#and now with a new degree in hand it is time to see if i am employable in the IT field.....
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Project: Stack The Deck (First Meeting a1d1)
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Concept: Reader is a long-time trainee at JYP Entertainment, on the verge of being dropped completely due to her age. In her first stroke of luck in ages, she's presented with an opportunity: JYPE is producing a brand new type of audition show - 9 lucky trainees will be 'interning' with 6 of JYPE's active groups for a year in hopes of forming the first ever mixed gender AND mixed subgender group in k-pop. The catch? The trainees are only interning with their exact opposite groups, in an effort to appease ongoing protests.
Or - Babble gives in and writes Omegaverse. But this time, there's ~lore~
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Word Count: 2,442
Notes: I've been writing a lot of stuff I can't post for various reasons, but the Fanmeet literally left me in shambles and I can't NOT write right now. So. Have basically our only 'proper' archive fic rn. It took over my brain y'all can't blame me 4 this. Very literally please ask me abt the lore for this fic. Send me an ask, I beg. I wanna talk abt it SO bad I will write essays.
Heavily inspired by To The 9th Degree by azaluvx7 on Ao3.
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Warnings: Mention of house fire. This gave me anxiety while I was writing it, so anxiety, maybe?
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Masterlist | Prev Part
Being in the same room as Stray Kids gives the same surreal feeling as an oncoming storm. It reminds me of standing in a sunny spot and seeing dark clouds on the horizon, knowing that, despite the warmth I feel now, a downpour is coming. Itâs oppressive, itâs heavy, itâs nature and change in motion.
Or maybe itâs their very heavy scents in the air invading my thoughts.
Being in the presence of my wildly successful seonbaes is, of course, as impressive as all that, but I canât help but wrinkle my nose as I walk into the meeting room. The air is saturated with alpha scents, muddled and indistinct by the sheer amount of them.
There are at least twenty people in this meeting, by my guess. Stray Kids and several Division 1 staff I recognize only due to having been at the company longer than many of them. Most of my trainers and a handful of T&D staff Iâm very familiar with. Some producers and choreographers I donât recognize, but assume work with Stray Kids.
I can hazard a guess that this is the general cast thatâs been involved with the planning of the show. The glaring hole where the CEO or JYP himself should be, seeing as this meeting deals with both some of their top talents and a major project, is conspicuously ignored. Maybe this show has lower projected ratings than I thought.
Sudden apprehension seizes me at the prospect. My debut depends on this show getting good ratings. My debut depends on a lot of very nebulous things right now. This is no longer a matter of simply working hard.
The weight of my new reality settles, crooked and off-putting, around my shoulders.
Director Jae-Hwaâs hand feels like a brand on my lower back as she guides me further into the room. Iâm toted around, making introductions and shaking hands, greeting those I already know as warmly as I can manage.
Stray Kids are saved for last, and it takes everything in me not to throw up on their shoes. I shake each hand with reverence, making sure to bow at the waist and shake with both hands, and show as much respect as Iâm capable of.
I also hold my breath in attempts not to sneeze as their collective scents invade my nose at such close proximity.
Itâs easy to tell theyâre all wearing scent blockers, as I imagine is a constant necessity with scents as strong as theirs, since all of the nuances Iâd normally be able to pick out easily are strangely absent. Still, theyâre typical over-the counter Alpha-type blockers, not made to cater to the delicate and sensitive nose of an Omega like myself.
Iâm sure they only smell themselves faintly, if theyâre not all completely nose-blind to each other by now, but to me itâs like sticking my face directly in a tub of perfume. The lack of nuance to the scents only makes the sensation worse. It feels like my nose-hairs are burning.
When we turn around to head to our seats, Jae-Hwa subtly hands me a tissue. I toss her a grateful smile and delicately blow into it, careful not to dislodge any actual snot or make noise. It takes a couple tries, but the itchy feeling calms.
I allow gratefulness to overtake me as I discard the tissue in the nearest trashbin. Jae-Hwa doesnât have nearly as sensitive a nose as I do, I know. She wouldnât be able to manage so many teenage trainees so closely otherwise. But still, she nose my nose is on the stronger side, had remembered that little factoid about me, and prepared accordingly. I owe her more every second I spend in her presence.
The meeting goes smoothly, if slowly, for the most part. Production jargon I donât yet understand is lobbed around, plans are made, and schedules penned. I look to Jae-Hwa in absolute panic the first time I see Stray Kidâs schedule, terrified and confused by the absolutely packed blocks of colors and words.
She just pats my thigh under the table and makes a point to clarify aloud that Iâm only shadowing them during group and select unit schedules, and that âSchedules with my trainee are marked in light blue, correct?â
Itâs immensely relieving to see that less than half of the contents of that monster calendar involve me.
There are no other hiccups that I need to be at all concerned about, and itâs clear that I was mostly here for the experience and to show my face. Iâm more than okay with that, at this point. Jae-Hwa wouldnât let me miss anything truly important, anyway.
Eventually itâs just me, Jae-Hwa, Stray Kids, and one of their managers left in the room. It had felt a bit claustrophobic when the room was full of people and information being lobbed at me at lightning speeds, but now thereâs no buffer between me and the weighty gazes of the group of Alphas and Betas.
One would think my issues with the overwhelming scents would have left with the majority of the people producing it, but if anything Stray Kidâs scents feel more overpowering than ever. Itâs like with less people crowding, theyâve unfurled. Like large cats taking up as much space as possible.
I canât help the mental scoff I give at the image. Alphas.
Their scents are all over each other, intertwined in the way only very close and healthy packs that participate in lots of scenting can manage. I canât really pick them apart from each other, but the collective evokes images of nature and adventure. It makes me restless, and my chest fills with an odd sort of longing.
I feel a bit foolish at the moment, actually. It was well known that Stray Kids was a very close pack, but somehow Iâd still expected to be able to pick apart their scents and hadnât done any research about it. Like having been in the company since before their debut would help me distinguish the scents of people Iâd barely interacted with.
Itâs my first time meeting people so very intertwined. My own family hadnât been big on skinship, and I hadnât much time for friends or dating since I left them. I feel a bit wrong-footed, like Iâve lost a sense Iâve always had, to not be able to tell them apart with just my nose.
Their manager, too, is lightly dosed in their collective scent, but itâs easy to tell itâs more from exposure than active scenting. Heâs an Alpha as well, I can tell, and itâs easy to catch the fresh bergamot of him, along with a hint of tea under his scent blockers.
Or maybe just hot water, but itâs hard to know for sure under the combined might of Stray Kidsâ scent. Itâs relieving just to be able to tell that much.
Itâs all very overwhelming, daunting in itâs enormity. Itâs a force Iâll have to get used to over the next year, but for now I allow myself to seek shelter behind a wall of Jae-Hwa. She allows me my comforts for now, but I know Iâll be exposed before too long.
Iâd seek out her softer omegan scent, try to refresh my nose and shelter from the storm, but sheâs got those nice prescription blockers. The Omega type that applies as a cream over your scent glands and is customized to neutralize pheromones and scent compounds as you produce them. All I can get from her is laundry detergent and faint, lightly sweet, omega scent.
Thereâs a welling of displeasure from the collective scents across the room as I disappear from sight, but their blockers hold strong against the complexities in their scents and I canât quite tell who itâs from.
I reckon itâs quite like trying to read the expression of someone with a mask on. Itâs a bit socially off-putting, and I find myself floundering.
Once again, the director saves the day.
âI had one more thing I wanted to talk about, but itâs specifically a question for you boys,â She begins kindly. Her words bring everyone to focus where weâd all been drifting in our own thoughts.
The gaze of my seniors is so much heavier when combined with their attention.
Jae-Hwa pulls me out from behind her, like the traitor she is, and presents me to the group of Alphas and Betas. I cant help but fold into myself under their focus. Only a few of them are taller than me, and even then not by much, but I still feel as if they tower over me in this moment.
âThis kidâs apartment burned down recently,â She informs them bluntly, patting my shoulder as she speaks. I watch shock ripple through them, and duck into myself a bit further, âAnd sheâs staying in a hotel at the moment.â
Before the director can continue, thereâs a spike of something sharp and metallic in the air, like lightning about to strike, and my head whips up to make direct eye-contact with Lee Know. I can almost taste copper at the back of my throat and feel static on my skin from the intensity of it.
Now that itâs been violently brought to my awareness, I can smell Lee Knowâs heavy forest scent as a vaguely threatening undertone to the cacophony of the pack. Like dark towering trees and storms rolling in, itâs pervasive and heavy.
I still canât tell exactly what the emotion behind the spike was, but his blockers, weak patches already struggling for their lives, canât hide the negativity of it. Even if my nose wasnât as sensitive a it was, anyone couldâve sensed that much from the way his scent darkened the room.
Iâm further convinced by the way one of his packmates, Han, leans into his side soothingly. I canât tell if itâs to comfort of restrain him, so I just press my lips into a thin smile when your eyes meet and lean into Jae-Hwa.
Sheâs clearly a badass and so continues like nothing happened at all.
âYou boys recently moved into Pack housing, yes?â Jae-Hwa asks like itâs not public knowledge. Everyone knows they moved into a place that could hold them all about as soon as the ink on their Bond registry was dry.
She doesnât wait for either their manager nor leader to respond before she continues, âIâve heard have at least one spare room, and since the dorms for the trainees participating in the show wonât be ready for a few weeks yet, and it makes little sense for her to move into the regular dorms and right back out again, I was wondering if you wouldnât put her up until we can get accommodations squared away.â
I spare myself a moment to be amazed at the way she implies this is a recent thing for me, instead of a weeks-long problem, before her request registers and I snap around to stare at her with wide, shocked, eyes.
âI- Director, no, thatâs not...â I tug weakly at her sleeve as if to fill in for words Iâm too flabbergasted to say.
It would be one thing if sheâd asked them to squeeze me into their dorm when they still had one, especially when theyâd all been split up among different apartments. It was another thing entirely to brazenly request them to open their Pack home to me.
Pack housing implies that you were done expanding your pack. That outsiders were no longer welcome. That the Pack was as large as it was going to be until babies got involved, and theyâd settled into a space to suit the size they were.
It was a step of permanence, and while friends could certainly be welcome like they would be in any other home, inviting a stranger into that space was just asking for instincts to go haywire. For hindbrains to perceive threats and lash out. It was a recipe for stress at best, disaster in most cases.
Especially when the stranger being invited was an Omega.
Somehow, the group doesnât react with disgust and rage like I expect them to. At least not outwardly. Personally, I wouldnât have been able to tolerate even Jae-Hwa, arguably the person I trust the most right now, in my hotel room, let alone a pack space.
I canât even den down in my hotel room, but still, even the thought of inviting her in sent my hackles rising.
The group defies your expectations though, simply exchanging glances and subtle gestures. A pointed nod from Han in Lee Knowâs direction seems to make a poignant enough point, and the pack turns as one to face the director once more.
Bangchan offers the both of you a magnanimous smile that charmingly crinkles the corners of his eyes. âWeâll need to talk about it amongst ourselves first,â He starts, and youâre ready to accept the rejection with relief. The hotel was stressful and expensive, but honestly just fine for now. You didnât need to be mucking around in someoneâs Pack space.
âBut Iâm sure weâll be able to work something out.â He finishes, and I swear shock stops my heart for a second. I look at the whole group of them incredulously, waiting for someone to speak out against their leader, because I know theyâre an Alpha group but surely at least one of them would have some objection to this?
Their instincts couldnât be that different from mine, could they?
The unnamed manager ushers the group out while Iâm frozen, citing some schedule or another theyâre running late for. Bangchan promises to reach out to Jae-Hwa to discuss arrangements, and then theyâre gone.
You hear faint murmurs and then a rising voice as they head down the hallway.
âIfâ for oneâ FUCKING nightâ!â Is all I hear before it fades out. Iâd guess it was Lee Know, but admittedly I only really know his singing voice with any confidence, even after years in the same company. My heart sinks with thoughts of causing discord among such a close pack.
Jae-Hwa settles her hands firmly on my shoulders, jarring me from my stupor. Her gaze is sympathetic and knowing.
âTrust me kiddo,â She says, âTheyâre an Alpha-heavy pack. Very few of them even have Omegan family members. If they say itâs okay, Itâll be okay.â
I try my best to believe her as I smile and nod, but unease grips tightly at my heart as she leads me out of the room, hand on the small of my back, just as weâd entered it.
The touch still burns.
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This taglist is temporary while I ask y'all a question: Project: Stack The Deck will be a typical archive fic the way Soulmate Garden and Best Friend Protocol aren't - that means It'll be written as fancy strikes, and wildly out of order and likely in fragments. It'll probably be very rare that I have a full scene written out like this at the end of a writing session. So my question is - Do y'all want to be tagged for everything? I don't perma tag for anything but full chapter updates, which this is not, based on an old poll, but like. Do y'all want to be tagged for full scenes like this, just for first and final drafts, just for chapters and not scenes, like. How frequently do you want to be tagged and how complete would you like the chapter to be when you're tagged? If you don't know the rules for the archive, posts are Once every attempt (changes of a paragraph or more), Once every five drafts (small adjustments to wording or grammar), and Once every 1000 words added. pls lmk <3
@chancloud8 , @allenajade-ite , @thatgirlangelb
#stay babbling#stray kids fanfic#skz fic#skz fanfic#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#baby writes#stray kids omegaverse#omegaverse#slow burn
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The Mayor - Chapter 56
Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2589c335067e0434dad45d915d6b3d92/4f020e32cbfc3bc7-aa/s540x810/2973948bbf55fd2c93d5ed771d3beae264fe2ffb.jpg)
Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect
Words: 2000
Masterlist
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Sitting at the table in Lucyâs spacious open-plan kitchen, with a plate of risotto in front of me, I listened absentmindedly to the conversation. Hugo was negotiating with his mother about an upcoming ski trip with his friends, presenting an impressively persuasive argument to win Lucy over, which amused me.
"Have you considered becoming a lawyer one day?" I remarked.
He smiled at my comment, while his brother Jules, seated across from me, shot me one of his trademark icy glares.
It had been five months since Lucy broke the news to the twins, not long after we had discussed it. I had been impressed by her courage to address it so quickly. Of course, it was a complicated transition. While the boys had known their parents were divorcing for some time, learning that their mother was in a relationship with another personâespecially a womanâwas something entirely different.
As I had warned Lucy, one could never predict individual reactions. Hugo had been shocked but adapted relatively quickly once the initial surprise wore off. Jules, on the other hand, had a much harsher reaction, vehemently opposing the relationship. He yelled at Lucy, asking how she could do this to him, accusing her of being the "worst mother," and declaring that he never wanted to see me againââthat pathetic girl who has completely derailed your sense of reason!â he called me. He even threatened never to speak to her again if she continued seeing me. This was the same Jules who had once spent weeks with me during an internship and adored me.
Saying that Lucy returned devastated to my apartment would be an understatement. My arms and comforting words consoled her over the following days. Despite everything, she never faltered or doubted our relationship, which was a tremendous relief for me. Over time, things improved, although "improved" was still a relative term. Lucyâs ex-husband, Paul, had stepped in as a mediator, managing to ease the tension with Jules to some degree. Lucy had told Paul first, before the twins. Their marriage had been platonic for years, so he took the news without issue, hardly surprised, as he had noticed her behavior when she talked about me or worked alongside me. I was thrilled by this revelation and loved teasing her about it.
The boys now alternated weekly between staying with their mother and father. I alternated too, splitting my time between Lucyâs house and my own apartment. At 35, I was experiencing the joys of shared living arrangements.
For four months, Jules had outright refused to see me, and I respected his wishes. Recently, he had begrudgingly allowed me to join them for occasional dinners. Even so, the atmosphere was strained by Jules' toxic moods. I did my best to be kind and understanding, ignoring his sharp remarks when he wasnât completely ignoring me: "It wonât last," "I hate you," "What have you done to my mother," and so on. I had tried to open a dialogue with him multiple times, but he remained unapproachable. Lucy walked a fine line between reprimanding him and trying to remain empathetic and attentive. She was walking on eggshells.
"Composing" was the word that best described my life at the moment. Composing with Jules, the living arrangement, not being able to live with Lucy, and the many challenges. Still, the love I felt helped me stay positive, even when the situation took a toll on me.
Lucyâs voice cut through my thoughts.Â
"Okay, Hugo, you can go! But let me warn you: youâre not leaving the house this weekendâyouâre studying for your mock exams!"
Hugo grinned broadly, clearly pleased with his motherâs answer. Jules chimed in:
"Hey! Donât forget weâre going to the Christmas market opening tomorrow with you, Mom!"
Indeed, Lucy was set to inaugurate the large Christmas market the next evening, Friday. The event was a town highlight with music, mulled wine, and festive dishes.
"Donât worry; I havenât forgotten, considering how much energy itâs taken to organize it!" Lucy replied with a wink.
"Are you coming with us, Ona?" Hugo asked kindly from his seat to my right.
Jules immediately jumped in.Â
"Thereâs no way sheâs coming! If she comes, I wonât!"
His glare was sharp as ever. Â What a brat, Â I thought to myself, holding his gaze in silence. Lucy sighed, exasperated, addressing her son:
"Lower your voice, now! And stop saying 'she'âOna is right in front of you. Show some respect, Jules!"
"Oh, please, sheâs already imposing at dinner; thatâs enough! I donât want her there!"
"God, Jules, give it a rest! Youâre killing the mood!" Hugo interjected, clearly fed up.
I decided to speak, my tone unusually firm.Â
"Donât worry, Jules. I wasnât planning on coming with you anyway. I have no interest in ruining my Friday night dealing with your attitude!"
For the first time, I addressed him sharply. He blinked, visibly taken aback. I had always been gentle with him. That night, though, I was just tiredâof work, of this situation, of Jules. Tonight wasnât the night to push me. Lucy seemed startled by my reaction, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, the house phone rang at that moment. Jules used the opportunity to slip away, heading to the phone.
"Saved by the bell," I muttered, grabbing the fruit basket.
Hugo quickly lightened the mood with one of his stories. Jules eventually returned, explaining that he needed to visit a neighbor to retrieve his agenda.
Later, as we cleared the table, Hugo leaned in and whispered:
"You can come with us, you know."
I smiled at him. He was genuinely sweet.
"Thank you, Hugo, thatâs very kind of you. But Iâve already made plans to go with my friend Alexia."
In truth, I hadnât considered attending with Lucy this year, regretfully. There was Jules to consider, and Lucy was going in her role as mayor. I couldnât imagine being by her side amidst the crowds, journalists, and local dignitaries.
After the dishes were done, I stepped outside for a cigarette. Lucy soon joined me.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
"Iâm fine," I replied, my tone weary. She raised her eyebrows.
"Are you sure?"
"Just tired today, Lucy," I admitted.
"I could tell, with how you reacted. But look, itâs getting better... weâre all at the same table," she said, brushing my cheek tenderly.
"Yes, a victory! Maybe in a year, you can touch my cheek without looking over your shoulder, and who knows, in ten years, we might even live together!" I quipped sarcastically.
Lucy bit her lip, lowering her gaze, clearly hurt by my comment.
"What do you want me to do? How should I handle this? If I push too hard, heâll shut down completely."
I shrugged. "Heâs playing this situation perfectly, either way. Iâm just on edge tonight; itâll be fine," I said, trying to reassure her.
"Do you want me to come over tonight?" she asked.
Lucy often snuck away to my place for the night during the weeks the boys were with her, returning early in the morning. Breakfasts with the step-sons werenât on the table yet.
"No, I have a ton of work," I replied truthfully. She pouted.
Her phone rang againâof course, it was one of those nights. She frowned.
"I need to take thisâitâs about tomorrow. Iâll be back soon!" She kissed me quickly before heading inside.
I stayed outside for a while, lost in thought under the stars, until I heard footsteps. Jules was returning from his errand, walking past me without a glance, pretending I didnât exist. I shook my head.
"What a shame itâs come to this," I murmured.
âWhat?â he threw at me offhandedly. Â
âJules! Iâm the same person you talked to, laughed with, for weeks during your internship!â Â
My tone was sharp and energetic. Â
âYes, but since then, you slept with my mother!â Â
He aimed to throw me off balance with his brazen words. Â
âClassy, Jules. I expected better from you! Stop acting like a little Twat !â Â
Once again, my unusually direct tone caught him off guard. Â
âOh, so now Iâm a little twat ? Momâs going to love hearing that!â Â
I sighed deeply. Â
âIâve really tried everything with you, Julesâcompassion, kindness. I get it, none of this is easy. But I am not your enemy, Jules, and youâre pushing me to my limitsâŠâ Â
He rolled his eyes, a nasty smirk playing on his lips. Â
I stepped closer, leaving barely any space between us. Â
âListen to me carefully; Iâll only say this once, so it gets etched into your stubborn little head. Your behavior is ruining our lives. I know youâre smart enough to see it. You might be fine with wrecking mineâI guess that even gives you some satisfaction. But have you thought about your mom? Just for a second? About how your selfish attitude affects her? I love her, Jules. And understand this: nothing you do, no amount of your bratty behavior, will make me give up on her. Nothing. So go ahead, exhaust yourself trying to make all our lives miserable if thatâs what entertains you!â Â
I never broke eye contact, delivering my words calmly but with firmness, cutting through like a knife. Â
He didnât reply. Not a single word. Â
I turned on my heel and walked inside, closing the door behind me. I listened as he stomped away into the garden. I sighed again. I knew Iâd gone far, but it was necessary. That was the breaking point. Â
I knew this kid; his behavior turned my stomach inside out. Â
I found Lucy in the living room, finishing up a phone call. Â
âIâm sorry, I need to rush to the prefectureâsome urgent issue about tomorrowâs security! Honestly, theyâre exhausting me!â she said, exasperated. Â
I didnât want to bring up what had just happened with Jules. She was in a hurry, and it wasnât the time to tell her Iâd called her son a brat. Â
âI was just about to head out too!â Â
âSee you tomorrow?â she asked as she grabbed her bag. Â
âYes, weâll see each other tomorrow,â I replied quickly before adding with a teasing smile, âI know how it isâMadame Mayor amidst her constituents and journalists for the Christmas market inaugurationâŠâ Â
She pulled me close, pushing me into a dimly lit back room, and kissed me deeply. My body warmed instantly from her touch, her lips, her tongue. She rested her forehead against mine, her blue eyes locked on me, and whispered a tender âI love youâŠâ Â
I kissed her back, murmuring the same words into her ear before breaking away from her embrace. Â
She caught my hand as I started to leave. âWeâll get through thisâŠâ Â
âWeâll get through thisâŠâ Â
It was something we told each other often, words that gave us strength. Â
As I headed to my car, I noticed Jules sitting in the far corner of the garden. I wondered what state he was in and what he might tell Lucy after our confrontation. Â
#woso#lucy bronze#woso community#ona batlle#barca femeni#woso soccer#lionesses#sefutbol fem#ona batlle x lucy bronze
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ROBERT REICH
FEB 14
Friends,
I want to talk today about the mediaâs coverage of the Trump-Vance-Musk coup.Â
Iâm not referring to coverage by the bonkers right-wing media of Rupert Murdochâs Fox News and its imitators.Â
Iâm referring to the U.S. mainstream media â The New York Times, The Washington Post, the Los Angeles Times, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, National Public Radio â and the mainstream media abroad, such as the BBC and The Guardian.Â
By not calling it a coup, the mainstream media is failing to communicate the gravity of what is occurring.Â
Yesterdayâs opinion by The New York Timesâ editorial board offers a pathetic example. It concedes that Trump and his top associates âare stress-testing the Constitution, and the nation, to a degree not seen since the Civil Warâ but then asks: âAre we in a constitutional crisis yet?â and answers that what Trump is doing âshould be taken as a flashing warning sign.â
Warning sign?Â
Elon Muskâs meddling into the machinery of government is a part of the coup. Musk and his muskrats have no legal right to break into the federal payments system or any of the other sensitive data systems theyâre invading, for which they continue to gather computer code.Â
This data is the lifeblood of our government. It is used to pay Social Security and Medicare. It measures inflation and jobs. Americans have entrusted our private information to professional civil servants who are bound by law to use it only for the purposes to which it is intended. In the wrong hands, without legal authority, it could be used to control or mislead Americans.Â
By failing to use the term âcoup,â the media have also underplayed the Trump-Vance-Musk regimeâs freeze on practically all federal funding â suggesting this is a normal part of the pull-and-tug of politics. It is not. Congress has the sole authority to appropriate money. The freeze is illegal and unconstitutional.Â
By not calling it a coup, the media have also permitted Americans to view the regimeâs refusal to follow the orders of the federal courts as a political response, albeit an extreme one, to judicial rulings that are at odds with what a president wants.
There is nothing about the regimeâs refusal to be bound by the courts that places it within the boundaries of acceptable politics. Our system of government gives the federal judiciary final say about whether actions of the executive are legal and constitutional. Refusal to be bound by federal court rulings shows how rogue this regime truly is.Â
Earlier this week, a federal judge excoriated the regime for failing to comply with âthe plain textâ of an edict the judge issued last month to release billions of dollars in federal grants. Vice President JD Vance, presumably in response, declared that âjudges arenât allowed to control the executiveâs legitimate power.â
Vance graduated from the same law school I did. He knows heâs speaking out of his derriere.Â
In sum, the regimeâs disregard for laws and constitutional provisions surrounding access to private data, impoundment of funds appropriated by Congress, and refusal to be bound by judicial orders amount to a takeover of our democracy by a handful of men who have no legal authority to do so.Â
If this is not a coup dâetat, I donât know what is.Â
The mainstream media must call this what it is. In doing so, they would not be âtaking sidesâ in a political dispute. They would be accurately describing the dire emergency America now faces.Â
Unless Americans see it and understand the whole of it for what it is rather than piecemeal stories that âflood the zone,â Americans cannot possibly respond to the whole of it. The regime is undertaking so many outrageous initiatives that the big picture cannot be seen without it being described clearly and simply.Â
Unless Americans understand that this is indeed a coup thatâs wildly illegal and fundamentally unconstitutional â not just because that happens to be the opinion of constitutional scholars or professors of law, or the views of Trumpâs political opponents, but because it is objectively and in reality a coup â Americans cannot rise up as the clear majority we are, and demand that democracy be restored.Â
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does anyone have advice for a disabled woman job searching for the first time đ¶
#i'm v lucky my family has supported me while i've tried to get my ducks in a row#and now with a new degree in hand it is time to see if i am employable in the IT field.....#my program has assignmed me a career specialist and she is great and knows abt my whole situation#but in the back of my mind i'm like this is hopeless this was a waste of time and money no one will hire my disabled ass
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my various mental issues make liking people so hard because i already put people on a pedestal to begin with if i genuinely like them so i am automatically laying myself at their feet like a dog but then i wrestle with the ego death of seeing that they're just a human being who is capable of being wrong and stupid and annoying me and it kind of makes me sick to my stomach not because i expect people to be perfect but because i know if i had like 5 minutes to sit down and talk to this person i would feel more secure in knowing where they stand on any given thing. but you aren't granted that when you just like some random guy who will never know you because you can't take the feeling of someone who could actually know you. or whatever.
#i like a jewish man who made one vaguely ignorant comment about what's going on Over There and has said nothing on the topic since#he's kind of known for being someone who... likes to look out for the 'little guy' but knowing jews who place too much stake in the concept#of israel and having a place they 'belong' and having fought with people who believe that there are various kinds of zionism and not just#the outright evil one where people assuming their religion gives them the birthright to displace and genocide an entire group of people#and obvious this topic hits way too close to home as a jewish person like i just don't understand how jewish people are okay with it#obviously not all of them are. and thank goodness. because you have to be an idiot to sign off on anything a violent group of white racists#tell you to believe. in MY opinion. but this whole thing has just really hurt me deeply and wounded my willingness to identify with#judaism and my jewishness. which sucks. but obviously it sucks way more for the people who have been consistently and violently slaughtered#it's definitely testing my resilience and nerves and i think to some degree it's part of why i haven't even bothered bringing him up becaus#i'm so sick of giving my fellow white jews the benefit of the doubt about their stance on israel. if you don't see it for what it is by now#you're STUPID!!!!!!!!! and i want to be like. well all he did was say smth back when hamas took hostages and whatever but at the same time#he's a jewish nepo baby with a famous mother so he was obviously raised with no shortage of wealth#and - in knowing that#i also know that ignorance runs rampant in rich families who don't bother to look into issues within their own community. and he's never#had to think about the violence that the people have endured due to a settler colony thinking they own the place. the only things i knew#about israel before last year were that they sucked ass and that their military is well-funded and obligatory. if you have eyes and you're#not in an internet echo chamber at THIS point? you know they don't just suck ass but that they are evil. i knew about the occupation and#constant violence all the way back as a teenager because of tumblr (which is kind of insane ngl) and when i found out i was jewish i had#literally no new feelings about israel whatsoever. the persecution complex some jews have about ppl's hatred for israel makes me insane bc#it's literally just a bunch of losers who moved from their ACTUAL birthplaces into a place they have no business being and acting like they#own it and belong there. i have no idea how people feel welcomed by a place like that simply bc you all have the same ethnicity/religion.#it almost feels like a cult and considering that it takes so much inspo from america i honestly wholeheartedly believe that bc it's exactly#how they operate. anyways. all this to say he's not a perfect guy by any means and he's probably at least a little fucking stupid and#brainrotted bc he's rich. idk what else to say bc i don't wanna show my hand or anything on this like i'm very aware this whole thing is#pointless. but alas... that's most of my life!
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lays on the ground,,,,,,,,, opimus,,
#been thinkin a lot abt what a fuckin tragedy he is#spending 9.5mil yrs Just being molded by what other ppl wanted even when he thought he was doing smth of his own volition#championing the autonomy part of autobots but never having true autonomy himself#& seeing himself Excercising that autonomy For the Sake Of Others as uniquely selfish#just bc it also benefits Him & grants Him the freedom he believes All sentient beings have a right to#which he can at least admit includes himself#& on the one hand of course being selfish is morally neutral in many circumstances & in a way exercising one's autonomy often Is selfish#on the other it's rough going reading that w the underlying implication of this being one of the very few times in his existence he's#Allowed himself to be selfish to such a degree; that he's been fighting for this thing he hasnt even allowed himself the liberty of Using#it comes with the territory of being the kind of leader he was shoved into being ig but that doesnt make it any less tragic#god not even getting into the whole thing of his own kind slowly coming to realize they actually really dont like what theyve essentially#made of him with their own demands n needs & expectations#so he rather quickly latches to the next positive view of him as a cope & it just happens to be deifying asf & gradually gets to his head#tries to live up to the new hype so much that he buys into it just as much as the fanatics & ultimately self-destructs bc of that#bc he spent so long being A Prime(tm) & can never truly go back to being Just A Guy but will always feel a need to be Needed#so when ppl Need him..... hes inclined to force himself to fit that need however he can. always has. thats how he got where he is.#'now that im free to be myselfâ who am i??' yknow????#which is why post!war!op is just a yumby thing for me.....#ooc. the robot gets me every time.
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i will not panic abt my exams
#it will be fine actually#Iâm stressed bc theyâre in. a month now like a month from today and Iâll be done#but that just means I have a whole month to be making notes I can do a lot in a month#Iâm going home on Friday which is stressing me out but itâs just one week Iâll go Friday and leave Saturday/Sunday#and if I can do a handful of lectures while Iâm at home thatâll be a useful step no matter what#i can probably focus on like molecular ones which are easier to structure bc I just need to pull out the mechanisms#tomorrow I just gotta read up on two topics really and then I can write the dumb mock exam which I wonât be able to do at home bc its 4 hour#I hate that we have to do that especially bc itâs got shit evil questions but whatever#and I canât feel bad abt being slow to get back into this bc im an animal with a body and it takes a while to get back into Anything#and Iâm worried abt the exam yes bc of how it went last year when I was unprepared but 1) I wonât be THAT degree of unprepared this year#2) it is unlikely that i get as insanely unlucky as I did last year#fucking hell I just. donât think Iâm made for this kinda system I canât make myself work in it#every single term of my degree so far Iâve been fighting to keep up with everything and had no time to properly prepare for the exams#and then scraped it by working off a baseline level of being good at putting ideas together quickly and strategically working last minute#on whatever will give me the best shot at getting what I need but thatâs not possible in these two exams bc I have over 100 lectures to know#I canât do 100 lectures in a month. itâs just not possible but what I can probably do is summarise some important bits for like half of them#I think Iâm bad at the whole sustained effort on a big task over a long period of time#bc this is so huge that thereâs no way for me to see progress or move on to anything new bc itâs just. a stack of 100 lectures to deal with#I HOPE Iâm better at dealing with project next year bc i think itâll be more task based#and like I can watch the lectures the first time round bc thereâs a set thing to do and an end point#I have genuinely no idea how to approach this in a way that will be useful achievable AND get enough done within the time I have#anyway I canât stress abt it now bc I have to go to the shop and then home to cook. so#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA#luke.txt
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It speaks volumes when Lavellan calls Solas a "terrible liar" in the Cobbled Swan. Rook is, of course, confused by this. "He's the god of lies," she says. But Lavellan clarifies, because that's not what she means. She means that he can't tell "lies of the heart." That is why he had to turn her away, because he actually could not deceive her.
Varric, very early in the game, also refers to Solas as "sentimental." He says to Rook, "He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals."
There's something very interesting about the elven god of lies and deceit, who unwillingly wears his heart on his sleeve, essentially creating a new version of the world in which all sources of raw, magical *emotion* that, according to him, used to imbue it with so much life and beauty have been compartmentalized from the more brutish, harsh aspects of the physical world. Because he, himself, has had to do this very thing to his own heart. He's "split." A very cool archetype. When he tells the Inquisitor to "harden her heart to a cutting edge" in Inquisition, he is projecting. Solas has built a "veil" within himself, to protect his more stern, militaristic identity as The Dread Wolf from the effusive, soft, and intelligent man that is Solas. It's the only way he can get anything done. Perhaps we should more aptly call him the god of stoicism and compartmentalization.
It's also interesting how well characters like Varric seem to know Solas, because it communicates that Solas did open up to the people of the Inquisition, during which time he "played the role" of quiet, unassuming Fade mage. Perhaps this wasn't a role at all, however, and perhaps this is why he is failing so spectacularly now. Who he really is is just this man who fell in love and made friends and found a home within a community where he did not have to cut off his emotions in order to lead. This was the "breach" in his plans, so to speak. It tore his world apart.
The whole story of Veilguard actually starts because Varric knows he can appeal to Solas's emotions and that this has a high chance of working to some degree. It's important to remember that while Varric didn't change Solas's mind at the ritual site, he was able to keep Solas talking long enough for Rook to sabotage his plans. Solas entertains Varric's pleas, because, sort of as Rook guesses with Lavellan at the Cobbled Swan, in some ways, Solas wants to be stopped. He wants someone to pull the reins on him because he is too prideful to stop himself.
Thinking back to Trespasser, I remember we all sort of knew this right away just in reading his body language. I remember someone making a whole post about it, and how he will not allow her to get too close to him. When she approaches, he takes a very measured step back. And later, as he takes the anchor, a task which requires him to take her hand, we see exactly why this is. He breaks down, calls her his "love," and kisses her. He is so stern and so measured and in "control," but then, all it takes is a single touch from the woman to whom he showed a glimpse of his true heart, his true self, to bring him to his knees.
The Veil as a narrative manifestation for how Solas tends to seal his own raw emotions away from others in order to function as the revolutionary general he had to be for centuries is a very beautiful construct to me.
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Hi idk if u have already written this if u have pls igonore but what about the first time bombshell reader calls Spencer beautiful?
fem, 1k
âGideon has a new prodigy.âÂ
Your head rises of its own accord. âYeah?âÂ
âHe's younger than you. Twenty three, I think Hotch said. Fresh out of college, two degrees and working on a third? Or maybe he was getting his doctorate? I couldn't keep up.â Morgan shakes his head in disapproval. âOvereducated and under-experienced. He failed his physicals. The ones he took, anyways.âÂ
âOoh, ouch. A baby on the team before me,â you joke with a smile. âGenius baby, but a baby.âÂ
Morgan smiles when you smile, he's too nice not to, but he picks up soon enough, crossing his arms where he's stood and wrinkling what was once a finely steamed suit jacket. âI don't know what Gideon's thinking.âÂ
âDoes anyone ever know what he's thinking? What's Hotch say about it all?âÂ
Morgan reads what you're typing from over your shoulder and corrects a mistake. One day you won't need his help, but for now you take as much of it as you can get. You're not too proud to acknowledge when you mess up, you're a realist. Super sensible (in mind if not action).Â
âHotch lets Gideon do what he wants, mostly. What can you do when he's one of the originals?â Morgan leans heavily onto his desk by the forearms and shrugs. Youâre similar in this regard; complain, move on. You're similar in other ways, too. That's why you get along.Â
âWell, I want to meet this guy,â you say. âWe'll be teammates just as soon as Strauss stops hating me. I'm one strategic boxed bouquet from a full pardon.â He laughs and touches your arm like he believes you. âIs he around?âÂ
âHere they are now.âÂ
You spin in Morgan's desk chair slowly. Jason Gideon is stalking through the office with his head in the contents of a manilla envelope, while a new face follows behind him talking a mile a minute.Â
âObviously,â you hear Gideon interrupt as they get close enough. âAgent Morgan can explain that to you. Don't overthink it, Spencer, just try to get through it.âÂ
He doesn't acknowledge you nor Morgan as he leaves Spencer and hurries up the steps leading to his and Hotch's offices. You aren't expecting much else from him. What little Gideon knows about you he doesn't like. If you ever get over the Strauss hurdle, it's him you'd have to convince next. You don't watch him cross the landing, your gaze focused on the man making his timid way toward you. Your lips part briefly, and then quirk into an overjoyed smile.Â
âOh, you're beautiful,â you say without thinking.Â
He frowns at you.Â
âReid,â Morgan interrupts, âThis is Y/N L/N. She works in the sex crimes division. As you can imagine, we get a lot of crossover.â You stand, holding out your hand. âY/N, this is Spencer Reid.âÂ
âI don't shake. Sorry.âÂ
You press your hand to your chest. âOh, that's okay. I shouldn't assumeâŠâ Your voice melds into a silkiness that has his shapely brows furrowing further, âIt's nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. You're really pretty, do you know that?âÂ
Spencer peeks at Morgan quickly, who laughs good-naturedly. âShe's serious, Reid. She's not making fun of you.âÂ
âYou'd know,â Spencer says. It isn't malicious, but it isn't exactly friendly, either.
You twist to frown at Morgan deeply. âMorgan, you're not being nice to him?âÂ
âI'm being plenty nice, sweetheart, but this is how it works. I gotta haze him a little.âÂ
âNo, you don't.â You tip your cheek toward your shoulder to look at Spencer through your lashes. âHe pretends to be worse than he is, I promise. But don't let him neg you, okay? You're smarter than he isââÂ
âHey.âÂ
ââand he's used to being the office pretty boy. It's jealousy, nothing else,â you finish. Spencer really is gorgeous now you're close enough to see his eyes. A brown like caramelised sugar tented by dark, dark eyelashes. When he smiles, the very slightest hint of teeth shows, and it makes him even prettier. You endeavour to make him smile again. âSorry if I'm coming off a little strong. It's not my intention.âÂ
âShe's just nervous. You have everything she wants,â Morgan says.Â
You sigh forlornly. âOh, doesn't he?â Spencer's confused pout is even cuter than his smile. âGetting into the BAU is about as easy as walking on water.âÂ
âFor a human,â Spencer says. âEasier if you're smaller. Like a water strider.âÂ
There's a silence. Morgan is aghast, you think. You're in love.Â
âYeah?â you ask, stars in your eyes as his own spark to life.Â
âBecause water strider's can transfer their weight, but also due to their hydrofuge hairpiles. Their microhairs.â He catches himself, measuring your expression carefully. âDid you really wanna know?âÂ
âDo you wanna get a cup of coffee and tell me about it?â you ask.Â
His lips part as yours had when you first saw him.Â
He's prevented from answering as Hotch's office door opens and the man himself walks out near the railing. âGood, youâre here. I have something to talk to you about.âÂ
You grin at him. âI'd love to chat, Agent Hotchner, but I'm getting to know your new protĂ©gĂ©.â
âI see.â He waits.Â
You would ignore him âHotch has a soft spot for you (or rather, he likes you enough to put up with you, which is more than can be said about other members of his division) and he'd shrug off your dismissalâ but you're really keen to hear what he has to say. Perhaps Strauss has changed her mind about your proposed trail basis with the team.Â
âI'm so sorry,â you say to Spencer, immediately re-dazzled by his pretty, lovely face. âIt was really nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Maybe next time you can tell me more about it.âÂ
You give Morgan a quick thank you for the help with your paperwork and trust him to log out of your emails. In your rush up the stairs, you hear a wisp of conversation.Â
âWas she messing with me?âÂ
Morgan laughs. âNo, kid. That's how she is.âÂ
"Oh... She's nice."
"You have no idea."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
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âOh gosh the fire. Yes it was truly a tragedy. You know, HECA79 was the prototype for the new regulation model. Well, haha, new for the time. It was the seventies after all. It really is fascinating. She was the first one we put in the class N tanks. Fascinating technology for the time, clever as the dickens. You see, the insides of the tank were to be lined with a thin layer of magnetically laminated gold calcite particles that formed a reflective lattice under electrical stimulation. A gold plated one-way mirror for brainwaves! Iâm sure you understand, it was the best we could do for 1983-â
âSo you subscribe to the, uh, equipment malfunction theory?â
âHuh? Oh! Oh. Terribly sorry. Equipment malfunction? As I recall, it functioned quite well.â
âSo you believe the fire was caused by something else?â
âThe fire? Oh. Well, Iâm not quite sure. I donât know the exact specifications, but if I recall correctly, there were all sorts of firebreaks and engineers and junior-engineers stationed all around âall helmeted, mind youâ to make sure that sort of thing never happened.â
âAnd yet.â
âAnd yet. IndeedâŠWell, between you and me, I think It was one of the junior engineers.â
âIs that so?â
âOh yes. We were a bit of a maverick bunch back then. Reagan gave us all that research money, but, well, its always a bit different when the wheels hit the pavement haha. Oh. Oh. I hope I havenât gotten anyone in trouble. They were nice lads all. Well, some of them were Germans, but nice lads.â
âWe are more interested in your observations of HECA79. I was told you were able to directly observe her during the incident. If there is anything you can tell us, please, speak loudly enough for the tape to hear.â
âOh! Oh gosh. You know, I completely forgot we were being taped haha! And you caught all of my rambling! Well, I think I can help you out. Oh yes. Now. You must understand. A good half of this is going to be embellished. You know how memories go, you always get more heroic looking back as time goes on haha. But yes, I think I can help you out. Ah, where should I start?â
âWhat was the first thing out of the ordinary that you noticed?â
âHer lips were moving.â
âIs that out of the ordinary?â
âBy gosh for a plutophant yes! At full emmanation, there is no part of them that is not the market! Every neuron soaked in hypno-amphetamine rocket fuel! Most of them âif youâll pardon my language sirâ shit their tanks the moment their Id touches the sub-finantial background grid! What do you think half those tubes are for! A plutophant in full emmanation doesnât have a braincell to spare to keep their sphincters closed, much less perform something as complex as speech!â
âI see. Could you make out what the asset was saying?â
âOh no. No, Iâm afraid not. I canât read lips. Back in those days, they were hooked up to a helmet, and then the helmet read the delta-wave patterns, and then printed that on magnetic tape. That way, we could feed the tape to some lob-, ah translators, and have them interpret the feed.â
âWhen did her lips start to move? What time of day?â
âFunny thing, almost exactly at 12:03. I should have been off at lunch, but I was procrastinating. I had a crossword I was right on the edge of solving. It was one of those big words that goes all the way across the page. TIMEPIECE. I remember that clear as day.â
âInteresting. I have here that equipment registered the fire almost exactly seven minutes later.â
âOh dear. Do you understand what that means sir?â
âNo, please, enlighten me.â
âIs that a schematic of the N class tank you have there? Hand it over. Thank you sir. So. Back in 1983, we didnât have any of the fancy digital equipment we have now. Well, we did, but not to the same degree. Most of our equipment was good old analogue. You see this module here? These werenât part of our system. No, we were waiting on the replacements to show up.â
âAnd, what is that part?âÂ
âThink of it like the uh, ah yes, the carburetor in a car. It keeps everything balanced. Keeps the subjects metabolism steady so they donât chew through the drugs too fast, keeps the tank at the ideal temperature for chemical reactions, without boiling the subject like a lobster haha. But the key is, it was completely mechanical. But at the end of the day, it's just a bunch of tubes full of fluid that move based on pressure differentials.â
âWhich means?â
âWell, heat would throw it off.â
âHere, I think we have a schematic. Now, doctor, this is very important. I need you to explain to me exactly how the machine malfunctioned, and how it would affect HECA79.â
âWell technically, it wasnât malfunctioning at all. It was functioning correctly, just under less-than-ideal circumstances. Oh, haha. Yes, haha, but thats not what youâre looking for haha. Yes. Well. What side did the fire hit it from? Do you know?â
âThis one here.â
âFascinating. Well. Then, the apparatus would have uh, hm. Oh dear.â
âDoctor.â
âIt would have spiked the hypnostimulant feed, while introducing impurities.â
âWhich means?â
âI- I havenât the slightest idea. It would've been deadly, I can assure you that. But its as ifâŠIts as if you had a car, coasting in neutral, downhill at terminal velocity, and then you switched gears to high gear, and then slammed the gas while spraying rocket fuel into the intake.â
âCould we ask you to write a full report on your speculation?â
âFrankly sir, I am as intrigued as you are. You would have to hold my wrists to keep me from writing on this. Fascinating.â
ENCLOSED: FINAL READOUT OF HECA79
"BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD BUY GOLD"[Phrase repeats over twenty thousand times.]
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360-Degree Vision.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8721508ee7243db98075bf4f2ec66036/2ec658d5c12c8e4f-1c/s540x810/c58103e058d1eb89479e4bc69dff89f36cc0de48.jpg)
Yan Silas x F Reader.
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, non-con, oral (male receiving), forced infantilization, Silas calls himself Mommy because he's a weirdo, and "force feeding".
Word Count: 700.
OC and art pictured above belongs to amazingly talented @meo-eiru!! i really love her art, so be sure to check her out!! <333
*~*~*~*
Silas only allows autumn leaves and snow to fall where your feet donât touch but your eyes can still see.
Itâs an odd sort of shape, the barrier he has around his tree. It reminds him of those little sketches you do he puts by his bedside table. He read from a book that human mothers do that whenever their children give them drawings, though you never gave yours to him per se. More likely than not you were waiting for a more special occasion, but he found them in your toy box whilst he was tidying up from another long day of taking care of you.Â
What a unique art style you have â he read in the same book that human childrenâs little doodles can be nearly unrecognizable from what they are supposed to be most of the time, so he doesnât question how the circles you drew kept going around and around and leading to nowhere.
A snailâs shell, perhaps?Â
The spirals seemed too large and too filledâŠÂ
Heâll give you points for creativity.Â
Positive reinforcement was key with these kinds of things, or so heâs been told â if you ever ask for a pet snail, heâll get one for you in little to no time at all.
*~*~*~*
âBaby,â Silasâ smile is smaller because of the concern he has for you right now. âYou have to finish your dinner. Itâs good for you. When you finish we can go see little mushrooms and squirrels, okay? Only for a little bit though,â His right hand is still above your head, squishing you down when your body seems to want to get up too soon. âMommy doesnât want you to get sick againâŠâ
Despite Silas sitting down, he was still more than half your height â your knees sink further into the mattress both of you are on.
They are shivering so much but he doesnât notice.
No, itâs not that he doesnât care â heâs too busy flaunting his length and chest to you to pay attention to how you actually feel, wanting you to pick your poison once again; seeing this as necessary to your development.
Last time for yesterdayâs meals you chose his cock â the day before that you chose his breasts.
The more you suck from him, the more youâre given treats after. Something resembling those colorful markers you used to get at the local dollar store, containers of blueberry yogurt you hope came from his villageâs cows or some similar type of animal, a new dress he had sewn himself or had customized and bought from a nearby elf tailor.
âIâll even bring some paper and those pencils you like drawing with, hm?â Silas continues as he scoots closer to you â he holds your hair so gently now, but whenever he cries tears of pure happiness the grip will tighten quickly. âMaybe you can see a snail up close for those little spirals you like doing.â
âŠ
No matter how much you rebel and kick and scream, the elf wouldnât move back from you â if anything it gives him more of a reason to come closer, so you can have more of his âloveâ. After only a little bit of time, you learned how to let the frustration out in a way that didnât have Silas doting over you so suffocatingly â drawing spirals. You were told once by a friend they can be therapeutic in times of stress. You most likely will never see her again but you would want to hug her because it works.Â
You hid them amongst the dolls and building blocks you were given in times you were alone â staring at them made you feel less lonely, made you feel like you had more of a choice in how you spent your waking hours.
You didnât expect Silas to find them. He never checks your toy box because you tidy it up so often.
You donât know how to explain your drawings in a way Silas will understand. Not that he understands a lot of things that come out of your mouth.
You just nod. Maybe drawing a snailâs body below those spirals can help you too.
âGood girl! Listening so well!â His smile widens and you can see his eyes getting watery already.
#not sfw#tw noncon#elf oc#yandere elf#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#male yandere x reader#male yandere#yandere male#silas#silas elf#oc x reader#fanfic#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere smut#yandere imagines#self indulgent tuesday#but on monday#aya abstractions
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guys my age - spencer reid
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d9ba789b7cab880cd559c0ac1e7bcd36/f2ed358c01e9039f-d7/s540x810/70b9c9870b69af3ee9f6bf0a8f2476d4ce5e9ba2.jpg)
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Ëââ§ê°á â à»ê± â§âË
who? professor spencer reid x student fem!reader
category: slow burn, forbidden love.
content warnings: NSFW MDNI! age gap! (spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s). dubious content. freakish obsessed reader, freakish obsessed spencer. dom!spencer, but reader is pretty controlling. borderline stalking. unprotected p in v. forbidden love. power dynamics. smut. spencer cums inside :]
word count: around 8k
a/n: hi all!! this is my first post, i used to write wayyy back in the day but after a long three years and finally finishing my degree, i now have all the time in the world to write again. feedback is greatly appreciated <3
The lecture hall was alive with murmurs, but you couldnât hear them. All you could focus on was the moment that door would open, the instant he would walk in. Dr. Spencer Reid. His name consumed you, whispered endlessly in the back of your mind, an invocation that made your pulse quicken. You had done your research long before the semester beganâhis credentials, his publications, the infamous cases heâd worked. He wasnât just brilliant. He was untouchable. But not to you.
You sat deliberately in the middle row, far enough back to observe him fully, close enough to feel like he was speaking directly to you. The moment he entered, time seemed to slow. His presence was overwhelming, his voice a melody that wrapped around you, dragging you under. Every movement he madeâthe way his fingers toyed with the edge of his lecture notes, the slight adjustment of his glassesâwas a spectacle.
âGood morning, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Criminology. Iâm Dr. Spencer Reid.â His voice was smooth and confident, with an underlying warmth that immediately put you at ease.
For the next hour, you sat transfixed as he delved into the complexities of criminal behavior, weaving together case studies and theories with an ease that only someone with his expertise could manage. He had a way of making even the most intricate concepts accessible, his passion for the subject evident in every word. By the end of the lecture, you were utterly captivatedânot just by the material, but by the man who delivered it.
Perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The same black suit pants youâd seen countless times when you closed your eyes. Unruly curls lay in a perfect mess, somehow each strand just fit. His eyes held knowledge, they commanded attention. They looked at you with such an intensity, you wondered if he could see right through you. Sure, he wasnât blind. Dr. Spencer Reid was a genius, after all. But, as he walks around his classic oak desk, fingers grazing against the wood as he leans up against it, you wonder if he knows the effect he has on you⊠On everyone.
Your old professor had resigned, much to your dismay. However, that was quickly resolved once you learnt of the new, much younger professor who was assigned to take his place. Spencer Reid, a name that seemed like a curse every time it was spoken. Youâd just have to settle for admiring from afar, for now.Â
He was perfect. No, he was more than that. He was yours.
In those first weeks, it became routine to linger after class, pretending to ask questions about criminological theories when all you wanted was his attention. You started tracking his habits: the exact time he arrived on campus, where he grabbed his coffee, the path he took to his office. It wasnât enough to listen to him during lectures. You needed to know him. Needed to understand every nuance of his life.
Your notebooks filled slowly. Not just with his words, but with sketches of his hands, his profile, even the way the light hit his hair during evening lectures. You memorized his mannerisms and read every book he recommendedânot just to excel but to mirror his thoughts, to create a bond he couldnât ignore.
Each interaction became a drug, a fleeting high that left you craving more. The way his eyes lingered on yours during class wasnât a coincidence. You were sure of it. The moments his voice softened when addressing you were evidence of something deeper. He felt it tooâhe had to.
Dr. Reid, for his part, seemed to enjoy your curiosity. He would patiently answer your questions, occasionally sharing anecdotes from his time in the field. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his intellect. You couldnât help but feel a growing admiration for himâone that you knew was dangerous to entertain.
It happened on a rainy Friday afternoon. You had stayed behind after class to discuss a particularly challenging case study, and the conversation had spilled into his office. The rain pattered against the window as you sat across from him, your notes spread out on the desk between you.
âIâm impressed with your analysis,â he said, his eyes meeting yours. âYou have a natural aptitude for this field.â
The compliment sent a flush of warmth through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. âThank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot coming from you.â
For a moment, the air between you shifted, the professional boundary wavering ever so slightly. He seemed to sense it too, clearing his throat and looking away. âWell, uh, keep up the good work. Iâm looking forward to seeing your perspective on the next assignment.â
As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you couldnât shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. It was subtle, like the faintest trace of electricity in the air, but it was there. And it terrified you.
The weeks turned into months, and the connection between you and Dr. Reid continued to deepen. It wasnât intentionalâat least, thatâs what you told yourself. You simply couldnât help the way your conversations seemed to flow effortlessly or the way his insights resonated with you on a level that felt personal.
There were moments when you caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. And then there were the times when his praise felt almost... intimate, as if he saw something in you that went beyond your academic abilities.
You knew it was wrong. He was your professor, and the power dynamic alone made any kind of relationship inappropriate. But the more you tried to suppress your feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow. You found yourself yearning for his company, for the way his mind worked, for the rare glimpses of vulnerability he shared.
And you werenât entirely sure he was immune to it, either.
It was during a late-night office visit that everything came to a head. You had been working on your final paper and were struggling with a particular section. Dr. Reid had offered to review it, and you had jumped at the chance, grateful for his guidance.
As you sat across from him, discussing your ideas, the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point. There was a moment of silence as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours.
âYouâre incredibly talented,â he said softly. âI hope you know that.â
The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, you replied, âItâs easy to feel that way when someone like you believes in me.â
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He looked at you, his expression a mixture of conflict and longing. âThis...â he began, his voice barely above a whisper. âThis canât happen. I wonât elaborate further, but youâre a smart girl⊠I know you know what I'm talking about.â
You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. âI know.â
But even as you said it, neither of you moved to leave. All you received was a curt nod. The pull between you was undeniable, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.
The night of the gala was your chance. You spent hours perfecting your appearance, knowing he would notice you in a way he never had before. And when he did, when his eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, it was like the entire world fell away.
When he led you to the corner of the room, your heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. His frustration, his struggle to maintain control, only proved how deeply you had affected him.
âWhat are you doing?â He demanded, his voice low and sharp.
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. âI donât know what you mean, Dr. Reid.â
His jaw clenched, his composure slipping. âYou know exactly what I mean. Youâve been crossing lines all semester.â
You stepped closer, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. âAnd what if I have?â
His gaze burned into yours, his control fraying with each passing second. âThis has to stop.â He said, though his tone lacked conviction.
But you knew better. You had studied him, unraveled him piece by piece. He wasnât as strong as he pretended to be. And neither were you.
âMaybe I donât want it to.â You whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and desire.
For a moment, his eyes softened, as if seeing the truth of your obsession for the first time. âObsession is a dangerous game.â he murmured, more to himself than to you.
You would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him close.
The world outside of Dr. Reidâs orbit ceased to matter. Friends became an afterthought. Classes, even the ones youâd once excelled in, were nothing more than obligations. Every moment not spent in his presence felt wasted. His words were etched into your memory, his voice a constant echo in your mind.
You found excuses to linger near his office, pretending to read in the hallway or jotting down notes on topics that had long ceased to matter. Sometimes youâd see him through the small window of his door, head bowed over papers, fingers absently running through his tousled hair. Those moments were sacred.
And then there were the nights.
Your dreams became a battleground, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring. You would see him, hear him, feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Waking up was a cruel joke, pulling you from a world where he was already yours. More than once, you had the fleeting urge to knock on his door late at night, under the pretense of needing help.
But you stopped yourself. Barely.
For now.
When he praised you in class, it felt personal, intimate. You lived for those moments. The way he would say your name, how his eyes would flicker with something unreadableâthose seconds were your lifeline. But it wasnât enough. You wanted more. You needed more.
You started keeping track of the little details. The brand of pens he used. The scuff on his leather satchel. The faint hint of lavender in his cologne. Youâd bought the same scent, spraying it on your pillow just to feel closer to him at night.
One evening, you followed him. It wasnât intentional, not at first. He left the lecture hall as you lingered, and without thinking, you gathered your things and trailed behind him. He walked briskly, head down, weaving through the near-empty campus. You stayed far enough back to avoid suspicion but close enough to study him.
He stopped at the local bookstore, his long fingers running over the spines of books with a reverence that made your chest tighten. You hid behind a display, watching him as he browsed. When he left, you waited a few moments before approaching the same section. He had lingered near the true crime section, and you traced the path of his fingers, touching the same books he had touched.
It became a ritual after that. You discovered his favorite haunts: the coffee shop where he always ordered black coffee with two sugars, the quiet corner of the library where he would sometimes sit and read, the park where he walked on Sunday mornings. You were careful, meticulous, ensuring he never saw you. But you saw him.
Every time you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a secret, a moment that belonged solely to you.
The gala had been your boldest move yet, and the way his gaze lingered on you that night had only fueled the fire. His warning echoed in your mind, but you dismissed it. He said you were crossing boundaries, but you knew better. He was simply scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what you meant.
You decided to leave him something. A token, something small enough to avoid suspicion but personal enough that he would know it was from you. A first edition of one of the books he had mentioned in class. You placed it on his desk after everyone had left, your heart racing as you imagined his reaction.
The next day, you waited, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a serpent. When he walked into class, the book was in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a moment too long before he placed it in his bag without a word.
It was a victory.
But victories, you realized, were fleeting.
One evening, as you left the library, you spotted him walking toward his car. The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you, and for the first time, you didnât bother to stay hidden. You followed him openly, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.
He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.
âWhy are you following me?â He asked, his voice sharp but not unkind. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something darker, something you couldnât quite place.
Your breath caught, but you forced a smile. âI wasnât following you, Dr. Reid. I just happened to be walking this way.â
His gaze didnât waver. âThis isnât the first time, is it?â
The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought about denying it. But then, something inside you snapped.
âNo.â You admitted, your voice trembling. âItâs not.â
His expression shiftedâconfusion, disbelief, and something else flickered across his face. âWhy?â
The word was a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough to unravel you.
âBecause I canât stop thinking about you,â you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. âI canât eat, I canât sleepâI canât focus on anything but you. Youâre brilliant, and kind, and perfect, and Iââ
âStop,â he interrupted, his voice firm. âThis isnât healthy.â
You took a step closer, desperation clawing at your chest. âBut itâs real. You know it is. I see the way you look at me. Donât pretend you donât feel it too.â
He took a step back, shaking his head. âThis has to endâŠnow. Do you understand me?â
But you didnât believe him. Not really. Because you had seen the way his hands trembled when you were near, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He was scared, yes, but not of you. He was scared of himself.
And that, you realized, was all the encouragement you needed.
Dr. Reidâs words echoed in your mind for days after the encounter in the parking lot. This has to end. But the way he said it, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betrayed him. It wasnât conviction; it was fear. Fear of what you had awakened in him.
You were sure of it now. He wasnât immune to you. Not entirely.
The proof came in small, fleeting momentsâtoo subtle for anyone else to notice, but to you, they were glaring signs. The way his eyes lingered on you during lectures, his gaze softening before he quickly looked away. The way he adjusted his tie when you walked into the room, as if suddenly self-conscious. And then there were the compliments, so carefully worded that they might seem innocent to others, but to you, they felt personal. Intimate.
Still, he kept his distance. Even when you sought him out after class, he kept the conversations brief, his tone polite but clipped. It was maddening, the way he seemed to hold himself back.
But then, there were cracks.
One afternoon, you arrived at his office under the guise of needing help with a research topic. He hesitated before letting you in, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if debating whether this was a mistake.
Once inside, the air between you was charged. He sat across from you, his hands folded on the desk, but his gaze flickered to your lips more than once as you spoke.
When you handed him a stack of notes, your fingers brushed, and he pulled back quickly, too quickly.
âSorry.â He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smiled, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. âItâs okay.â
For a moment, his composure faltered. His eyes locked onto yours, and the tension was unbearable. You could see it in his faceâthe war he was waging within himself.
Then, just as quickly, he stood, turning his back to you as he busied himself with a stack of papers on the shelf. âYour analysis is impressive,â he said, his tone suddenly distant. âYouâre clearly passionate about the subject.â
The shift was jarring, but it only solidified your resolve. He wasnât rejecting you. He was protecting himself.
That evening, you stayed late in the library, poring over the materials he had assigned. As you packed up to leave, you noticed a familiar figure in the far corner. He was seated at a table, his long fingers flipping through a thick volume, his expression distant.
You froze, your heart pounding. He hadnât noticed you yet. For a moment, you considered leaving, but the pull was too strong.
You approached slowly, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face before he composed himself.
âStaying late?â He asked, his voice calm, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the book.
You nodded, setting your bag down on the table. âI could ask you the same thing.â
He gave a faint smile, though it didnât reach his eyes. âI find the library... peaceful.â
âMe too.â You said softly, taking a seat across from him.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, as if he couldnât decide whether to meet your gaze or avoid it entirely.
Finally, he cleared his throat. âYou should be careful, you know. Spending so much time in my office, lingering after classâitâs not... appropriate.â
Your heart twisted at the words, but his tone was anything but stern. It sounded like a warning, but it felt like a confession.
âDo you want me to stop?â You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He didnât answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for somethingâor someone.
âItâs not about what I want.â He said finally, his voice strained.
But it was. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you werenât looking. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was just better at pretending otherwise.
The next day, during his lecture, you felt his eyes on you more than usual. He paced the room as he spoke, his hands gesturing animatedly, but every so often, his gaze would drift to you, his words faltering for the briefest moment before he recovered.
It was intoxicating, knowing you could unravel him like this.
After class, as the other students filtered out, you stayed behind, your heart racing as you approached his desk.
âDr. Reid,â you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.
He looked up, his expression unreadable. âYes?â
You hesitated, searching for the right words, but before you could speak, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
âYouâre relentless.â He said softly, almost to himself.
The words sent a shiver down your spine.
âI just want to understand you.â You said, stepping closer.
He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. âYou already understand too much.â
For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to maintain control, but you also saw the flicker of something darker, something he couldnât quite suppress.
And in that moment, you knew: this wasnât over.
It was only just beginning.
It started innocently enoughâat least, thatâs what you told yourself.
The male student, a classmate you barely knew, had approached you after lecture to ask about the upcoming project. His name was Ethan, and while he was polite and charming, you couldnât muster much interest in the conversation. Still, you smiled and nodded at his jokes, your polite laughter echoing in the near-empty hall.
Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Reid had lingered behind, tidying up his desk and organizing his papers. His sharp ears caught the sound of your laughter, a melody he had grown far too familiar withâand possessive of.
He looked up to see you standing near the doorway, your body language relaxed as Ethan leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. Spencerâs grip on the edge of the desk tightened.
Ethanâs laugh was loud, too loud, as if he wanted to broadcast how much he enjoyed your company. Spencerâs jaw clenched. He knew this was ridiculous. He was your professor, and it wasnât his place to interfere with your social life. But the sight of another man so close to you, taking liberties he couldnât, made his blood boil.
When you glanced back into the classroom, likely to gather your things, your eyes met Spencerâs. For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and you saw something dark and raw flicker across his face. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual calm demeanor, but the image stayed with you.
âEverything alright, Dr. Reid?â You asked, stepping inside and leaving Ethan to wait by the door.
Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. âYes. Just... finishing up.â
Ethan peeked his head in. âReady to go?â He asked, his tone casual but his presence invasive.
Spencerâs eyes darted to Ethan, then back to you. âYou should be careful with your time,â he said, his voice quiet but pointed. âThe project deadline isnât as far off as it seems.â
You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. âIâll make sure to stay on top of it.â
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more. Instead, he turned his attention back to his desk, his movements stiff and deliberate.
The next few days were marked by a subtle shift in Spencerâs behavior. During lectures, his eyes seemed to find you more often, but they were no longer soft or conflicted. There was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.
When Ethan approached you again after class, Spencerâs reaction was immediate.
âMiss L/N.â He called out, his voice carrying across the room.
You turned, surprised to see him still at his desk. âYes, Dr. Reid?â
âCould you stay for a moment? Iâd like to discuss your recent paper.â
Ethan hesitated, clearly waiting for you, but Spencerâs sharp gaze left no room for argument. âI wonât keep her long.â He said smoothly, though his smile didnât reach his eyes.
Ethan nodded reluctantly. âIâll catch you later.â
As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencerâs demeanor shifted. He stood, his tall frame looming as he approached you.
âIs he bothering you?â He asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.
âEthan? No, not at all. Why would you think that?â
Spencerâs lips pressed into a thin line. âHe seems... persistent. I just want to make sure youâre not feeling pressured.â
You couldnât help but smile, amused by his sudden protectiveness. âIâm fine, Dr. Reid. Really.â
He nodded, but his expression didnât soften. âGood. Iâd hate to see someone distract you from your potential.â
The words were innocent enough, but the way he said themâthe way his eyes lingered on yoursâmade your breath catch.
It wasnât long before his jealousy became harder to hide.
During a group discussion, Ethan made a point of sitting next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over to share his notes. Spencerâs gaze locked onto the interaction, his hand tightening around the marker in his grip until his knuckles turned white.
When Ethan made a joke and you laughed, Spencer interrupted sharply. âLetâs stay on topic, please. This isnât a social hour.â
The class fell silent, startled by his uncharacteristic tone. You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. He avoided your gaze, turning back to the whiteboard with rigid movements.
After class, as students filtered out, he called your name again.
âI wanted to apologize,â he said, his voice softer now. âI was... out of line earlier.â
âItâs okay.â You replied, though you couldnât hide your confusion.
He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. âYou have to understand,â he began, his voice dropping lower, âthat I only want whatâs best for you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.â
âAre you talking about Ethan?â
Spencerâs jaw tightened, but he didnât answer directly. âJust... be careful who you trust.â
The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for the first time, you wondered if his concern was more than professional.
Later that evening, you found yourself thinking about him again, replaying the moments when his composure slipped, when his obsession peeked through the cracks. You didnât know whether to be scared or thrilled.
But one thing was certain: Spencer Reid was unraveling, and you were the one pulling the thread.
The days that followed were an intricate dance of tension, each interaction with Dr. Reid pulling you closer to a dangerous edge. His jealousy, once simmering beneath the surface, began to bleed into every corner of your academic life, coloring the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he made his presence impossible to ignore.
It started small.
Ethan asked you to partner up for a case study project, and though you agreed, the arrangement didnât go unnoticed. During the next lecture, Spencer called on you repeatedly, his questions increasingly challenging, as if testing your limits. The rest of the class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the deliberate scrutiny, but you met his gaze head-on, refusing to falter.
Afterward, he lingered at the podium, watching as Ethan hovered near your seat, leaning down to talk to you. The sight made his stomach churn. He didnât like how Ethanâs hand rested casually on the back of your chair, how his laughter seemed designed to draw your attention.
âMiss L/N, a word?â Spencerâs voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
âWhatâs this about?â You asked, crossing your arms.
He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. âI noticed you and Ethan are working together.â
âWe are,â you said carefully. âIs there a problem?â
His jaw clenched. âNo... as long as youâre confident heâll contribute equally. He strikes me as the type to let others carry the weight of the work.â
You frowned. âThatâs not fair. Heâs been helpful so far.â
Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. âHelpful isnât always the same as trustworthy. Just keep that in mind.â
You stared at him, the intensity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. He wasnât just warning youâhe was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.
The breaking point came during a departmental mixer, an event meant to encourage networking among students and faculty.
You had hesitated to attend, but Ethan insisted, offering to walk you there. Spencer spotted you as soon as you entered, his sharp eyes narrowing when he saw Ethanâs hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.
He approached you moments later, his movements precise and deliberate. âMiss L/N, a pleasure to see you here.â
âDr. Reid.â You greeted, your smile nervous under the weight of his gaze.
âAnd Ethan,â Spencer added, his tone clipped. âEnjoying the event?â
âYeah, itâs great,â Ethan replied, oblivious to the tension. âI was just telling Y/N about a conference coming up in D.C. Sheâs thinking about attending.â
âIs she?â Spencer asked, his eyes locking on yours.
Ethan nodded. âI might go too. We could share accommodations to save on costs.â
The suggestion made Spencerâs blood run cold. His mind spiraled with images of you and Ethan alone, the boundaries he fought so hard to maintain crumbling under the weight of his jealousy.
âThat wonât be necessary.â Spencer said abruptly.
Both you and Ethan blinked in surprise.
âI mean,â he added, forcing a smile, âitâs likely the university will have funding options available for individual accommodations. Iâd be happy to look into it for you, Miss L/N.â
âThank you, Dr. Reid.â You said slowly, sensing the undercurrent of his words.
Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer cut him off with a glance so sharp it left no room for argument.
Later that evening, Spencerâs restraint finally snapped.
You stayed behind after the mixer to gather your things, only to find him waiting for you outside the building. The night air was cool, but the tension between you burned hot.
âYou didnât have to wait.â You said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.
âI wanted to.â He replied, his voice low and steady.
You walked in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.
âWhy do you do it?â He asked suddenly.
âDo what?â
âLet him follow you around like that. Laugh at his jokes. Entertain his attention.â
You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. âEthanâs my classmate. I donât see how thatâs any of your concern.â
âIt is my concern.â He said, stepping closer. âYou donât see the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.â
âAnd how do you look at me, Dr. Reid?â The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice trembling.
His breath hitched, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. âYou know how I look at you,â he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. âYouâve known all along.â
The admission hung in the air, dangerous and electrifying. You stared at him, your heart pounding as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming.
âThis canât happen.â He said, though his words lacked conviction.
âThen why are you here?â
He didnât answer, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. The distance between you felt razor-thin, and for the first time, you wondered who would break first.
The silence stretched between you, taut and electrifying. Spencerâs jaw tightened, and his hand briefly raked through his hairâa telltale sign of his internal struggle. He was balancing on the edge of control, teetering between his professionalism and the unrelenting pull you had on him.
âYou should go home.â He finally said, his voice low but strained, as if forcing the words out against his own desires.
You didnât move. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with a boldness that matched his intensity. âIs that what you want?â
His sharp intake of breath gave him away. âWhat I want doesnât matter.â He said, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with longing.
You stepped closer, drawn to the crack in his carefully curated armor. âIt matters to me.â
âDonât.â He warned, but the word lacked strength, a faint plea wrapped in desperation.
You hesitated, caught between the thrill of provoking him and the awareness of the risk you were taking. Still, the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. âIf you really wanted me to stop, you wouldnât be here right now.â
Spencerâs restraint snapped, just for a moment. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm before he jerked it back as if burned. His expression twisted in frustration, his usual composure unraveling.
âYou think this is a game?â He hissed, his voice harsh. âYou donât understand what youâre doing.â
âIâm not the only one doing it,â you shot back, emboldened by the fire in his eyes. âYou canât stand it when anyone else gets too close to me. Admit it.â
His silence was deafening, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch in his cheek.
âI see the way you look at me,â you continued, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. âItâs not just admiration, Dr. Reid. Itâs something more.â
âYou donât know what youâre talking about.â He muttered, turning away, but you caught the tremble in his voice.
âThen prove me wrong.â You challenged.
Spencer turned back to you, and this time, there was no mistaking the raw emotion in his gaze. âYou want the truth?â He said, his voice dangerously soft.
You nodded, your pulse quickening.
âI think about you more than I should. I notice every detailâevery time you laugh, every time you tuck your hair behind your ear. And when I see him talking to you...â He broke off, shaking his head. âIt takes everything in me not to...â
âNot to what?â You pressed, your heart pounding.
His lips parted, but he seemed to catch himself, stepping back as if the space between you might restore his self-control. âNot to cross a line I canât uncrossâŠâ He finally said, his tone heavy with regret.
But the heat in his gaze told a different storyâa story of a man on the verge of losing himself to the very thing heâd been trying to resist.
The tension between you didnât dissipate. If anything, it grew, seeping into every interaction like an unstoppable tide.
In class, his gaze lingered on you longer than was appropriate, his voice faltering slightly when he called on you. During office hours, his questions delved deeper, as if searching for something he couldnât articulate.
But it was during a casual seminar that the cracks in his professionalism began to widen.
You had arrived early, taking a seat in the front row. As you flipped through your notes, Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking you out. He paused, visibly unsettled, before making his way to the podium.
As other students filtered in, Ethan arrived and, to your surprise, took the seat beside you. He leaned in, his tone light and teasing as he made some comment about the seminar topic.
Spencerâs expression darkened. He began the session, but his usual measured tone was tinged with an edge that made the room feel heavier. His eyes kept drifting to where you sat, his words sharper whenever he addressed you or Ethan.
When the seminar ended, Spencer was quick to dismiss the class.Â
The classroom emptied, leaving the two of you alone. Spencer stood behind the podium, his hands gripping its edges.
âWhat was that?â He asked, his voice tight.
âWhat was what?â You replied, feigning innocence.
âYou know exactly what I mean.â His gaze pinned you in place. âHim. Sitting next to you. Acting like heââ He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to compose himself.
âActing like what?â You pressed, stepping closer.
âLike he has the right to your attention,â Spencer snapped, his professionalism unraveling further. âHe doesnât. Not the way I...â
He stopped himself, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.
âNot the way you what?â You asked softly, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge.
His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a moment, you thought he might close the distance between you, shattering the boundaries heâd been clinging to.
Instead, he exhaled shakily and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. âThis needs to stop.â He muttered, though the words seemed directed more at himself than at you.
But even as he said it, the tension between you was palpable, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the chaos it threatened to unleash.
The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks. Spencer stood before you, his normally composed demeanor unraveling with every passing second. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing.
âIâve tried,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper. âIâve tried to keep this professional. To keep my distance. But you...â He looked at you then, his gaze piercing and raw. âYou make it impossible.â
Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. âWhat are you saying?â You asked, your voice trembling.
âIâm saying that I canât pretend anymore,â he admitted, his voice low and filled with something dark and desperate. âEvery time I see you with him, every time I see you smile at someone else... I canât stand it.â
You took a step closer, emboldened by the vulnerability in his confession. âThen donât pretend.â
Spencerâs eyes darkened, his restraint crumbling as he closed the distance between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but reverent, as though heâd been starving for this moment.
âYou donât know what youâre doing to meâŠâ He murmured, his voice shaky with need.
âThen show me.â you whispered, your breath ghosting against his lips.
That was all it took. Spencerâs mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe. The kiss was everythingâpent-up frustration, unspoken desire, and a need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. âThis is wrong.â He muttered, though his hands still gripped your waist, unwilling to let you go.
âWe donât have to tell anyone.â You countered, your voice soft but insistent.
Spencerâs eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his resolve broke entirely. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasnât just a kissâit was a claiming, a declaration that you were his, consequences be damned.
Without a word, he guided you backward until you felt the edge of his desk against your hips. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your curves with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.
âYou donât know how long Iâve wanted this,â he admitted between kisses, his voice hoarse. âHow many nights Iâve stayed awake, thinking about you. How hard itâs been to stay professional when all I want is to make you mine.â
âThen stop holding back.â You urged, your fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might pull away.
Spencerâs response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. His touch was everywhereâyour hips, your back, your neckâeach movement filled with a hunger that bordered on obsession.
âTell me you want this.â He said, his voice low and commanding as his lips brushed against your ear.
âI want this,â you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. âI want you.â
His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. âYou have me,â he promised, his voice rough with emotion. âYouâve always had me.â
In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no rules, no boundariesâonly the two of you, finally giving in to the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together all along.
He is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky.
"Tell me what you want."
You hesitate for a moment, the words stuck in your throat. Then, quietly, you say, "I want you, Spencer."
He moves closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me exactly what you want."
You swallow, feeling your heart rate quicken. "I want you to touch me, Spencer."
"Where do you want me to touch you?" He murmurs.
"Everywhere." You whisper, leaning into his touch.
He traces his fingers down your neck, his touch featherlight. "Here?"
You nod, your breath hitching as his fingers ghost over your collarbone.
He moves his hands down further, trailing his fingers across your chest. "I need words, sweet girl."
"Yes," You breathe, feeling your arousal growing.
He hums in approval, hands moving lower still, caressing the curve of your breasts. "And here?"
"YesâŠ" You repeat, arching into his touch.
He cups your breasts through your shirt, squeezing gently. "What about here?"
"PleaseâŠ" You whimper, your voice barely audible.
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "What else do you want, Y/N? Tell me."
You can feel your face flushing, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I want you to take my clothes off, Spencer. I want you to touch me everywhere."
He lets out a soft groan, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. "God, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."
Your shirt falls to the floor, leaving you exposed. His eyes roam over your body, hungrily taking in every inch of bare skin.
"You're so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns across your stomach.
You gasp as he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. His hands move lower, dipping below the waistband of your jeans.
"SpencerâŠ" You moan, your hips bucking against his touch.
"Yeah, baby? What is it, sweet girl? Tell me what you need." He breathes, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.
"I need you." You whimper, desperate for more contact.
He pulls away from you, his hands moving to undo his belt. He pulls his pants down, his hard cock springing free. Tip flushed pink, the same shade as his swollen kiss-bruised lips. He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk, his body pressed against yours.
"Is this what you want?" He asks, his voice rough with desire.
"Yes." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.
He pushes his cock against your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it, Y/N. Say you want me."
"I want you, Spencer." You moan, feeling him slide into you.
"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, thrusting into you. "You're so tight."
You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he drives into you, again and again.
"Feels sâgood." You babble, feeling the tip of his cock deep in your cervix, his hand coming down to rub calculated circles on your clit.
Spencer was a man of logic, of knowledge. But nothing could have prepared you for how skillful his hands could be in such a sinful context, hands youâd spent hours marking into the pages of your notebooks.
He fucks you harder, his pace frantic. "Such a pretty pussy, Y/N." He groans, dipping his head into your neck to nip at your skin.âMy pretty pussy.â He delivers a quick slap to your pussy, sending a shock of pleasure through you, clit throbbing painfully.
"Oh, god, SpencerâŠ" You cry, your orgasm quickly approaching, unable to stop it no matter how much you want to prolong the feeling.
âYou wanna cum for me, baby? Cum all over my cock?â He stares down at you with a look you know will be ingrained in your mind for as long as you breathe.
It doesnât take long before your orgasm crashes over you, pulsing through you in waves, back arching off the bed as you reach out for anything to ground yourself. Hands finding the back of his head, pulling him into your chest.Â
He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself into you, collapsing on top of you, his chest heaving.
You look up at him, your eyes bright with satisfaction. "Do you think it was worth it?"
He smiles, stroking your hair. "Iâd do it all again if it meant I could have you this way just one more time."
The first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds of Spencerâs apartment, casting faint golden stripes across the room. You stirred slightly in his arms, your body cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. Spencer had always been a light sleeper, but he hadnât moved all night. His arms remained securely around you, as if even in sleep, he was afraid to let go.
For a moment, the world was still, the only sound was the gentle hum of the city waking up outside. In the quiet, you allowed yourself to revel in the stolen tranquility. These moments were fleeting, preciousâtime you carved out in secret, hidden from the eyes of the world.
âYouâre awake.â He murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.
You tilted your head back to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. âSo are you.â
âI donât think I slept much,â he admitted, his fingers brushing idly along your arm. âItâs hard to sleep when I know every moment with you has to be hidden.â
You frowned slightly, guilt tugging at you. âI hate it too,â you said softly. âI hate that we have to pretend in class, that I canât just... be with you without worrying who might see.â
His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were warm, but behind the softness lay a steel determination. âItâs not forever,â he promised. âThe semester is almost over. Once youâre no longer my student, no one can question us. No one can tell me itâs wrong to feel this way about you.â
You leaned into his touch, comforted by his words but still anxious about the risks. âDo you ever think about what would happen if someone found out?â
âEvery day,â he admitted without hesitation. âBut I think about losing you more. And thatâs a risk I canât take.â
The weight of his confession settled over you, heavy and grounding. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. âIâd risk it all for you, Spencer. You know that, right?â
He nodded, his expression softening as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. âI know. And Iâd do the same for you. But until itâs safe, we have to be careful.â
The reminder of the outside world, of the boundaries you had to navigate, was sobering. Yet it didnât dampen the connection between you. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.
Days in class were an intricate dance of restraint and subtlety. You sat in your usual spot, taking notes diligently as Spencer lectured at the front of the room. His demeanor was calm, professional, every word deliberate. To the untrained eye, he was simply your professor, and you, his attentive student.
But beneath the surface, every glance, every fleeting moment of eye contact held a world of unspoken words. When he paused to scan the room, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. When he walked past your desk, the faintest brush of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.
After class, you remained behind under the pretense of asking a question. The other students filed out, their chatter fading as the door closed behind them.
Spencer glanced at you, his professional mask slipping slightly as he leaned against the desk. âIs this about the assignment?â He asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of warmth.
âNo,â you admitted, lowering your voice. âI just... I wanted to see you.â
His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded toward the door. âWait for me outside. Iâll finish here and meet you in the library.â
The library had become your haven, a place where the worldâs watchful eyes couldnât reach you. Tucked away in the farthest corner, surrounded by shelves of dusty books, you found refuge in each otherâs company.
Spencer sat across from you, his hand resting lightly over yours on the table. âYou know,â he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the library, âthis hiding... itâs maddening. But thereâs something exhilarating about it too.â
You raised a brow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. âOh? Dr. Reid enjoys breaking the rules?â
A low chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against yours. âWhen it comes to you? Iâll break every rule there is.â
The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you simply looked at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and longing. âOne more month,â you whispered. âThen no more hiding.â
âOne more month,â he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination. âAnd then Iâll make sure everyone knows youâre mine.â
Until then, you would continue this delicate balancing act, cherishing the stolen moments and weathering the secrecy together. Because in the end, he was worth it. And you knew that no matter how many rules you had to break, how many boundaries you had to navigate, you would never let him go.
Ëââ§ê°á â à»ê± â§âË
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#bau x reader#spencer reid smut x reader#missarchive
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Pornstar!Logan NSFW
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f63ea4a73c300b47f0144120175f5d78/3591020b1c10bebb-a5/s540x810/42c841075166803cdff52d53430cdc299bcd7a73.jpg)
This work is inspired by @bpmiranda and their own pornstar!Logan smut, which you can find here. Please go and check it out, it's so yummy and i hope I am doing this idea justice.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader
Summary: Up until now, filming a porn video was only something you joked about. But after your job failed you, this simple 'joke' brought you to a whole new carreer path that you would love to explore further, especially if your co-worker was this handsome man that ruined your pussy for everyone else.
Wordcount: 2.3k -ish
Warnings/tags: pornstar!Logan, pornstar!reader, porn with plot, first porn recording, filmed sex, best friends dad porn, squirting, unprotected penis in vagina sex, pussy pronouns, implied blowjob, basically sex with a stranger, dirty talk, doggy style, Logan is older than reader, cumming on pussy, perverted director, mention of threesome (F/F/M), english isn't my first languange (lmk if i missed something!)
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It had always been a joke. All of this - you just joked about it. But now as you stood in front of this building, the filming location, that's when you truly knew that it was in fact not a joke anymore.
You were about to cast in your first professional porn video.
For years you had been telling your friends, if your degree didn't work out, you'd start selling nsfw art. If your job applications would keep getting rejected, you would become a stripper. It was always something you and your friends could laugh about greatly, but it was never really taken serious in the end. That was about to change.
Throughout the last months, you had taken this career path more and more into your field of interest. Your hated your job, the salary, the people there and your boss. You needed a quick change. So you read about becoming a porn actress, watched interviews with stars of this industry, stating how they got into it, what they had to do, how they coped with everything at the start and much more. You felt ready, but you also didn't really, not when you stood in front of this building and knew that in just an hour, you would be having a stranger pounding his cock into your pussy while everyone around watched.
You took a deep breath as you entered and upon stating your name at the reception desk, you were brought to the second floor where you were greeted by the director.
"Ah, there you are! You're (Y/N), right?" he said and shook your hand with a firm grip. He was the manager of all of this. He had been in this industry for years and sounded very nice from the very start. You felt comfortable as you stood in front of him. You nodded your head. "Yeah, that's me. I hope I am not too late?" you asked nervously, biting your lip. You really didn't need to leave a bad expression right on the first day.
He laughed and shook his head "No, don't worry. You're just in time to meet the guy you're gonna work with today. You're gonna like him." he said and winked at you. You had already heard a bit about the man that would, to put it as is, fuck you today. They praised him highly, told you that you should be happy to have the opportunity with him because he gets so many requests from porn actresses every day.
Richie shoved you through a crowd of working people to a cozy break corner for the actors. There he stood. And wow. He already wore his outfit for the upcoming video. It was a plain black shirt, a thick belt and rugged jeans, but damn. He looked good.
Upon seeing you, a smirk spread across his lips and he stood up, hands in his pockets. "That's Mr. Howlett. Your lover for today" Richie chuckled as he introduced you to him.
"Call me Logan, sweets. Nice to meet you, heard a lot about ya" Logan said and his voice alone made your pussy throb. You both shook hands and you told him your name as well. It would be a lie if you said you weren't anxious. Your heart was beating out of your throat. You were intimidated by your work partners looks and the fact that he was a lot more experienced in this field than you. He looked very charming and handsome, picture perfect like some famous hollywood actor. And you were just, well, you. You felt like you couldn't compete with that in the slightest.
The time you had to speak to him, get to know him at least a little bit before his cock was in your mouth, was limited, because you were pulled to different stations by different people left and right, getting you into costume, fixing your make-up and hair, even checking if you had shaved down there properly. It was all so much at once, but Logan was always watching over you, weirdly enough, reassuring you. Truth be told, he saw himself when he looked at you. He was pretty confident by nature, but when he first started out in this business, he was overwhelmed and unsure at first as well. So he felt deep sympathy with you, even if you didn't know that.
Now you stood at the set with your two co-stars, Logan and some other woman who you didn't know the name of because she was so minor to the scene. She was only there to play your best friend from college. Your best friend with a smoking hot single father.
Your nerves were killing you as you stood in the pre-build bedroom with your co-star. You took a deep breath and decided to go with the flow. You knew the script, you knew the movements and looks, so there wasn't really anything that could go wrong. Right? "Okay, cameras, lights, action!" Richie yelled over the set. Now there was no going back.
You flopped down on your friends bed with a sigh. "This assigment is killing me. We've been working on it for days now and we aren't getting anywhere" you scoffed. Your on screen friend agreed with you, voicing her anger towards the professor as well.
You started acting like you were starting to unpack your bag when you heard a car engine. Your co-star groaned. "Perfect, now my dad's here. He normally works longer than that" she said. You had never met her dad, he was always at work when you were over. "Lindsay, I'm home!" Logan called before he stepped into the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw you. The camera zoomed in on your slightly shocked face, taking in your agape mouth and how your eyes clouded over. You crossed your leg over the other as warmth spread through your core.
Logan smirked at you, leaning against the doorframe. "So, you are the girl my daughter has been doing that assigment with, I assume? Nice to meet you, I'm her old man." he spoke in his deep voice, extending a warm, strong hand out for you to shake, a knowing look being shared between you as he eyed you up and down, pratically undressing you with his gaze only.
The director yelled cut. You let out a nervous sigh. This worked out way better than you had imagined, but that was just the easy part of this whole thing.
Though, the second Logan pushed the tip of his cock into your sopping pussy with a relieved smile on his lips that wasn't part of the script, you couldn't care less about your insecurities or worries. The words you were supposed to say just came naturally with the way he fucked you open. "Such a greedy little cunt, she is practically sucking me in" he groaned, one hand pushing your head into the pillows of his daughters bed.
"You really needed this, huh? Needed a big fucking cock to pound your pussy. The boys in college just don't cut it, am I right?" He groaned, enjoying the way your pussy tightened around his throbbing shaft. How could a cock feel this good? Logan could ask you the same thing - how could a fucking pussy be this tight and warm and just sopping wet?
Logan watched your face being squished against the pillows, slurring your words while you drooled. He smirked. You were made for this, the camera was eating you up like this. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about using this video when he was at home to get off. He leaned down to your ear, his plush lips kissing and biting at the shell before he whispered something only for you to hear "What a natural you are. Gotta have to request you as my partner more often from now on, don't I?" he was whispering in such a hot, breathless voice, it almost made you cum before you even should. He could feel that. And oh boy did it feed his ego.
"Does it turn you on? Being fucked on your best friends bed? By her dad?" Logan rumbled in character, kneading your tits. It took you a while to get a hold of your thoughts and the script, so Logan used that silence to keep whispering in your ear how fucking pretty your tits were. "Y-yes! I...I love it" you slurred, your voice raw from the moans you couldn't hold back for the life of you.
Logan hummed pleased. "Oh I bet you do, baby. Already so cockdrunk for me"
Your pussy felt so good with the way he was dragging his cock in and out, reaching places inside you you didn't knew existed. It was funny to you - you were supposed to fake moan and falsely contort your face in pleasure - but you didn't have to do any of that. If anything, you needed to shut up. You were moaning so loud and so prettily for Logan, it was almost excessive. You just couldn't help yourself. Every time you tried to shut your mouth, Logan would notice and pound into your sweet spot. He couldn't have you denying him of your cute sounds.
Not long and the scene ended with you squirting all over his cock and the sheets. That wasn't initially meant to happen, but with the way Logan was fucking you, you lost control as your orgasm hit. Logan tried to mask his surprise by going off script, continuing to circle your clit "Yes, such a good girl. Keep making a mess for me, baby" he groaned into your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, the overstimulation too much as you felt him cumming over your pussy. He hadn't expected you squirting, but it served perfectly to make him cum like he hadn't in a while.
Richie yelled cut again and Logan let go of your hips, making you fall flat onto the drenched sheets, completely boneless. You could hear faint applause and a warm hand on your back. As Richie approached the bed, Logan was quick to bring you his fluffy robe and wrapped it around you aftwr helping your shaken form to sit up, shielding you from prying eyes. The crew was highly professional for the most part, but there were some creeps shamelessly goggling at the actresses, especially newcomers. Sometimes Richie was one of them...
So Logan had a protective hand around your back, sprawled over your waist to keep you pressed into his side while you regained your composure. You were tired and worn out, but in a very very good way. Your core buzzed with warmth and so did the rest of your body. Without realising, you leaned your head onto Logans shoulders, softly closing your eyes for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat.
"Jesus Christ, you two were really going at it, huh?" Richie grinned and clapped his hands together. "I am deeply impressed with you, rookie. The camera loved you. Didn't even have to correct you at all. Can't believe you haven't done this before" the middle aged man chuckled and tried to discreetly pear down your cleavage to which Logan covered your upper body a bit more, staring Richie down. You didn't feel all too safe now, especially in your slight dazed state. But Logan was there and somehow being able to nuzzle into him for protection eased your mind greatly. "You two can go and take a break. I have Mirinda, Mandy and Josh for the next sesh. But after that, I'd like to see you both in action again. Maybe with another woman as well, how would you like that?"
Logan declined for you with a slight bite to his voice, excusing you and himself after he had wrapped a towel around his hips and brought you to his dressing room. Richie wasn't a bad man. But he was far from being appropriate at times. It happened rarely and mostly only to actresses who had been in this industry for years, but they knew how to treat directors like him for rude staring not to happen. But you were still so young and inexperienced with everything, so anxious and nervous. Logan wanted to protect that. Protect you. The industry was tough and he didn't want you to break under all of this like he did in the beginning himself.
"Thank you for uhm...getting me out of there" you mumbled as you began to dress yourself again with the clothes you had arrived in. You chuckled to yourself as Logan turned around when you put on your bra and underwear as if he hadn't just conpletely seen you bare and ruined you for every other man.
He scoffed. "Not for that. It was the least I could do. Sometimes he gets a bit creepy, but he his decent. He doesn't do more than stare, fortunately. Still, I'm sorry you had to endure that on your first day. But that's, sadly, how it is" he answered, pulling his shirt over his head and you shamelessly watched his muscles dip and contract from his movements.
You buttoned up your blouse and shrugged. "I expected it, honestly. But you were my knight in shining armor, or lack there of-" you laughed and Logan couldn't help but chuckle alongside you. "- so it wasnât that bad. At least the sex was good"
Logan smirked. "It was?" he asked with a cocky undertone. He knew that it was, but hearing it from you directly made his chest flutter. Not that he would ever admit that. You nodded with a hum, slightly chewing on your bottom lip.
"I have to say the same. You have a great pussy" he blurts out, making both of you laugh. "There is more where that came from, lover boy" it was very easy to be comfortable around Logan and it made you feel a little less lost. It made you feel like you had a guiding hand and you were so grateful that he was there. It wasnât his job to be your caretaker, he wasn't getting paid to tell you how to do things or protect you from backhanded nasty comments from filming crew members. But you were glad he instantly took you under his wing like this.
You couldn't wait to shoot with him again
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I had so much fun writing this! Let me hear your thoughts, do you want a part two?
And don't be scared, there is also going to be more sub!Logan soon and a few fluff drabbles as well. Stay tuned!
#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#logan x reader#x men#hugh jackman#wolverine x reader#x reader#logan howlett#logan wolverine#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#mcu#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine#smut#deadpool and wolverine
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Baby Fever
Anakin x f!reader
This is based off of number 2 of this list :)- I havent really delved into kink writing s sorry if this isnt the best haha- think of the reader as a padme- type figure
After seeing you interact with a lost child- Anakin thinks itâs time you had your own baby to look afterâŠ
warnings: P in V, smex, ani has a mean breeding kink, multiple orgasms, mentiond of pregnancy
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Floods of invigorating politicians and citizens exited the large Coruscant city center after a successful senate meeting. You had just finished pitching a plan that would excel the economy while also protecting laborâs rights.Â
You smiled as you stood from your podium once the majority of the crowds had exited- the whole public eye thing was a bit new to you.Â
For the longest time you worked behind the scenes helping other politicians with similar goals; it wasnât until a few months ago that you, yourself, were appointed as your districtâs senator.Â
You fixed your dress as you exited your booth and headed for the dimly lit corridors of the massive building. Most of the clamor had moved outside into the city square so the halls were mostly empty.Â
As you turned the corner a small smile found its way onto your face once you saw a familiar figure leaning against a marble pillar. Unmistakable robes and lightsaber clipped to the manâs belt.Â
âI wasnât aware Jedi had any interest in politicsâ you said with a smirk as the man snaked a gloved arm around you before you could pass.Â
He pressed his face into your hair as he hugged you tighter to his chest, âWe donât, but you know all of my interest belongs to youâ.Â
You sighed as he pressed a passionate kiss to the column of your neck.Â
âAni- not hereâ you almost whimpered.Â
He quickly twirled you around to face him before holding your face in his hands, âwhy not?â he asked with a charming smirk- âwe should let them all knowâ.Â
He glanced out the large windows down at the crowds of excited civilians- from up here they looked no larger than ants running for a sugar jar.Â
âThey all love you, so why canât I?â Anakin asked with a pout.Â
You sweetly smiled before placing a tender kiss to his pretty lips, âyou can, and you do- you know the ramifications Anakin, you know we ca-â.Â
Anakin cut you off with another deep kiss before releasing you and playfully slapping your ass.Â
âYeah yeah, I knowâ he huffed, âbut they donât know thatâ.Â
You rolled your eyes at your loverâs childish desires before leading him out of the building.Â
To avoid the spotlight and attention of the crowds, you dawned a hooded cloak before exiting the center.
Anakin followed closely behind; a hand already on his saber just in case. Thankfully being in public with Anakin seemed normal to some degree because you had become such a public figure- Jedi were often tasked with protecting political officials.
So Anakin looked no different than a routine bodyguard.Â
The crowds were easier to navigate now that you had some practice under your belt. You had almost made it to your reserved speeder when you felt a small tug on the hem of your long dress.Â
You smiled once you realized the tugging was coming from a small child, probably no older than four.Â
She looked up at you with wonder as she mustered up the courage to speak to you.Â
âSenator?â She finally asked.Â
You nodded with a smile before turning to her. A wide grin settled onto her small face as she looked you up and down.Â
âPrettyâ she giggled.Â
Anakin stood a few feet behind you, trying to see what was going on over the people standing in the way- he became anxious when you dipped from view.
The Jedi quickly weaved through the remaining people to see you crouched down speaking to a small child. His expression immediately softened as he watched you interact so sweetly with the girl; making exaggerated faces at the childâs comments, pointing out her cute accessories to make her giggle, picking her up to shield her from oncoming pedestrians-
Anakin never really thought about having kids- of course he wanted them someday; he wanted to create life with you and wanted to raise his children with a childhood he never got to have. But it never seemed like the right time.
The two of you had been careful when engaging in those activities to avoid an unexpected surprise when you still hadnât quite figured out how to navigate your secret relationship.Â
But each time Anakin fucked you he got closer and closer to giving up on the unspoken rule; he got closer and closer to cumming deep inside of you without any intention of pulling out.Â
You knew Anakin was a passionate lover but you never considered that your sweet, respectful Jedi lover fantasized about locking you into a mating press while he fucked his children into your fertile womb.Â
Anakin had no timeline of when he wanted them, but he knew youâd make a great mother no matter how long (or short) he waited.
Though seeing you interact in real time just made him want the fantasy to spring to reality.Â
_________
âHello sweetie, where are your parents?â You cooed at the small girl in your arms.Â
She giggled and shrugged, making you frown.Â
âWell thatâs not good, theyâre probably worried about youâ you said, scanning the crowd for anyone who held any semblance to the tiny child in your arms.Â
She, on the other hand, had no interest in finding her guardians- instead she was focused on the shiny tinsel that had been put into your hair prior to your speech. Innocently, she flipped your hood off and began to touch your face as she admired your beauty in childlike wonder.Â
Before you could react, Anakin was by your side; he gently placed the cloak back over your head to protect you from interested onlookers.Â
âAni! You came out of nowhereâ you giggled lightheartedly as he guided you off to the side of the still buzzing city square.Â
âWhoâs this?â He asked with a smile as the little girl in your arms hid her face in your shoulder.Â
âItâs ok baby, heâs a Jedi- heâs very strong and heâs here to protect usâ you whispered to the little girl in your arms.Â
âJedi?â her green eyes brightened as she became excited at the title.Â
She continued asking you questions but all Anakin could focus on was how beautiful you looked interacting with such a young child. How natural you looked.Â
Is this how you would interact with your own children? With his children?
He couldn't help but adjust his pants as he felt them becoming increasingly tighter.Â
Soon the overexcited child had fallen asleep in your comforting arms; shortly, you began cautiously walking around in hopes to find her parents. The jedi beside you watched as you subconsciously brushed the girl's hair and gently bounced her on your hip.Â
Before long you finally stumbled across two very worried adults calling for who you could only assume was fast asleep in your arms.Â
âOh Maker! There she is!â the woman gasped as she reached for her baby.Â
The Man she was with breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly joined her as you handed her the sleeping child.Â
âThank you so mu- Senator!â the manâs eyes widened once he realized who it was.Â
âWe are so sorry to have troubled you- please forgive us for our carelessnessâ the woman bowed.Â
âNo, no! It was no trouble at all- you have a beautiful daughterâ you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from the girlâs face.Â
âThank you, thank you so much. We loved your speech- you are just what this city needsâ the mother offered before turning to her husband.Â
You bowed and met the silent figure watching from the sidelines; âSorry Ani, we can go nowâ.Â
Anakin just nodded silently and trailed you with an uncharacteristically dazed aura.Â
Once you were in your speeder, Anakin hopped in the driverâs seat and jetted off towards your apartment; his strong jaw clenched as he imagined you full with a child.
He flinched as you placed a tender hand on his tensed thigh, âAni- are you alright?â.
________________________
A cacophony of moans and groans ricocheted off of the walls of your penthouse bedroom as your lover continuously plunged his cock in and out of your abused hole. He had been at it for two hours already and had already cum once (while you came thrice).Â
Once you entered your private apartment, all of his carefully crafted will-power snapped and he went feral; the natural urge to breed you, hit him like a bus.
He was all over you; your lips, neck, breasts, cunt- you were his and he was going to make damn sure it stayed that way.Â
âA-Ani! S-slow down!â you cried as he jetted his thick cock in and out of you.Â
âS-Sorry baby, C-canât- I gotta- gotta fill you upâ he winced as he fucked you through his own overstimulation.Â
His heavy balls slapped against your ass and a ring of foam from your combined juices formed at the base of his cock.Â
He already came inside of you once, what more could he want?
âBaby- tâs too much! You're-spilling all overâ.
âN-no, not enough- gotta fuck a baby into youâ he grunted against your bruised neck.Â
His confession had your eyes snapping open, âWhat?!â.Â
âLooked too damn good with that baby on your hip- I-I wanna see you with my child on your hip in-insteadâ he babbled as he pulled you flush against his chest and rutted his desperate hips into yours.Â
So that's what this was all about.Â
Admittedly you didnât mind his desires, deep down you wanted the same thing⊠you wanted him to reach so deep that he fucked one into you on the spot.Â
âOh Fuck Ani- I wan- I want your kidsâ you admitted ad you raked your long nails down his toned back.Â
âShit babe- squeezing me so tightâ he whined as he gripped onto your hips with a caging grasp (surely you would be bruised tomorrow).Â
He slammed his hips flush against yours with intense force as he felt the coil in his stomach begin to snap- this was it, this was the orgasm that was going to give you a child.Â
He just knew it.Â
âAhh c-cumming! Gonna give y-you a child- Shit! i-i âm going to fuck my baby into youâ he babbled as he felt his hot, thick, warm seed shoot out of his oversensitive tip into your gushing cunt as your own orgasm washed over your like a crest-fallen wave.Â
âAni!â you cried as your legs began to shake from the overpowering climax mixed with your exhaustion.Â
You clawed onto him so hard that you swore you drew blood. Anakin, on the other hand, dove down and captured you into a tight embrace; his mechanical hand making you gasp at the sudden coolness.Â
His body shook with pleasure and overstimulation as he struggled to rut his hips into you to push the last bit of spend further into you with shaky breaths.Â
Once you came down from your high, you were so tired that you couldnât even bother to ask Anakin to clean you up; you half expected him to fall asleep inside of you based on how tired he also looked.Â
âGonna make you a mommy- youâll look s-so good- so round with our childâ Anakin mumbled into your neck before slowly turning over so that you were on top of him (his dick still inside).Â
You hummed in contempt before drifting to sleep as he gently brushed your hair with hsi flesh hand.Â
âThe two of you should get some sleep now- I love youâ Anakin whispered before drifting right after you.Â
You would have giggled at Anakinâs addition of âtwoâ when speaking to you and your hypothetical baby, but as usual your lover was right.Â
The famed âJedi perceptionâ was affirmed 9 months later when you cradled not one, but two small bundles of joy. You sat on your couch as you fed your children and Anakin couldn't help but smirk at the scene before him, this is just what he wanted⊠he couldnât wait till you could have another one.Â
***
(a/n: ngl im not crazy big on kids but breeding is hot đ€đ€ hope this lived up to the idea on the list :0)
#anakin x reader#anakin#star wars#star wars x reader#anakin skywalker#anakin x you#anakin star wars#anakin x y/n#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker blurb#jedi anakin#star wars x you#anakin smut#star wars smut#anakin skywalker smut#sw smut#smut#ani w a breeding k!nkkk#star wars thoughts#anakin blurb#anakin is so hot
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"Another damn Super."
Shotgun Sally had had her fill of fighting superheroes. Henching used to be easy. Crack some safes, intimidate some people, stand guard at some deals. It's the only skillset she's ever had, and she was happy doing it. She had no interest in moving up - too much paperwork and headache - and going straight was impossible with her record. No, henching was where it's at. Or it used to be. Until those meteor storms a few years ago. People getting superpowers from the radiation. Started wearing costumes. Ridiculous. Comic book stuff. Job hadn't been the same since.
Intel came in. Sally answered the phone, writing down all the info in her notebook as usual. New hero. Contact said she goes by "Miss Fire." Left a calling card, apparently? Stupid name. Basic. Probably young, unsponsored. Hasn't been caught on camera yet, but apparently some deals went bad. Bodies at the scene had third degree burns on their hands and faces. Not one of those no-killers, this one. The name made her easy to figure out. Typical energy projection hero, probably has flamethrower breath or shoots fireballs. You hear it all the time, kid gets some flashy powers, gets full of herself, decides to be a crime fighter. Nobody ever trains the Supers to care about human life. Sally'd never had a reason to kill anybody in her work. Some rounds at the feet usually scares people into compliance. At most she'd take a few teeth or break some bones, but she'd never killed. What was their excuse?
Sally was tense. The contact was late. Deal was supposed to be done by now. That meant something was up. But it wasn't her decision whether they pulled out or not, that was up to the boss. She was watching a rat eat a pizza. Then she heard it. Gunfire, sounds of burning and screaming. "We got a Super!" A nod from the boss, and Sally was off.
Sally darted around a corner. There she was. The kid wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Usually these flashy types are dressed in spandex, or wearing heels (ridiculous), but this one was wearing simple boots and a parka. What confused Sally most of all was the lack of any glowing. Usually with these energy projection heroes you could tell what bodypart their powers came from by a residual glow, especially if they'd used their powers recently. Nothing around the throat or the hands.... In fact, her hands weren't even out. They were in her pockets. She looked totally relaxed. Was this not the hero?
Sally leveled her shotgun. She was about twenty paces away. Standard procedure with heroes was to keep your distance, in case they have melee powers. But she was more than close enough to turn the girl into a cheese grater if need be. She had to find out if this was the hero or not. Sally always preferred the direct approach. "Miss Fire, I presume?"
"That's me," the girl replied. Her face was blank. "You don't wanna be pointing that thing at me."
The girl's candor was annoying. "I believe I do. See I've been hearing about you hurting my people. I can't have that."
"They shot first. It wasn't on me."
"I'm gonna give you one chance to get out of here. It's past your bedtime."
"Make me."
Alright, that was enough talking. Sally couldn't tell if this kid had powers or what, but there was only one way to find out. Sally switched her shotgun to a low-spread mode and aimed between the girl's feet. If this wasn't the Super, this would scare her off. If she IS the Super... well, whatever happens happens.
Sally almost missed it. In a swift motion, the girl took her hands out of her pockets and opened both at Sally as if to reach out to her. Sally's reflexes kicked in, throwing herself to the ground to dodge the oncoming fireball or laser beam or whatever it was. But nothing came. The girl was just standing there, with her arms out. She looked like an idiot. Sally got up. "Of all the... what the hell do you think you're doing? I could've shot you."
The girl seemed surprised that she hadn't. She looked scared. "Usually they do by now..." she whimpered. She suddenly turned around and started running in the other direction. Sally was stunned. She was about to chase after her, but then she heard a noise she didn't like. Her gun. It was hissing at her. In fact, it was glowing. Alarmed, Sally threw the shotgun away from her as fast as she could. As it collided with the ground, it exploded into a ball of purple and blue flames.
Sally sat on the ground, watching the smoking remains of her favorite gun. She took her notebook out, and flipped to the info about the new hero. She crossed out "Miss Fire" and wrote "Misfire" under it.
"I hate Supers."
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"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"
Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this
Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.
Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader
Word count: 2k
You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now youâre at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.
The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.
That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'
But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.
He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.
"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.
"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"
"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.
"I guess I could eatâŠ" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that thereâs a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if youâre hungry.â
Max smiled and nodded. âYes, Iâm starving; letâs go,â he said, reaching for the car keys.
âNo, itâs okay, letâs walk,â you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe thatâs just what makes you special.
The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...
âIs Pierre gonna be at the race?â you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.
Maxâs head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. âUh, yes, of course he is⊠Why?â
âBecause I want to see Kika.â
âOh, so sheâs your secret F1 crush, eh?â Max said, relaxing.
You laughed. âPierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.â
As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.
âIs this your girlfriend?â one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Maxâs slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple âYeah.â
As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed⊠surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Is it something I said?"
Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."
"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."
Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.
"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"
Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."
Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.
"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.
Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."
"What do you mean? Are we not together?"
"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this raceâ"
Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.
You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."
Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."
"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."
Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."
"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."
"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."
After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.
"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.
"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.
"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."
"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?
"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.
You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"
Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"
Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.
"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.
"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"
Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."
He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."
#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#max verstappen x reader#f1#formula 1
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