Love you.”

He pulled her in for one last kiss before she moved on. She glanced at the cars, each a blur of metal and energy; smiled at the mechanics, and shared a quick squeeze with Fernando. Finally, she caught Max’s eye. He stared at her for a long moment, before offering a small smile.

“Ah, Amelia Brown!”

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Martin Brundle.

Well aware of the camera, she forced a smile through the nerves. “Hi! How are you?” she asked, deliberately avoiding the lens.

“Good, good! So, we saw you give Lando a good luck kiss. Think McLaren’s got a good shot at scoring double points again today?”

“I hope everyone does well today,” she replied, only a slight tremble in her voice, “but of course, I hope Max comes out on top.”

He laughed, somewhat distractedly, giving her a quick nod before leading the cameraman away.

She glanced back at Lando. He was watching her with a proud, warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned, head down, walking off the grid toward the pit wall.

—

GP settled beside her a few minutes later, handing her a comms clip. She gave it a cursive glance before she slid it into her ear and tugged her defenders on over the top.

“Makes it easier, huh?” he said through the comms, voice quiet and crackly, no need to shout through the defenders like usual.

She smiled. “You’re smart.”

“Coming from you?” He let out a long breath. “That’s the highest of compliments.”

She giggled softly, turning her focus to the screens in front of them.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that was nothing new; it always was during the formation lap. The calm before the storm. Her gaze bounced between Lando and Max, just as it always did, and not for the first time, she wished she had two sets of eyes.

They lined up on the grid. She chewed on her bottom lip, head tilted as she kept an eye on the tyre temps on Max’s car.

He hadn’t set them alight this time. Improvement.

Five lights. Four, three, two.

Lights out.

Max led from Lewis through the first corner. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her dress.

And then—

And then.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Max ahead. Lewis closing. A slipstream through Copse.

Contact.

Suddenly Amelia was on her feet, hand clamped over her mouth.

She sucked in a shaky breath, barely hearing the roar of shouting from the garage, the pit wall, the radios. Yelling. Chaos. Outrage.

GP spoke into his earpiece — calm, measured. “Max? Max, come on. Talk to me.”

Her stomach dropped. He kept repeating his name, firm but steady, and she heard every word. The comm was still in her ear.

Someone’s hands landed on her arms; steadying her, holding her upright. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. Everything else faded.

She begged silently. Prayed. She didn’t know who she was praying to… she didn’t care.

“Red flag!” someone shouted. Or maybe whispered. Everything was warped and sharp all at once.

She blinked. Jos appeared in front of her, speaking, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. Just the ringing.

And then—

“He’s moving! Max is getting out of the car!”

The breath punched out of her. Her lip wobbled. Her knees gave a little.

“Fuck,” she whispered, broken and small.

He pulled her into him, arms wrapped tight. Unshakable. Steady.

She sucked in a sharp breath against his shoulder.

—

They showed her on the main feed.

A cutaway from Max’s crash, the Red Bull pit wall — GP calm and collected, Christian furious, and Amelia… utterly devastated.

She tore her eyes away from the monitor and stared at the floor. She was in the medical wing now, waiting.

51G’s.

A brutal shunt. Career-ending, for some.

Not for Max.

Him climbing out of the car unassisted had been a statement. A declaration. He was still in control. Still standing.

She looked up when Jos stepped out of the examination room. He gave her a nod, then gestured for her to go in.

She entered, and stopped cold.

Max sat on the bed, bruised but upright. Alive.

Her breath hitched. Tears welled instantly.

“Zusje,” he sighed.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around him. Not too tight, she didn’t want to hurt him, but close enough to feel his heart beating, his lungs working, the warmth of him. Real.

He stroked her head, let her cry it out.

When she finally pulled away, lip trembling, eyes darting, he asked, “What did you do?”

So she told him.

Panic in her voice, regret tangled in every word. She’d thought about it, imagined how she’d feel if it were Lando in that crash and no one had reached out. How small and useless and broken she’d feel.

Max’s eyes darkened.

“You called her?” he demanded, already reaching for her phone. “How did you even—”

“It’s too late,” she said quietly. “She’s already on her way.”

Max froze.

“I’m not sorry,” Amelia added, steady now. “If I were her, I’d want to know.”

—

She barely made it to Lando before he climbed back into the car for the restart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hold. “I love you so much. Please be safe. Please, Lando.”

He pulled back just enough to make her meet his eyes, steady and sure. The eye-contact made her squirm, but it was important. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. Always.”

She let out a shaky breath, a small, high-pitched sound caught between panic and relief, and hugged him once more before his engineers pulled him away.

Pietra hesitated beside her, hands hovering, then dove forward, wrapping Amelia in a hug despite the warnings both Max and Lando had given her.

“You looked so scared,” she said gently, in Portuguese.

Amelia nodded. Didn’t pull away. Let herself be held. Over Pietra’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Max. He looked concerned, like he was ready to intervene, to pry them apart, but Amelia just sniffled and pressed her face into Pietra’s shoulder.

It was nice to have a friend.

—

“Amelia—”

She ducked her head, jaw tight, eyes hard, and turned on her heel without hesitation.

Her heart stuttered, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was angry… furious, really. He’d carried on, celebrated the win like he hadn’t just sent his rival spinning into a tyre wall. Accident or not, it didn’t sit right in her gut.

And maybe it wasn’t fair.

But Lewis had ignored her before, in Austria.

Now, it was her turn.

—

@/verstappie11 seeing amelia so scared after the crash was scarier than the actual crash. like can somebody hold her please!!!!!!! i never thought i’d be so happy to see jos verstappen lmao

@/pitwallprincess no bc the way the broadcast CUT to Amelia literally holding back tears while GP is stone-faced and Christian is raging… a genuine greek tragedy

@/helmetcamwhore wait why did Amelia look like she was about to sprint to max’s car herself 😭 give her a hug pls omg

@/softlandon4ever it’s the way Lando dropped everything to hug her before the restart… like. weeping. actual soulmates.

@/mercmafia She said “I hope Max comes out on top” on the GRID and then he COLLIDES with Lewis in lap 1??? nah idc what y’all say she’s the problem.

@/tifosislut69 Amelia Brown crying on live TV was not on my bingo card today. she looked DEVASTATED. get this woman a therapist now!

@/chequedflagged I get that she's emotional but Amelia being all cold to lewis post-race in the paddock was giving bad vibes…

@/gp2engine not everyone’s fave stem girlie Amelia Brown walking past Lewis like he doesn’t exist post-race. SHE’S MAD MAD

@/papayapixels watching Amelia literally fold into Pietra’s arms while Lando’s pulled away by engineers… god this garage has SEEN things today

NEXT CHAPTER

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mimi-cee-genshin · 2 years ago

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So... I may or may not leave chapter 4 of my Wanderer series on a cliffhanger. I apologize in advance.

#it could still change #I finally have a very rough draft for this chapter #took me a while to analyse the characters again #and to remember all the nuances of their backstories #and watch me still miss something lol #I almost added a new subplot today #and I had to just say no lol #can't fit that one in #too many things to juggle #so I decided that Wanderer's character development happened before the events in this fic lol #the reader's is already complex enough #on top of the getting unstuck from Wanderer plotline #anyway idk if anyone cares about these details lol #but these are the things that go on in my head #mimi's updates

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norrisradio · 1 month ago

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IN THE DETAILS

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "Don't you think that maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?" - Lady Bird (2017)

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.6K ᝰ GENRE: a case study: to be loved is to be known ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: requested by @princesspiastri007 ꨄ babe you have given me so many phenomenal ideas but this one.... grabbed my by the neck and didn't let go. sometimes, love is in the details...

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

Oscar knows you’re having a bad day before you do.

It’s not in the way you sigh or shut your laptop a little too hard, not even in the bite of your voice when you say you’re fine—though he catches all of that too. It’s in the way you make your tea.

Usually, you let it steep for three minutes. He’s timed it—curiosity at first, then just habit. You add just a little honey, enough to coat the spoon but not drip. Oat milk, two swirls, no more. But today, you dunk the teabag three times and toss it. No honey. Milk straight from the carton like it doesn’t matter.

Oscar watches all of it from the kitchen doorframe, shoulder leaned against the wood, still in his hoodie from media day, the one you stole two nights ago and returned this morning with a yawn and a kiss.

You don’t notice him at first. You’re too busy staring into the mug like it holds some kind of answer.

He doesn’t say anything. Just slips past you and pulls out the jar of honey, the spoon, the milk from the fridge that’s been open too long. You let him take the mug. You don’t ask questions when he remakes it properly. Three minutes on the clock. He hands it back to you warm and right, and that’s when you finally breathe.

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling into the corner of the couch.

He sits across from you, ankles brushing yours, arms folded loosely. He doesn’t press. You’ll talk when you’re ready. You always do.

Oscar has learned to read you in the quiet.

You chew your lip when you’re solving something. You bite your straw when you’re bored. You fiddle with your ring when you're overthinking, and you wear his hoodie when you miss him but don’t want to say it out loud.

He keeps an eye on how your playlist changes depending on your mood. Bon Iver when you’re homesick. That one ridiculously long Taylor Swift mashup when you need a cry. You claim you’re not predictable, but he’s learned your patterns like racetracks—memorized them turn for turn, heartbeat for heartbeat.

Oscar knows you hate crowds but love airports. You like being picked up from arrivals because it makes you feel chosen. He shows up every time, even when you insist you’ll get an Uber. He gets there early, waits with a sign that always says something different—once it said “Hot Person I Missed a Lot.” You blushed the whole ride home.

He watches how you always tuck your left foot under your right thigh when you're cold. How you pull your sleeves over your hands when you're overwhelmed. He carries spare hair ties in his pocket just in case. Buys extra lemon sherbets because you get weirdly nostalgic for them once every few months. He keeps your favorite lip balm in the glovebox of his car because you once forgot it before a long drive and sulked for two hours.

Oscar knows when you’re happy because your whole face goes quiet. Not loud like the movies say. Not bright and grinning and explosive. No, your happiness is softer. It's in how your shoulders drop a little, like you’ve let the day go. It's in the way you hum under your breath, off-key and careless, usually something stupid like the jingle from that grocery ad you hate but sing anyway.

He hears it before he sees it—that little tune trailing from the bathroom while you brush your teeth or fold laundry. It always makes him smile, even if he doesn’t know the words.

When you’re happy, you talk to things. The cat that always sits on your windowsill even though it isn’t yours. The kettle. The plants you insist are thriving, even though they’re mostly brown.

“Don’t give me that look,” you’ll mutter to a cactus, and Oscar will peek over the rim of his book, just to watch you argue with a plant. That’s when he’s sure: you’re okay.

But when you’re mad—

Oh, he knows.

There’s a difference between being mad and being mad at him, and Oscar has mapped that line like a tightrope.

When you're just mad, everything gets fast. You clean like it’s an Olympic sport. You open drawers like you’re trying to win a fight against gravity. You text your group chat aggressively and then toss your phone face-down, muttering “Ugh, whatever,” as if that clears the air.

Oscar stays out of your way on those days. He keeps your favorite snack stocked and says things like, “Want to yell into a pillow?” which you’ve actually taken him up on more than once.

But when you're mad at him? That’s different. That’s colder.

You go quiet—not calm, but too still. You answer questions with one word. You say “Oscar” like it’s just a name, not his. And you do this thing where you don’t close doors all the way—just enough to not be open. That’s the part that kills him.

He’ll sit with it. With the silence and the space and the ache. He’s not someone who pushes. But later, when the worst of it has thawed, he’ll crawl into your space and bump his nose against yours and whisper, “Still mad?” like a secret, like an offering.

(He always lets you win, even when you're not keeping score.)

And when you’re getting sick—

God. He catches it before you do.

You get stubborn about it, like your body could be tricked. You’ll insist you're just tired or cold or definitely not getting a sore throat, while Oscar is already grabbing the lemon and the cough drops and setting your favorite blanket out on the couch.

You get clumsy when you’re coming down with something—drop your phone, bump into corners, forget where you put your glasses. Your nose twitches when you sniff, and your voice gets this quiet rasp to it, like you’re speaking from underwater.

He never says I told you so.

He just bundles you up like you’re made of paper, presses a kiss to your forehead, and says, “You always get like this right before the rain,” even if there’s not a cloud in sight.

He reads you in the way people read their favorite novels—by heart, by instinct, by the dog-eared pages and the parts where the spine is softest.

Because you don't need to say it out loud.

You never really have.

He knows.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? Love isn’t in the big declarations. It's in the noticing. The remembering.

It’s in all the things you don’t have to ask for.

And Oscar knows when you’re in love.

You don’t say it either. Not much, anyway. Not in so many words. But you do all the little things.

He notices. Of course he does.

You set your alarm ten minutes earlier when he’s home, just so you can make him tea the way he likes it. Something floral, but not overpowering. Strong, but not bitter. You pour it into the mug he always reaches for, the chipped one from Melbourne with the faded logo and the worn handle that fits his grip like it was made for him.

You let him ramble about tire degradation and strategy calls and wind tunnels, even when you have no idea what he’s talking about. You nod, lean in, ask questions. Sometimes you draw little race tracks on the corner of your grocery lists, and he finds them stuck to the fridge and stares at them longer than he should.

You pack snacks in his carry-on, even when he tells you not to fuss. Always the same ones: the protein bars he pretends not to like but always finishes. The mints he chews during press. The weird sour candy from your hometown that he claimed was “mid” the first time but now hoards in his glovebox.

He knows you always fold his hoodie and tuck it beside your pillow when he's away. You try to hide it, like you don’t want to seem too soft, but he’s seen the way you bury your face in it when you think he’s not looking.

And when he’s stressed—after a race that went sideways, after a flight delay or a wrong headline—you don’t ask if he’s okay. You just sit beside him, legs tangled up in his, and let him be quiet. You bring him orange slices, his favorite vinyl, your hand resting on his knee like a promise. Like I know. I’ve got you.

You kiss his shoulder when you pass him in the hallway. You whisper things like “drive safe” and “text me when you land,” and you mean it like prayers.

You don’t say I love you every day.

But you wait up for him every time. You press kisses to the back of his neck when he’s brushing his teeth. You memorize his schedule. You ask how he’s really feeling, even when he’s trying to hide it behind a half-smile and a shrug.

Oscar knows you’re in love because you see him.

The way he sees you.

You once asked him what he thought love looked like.

He didn’t know then. Not really.

Now he thinks maybe it looks like remembering. Like paying attention. Like making tea the way someone likes it, even when they forget how to make it for themselves.

Oscar doesn’t say I love you often. He’s never been great with words. But he watches you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in a loud, fast world.

And maybe that’s the same thing.

Maybe it always was.

#formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x yn #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri writing #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one imagine #⚡︎ race day #event -> line by line

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foxy-eva · 1 month ago

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Escort

Summary: Spencer was supposed to meet an escort in a bar. When you start flirting with him, he’s completely unaware that you're not the woman he hired.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) misunderstanding, miscommunication, awkwardness, mentions of sex work, heavy make-out, allusions to sex, fade to black sex

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient challenge (I know I’m super late whoops)

Masterlist

The hotel bar still seemed quiet when you stepped in and took a look around. A lonely feeling had overcome you on this business trip, so you decided you wanted to meet someone new today.

Lucky for you, the handsome man sitting at the bar looked like he wanted some company, too. With an unusual surge of confidence you approached him, relieved when you found him smiling at you.

With a saccharine smile painted over your face, you sat down beside him and cooed, “Hi stranger.”

“Hi,” he almost whispered. “I have been expecting you.”

That certainly was a pick-up line you hadn't heard before. You decided to play along.

“Yeah? I’m glad we finally met. I was looking forward to spending time with someone so handsome.”

A wonderful rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your words and it let your heart jump. It was almost unreal how beautiful this man was and he seemed to be completely unaware of that.

For just a split second your eyes glanced over his hands, expecting to find a wedding ring but there was none.

“I’m obviously not married,” he said, completely catching you by surprise. You hadn’t expected him to notice. “Or seeing anyone, for that matter,” he added.

“I don't think that was obvious but it’s good to know.”

He raised his eyebrows at your words. “Yeah no, I’m not like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know other men do it but I personally would not talk to uhm… a woman like you if I was in a relationship.”

“A woman like me?” His choice of words was a little odd.

He cleared his voice and shifted in his seat, making his discomfort obvious. “Yeah uhm.. I mean someone…”

“Someone as beautiful and radiant as me?” You laughed as you attempted to save this poor man from embarrassing himself any further.

“Exactly,” he chuckled as the pink color on his cheeks turned a shade darker.

Conversation between the two of you flowed easily after that as you began telling him a little bit about yourself and he let you in on some details about his life.

“So, Spencer, if you live in DC, what brings you all the way here?”

“My cousin’s wedding tomorrow. That’s actually why I’m here, in this bar I mean. I know it sounds pathetic but when I responded to the invite a few months ago, I checked the box for plus one. I was really optimistic that I would have someone to go to the wedding with by now,” he sighed as his sight dropped down to his glass.

“That didn’t work out, huh?”

Spencer shook his head. His whole demeanor gave away a certain feeling of loneliness you were very familiar with. Instinctively you reached for his hand and gently brushed over his skin.

His eyes found yours once more. Then, after a short moment of silence, he said something you didn’t expect. “I would really like it if you went to the wedding with me.”

His words were bold, almost contradicting his entire demeanor. You felt surprised yet flattered by his invitation.

“I love weddings,” you chirped. “And I don’t have any other plans tomorrow.”

A wonderful smile spread over his face. “Then it’s a date.”

The straightforwardness of his invitation boosted your confidence, too. There was an undeniable connection between you two and the more you talked, the more attracted you became to him. You were sure that this aching inside your chest could only be soothed by his nearness.

The soft curve of his lips looked so kissable. His smirk gave away that he must have noticed you staring at his mouth. You found his eyes again and almost drowned in the wild honey of his irises.

“So, profiler,” you playfully purred as you leaned closer. “What does my body language tell you?”

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. “I’m not entirely sure,” he muttered.

Taking his hand in yours, you got up from your seat and snickered, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?”

There was no resistance from him when you led him to the elevator. As soon as the door opened, you stepped in, leaned against a wall and pulled him closer. He stared at you with pupils blown wide and his mouth agape. He stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m not a profiler but I’m pretty sure you’d like to kiss me right now,” you cooed as you pushed your chest against his.

“You’re right,” he breathed as he leaned down. “Can I?”

Right when you wanted to close the gap, the elevator got to your floor and interrupted you with a loud ding. Spencer almost jumped at the sound. You grabbed his hand once more and dragged him all the way down the hall to your room.

There was no time to be wasted once you stepped inside your hotel room. His lips were on yours in an instant while he pushed you against the closest wall, making you gasp into the kiss. He deepened the kiss as his tongue met yours, melting into you as if you had done that a million times before. When he pressed his body against yours, you noticed his hardness straining against the confines of his pants.

“Someone’s excited,” you whispered as you let your hand wander down his body with a clear goal in mind. Once you reached his belt, Spencer suddenly stepped back.

“No, wait,” he mumbled and looked at you almost in shock.

“I’m very sorry if I overstepped,” you sincerely apologized.

“No, no, that’s not it. We just uh… should talk about this before,” he said.

Not entirely sure what he meant, you said, “Okay?”

“You uhm… only agreed to go to the wedding with me. So I’m not sure about the uh.. conditions of this… encounter,” Spencer stuttered.

His words only confused you more. With raised eyebrows you looked at him. “What conditions?”

“Your uhm… rate and what that includes exactly.”

It took you a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. Suddenly the things he said earlier made a lot more sense.

Your voice was laced with disbelief when you said, “Wait, you think I’m a hooker?”

This situation was so absurd that you weren’t entirely sure if you should laugh or cry about it.

“I mean… I think the website used the word ‘escort’?”

It was still hard to believe what was happening. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of getting angry at him. “Spencer, I’m not an escort. How could you think that?”

Spencer stepped back until his legs hit the bed. He sat down and shook his head, clearly unable to fully grasp what was happening. “Why else would you want to have sex with me?”

His words made you laugh. “Because you’re cute and sweet and very attractive!”

“And apparently very stupid,” he sighed. Regret was written all over his face when he said, “I’m very sorry I offended you. I really thought you were the woman I hired for the wedding tomorrow. We were supposed to meet in the bar to talk about the details.”

“That wasn’t me,” you clarified.

“Yeah, clearly.”

“I’ll still go to the wedding with you, if you want,” you said as you sat down beside him. “And you don’t even have to pay me.”

Your words made him smile. “Yeah?”

Nodding your head, you climbed into his lap. He seemed a little caught off guard but welcomed you on top of him nonetheless. Your mouth gently brushed over his neck when you breathed, “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You felt his throat rumble under your lips.

“You don’t have to pay for this either.”

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sheepispink · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet Like Sugar ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི COD MASTERLIST Sweet as Sugar Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི pairings: simon riley x (afab) reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Trying to advertise your bakery is particularly difficult, especially when no one seems to want to try anything new lately, still stuck in their old ways. Thankfully, a particular masked man is also particularly fond of the tea you make along side your signature pastries.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི WC: 2.5k

You’ve grown up in Wales nearly your entire life, living not too far from a fresh farm and yet so close to a little town you call home. The weather is typical for Britain, always a little dreary though sometimes the sun would shine so bright the grass on these hills looked like those in the movies. You’d run up those hills as a child, laughing as the sheep would make noises after your every whim.

Today was particularly dreary though; the sun struggled to peek through even with the large gaps between each cloud, only leaving behind a desolate grey on the town. It was your turn to take over the shop for the day, seeing as your parents were out of town on business details. A few named your shop to be ‘the littlest around’, since it wasn't exactly the biggest area nor did many know of it. After all, it had only opened recently after the last owner left their business to rot out. It took practically months to renovate the dusty walls of this shop even more so that your family were on a tight budget. However your parents believed in it and so did you.. or you thought you did anyway. Maybe you had watched too many movies as a kid because this business was definitely not booming, infact you had spent the majority of the past week trying to advertise the best you possibly could.

Either way, it was bound to be quiet today so you decide you may as well use it as a testing day. The menu was finalised already however you were eager about one thing to add, a selection of freshly brewed teas. It wasn't the most viable since it required a lot of customers at the same time in order to taste the actual freshness— otherwise it’d just go cold and icky. Placing the portable burner down— something you picked up since most days used to be spent in a caravan— you place a pot atop and light the flame. You had not travelled very far, but due to your grandparent who was particularly interested in plenty of cultures, you picked up a few handy recipes for delicious teas.

Unfortunately, you didnt have much on you today after using your last stock on the small opening party. So, you’d have to make do with what you had. You hum as you boil the water in the pan, before slowly adding the milk and some spices— cardamon and cinammon to be exact. It’d make a rich flavour which was perfect with the right amount of sugar, and so, you let it brew as you hummed, debating whether you were allowed to play your favourite tunes here or not.

Seeing as no one had showed up in a while, you plug your phone into the speaker system, letting a soft song play throughout the little patisserie as you grin and nod your head along. What you hadnt expected was the bell above the door to jingle, heavy boots dragging against the wooden floor as they grow louder. You snap your head up, looking a little startled before you quickly stand infront of the counter again, putting on your best sheepish smile.

“Welcome! What can i get for you today?”

The strange man wears a balaclava over his face, his eyes showing and a few tufts of blonde peeking out the back as he bends a little to look over all of the pastries available. Eventually he stops, pointing at one the sausage rolls, before his gruff voice finally breaks his silence. “Two o’ these.”

You nod quickly, grabbing a paper bag before carefully placing the two pastries inside and sealing the bag.

“Actually, since it’s a weekday, all the pastries come with a dessert or drink. Is there any one you would like?”

You tilt your head, as you place the bag on the counter, already tapping in the current bill. He pauses and glances over at the sweeter desserts, but even you could tell just from his appearance that he doesnt seem to be too fond of them. Instead, his height allows him to easily peek over the counter and he can instantly smell the pot of rich cardamom tea brewing. “Is that for sale?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you can only tell from how the mask lifts a little. You pause, wondering if you really should be giving them out to customers just yet.

“It’s a taster really.. would you like to try?” He lets out a grunt in agreement and you walk back over, ladeling a creamy cup of the tea for him before stepping over to him once more. He taps his card down for the items he bought, taking the steaming cup in his hand but he doesnt intend to drink it and reveal his face—clear from the way he glances around the shop. “Is it always this quiet or are you about to close?” He raises a brow, wondering if he had just accidentally forced you to stay open longer than you should. Your hands wave in front of you frantically as you shake your head. “No! No— um, it’s been a little hard to promote business recently. We only opened last month..” Today you decide not to mention that last weeks rain had nearly drowned the entire shop floor, instead just giving him another sheepish look. “I’m trying to look for any opportunities we can to show off our bakes. I’ve been looking at fairs recently.” You hum and he nods, before lifting his mask without a second thought and sipping down the hot tea you made him. “You should promote this aswell, i can see this tasting good with a dessert.” He offers his advice and you nod readily, smiling at him since he just indirectly said that the tea was good. “Well, i’ll make sure to have lots more flavours too!

A month later and unsurprisingly your family’s little shop isnt any more popular than the last time you took charge of it. That strange man appeared a few times afterwards but you hadnt seen him, busy with your own part time job to try and bring some extra income in. Today you were finally back though, the peak of winter hitting like a shock but it didnt stop the excitement brimming through the town.

At the start of December each year, the town would host a market in the main plaza, which was particularly big for the town’s size. There was everything from crafts and fresh fruit, flowers and trinkets to the toastiest hot chocolate and clothing. This year you were determined to make your mark, selling sweet pastries and the spiced tea at the same time. He did say it’d draw in at least a bit of attention, right? Well, you sure hoped so because you were using a portion of your personal savings to try again with the tea. You’d never know if you didn't try and, in the worst case scenario, you could give it for free to the other vendors as a sign of good sportsmanship— maybe you could even trade. You grin eagerly as you set up the stand, glass covers above all your decorated pastries, sweet and savoury waiting to be bitten into. Perhaps you went a little overboard with the baking but this was a big event—even neighbouring towns travelled here!

The fair kickstarts around five thirty, the time when most get off work and so many are already flocking to find something for their hungry stomach. You practically bubble with excitement when you get your first three orders, only to turn and see the hot burrito stall’s queue which looks like it’d shadow your stall next. With a small frown, your demeanour drops as the orders only get rarer, a few commenting on not being sure to try something so exotic. About tea. Literal chai. Customer service was not for the weak clearly, since you had to restrain yourself from lunging over the table right then and there, giving the lady a forced smile before she walked off. You let your head rest in your hands, groaning a little too loudly, but it wasnt like anyone was even close enough to your stall to hear anyway. The only thought that consumed you was frustration; you knew damn well that all the bakes here were delicious, that the recipes were to die for and the tea was an absolute soother for any cold or strain. Though, no matter how hard you tried no one seemed to want to hear you out.

“Are you taking a break?”

A voice rings out, gruff, a little muffled and stern but most of all— familiar. Your eyes snap up, meeting the gaze of that stranger from before, well now he looked entirely different. “You… from before.. you’re a soldier?!” You have to forcefully lower your voice before you cause his ears to bleed through his balaclava. He was decked out in full tactical gear, apart from the weapons of course and the helmet held in the crook of his elbow. Though not just him, an entire team of soldiers aswell who surrounded your stall, practically brimming with excitement at the tasty baked goods they’d finally try.

“Finished a day long training in the cold. Thought i’d bring ‘em to your stall for a break. You dont look good yourself though” He bluntly states the last part out, already suspecting that you’d sigh next. “Orders are still slow...” You murmur, and he nods, as if he’d expected that. Before either of you can speak, one of his soldiers perks up, “Miss, how much would it be for two of these pie slices and one of your sausage rolls?”

Your lips part in surprise and you hurry to the till, typing in the amounts before announcing the price to him. The reasonable cost of your goods and the great quality is enough to catch the attention of his teammates, and soon enough you have them lined up waiting to buy their share too.

You cough to get his attention when the queue finally draws to a blank and he slowly approaches as you gesture to the pots of tea steaming beside you. The soldiers had taken the majority of your stock, even asking for refills but one large cup was saved for him. “On the house, for a regular.” You say cheekily and he nods, the sides of his mask creasing up into what you think could possibly be a smile. “So, how did you even convince your boss to let you bring your whole team here anyway? I always thought those ‘sergeant’ people were like.. really strict.” He chuckles at you, deep and gruff and for a second you’re confused, tilting your head at him. “Hey— what’s so funny? I’m being serious!” He finally stops, his eyes crinkled slightly as he looks back at you. “I’m their Lieutenant.” ” He says still with that monotone voice and your jaw practically drops, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you groan loudly. “I’m very sorry..”

Now sitting upon the benches, they chatter amongst themselves whilst others eye the other trinkets available, looking for something for the loved ones back home. The man with the skull mask still stands nearby though watching you fill up a cup full of the tea before handing it to a customer.

“Do you take large orders too?” He finally pipes up, glancing over at you with that filled cup still in his hand. “Well.. we don't have any official set up..” Being his acquaintance was a severe exaggeration, and yet you couldn't stand to disappoint him right now. Especially seeing as much as he’s done so far,perhaps not intentionally, but what intrigues you even more is that his soldiers seemed to be over the moon about your pastries. You hadn't really thought about the fact soldiers are probably dying for the taste of a good home cooked pastry, especially in the winter months, and now it seems like this could really boost your business.

“But..I could just give you my number?” Putting that forward seems a bit odd, but in truth you were being completely innocent about it even if he seems to believe otherwise, smirking beneath the mask before he nods. He takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and hands it over to you before gesturing to you to do the same. When you receive your phone back, you see the new contact, ‘Lieutenant Ghost (sausage roll)’ and snicker a little; you’re pretty sure you can remember him without the assistance but it’s amusing anyway. “I’ll text you later regarding any big orders we want to make.”

He gives you another nod and you quickly agree with his words, grateful for the opportunity he’s provided you with.

“Thanks for bringing all your soldiers here.. i dont think we would’ve garnered this much attention otherwise.” People had already noticed the brand on the soldiers' cups and bags, making their way to the stall and eyeing some of the goods left from their rampage. He only shrugs, ignoring the fact he had any part in this. “By the way..” You hum, glancing at the untouched tea in his hand curiously. “Why haven't you drank any yet— it’ll grow cold soon.” He leans against your table slightly before he just nods firmly again, looking back at the crowds. “Dont like to show my face.” That makes you blink, confused since he had easily shown you in the shop a month ago when he tried it for the first time. “But—“

Before you can answer, his phone buzzes and he glances down before beckoning his group over. “Oi, all of you. We’re leavin’ in ten— do not make us late.” Suddenly you dont feel at all bad for calling him strict earlier, even snickering a little at how stern his voice had suddenly gotten even if he’s usually monotone to you too. The soldiers eyes grow wide and they quickly jump to buy the rest of their things making you snicker.

“Guess that’s the last I'll see of you, ‘Lieutenant’. See you soon.” You grin, waving as he throws the now empty cup in the trash— when did he drink that? He lifts a hand to give a short wave at you too before stepping away to join the rest of his men. “Dont worry, you will.”

That night you’re left dumbfounded as you stare at your phone, the text lighting your eyes up in the darkness of your room. ‘Tomorrow night is the second day of the fair, right?’ The first part reads, and you mentally nod, remembering how your parents said you’d take the first day and they’d handle the second. When you responded with a yes, but also clarifying your stall is also available, he wrote back one more text.

‘Good. I’ll be taking you around with me this time.”

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Sweet as Sugar Masterlist

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