#but how he expresses it is... is not right
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they were already incredibly suspicious to me, every last one of those supposed âprofessionals.â i think Iâm more suspicious than I ever was now - somehow that was possible. Iâm even more apprehensive, perhaps even fearful.
solidarity between people who want to take psychiatric meds to function and those who donât.
Whatâs important is that we both have autonomy, informed consent and safe access to treatments we want, and to not be forced, coerced or pressured into those we donât.
#yes yes yes#I feel so trapped right now - it seems I might be able to cancel the appointment and hopefully take nothing but if Iâm unable to I think-#-that will be my final straw#horrifying for me. interacting with psychiatry at the age the body is at is traumatizing - traumatizing at any age though perhaps Iâm being#-dramatic. I donât think so though.#my experiences have been less than decent so far - for the most part#plus they tended to want me on medication out of simple stigmatized lenses#they were more concerned about the fact that I even experienced something such as supposed hallucinations (GASP) than my actual experiences#itâs difficult to word but Iâll speak more and hopefully organize my thoughts in a later post#psychiatry isnât here to help itâs here to put everyone in a single file line - they mentioned me not being normal enough essentially#Iâll elduicate more in a later post#but I was forced and am being forced with the looming threat of long term hospitalization though I will hopefully be able to get out of it#that threat is now always hanging over my head#they forced me and it ended up fucking with a health condition I already have along with general side effects#the courts almost got involved while the impostor was trying to get me out of there because they didnât want to release me#despite it being an unhelpful place just like every mental hospital. I feel even more âunsafeâ as they call it and tempted to run now.#I donât trust the medicine Iâm afraid of it and having threats held over my head it all felt sort of like mind rape - to be dramatic again#it doesnât matter how much I express how afraid of them I am they donât understand and I have other reasons besides my suspicion as to why#-I donât wish to take them. the fact that the body canât tolerate them for example. not wanting to be forced. the forcing makes me panic.#itâs mind rape. not to mention even despite the inability to tolerate he still wanted to try an antipsychotic down the line - which is not#going to happen. no medicine. Iâm not trying anything. Iâd be more open if there werenât threats over my head and I werenât being forced#but I donât want any at all. I have my reasons - they want me to take it for medically induced suicide purposes as well - what I mentioned#earlier/ not being normal enough for their standards and being how they even on a subconscious level view me as a dirty schizo#who needs to be fixed so I donât want them for that as well#I havenât rambled about it much yet until now but it feels like mind rape to me even if thatâs dramatic I donât generally experience the#instinct to cry and still I cried multiple different times over this shit over being forcefully kept in a bad facility that wouldnât even#give me my physical meds and did nothing for health conditions so the body dehydrated horribly and shit and some of the staff were pretty#rude too it was just a bad experience not as bad as lobotomy I know but I couldnât stand it and being forced the threats all the threats#made sure to try and keep myself in check for that reason but the threats of long term if I wasnât compliant enough I donât want to be sent#away I want to be left alone I want freedom I want a break I want a hug (?) I want to be away from all impostors I want to disappear
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Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chestâa sensation far too foreign for someone whoâd faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasnât a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.
He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeperâs amused expression still lingered in his mindâtwo grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadnât been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.
Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.
Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. âI told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.â His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. âWhat kid doesnât like a Barbie? Eh? Youâre overthinking this, big man.â His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. âBesides, itâs just a backup. If she doesnât like the trainâwhich, letâs face it, is a bloody long shotâIâve got something sheâs bound to love.â
Simon shot him a sharp look. âItâs not about the toy,â he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. âItâs about⌠makinâ an impression. Proper one.â
Johnnyâs smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. âAnd you think thatâs all ridinâ on a train? Câmon, mate, itâs you sheâs meeting, not just some toy. Kids arenât daftâthey know when someoneâs tryinâ.â He tilted his head toward the toy in Simonâs hand. âBut, for what itâs worth, that trainâs not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.â
Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with herâAdira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days heâd spent turning it over in his mind. Heâd seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasnât sure he was prepared for.
âI shouldâve brought the others,â Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.
Johnnyâs eyes twinkled with humor. âAye, because showinâ up with the whole bloody team wouldnât be overwhelming at all, eh? âHereâs yer dad, and hereâs his army of uncles.â Real subtle.â
Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasnât in the mood for it.
The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simonâs attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didnât say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.
âHi,â Simon managed, his voice quieter than heâd intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. âUh⌠thought Iâd bring somethinâ she might like.â
You glanced at the train, then at Johnnyâs Barbie, raising an eyebrow. âI see Johnny didnât listen,â you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.
Johnny grinned, unbothered. âInsurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.â
Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. âWell, letâs see how this goes. Sheâs in the living room.â
Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something heâd been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.
âYou okay?â you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldnât quite placeâconcern? Reassurance?
He nodded stiffly, though he wasnât entirely sure who he was convincing. âYeah,â he said, masking his unease. This wasnât the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. âJust⌠takinâ a moment.â
Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. âYouâve got this, mate. And if all else failsââ he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourishââIâve got you covered.â
Simon rolled his eyes but couldnât help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. âThanks for that,â he muttered dryly.
He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracksâAdira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.
The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasnât just watching from afarâhe was here.
Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simonâs heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.
"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. âLook what I got for ye.â
Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way sheâd done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, âUgee.â
Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.
âOh, come on, lass. Thatâs no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,â he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. âItâs for you. Lookâsheâs got a shiny tail and everything.â
Adiraâs expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnnyâs face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. âTold ya,â he mouthed, his tone smug.
Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.
The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnnyâs moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And thenâpopâthe dollâs head came clean off.
Johnnyâs jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.
Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. âWell,â Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. âGuess she wasnât a fan after all.â
Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. âWhat⌠what kind of kid just does that?!â he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.
You shrugged, biting back a laugh. âI warned you about the dolls.â
Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, âSheâs Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.â
Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the dollâs head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.
âHi,â he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. âI brought you somethinâ. Thought you might like it.â
Adira didnât respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.
You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. âThatâs a good sign,â you murmured, keeping your voice low. âShe doesnât usually let people touch her trains.â
Simon exhaled a breath he hadnât realized heâd been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasnât muchâjust a small gestureâbut it felt monumental. A start.
âSheâs got good taste,â Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. âKnows quality when she sees it.â
You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simonâs nerves. âItâs not just that,â you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. âTrains are her world. If sheâs letting you into it, even a littleâŚâ You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasnât used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments heâd missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.
âItâs a start,â he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.
Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man heâd always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didnât dare interruptâthis wasnât his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.
The warmth in the room tugged at Johnnyâs own heart, and though he wasnât one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simonâs grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.
Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: âBig man, small trains. Heart officially melted. â He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.
Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:
Roach: âNever thought Iâd see Ghost look so human.â
Gaz: âHeâs got the âDad Lookâ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.â
Price: âI donât. Send more pics.â
Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adiraâs world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.
Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight heâd never forget.
Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:
What now?
Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasnât so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didnât feel rightânot now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.
You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentratedâit was him. So much of him. And the way Simonâs gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.
And you wanted her to be happy.
The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldnât make up for all the firsts heâd missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.
âSoâŚâ you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.
Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something elseâsomething vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasnât entirely sure what that was.
You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. âThis isnât going to be easy,â you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.
âI didnât expect it to be,â Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasnât lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him nowâthere was a father. "But Iâm here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.
âFor her,â you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. âShe deserves that. But itâs not just about showing up with toys. Itâs about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if itâs hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.â
Simonâs jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against somethingâmaybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. âI can do that,â he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. âI will.â
âYouâll have to.â Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. âSheâs stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.â
Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls heâd built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. âAye, canât imagine,â he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.
There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadnât been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for himâthis was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadnât been a part of.
âFirst things firstâlikes and dislikes.â
The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didnât wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.
When you returned, you were holding a fileânothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.
The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guardâpages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adiraâs daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy daysâtook him completely off guard.
Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it wasâhow much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.
The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasnât just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.
Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. âWhat is all this?â he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.
You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. âBefore you think Iâm crazy or paranoid,â you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, âI work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. Itâs policy to keep these recordsâjust in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.â
He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adiraâs little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.
âI didnât know youâd been keeping track of all of this,â A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. âI didnât know⌠I didnât know youâd been doing so much.â
You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. âItâs nothing. Just making sure sheâs okay.â There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.
Simonâs fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasnât just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.
âYou really do know everything about her, donât you?â he said, his voice tinged with awe.
You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasnât about control or being overprotectiveâit was about ensuring that every part of Adiraâs world was in order, even when you werenât looking.
âI know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when sheâs tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. Itâs not about keeping tabs, itâs about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.â
Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so longâcarrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he shouldâve been offering.
âSheâs lucky,â he said quietly, almost to himself. âYouâve done more than I can even imagine.â
You didnât say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. âItâs just what you do for them,â you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. âYou do what you can to make sure theyâre okay.â
Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of somethingâguilt, maybe, or a quiet acheâas he realized just how much heâd missed. Heâd been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adiraâs life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.
âI want to know it all,â Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. âEvery little thing. I donât care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.â
Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing heâd be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldnât just be you anymore.
âGood,â Your voice filled with quiet approval. âBecause itâs going to take time. And youâll need to be patient.â
âI can do that,â he replied, his jaw set with determination. âIâm not going anywhere.â
By 6 AM sharp, there he wasâa solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didnât just want to be in your lifeâhe wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasnât just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universeâone small gesture at a time.
At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.
Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.
Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. âWhatâd you call me?â
"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.
You couldnât help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. âIâll remember that,â he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.
More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadnât expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.
One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, âThank you, messy man.â
Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. âYouâre welcome, love,â The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.
You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasnât just about breakfast. It was about Simon tryingâevery single dayâto show her that he was there, that he wasnât going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldnât help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adiraâs small world seemed to expand to make room for him.
After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling inâone that felt like a quiet, gradual understandingâAdira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasnât as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes heâd made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.
Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldnât let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, sheâd often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity.Â
You saw it in Simonâs eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didnât matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldnât blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasnât sure how to integrate yet.
But you couldnât help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with himâjust the two of themâwithout you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?
That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adiraâs classroom was off-limits, she couldnât come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.
That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesieâa fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.
You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldnât help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, youâd be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all elseâeven Simonâs. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.
Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adiraâs lounging figure. âSo, itâs just me and her today?â
You nodded, grabbing your keys. âher classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.â
He didnât respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.
You couldnât help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuineâreassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.
Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. âSweetheart, youâre gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? Iâll be back soon.âÂ
Adiraâs brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. âYou go?â
âJust for a little while,â you reassured her. âSimonâs going to stay with you, and youâll have lots of fun. Wonât you?â
Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.
âSheâs had her bath, so no worries there,â you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. âSheâs in her onesie because itâs raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy daysâI don't understand it but as long as she's happy. Thereâs food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, Iâd suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is âMarioâs,â and the numberâs on the fridge. Sheâll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.â
Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. âGot it. Anything else?â
You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. âJust⌠be patient with her. Sheâs still figuring this out. Youâre doing great, Simon.â
His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. âThanks.â
You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simonâs test, sure, but it was yours tooâtrusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.
He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didnât so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.
Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"
Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.
"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "Whatâs your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"
Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didnât say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, âThe sound.â
âThe sound, huh? Me too,â he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. âKinda peaceful, isnât it? Makes everything... quiet.â
Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.
âYou know,â he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, âI used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes Iâd sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said Iâd get stuck there.â
Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. âWhy?â she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasnât entirely ready to start talking freely.
Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. âDunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, Iâd see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.â
Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.
âMagic?â she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.
âOh, yeah,â he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. âThe kind that only shows up when youâre really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.â
Adiraâs gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didnât turn away.
âMaybe,â she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, âmaybe Iâll see magic too.â
Simonâs chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadnât felt in years. For the first time, he wasnât just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.
âMaybe you will,â he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rainâor the magicâto come.
After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. âDrink?â she offered, her voice small but steady.
Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasnât muchâjust a sippy cup of watered-down juiceâbut it felt monumental. âThanks, but thatâs yours,â he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like sheâd made a grand decision.
Simon chuckled softly. âFair enough.â
It wasnât much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.
The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.
Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldnât quite understand why heâd taken it away.
Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "Youâve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethinâ else, yeah?"
Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what heâd said. She didnât seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didnât, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.
âI donât wanna,â she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasnât happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.
âCâmon now,â Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. âWe can do somethinâ fun. How âbout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?â
Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time heâd gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.
"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.
Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. âBooks it is,â he said, standing up to join her. âI bet we can find somethinâ thatâll be just as fun as that TV show.â
Adira didnât answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simonâs heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory.Â
Adira returned to Simonâs side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxesâone with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.
Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.
Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. âWhatâs this?â he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.
âFoxes,â Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. âMama read it. Itâs âbout love.â
Simonâs heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way youâd read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adiraâs face now, something that felt like an invitationâa little piece of trust she was offering him, too.
âWell, alright then,â Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didnât rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.
He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. âNo matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.â
Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didnât interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.
As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasnât much, but it was somethingâsomething to build on.
Adiraâs gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simonâs, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.
When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. âFoxes love each other... no matter what.â
Simonâs heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasnât quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to formâfragile, yes, but it was there.
âYeah,â Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, âno matter what.â
With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.
âJesus, if Adira was here, sheâd lose it,â you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.
If Adira was here.
A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless youâd been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. Youâd seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.
The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon⌠God, Simon probably didnât know what to do. He wouldnât have any idea how to handle it.
Without thinking twice, you dropped everythingâyour bag, your jacket, anything that wasnât crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.
The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldnât focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.
It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room. Â
On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoonâplastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?âbooks that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.
The sight of themâAdira calm, safe, resting against Simonâcaught you off guard. Youâd expected panic, chaos, something more⌠uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simonâs hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadnât expected.
You hadnât expected Simon to be so⌠natural with her. Heâd stepped up in a way you didnât think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybeâno, you knewâyou had underestimated this.Â
Simon, with Adira, was something real.
Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.
As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!
P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3
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Malpractice
Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader
Summary: when you agreed to join your cousin Lily at the Las Vegas Grand Prix to watch her boyfriend race, you didnât realize the weekend would end with you saving a rookie driver with a concussion from the dangerous schemes of his team
The Williams Racing garage is chaos incarnate. The crash replay loops on the screens above the engineersâ heads, showing Francoâs car slamming into the barriers. The sound of carbon fiber shattering is so vivid in your mind it might as well have happened right next to you.
The footage is brutal.
50G.
The kind of impact that makes your stomach twist into knots. Franco couldnât even get out of the car by himself, the marshals had to haul him out like a ragdoll. And now, the garage feels like itâs on edge, everyone pretending theyâre not watching for updates while they pretend to keep working.
âHeâs at the medical center,â someone mutters behind you. âTheyâre checking him out now.â
Good. He needs checking out. A crash like that doesnât leave you unscathed, no matter how tough you think you are.
You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching as engineers, mechanics, and media relations people swirl around each other, avoiding eye contact but buzzing with nervous energy. Lily had invited you here as Alexâs guest, but you feel completely out of place, like youâre intruding on a family argument you werenât supposed to overhear.
Then you hear it.
âHeâll be fine to race tomorrow,â James Vowles says, his voice low but carrying just enough weight to reach your ears.
You blink, sure youâve misheard. But no, heâs standing near a huddle of engineers, speaking in clipped tones like this is just another logistical problem to solve. âWe canât find a replacement on such short notice,â he continues, âso we need him in the car. No excuses.â
Your jaw drops. You canât help it. âYouâre joking,â you blurt out.
James and the engineers freeze, turning to you like youâre some alien creature whoâs wandered into their secret lair.
He recovers quickly, offering a tight smile. âIâm sorry, I donât think weâve met-â
âAre you serious right now?â You step closer, fueled by disbelief. âHe crashed into the wall at 50G. He couldnât even stand up without help. And you think itâs a good idea to put him back in the car tomorrow?â
Jamesâ expression hardens. âMiss, this isnât your concern-â
âActually, itâs Doctor. And it is my concern if youâre planning to endanger someoneâs life for a race.â Your voice rises, but you donât care. Let them stare. Let them glare. Youâre not about to stand by while they make decisions like this.
âLook,â James says, trying for diplomacy. âThe FIA medical team will clear him if heâs fit to race. Thatâs their job, not yours.â
âAnd what if theyâre wrong?â You demand. âWhat if he has a concussion? What if he gets in that car and something happens because you couldnât be bothered to prioritize his safety?â
Before James can reply, the garage door creaks open, and Franco stumbles in.
All eyes snap to him. Heâs leaning heavily on his physiotherapist, his helmet dangling from his other hand. His usually sharp, confident features are slack, his eyes glassy. He looks like heâs barely holding it together.
Your chest tightens. He shouldnât even be standing right now, let alone back here in the thick of it.
The physiotherapist helps him over to a chair, and Franco slumps into it with a groan. âIâm fine,â he says, though his words slur slightly. âJust a little â whatâs the word? Shaken up.â
You donât even think. You march over to him, the rest of the garage fading into the background.
âFranco,â you say firmly, crouching in front of him. âLook at me.â
His unfocused eyes wander to your face, and he frowns like heâs trying to remember where heâs seen you before. âDo I know you?â
âNo, but Iâm about to save your life, so letâs call it even,â you say briskly. âHow many fingers am I holding up?â You hold up three.
He squints at your hand. âUh ⌠six?â
Your heart sinks. âOkay. Follow my finger.â You move your hand slowly in front of his face, but his gaze wobbles, unable to track it.
âWow,â he mutters, blinking rapidly. âYouâre really pretty.â
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. âFranco, focus. Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?â
âBoth,â he admits, leaning back in the chair. âBut itâs fine. Iâve felt worse.â
âItâs not fine.â Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you canât help it. âYou have a concussion. Probably a severe one. You need to rest and recover, not get back in the cockpit tomorrow.â
He grins lazily, his head lolling to the side. âAre you my MILF angel?â
Your brain short-circuits. âWhat?â
He waves a hand vaguely in your direction. âYouâre older, right? Like ⌠a doctor? And hot? Definitely an angel. My MILF angel.â
Someone behind you chokes on a laugh. You whip your head around to glare, silencing them instantly.
Turning back to Franco, you take a deep breath. âOkay, youâre clearly not in your right mind, so Iâm going to ignore that. But you need medical attention. Real medical attention. Not whatever half-assed clearance the FIA is going to give you.â
He reaches out clumsily, his hand brushing against your arm. âYouâre bossy. I like that. Are you the same way in bed?â
You grab his wrist gently but firmly, lowering it back to his lap. âFranco, listen to me. Iâm serious. You canât race tomorrow. You could get seriously hurt. Do you understand that?â
He stares at you for a long moment, his expression oddly thoughtful. Then he smiles faintly. âYouâre really worried about me, huh?â
âYes,â you say without hesitation. âBecause someone has to be.â
For a second, something shifts in his eyes, like heâs seeing you clearly for the first time. But then he blinks, and the moment is gone.
âYouâre nice,â he murmurs, slumping further into the chair. âI like you.â
You sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the Williams team members still hovering nearby. âHe needs to go back to the medical center. Now.â
James steps forward, his face a mask of polite concern. âI appreciate your input, but weâll handle it from here.â
You stand, squaring your shoulders. âNo, you wonât. Because if you try to put him in that car tomorrow, Iâll make sure everyone knows exactly what youâre doing. And trust me, the media will eat it up.â
Jamesâ jaw tightens, but he doesnât argue. Instead, he nods to the physiotherapist. âTake him back.â
As the man helps Franco to his feet, he glances back at you, his lopsided smile still in place. âDonât go anywhere, pretty doctor. Iâm gonna marry you.â
You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting the urge to scream. âYouâre definitely not racing tomorrow,â you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.
But as you watch him stumble out of the garage, you canât shake the feeling that this fight isnât over yet.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#franco colapinto#fc43#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto fic#franco colapinto fluff#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#williams racing#williams f1#williams#formula 1#las vegas gp 2024
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18+ - mdni
ἍáĄ. rafe wants you to make yourself squirt on camera.
"There'ya go baby, push it out." Rafe praised you. "fuck, I love you."Â
You looked away from your glossy cunt to the bright flashlight of Rafe's phone camera lens. His left hand hovered the phone over your bare body, and his right hand roamed everywhere, peeling your wet folds back or caressing the meat of your thigh.Â
Rafe eyes stayed glued to his phone screen--which was just a digitalized version of you relentlessly pumping your fingers into your cunt, trying to make yourself squirt. Â
You felt Rafe's thumb peel back your fold again and begin to pinch your clit.Â
Rafe pinch had stung, but fuck did the extra stimulation felt good as you fucked yourself closer to your release.Â
"Fuck, push it out baby." Rafe told you once more, and you did as told and pushed your core right when you felt your release, but once more, nothing happened, causing you to get frustrated, and you told Rafe to cut.Â
"What is it baby?" Rafe asked you, kissing the side of your mouth and craddling your jaw.
"Rafe, I can't do this."
"I made you do it before." Rafe muttered into your skin. "Twice, actually." he smirked.
"Yeah, exactly." You said "You were the one to make me do it."
Rafe stopped pecking your jaw, "Y/n, you never made yourself squirt before?"
You shook your head 'no', and you could have sworn you saw Rafe's cock grow twice its size.
Rafe harshly gripped your head and quickly pecked you cheek. "Fuck, I love you. You don't know how much I really want to get this on video.â Rafe had nearly whined.
You whimper as Rafe gently leaned you back into your previous position and got ready to press record but before Rafe had pressed that red button he told you:
"Just some advice sweetheart, when you reach that special spot inside you, start to bend your fingertips."
And with that being said, he pecked your cheek once more and pressed the red button on his camera.
You started fingering yourself again with slow lingering pumps, that increased each thrust as Rafe praised you.
You arched your back into your touch, feeling the waves of pleasure building inside you. Rafe's words fueled your desire, and with each passing moment, the intensity of your movements grew.
"Look at my good girl, slutting herself out just for me." Rafe praised, putting his phone closer to your drooling pussy.
"Fuck, Rafe, I think I'm close" you whined.
"Bend your finger, baby and push." Rafe cooed.
You whimpered as Rafe's instructions sent a jolt of pleasure through your body.
Obligingly, you arched your back and bent your finger, feeling the sweet tension building within you. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the air thick with the heady scent of desire.
Rafe's gaze was intense as he watched every move you made, his voice husky with arousal.
With a final whisper of encouragement, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, ready to plunge into the abyss of pleasure he had so skillfully guided you towards.
And it wasn't long until you were pushing out your arousal--your squirt splashing everywhere, but mostly on Rafe and his phone.
You were spent.
Rafe let out a surprised yelp as the cold liquid splattered across his phone, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.
In the sudden silence that followed, you both locked eyes, the air heavy with a mix of embarrassment and adrenaline.
As you caught your breath, a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of your lips, unsure of how to salvage the situation.
"Shit, looks like my phone and I just got baptized," Rafe quipped, filling the awkward tension.
a/n: I wrote this back in October but forgot to post it--oops.
as always, reblogs and comments keeps me motivated. đŤśđž
#crookedteethed#fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#fem reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#drew starkey#the obx#rafe smut#stranger things#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#outerbanks rafe#drew starkey smut#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks smut#outer banks#rafe x fem!reader
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You fling yourself around the corner, catching the door frame with your hand to stay upright. Shinso doesn't jump; he heard you stomping from all the way down the hall.
"I'm late."
He doesn't look up from his duffle bag. He's arranging the clothes carefully, placing each rolled sock in a row. "How late?"
"No, like-" You roll your hands in the air expectantly. "Period late."
Shinso glances at your feet and watches how you bounce on your toes with excitement. With a sigh. he looks up at you, expression set.
"How late are you?"
You stop bouncing. "It was supposed to come last night."
Shinso groans as he stands, pushing off of his knee for support.
"But, it's different this time!" you insist before he can say anything. "I feel different."
He sucks on one side of his cheek, pulling a dimple into his skin. He's still boyish in his features, even after all these years. Carefully, he measures his words, saying your name ever so gently.
"I just don't want you to get your hopes up again just for it to be negative." He taps his house slipper against his bag. "Because you'll end up testing again the next day, then the next day, just make sure it's really negative-"
"Hitoshi-"
"I just don't want you to break your heart again."
This song and dance must be getting old for him. Every month, you get excited, only to see that little line once again. Hitoshi's right: it always breaks your heart.
You think, maybe, he mourns it too. Silently. Privately. It's hard to tell. He's not like you. He's not expressive or outspoken, but je's always there to hold your hand and try again.
"Let's just wait a couple days." Hitoshi, as if he knows what you're thinking, reaching up and takes your hand. "If you're still late, I'll buy you as many tests as you want."
You swallow down your disappointment.
"How many days?"
"When I come back from this mission." He counts on his fingers. "Three days?"
"Three days? I'm supposed to not know if I'm pregnant for three days?"
Hitoshi shrugs and kneels back down, tending to his things. "Some people don't know they're pregnant the whole pregnancy."
"That's different and you know it."
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in which you bargain with jade in an attempt to stall him and his brother during book 3 while leona destroys azul's contracts. it ends up being a long-term deal. jade leech x reader warnings: blood, biting, slightly suggestive
For all the running and jogging that the Savanclaw members had you do for staying in their dorm, it wouldn't do much to help you escape the grasp of the Leech twins. A game of tag that lasts until sunset would ruin your chances of getting back a dorm that you don't even own. You blame Ace, Deuce, and Grim for all the misfortune that had befallen upon your head. It wasn't that you were a pushover either to give in into helping them, but Crowley would never let you hear the end of it if Grim never passes through this college.
You were already out of breath, barely clinging onto a rock as you floated about while your companions continued to evade the energetic Floyd. You could already see Grim losing stamina, having worked himself to the bone under Azul's heel. Deuce and Ace would run out of energy to keep up as well, and you know very well that Jack can't handle both twins on his own.
As if an opportunity presented itself to you, a long shadow had been summoned behind you. Two large webbed hands were outstretched, ready to grab and restrain you. With a gulp, you whipped your entire body back and held your hands out with warning.
"Wait! Wait! Wait! Hold it!"
Jade paused, his expression unchanging. His flexed biceps remained afloat, ready to lunge at the most opportune moment. However, what's the fun in catching prey that doesn't stand a chance? The mer-eel hummed, lips itching to curl into a smirk. "Oh? The Prefect demands a time out." His brother hears him, slowing down his moments to stare at the two. Had it been anyone else requesting this time-out, Floyd would've ignored it all. However, this is little Shrimpy we're talking about.
And the thing about Shrimpy, is that Shrimpy always makes it fun.
You puff up your cheeks, determination flashing across your features as you leaned up towards Jade. "I'll offer you a deal if you stop chasing us down right now!" Jade smiles, almost amused by your display of defiance. You look like a little puffer fish with little fins, especially with that pout of yours. Nonetheless, for all your charms, it does nothing to keep the ell from shaking his head. "I cannot do that, prefect. My task is to ensure that you and your friends are subdued. Letting you go would simply get me in big trouble."
Your lower lip trembles at his cool response. Raising a finger, you take a quick side-glance at your exhausted companions. The photo is still in Deuce's fist, much to your relief. "How about a minute headstart? Give us a minute to get away and then you can resume. I'm sure you can catch up." Jade's smile does not fade at your nervous stammers. A part of him wishes that you had bargained for more, but not a single one of your pleas would make a difference.
"Your capture is inevitable, Prefect. What would you be proposing anyways?" Now that you think of it, you didn't exactly think this through. Though your expression was a perfect poker face, you could see Ace's expression pale as Floyd's smile grew bigger and bigger. Jade's expression always remained the same, but you knew very well than to trust his humble exterior. "Time's ticking. Azul can wait, but I know you cannot."
He was no different than a bloodhungry shark, really.
Biting onto your inner cheek, you continued to stare at Jade in an attempt to find a bargain worth his time. In the very few encounters you have had with him, however, you've barely had a clue on what he could possibly want. Riddle had mentioned that this twin ran a weird club that you cannot recall. You imagine that Jade must not have many companions, considering his reputation as one of Azul's grunts, not to mention his vice-housewarden as well.
"Shrimpy, you better hurry up before I squeeze ya!"
"And you know better than to think Floyd is as patient as I."
And then there's Floyd, extremely unpredictable. It was definitely the right choice to bargain with Jade, yet at the same time, you would be better off sacrificing yourself to be squeezed by Floyd than to offer something Jade would want. You barely know him, after all.
Jade hummed, flexing his arms as he allowed himself to float, casting a large shadow over you. You could see his tail twitch, ready to push and wrap itself around you; a punishment for trying to bargain with a Leech.
"Time's upâ"
"I'll give you the experience of dating a human!"
"Oh?"
"WHAT!?" Ace screeched, much to Floyd's amused expression. "Prefect, have you gone insane?!"
Even for just a split second, you swore that you saw his eyes flicker with surprise. Jade recovers quickly, staring blankly at you as if it were something so casual. His menacing stance dissipates as he swam towards you, circling your figure as you both floated by the sand. Putting up that collected smile, Jade's fangs reflected the sunlight seeping in from the waters. "Indulge me, what are the benefits of such?"
"He's considering it?!" Ace yelled even louder, suddenly fearful for your life. Deuce is praying now, and Jack could only sigh as he began to plan a way to snatch you from Jade's grasps.
Clearing your throat, you pointed an accusing finger at him. "For starters, you are one of the most frightening students in this school. What makes you think you'll get a human to give you a chance once you graduate?" Jade raises a brow, but he doesn't even get the chance to react once you leap forward and place a firm hand on his cheek, pulling back his lip to reveal his sharp fangs.
"You got big sharp teeth, and you look like you're about to eat someone for breakfast!" Floyd anticipates a reaction from Jade. No one, especially a human, had the gall to touch him like that. Just then, you surprise both the twins as you open up your own mouth, flashing your teeth as if it were the most casual thing in the world. The unhinged twin let out a howl of laughter, clutching at his stomach as he observes the way a light pink blush overtakes Jade's stunned expression. "Wow, Shrimpy's bold!" Floyd cackled loudly to himself.
"Humans are used to this, and are most certainly not afraid of the likelihood of being eaten by their significant other. You probably don't have humans in your diet, but those teeth of yours don't scare me!"
Jade cannot bring himself to say another word once you shut your mouth. You pouted, crossing your arms. By this point, you're simply yapping desperately in hopes to stall time for your companions who needed to catch their breaths. You let out a sigh, shaking your head to yourself at the thought of being squeezed for such a poor bargain. "I know barely anything about merfolk. I may come from another world, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to learn. You get the once-in-a-lifetime experience of getting to toy with someone who knows absolutely nothing about your mannerisms and habits. You get a completely fresh start to pursue romance!"
You hear an even louder sigh in the background, presumably Jack's. Maybe you hear Deuce weeping as well. "It's been nice knowing you, Prefect..."
None of their worries deter you as you boldly swam towards Jade who seems to have recovered from his shock. His eyes widened as you are barely inches away from his chest, looking up at him despite his intimidating form. "And I am willing to do anything you want! I'll eat whatever you make, go wherever you want to go, join you in your hobbiesâ you'll get the complete boyfriend treatment package!" Your eyes are squeezed shut now, almost anticipating the sensation of crushed ribs in a matter of seconds now.
"We can just skip to the dating part too! Sure, we can get to know each other as time passesâ"
"I accept."
"And Iâ What?" Your eyes open just as Jade cups his own cheek, looking down on you with what looked like endearment. You cannot even tell if he's amused by the idea of getting a new toy, or is simply infatuated with the idea of being in a relationship. Or both. Your jaw goes slack as Jade chuckles to himself, moreover amused by the situation as a whole.
Suddenly, Jade appears intimidating again once he casts that long shadow on you once more. "I accept your bargain, Prefect." He cooed, that content smile on his face. You could only return a weak smile of your own, slowly realizing the implications of the bargain he just agreed to. You don't even notice the long tail that has been wrapping itself around you gently, not until you feel that fin against your thigh.
"Of course, you and I will have to discuss scheduling in further detail. I suppose you can make time for me once my shifts at the Mostro Lounge are finished."
Squeeze. A light gasp leaves your lips as you felt his body constrict around you, but not enough to the point of suffocation. No, Jade is firm, but not clumsy at all. A webbed finger tilts your chin upwards, and you are hypnotized by that one glowing eye burying itself into your gaze. "Or perhaps, I can just come to you instead." You cannot tell whether your heart is beating from fear or excitement as Jade flashes toothy grin, the same one he gives to his prey.
"I am very excited." Slowly, you learn how to breathe properly again as Jade's long body loosens around your form. Jade's grin relaxes into a smile, a brighter one. "I suppose none of it will matter when Azul takes your humble abode. Maybe I should ask for a bonus for providing my assistance in the matter." Floating once more, you give him a wobbly smile as you nod in agreement. Just as you were ready to swim away, his webbed hand grasped your forearm to keep you from leaving.
"To make sure you aren't pulling my fin," His face is so close to yours own. He maintains that polite smile that seems to betray his intent. "May I ask you to seal the deal with a kiss, Prefect? All contracts surely must have some formality."
You let out a shuddered breath, feeling his biceps flex around your shoulders. Forcing yourself to meet his gaze, you nodded shyly. "Okay."
Kissing Jade Leech was not on today's bingo card, but it might as well be done to let Grim catch a few more breaths. Your hand slides up to cup his smooth jaw, covered in slime and viscera. Moving closer now, you suck in a deep breath before finally pressing your lips against his. It is gentle, so much unlike the cruel sea. You feel the vibration of his lips as he hums, reciprocating the act by mimicking your hand placement and pushing his own lips towards you.
For a moment, you would have believed that Jade may be a gentle lover. Sucking in a quick breath in the middle of the kiss, you gasped as you felt a tongue swipe over your bottom lip, attempting to pry your mouth open even more for him to explore. You should have expected Jade to be this bold. Slowly prying your jaws apart further, your efforts were discarded just as you feel sharp teeth dig down onto your lip.
"Mmph!" It was your first instinct to pull away, but he does not let you. His webbed hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you there as he lapped at the blood seeping from the wound he created. It stings, then calms, then stings, then calms again as he made a mess of your reddened face. As his tongue swiped against one of the cuts, however, you couldn't stop yourself from biting down out of reflex.
Jade gasped into the kiss, recoiling away with surprise. Snapping your eyes open, both of you stare at each other's reddened lips, along with the red wisps dancing in the water. You can't believe you just bit Jade Leech, and this time, you prepare yourself for a deadly squeeze that never comes. Instead, you see that polite smile of his again, but that look in his eyes screamed absolute infatuation. You gulped, feeling your heart pound even faster as you consider diving in for another kiss, as crazy as it sounded.
Nonetheless, all good ideas must come to a pause. Jade's chuckles reached your ears as he backs away, shifting his body slightly to show you how far away your companions are now. It seems that you didn't hear them beckoning you to swim away with them.
"Your minute has already started, Prefect. Best to start swimming, no? Just because we are an item now, doesn't meant I will be going easy on you." Whipping your head towards Jade, you were about to reprimand him for such words until you recall your bargain. Cheeks burning pink once more, you couldn't bring yourself to keep staring at his calm smile anymore. Turning your back on him, you begin to swim as fast as you could, tuning out Floyd's cackles behind you. You never really get to see Jade's wide smile as his fingers brush across the little wounds on his lip.
"Don't swim too far, Shrimpy! Or shall I call you Shrimpy-in-law now?!"
#twst x reader#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#jade leech#jade leech x reader#viaviavie writes
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Secretly Admiring You Artistically
Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art
a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians
Dick: Doodles
Heâs dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, heâs crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page thatâs filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he shouldâve been taking for the cases heâs working on.
 It isnât an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. Heâs not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether itâs to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he canât go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. Heâs constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point heâs thinking heâs the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes.Â
âSo, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?â
âNoâŚ,â He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still canât believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. â...Can I please have my notepad back now?â He knows the answer. And he knows whatâs about to happen next. But maybe today heâll be lucky heâll get it back-Â
âNope.â The way you pop the âpâ at the end of the word - of course you wouldnât. He doesnât even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.
With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, heâs dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration and warmth from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he canât wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.
Jason: Poetry
Oh. Well. This is embarrassing. He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence. The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which obviously ended up as a snooze session.
He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because heâs not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note heâd make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge.Â
âJason⌠Whatâs wrong?â He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you arenât even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, especially when he feels the grip on his arm tightening rather than the opposite. He doesnât need to turn around to see what expression youâre making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.
â...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?âÂ
âWhat? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?â
With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, heâs filled with childish glee from getting to share something thatâll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each otherâs embrace with smiles on your faces.
Tim: Photography
Heâs pacing in circles in his room. Then heâs flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. Heâs been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesnât know nor want to know. But heâs pretty sure that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy.Â
But, itâs not his fault, okay? Heâs really down bad for you. Even when heâs dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever heâs with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, heâd take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He canât imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if itâs in a photo.Â
Finally, he gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. Thereâs only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesnât look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number.Â
âSo? Are we hanging out tonight?âÂ
âNo, weâre doing more than that. Weâre going to go all out, my treat.âÂ
The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he canât give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since thereâs no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words canât cover half of them.
Duke: Notes
Heâs an idiot. Thatâs what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote and slid to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, sliding them to him in every way you possibly can. Itâs as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether itâs during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.
All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that heâs being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You donât know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever heâs doing even if itâs homework or patrolling the city.Â
Now here he was, caught red handed. Heâs so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think heâs strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground.Â
âThey were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-â
âDo they work?â
He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? Thereâs a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further.Â
âAre they making you happy?â Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. Itâs not the notes thatâs making him happy- itâs you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.
Damian: Sketching
No. Just no. Heâs so embarrassed that he canât muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didnât want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind.Â
Itâs not two sketches heâs drawn too. Thereâs a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way heâs constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense.Â
âTheyâre so beautiful.â Your muttering snaps him back to reality.
Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist.Â
âDamian, you're absolutely talented.âÂ
He mentally groans. He hates how youâre sincere and genuine in these moments. You donât know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - itâs how you are; itâs part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though itâs softer and filled with fondness.
#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#nightwing#damian wayne#damian wayne x reader#duke thomas#duke thomas x reader#jason todd#jason todd x reader#red hood#tim drake x reader#tim drake#dc signal#red robin dc#red robin
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Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?
⯠FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .
â gn!reader, fluff
Š ahqkas â all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
BRUCE WAYNE
becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious
bruce wayne is a master of observationâtrained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.
it starts innocently enough. youâll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.
âyouâve switched your coffee order recently,â he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.
you blink, momentarily confused. âuh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.â
âitâs good,â he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.
sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you donât even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, âthose laces are frayed. you should replace them.â
you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. âuh, thanks for the tip?â
but bruce wasnât joking. âiâll send alfred to pick up new ones. you donât want them snapping mid-step.â
he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, âyou press harder with the pen when youâre tired. your handwritingâs smaller today.â
you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. âdo you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?â
his face doesnât change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. âno,â he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. âitâs just. . . noticeable.â
itâs the way he says itâquiet and genuineâthat sends your heart fluttering. he doesnât realize how much heâs revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.
the funny thing is, youâre not the only one noticing. alfred, whoâs known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his ârandomâ observations.
( âperhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.â bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butlerâs smirk grow wider. )
finds excuses to be helpful
bruceâs wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when heâs crushing on someone. his intentions are goodâhe genuinely wants to helpâbut it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesnât realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.
it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace somethingâyour laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, youâll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.
âbruce,â you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you canât imagine ever affording on your own. âdid you do this?â
he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. âitâs practical,â he says, as if thatâs a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. âyour old one was slow. itâs inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.â
when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.
but it doesnât stop there. one morning, youâre sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. itâs an offhanded comment, something you donât think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time youâve finished your coffee, heâs already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.
âwait,â you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. âwhat are you doing?â
ânothing,â he replies too quickly, but later that day, youâre startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.
âbruce!â you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.
he doesnât even look up from his computer. âyour old car was unreliable. this one is safer.â
âthatâs not the point!â
âitâs just a car,â he says with a small shrug, though thereâs a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
despite his attitude, itâs clear heâs putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, itâs just logicalâhe has the resources, so why wouldnât he use them to make your life easier?
DICK GRAYSON
finds excuses to touch you
for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathingâbut when heâs crushing on you, itâs a whole new level. heâs not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. itâs little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when youâre walking side by side, or the way heâll lean close when heâs explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.
but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when youâre sitting on the couch together, heâll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. heâll offer his hand when youâre stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you donât need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.
âcareful,â heâll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step youâre taking isnât remotely precarious.
âyou know i can walk, right?â
he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. âjust being chivalrous.â
and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesnât even realize what heâs doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasnât until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.
âsorry,â he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. âdidnât realize i was doing that.â
but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.
for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasnât quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.
teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)
teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when heâs crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear heâs paying attention to everything about you.
if you trip over a word while talking, heâll immediately smirk. âcareful there, shakespeare,â heâll quip. âdo we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?â or if you drop something, heâs ready with a dramatic gasp. âwow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.â
itâs playful, yes, but itâs also consistent. heâs always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if itâs at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.
âguess iâm just the stronger one here,â he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. âitâs okay; not everyone can have these guns.â
but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after heâd spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( âa triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you donât need a royal escort to carry it for you?â ), you finally snapped back.
âoh, and i suppose youâre the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.â
the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blushâthe faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
âhey, black coffee is . . . classic,â he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.
and thatâs the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he canât always handle it when itâs directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if itâs about something heâs sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.
âyou spend how long on your hair every morning?â you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.
he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. âitâs not that long,â he protested, his voice defensive but light.
âoh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. donât tell me you donât have a favorite brand of gel.â
his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, âiâyou know, itâs just . . . maintenance! canât all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?â
you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were âway too good at this.â
JASON TODD
acts nonchalant but is always nearby
jason todd is many thingsâbrash, sarcastic, sometimes even recklessâbut when it comes to feelings he doesnât fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending heâs keeping his distance. the truth is, when heâs crushing on you, heâs drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.
take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe youâve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like heâs just passing through. he glances at youâjust a quick flick of his eyes, like heâs making sure youâre still thereâand then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.
âwhat are you doing?â you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one heâs been pretending to read for weeks.
he doesnât even look up. âreading.â
you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well heâs barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like heâs trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when youâre focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.
âdidnât know you liked this spot so much,â you tease, gesturing to the chair.
a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though thereâs a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. âwhat, i canât sit here now? thought it was a free country.â
itâs always like thatâhis attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when youâre sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe heâs scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like heâs deep in thought. but really, heâs just soaking in your presence.
and then there are the times when he doesnât even bother pretending. like when youâre sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.
âwhat?â you ask, glancing up at him.
ânothing,â he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.
itâs not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we donât talk about that )âitâs just that he doesnât know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like heâs part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, heâs anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jasonâs way of saying he caresâhe just hasnât found the words yet.
fixes things you didnât even know were broken
jasonâs way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but itâs always in the small, unspoken ways. heâs the type to notice things that no one else wouldâthings that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because itâs jason, heâll never bring it up. heâll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.
it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? itâs been squeaking for months now, but itâs not something youâve gotten around to fixing. itâs one of those annoyances youâve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesnât really bother you enough to take action.
until one day, it suddenly stops.
you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, itâs silent. your eyes narrow. you didnât fix thisâso who did?
âjason?â you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever heâs doing.
he doesnât even look up. âwhat?â
âthe chair. itâs. . . quiet now.â
he pauses for just a moment, but itâs enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. âmustâve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.â
you know it didnât. but before you can press him on it, heâs already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. itâs almost as if heâs trying to play it off, hoping you wonât notice that heâs been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.
the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.
you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. thereâs no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasnât broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, whoâs now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.
âjason, did youâ?â
âno,â he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.
âuh-huh,â you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure youâre not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.
heâll never say it out loud, but each fixâeach thoughtful actâspeaks louder than any words could. the broken things donât matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.
TIM DRAKE
gets shy when youâre too close
tim drake is usually the picture of composure. heâs calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when youâre too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. youâre sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.
itâs enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that heâs hyperaware of you nowâof the way youâre sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.
his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like heâs afraid you caught him staring. itâs an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. âuh, sorry, was justâjust making sure the laptop was charging.â
itâs obvious to you that heâs not really talking about the laptop. heâs trying to act like itâs no big deal, but every time youâre too close to him, timâs body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so thereâs just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesnât want there to be.
you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether itâs by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he canât quite explain. itâs not that he doesnât want you near himâfar from itâbut the proximity messes with him in ways he doesnât understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling heâs not used to.
if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. âiâi didnât mean toâuh, just making sure youâre not too cramped.â he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that heâs suddenly very aware of you being so close.
sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. itâs like his body canât process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. itâs not uncomfortableâfar from itâbut itâs a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesnât know how to handle.
but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, timâs composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like heâs calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like heâs afraid youâll notice how heâs reacting.
follows you around during patrol
itâs late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. youâre out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. itâs not that heâs trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, heâs just . . . concerned.
tim is the kind of person who canât turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, theyâre telling him to stay close. heâs perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.
heâs not sure why heâs doing itâitâs not like youâve asked him to keep an eye on youâbut thereâs something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe itâs because youâve been a little distant lately, or maybe heâs just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, heâs got his eyes on you, and he wonât stop until youâre safely back where you belong.
heâs quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, thereâs nothing thereâjust the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.
itâs when you stop for a moment, distracted by somethingâmaybe youâre checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefrontâthat heâs closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. heâs not trying to startle you, but thereâs something in his gut that tells him he canât let you out of his sight, especially when itâs this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.
heâll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure youâre safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, heâs already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure youâre not being followed.
the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. heâll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring youâre safe before finally letting out a breath he didnât realize he was holding.
only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. heâll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that youâre safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesnât want to admit it, thereâs a part of him that feels content knowing youâre okayâeven if youâll never know how closely heâs watched over you.
#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne fluff#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne headcanon#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson fic#dick grayson headcanon#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#x reader#reader insert#jason todd fluff#jason todd fic#jason todd headcanon#tim drake x you#tim drake x reader#tim drake x y/n#tim drake fic#tim drake fluff#batman x reader#nightwing x reader#red hood x reader#red robin x reader#dc comics x reader
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đ đđđđđđđđđÂĄ!
cw. 18+ flithy smut, Sub!Gojo, Dom!Reader, Enemies to lovers, gojo is a virgin and the word loser is used a lot.
AcademicRival!Satoru believed he'll have a merry time getting paired with you for your upcoming assignment, afterall, you were fun to pick on and he adored the way the vein would pop on your forehead after he says something to completely throw you off the tracks. His plan was to make you do all the work while he gets on your nerves to pass his time.
Satoru prides himself in being jack of all trades, he's the captain of the collegiate basketball team, student body president, has 4.0 GPA in his astrophysics major and is on the dean's list, his stunning good looks were to kill for and to add to those never ending positive attributes he's filthy rich, if it wasn't so obvious by his sports car's raging engine whenever he drifts it around in the campus. Gojo Satoru was a star. Gojo Satoru was game.
Admirers and people lining up for him was no big of a deal, it is the routine when you're him. You're one of the many people who find him fascinating, find him attractive (which was something you would never admit to, even if a ceiling fell over you) but still, why was he shaking his legs underneath the table while he watches the furrow of your brow focused on the screen in his dorm room? He's way too distracted to read this paper about Aesthetics and Marxismâhe only took up sociology because it was a humanities requirement within his course and also because he was utterly, out of his mind bored.
Feeling the burning gaze of his abnormally blue eyes, you slam your fist onto the table and anyone who was in their right mind would be able to decipher that your expression was twisted in unfiltered annoyance, the mask of a small, pleasant smile as your veins popped on your forehead was failing miserably. "We could get a lot done if you didn't think this was a staring contest"
"Wow, really? I did think it was a staring contest with how boring all this is" He mocked knowing it would only agitate you further, his eyes shamelessly trailed over the plushness of your thighs and how the skirt fabric sat on top of it, his thoughts were digressing, wondering about the colour of your pantâ
"What are you looking at, pervert..?" You point it out to break the unholy chain of his thoughts immediately, his eyes widened by being caught off-guard, evading away to focus on the papers in front of him, lasering his eyes to aim at understand at whatever 'Russian constructivism' meant, his fist gripped the pencil tighter and tighter as he felt unbelievably panicked at being caught, the trance of embarrassment breaking away along with a sharp 'snap' of the pencil.
With a faltering attempt to maintain his cockiness, Satoru looked at you. "Just looking at how much of a loser you look, even broke a pencil because it's annoying how nerdy you dress" a painful roll of his eyes followed by, but his ventures to cover the way he felt were too poor and what was the parameter? The goddamned seductive smile on your pretty lips.
Gojo Satoru was game, but he was a fucking virgin.
"Lying is not going to save your ass, I can literally see the tent in your pants, what are you..a teenager..?" The mockery in your eyes and the superiority you had over him in that very moment was enough to make him let go of his guards and feel his knees buck. You were beautiful and he was so pathetically down bad for that.
"Unlike you, I have many things to excel at..who has time for something as stupid as this anyway" You had to give some kudos for the fact that his voice remained balanced despite the throbbing erection in his pants, and you made a face with slanting pursed lips that was to show him you believed him, although anyone could tell you didn't.
"what is with that face? You think you're better than me? What do you know about sex, having your cute nose burried in those stupid books all day.." And that statement makes you raise your brow, Satoru Gojo, called you cute? This was something, this was when he knew he messed up and you had all the power.
"Why don't I show it to you then? You wanna be a loser in this one area? Come on.. you're better than that, right?" Satoru gulped, the offer was beyond tempting, all those fantasies he ran his mind for while wrapping his hand around his cock in his dark dorm room, relieving himself while yearning for the warmth for your mouth and cuntâfinally had the chance to be fleshed out to life. It was tempting indeed but what about his ego?
"Sure, I bet you suck at this too" He huffed a laugh with his faux confidence, only to be miserably proved wrong within a few minutes.
"Pleaseâ fuck! Your mouth feels so good.." He breathed heavily with an almost violent rise and fall of his chest, his legs sprawled wide as he was on the couch of his room and you, his beautiful arch-nemesis was skillfully using his cock like it was your personal toy. Satoru didn't feel he was being sucked off for his pleasure, he was being sucked off to be proven of the fact that you were in control here.
He reached his trembling hands to tangle within your locks as you let a thick glob of your spit fall onto his tip with a grin, tantalisingly rubbing it on your glossed lips. "Better than your stupid fist right?" And he moans at that degradation, his eyes marbeling with glassy tears, your pride swelled more than anything.
"Ever seen tits in real life? Or are you that much of a loser to have Inoue Waka as your wallpaper.." You teased further, unbuttoning your blouse and unfastening your bra from the front to spill out your breasts and Satoru's brain simply short circuits the moment the cushiness of your tits gather around his cock and he feels the tightening sting on his abdomen, dripping out loads of his cum onto your tits, painting you like the masterpiece you were with thick ribbons of his ejaculate.
You hum, licking a long strip from his base, swirling your hot tongue around his softening, sensitive frenum as he is limp by the pleasure.
"There's no way you're this good.." He spoke, almost sounding as if something unbelievable happened, almost angry.
"Such a good boy 'Toru.." You giggle in response, kissing his abdomen and he feels pathetically, helplessly in love with you.
Gojo Satoru was game, but you were a roulette.
#Academic!Rivals AU#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x you#gojo satoru x female reader#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader smut#jjk smut#gojo smut#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo satoru fanfic#gojo satoru oneshot#gojo satoru oneshot smut#jjk x reader smut#satoru smut#smut
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⥠cw: BACKSHOTSSSSS!!! (daddy) chris is very degrade-y, he squishes the reader's face in his big sexy hand, 2 lil cheek slaps, dumbification, crying, drooling, no gendered pronouns but he calls the reader his good girl and i know all of you desire to be chris's good girl... freaks! /j oh yeah and he says slut once sorry!
⥠a/n: reposting this one first because its a personal fav <3. as always, mdni, and thank you for reading! any & all feedback is welcome. :*
husband!chris, ever so soft, attentive, and doting.
when describing him outside of an intimate setting the only thing you can ever talk about with your girls is how pure and consuming his love is for you. it's a relationship akin to one that feels like sunbathing in a beautiful, massive garden and being hand-fed grapes. but when he's got you in a position so vulnerable, like now, with your wrists clasped together behind your back in his hold, and he's so deep in your guts you feel like you're going to die in his arms, his hot and heavy cock abusing that sweet spot in your messy cunt with no restraint â gentleness is far from his demeanor.
you've been at it for hours. so much so your knees have indented it's place in the mattress, and his brutal pace is making it no better. you're sure you've got carpet burn at this point. your weak sobbing and incoherent wails begin sounding winded, and you struggle to gather air into your chest but he knocks the breath right out of your lungs almost immediately after every gasp you take. âfucking slut.â he sneers. he's in his zone. a usually hidden place chris only goes on special occasions you're in bed with him.
then he utters something. it's so muffled you can only feel the vibration of what he says and you barely make out any syllables.
â â be the good girl you know you are and moan my name.â you miss the first half of his sentence again, completely zoned out and held prisoner to his thick cock in your cunt. struggling to speak, stammering over weak little whimpers, you manage to get out a small âch â chris â,â but that's not what he's looking for you to call him.
he grips your cheeks in his palm, squishing them together and suddenly he's tilting your head back to force you to make eye contact. well, if you could even call it that; you can hardly see him through your blurry wet eyes. his thrusts slow and he's pressing all the way inside with a harsh jerk of his hips, balls pressed tightly against your throbbing clit, and you cant help but whine again, body trembling like a leaf. his gaze is pointed and you feel pinned to him, chrisâs expression mimicking a scowl he's so focused on getting a response from you. âyâfucking stupid? that's not my name.â
your head is swimming, drool slipping down your chin and you babble wordlessly like some brain-dead toy, hips gyrating pathetically as you're trying your damnedest to get him to just move again.
âstop fucking squirming and listen.â he hisses, using that same palm that's currently holding your face in place, and tapping your cheek twice. enough to get you to focus, but not enough to hurt. he gives you a second sharp thrust as punishment, grip returning to your face. his hold on your cheeks are so tight, it's puckering your cute little lips. âi won't ask you again.â
âd-daddy!â you squeal, and a cocky grin takes it's place on his flushed face, his hips picking up speed.
atta-girl.
#đ mimiwriting!#stray kids smut#skz smut#bang chan smut#bangchan smut#bang chan x reader#bangchan x reader
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Yandere! Mr. Crawling
Content: SFW hcs + Established relationship + Overprotection + Manipulation + Baby trapping + clingy! Mr. Crawling + Gaslighting + Somnophilia + Stalking + Death + Breeding kink + Slight size difference.
Summary: Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to keep his deep love secret from you
Note: I hope all of you are having a good day!! I'm trying to do my essays but they're so boring... Let me know if you have any suggestions/things you want to say to me, I love answering to people!!
SFW:
Human! Mr. Crawling who falls in love as soon as he sees your face.
Human! Mr. Crawling who decides to try and keep you safe and protect you from all possible dangers. This ranges from leaving small gifts for you, buying you something to eat when he hears a rumble close to him, or buying you a drink if he has seen you working so hard on keeping up with all the classes, to sometimes intimidating the other guys that kept trying to get closer to you.
Human! Mr. Crawling who tries his hardest to speak to you, even if it's just a few words to make sure you know he's listening to you. Nodding his head and keeping his eyes completely focused on your face.
Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to make himself look smaller, crunching a bit and walking with his back a bit arched, not something that can be easily noticeable for others, but just enough to reduce the height difference between the two of you.
Human! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to make you feel safe with him, allowing him to get into your bedroom, even to the point of making a sleepover. He just had to try his hardest not to act in any weird manner.
Human! Mr. Crawling who keeps following you like a lost puppy. You can almost see two ears and a tail appear when he acts like a small puppy, being easily excited when you compliment him, even if it's for the smallest things.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who begins to feel how his pure love becomes something more twisted the moment he realises more people keep getitng interested in you. He looks so kind when you look at him, but as soon as you turn your head, his gaze becomes much darker, his expression is always serious, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to keep himself restrained.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of you great "friendship" and starts to try and get rid of your friends. He keeps on interrupting when you meet with your other friends, creating different reasons why he just couldn't wait to meet you, as he truly needed you.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of his sickly aspect to make you worry about him, calling you to ask you for small gestures, making sure that they are small enough to avoid you from refusing him.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to ask you out. He made sure to get rid of each and all your friends who could get in the way of your relationships, after all, he is everything you need, right?
NSFW:
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who had already seen you way before both of you met each other in class, his phone filled to the brim with pictures of you. The fact that most of them involve you in embarrasing positions while the rest are of your sleeping face. They definitely have no effect on him, hell no (just ignore the raging bulge he gets from seeing your lips slightly parted, totally normal reaction).
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who put a small chip on your phone while you were sleeping. How was he supposed to keep you safe if he didn't know where you were the whole day? Don't be so dramatic, he was just doing it for your sake :((
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who killed someone in front of you. He was stalking you around town when he saw that strange man grabbing you by your wrist and taking you to the closest dark alley. Before he could think, his hands were already gripping his throat, his face turning blue as his grasp got even stronger. When he finally was sure that man was no longer alive, he turned around, a happy smile on his lips as he waited for your compliments. He was now on his real height, allowing you to notice how he was over one head and a half taller than you, despite that, he made you pet his hair, forcing you to smile as the body of the strange man got colder.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling whose obsession only increases the moment the two of you decide to date. His arms are now always around your waist, his hands always touching you, no matter if you are alone or in front of other people. He just loves hugging you from behind, his dick rubbing against your ass, grinding against you as soon as he saw you do something he didn't like.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who forces his cock inside you, filling you load after load just to prove that you're truly his one and only. He doesn't stop until he sees his seed dripping from your hole, your eyes rolling to your skull with fat tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who keeps blabbering about impregnating you during sex, he doesn't even care about your gender, he WILL impregnate you. He will defy Mother Nature for you, filling you one after the other and not pulling out until the next morning.
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates with your clothes the moment he misses you, he doesn't care if you have been away for barely a few hours, he just misses his sweet darling so much :(( Not his fault that your clothes are filled with your sweet scent...
Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates to your sleeping face while the both of you sleep together. He loves feeling you close to him, all relaxed as your expressions sometimes change to one of pure bliss... He hugs you from behind, beginning to grind against your ass as an attempt to keep himself in check. This of course doesn't work, which forces him to use his own hand to masturbate, slowly getting on top of you so he can get an extremely detailed view of your sleeping face.
#fanfiction#x reader#smut#homicipher headcanons#homicipher smut#homicipher#mr crawling#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling headcanons#yandere smut#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#male yandere
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one night
summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about
warnings: pregnancy, and idk you tell me
word counter: 8005
authorâs note: english is not my first language
The night was charged with a strange electricity that you didn't know how to explain. It was one of those improvised meetings in the house of a mutual friend, where laughter and talk mixed with the low sound of the music. You had known Max all your life, shared years of friendship, confidences and mutual support. He had always been your refuge, the kind of person who could read you with a single look.
That night, however, everything felt different.
Max was sitting next to you on the couch, closer than usual, and you couldn't help but notice every detail of his presence. The way his fingers played with the edge of his glass, the sound of his deep laughter when someone told an absurd joke, and how his eyes seemed to look for yours more than necessary. You tried to ignore it, attributing everything to your imagination, but it was useless. There was something there, something that both seemed to feel but did not want to admit.
The night advanced and the hours became more blurry. Most of the guests had left, leaving only a small group of close friends. But even they began to disappear, until you found yourself alone with Max in the dimly lit room.
"Another glass?" he offered you, getting up to fill your glass of wine.
"I don't know if I should," you replied, laughing softly, but you accepted anyway.
The conversation became more intimate, the topics more personal. They talked about the moments they had shared, how they had changed on time. At some point, Max leaned towards you, his expression more serious than usual.
"Have you ever wondered...?" he began, but left the phrase in the air.
"What?" you asked, feeling how your heart was racing.
He shook his head, as if he had decided not to say it. But his eyes told you something he couldn't put into words. Then it happened. A moment of courage - or madness - led you to close the distance between the two. The kiss was unexpected, intense, full of years of repressed feelings that finally found a way out.
The night continued between caresses and whispers, the outside world disappearing completely. For a few hours, everything felt like it was fine, as if this was what both had been waiting for without knowing it.
But the next morning, reality struck like a bucket of cold water. Max was in the kitchen when you woke up, his movements tense, avoiding your gaze. They barely spoke, an uncomfortable silence that looked nothing like the dynamics they had had for years.
"Last night..." he began, scratching the back of his neck, "it was... unexpected.
"Yes, it was," you admitted, pretending to feel a tranquility that you didn't feel.
They both knew that something had changed, something they couldn't ignore, but they didn't know how to handle it either. So, slowly, they began to move away. Messages that were previously constant became sporadic, and then non-existent. The calls stopped. His absence hurt, but you didn't know what to do about it.
Weeks later, while trying to move on with your life, you realized that something was not right. Morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the absence of your period led you to buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, your hands shaking while you waited for the result.
Two lines. Positive.
Your mind was filled with questions, fears and doubts, but one thing was clear: the baby was Max's. And although your first instinct was to call him, reason prevailed. Max had been in a serious relationship with Kelly for a while, a woman who had a little daughter whom he had accepted as his own. You knew he was committed to that life, and you couldn't ruin it all.
You decided to keep quiet. You would raise your baby alone, without complicating anyone else's life. But deep down, you knew that this secret would not be easy to carry. The life you had shared with Max felt like a distant memory, a "and if" that would never have a response.
You refused to think too much about what it implied. The more you thought about it, the more you sank into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: fear, sadness, pride, and a kind of determination that you didn't know you had. You knew that your life would change drastically, but you also knew that you didn't want Max to be part of this new chapter. Not because you didn't trust him, but because his life was already defined, and you didn't want to be the person who broke it to pieces.
The decision was clear to you: you needed space, distance, something that would help you start again without Max's shadow and his responsibilities. So, little by little, you began to prepare your escape.
First, you stopped frequenting the places where you knew you might meet him. You changed your phone number, blocked almost all mutual friends on your social networks and pretended that you needed "time for yourself" when someone asked about your disappearance. Weeks passed, and your pregnancy began to be harder to hide. You looked in the mirror every morning, noticing the changes in your body and reminding yourself why you were doing it.
One day, after a visit to the doctor, you sat in your car and made the final decision. You looked at the familiar streets around you, the places that had always been your home, and you knew it was time to leave them behind.
London. You had always wanted to live there, and now it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start over. Without telling anyone but your boss, you submitted your resignation, packed your things and booked a plane ticket. The plan was simple: you would settle in an apartment, work in your family's company as they had wanted so long, and raise your baby away from any possibility of Max discovering the truth.
When you arrived in London, the city greeted you with a cold and humid air, typical of early autumn. You moved to an apartment in a quiet area, with enough cafes and parks nearby to keep you busy.
Then you had disappeared from the digital radar for months. Your social networks, which used to be full of spontaneous photos, updates and everyday moments, had been left in absolute silence. You hadn't posted anything for a long time, and although you kept looking from time to time, reviewing the stories and publications of others, you made sure not to leave any traces of your presence. It was as if you had become a ghost that I watched from a distance.
People began to notice your absence. You knew it because, when reviewing your old posts, you found endless comments asking you where you were. "Everything okay?", "We miss you", "Why haven't you uploaded anything?" some said. Others simply left emojis, hearts, or words of support. But even when nostalgia for your previous life invaded you, you still didn't respond.
It wasn't exactly fear, but a feeling of wanting to protect this very personal stage. The pregnancy had been a roller coaster of emotions: illusion, uncertainty, and moments of loneliness that you fought remembering why you were doing this. Your little world in London had become your refuge, and sharing it with the rest of the world still didn't seem necessary to you.
But everything changed when the month came in which you decided to know the gender of your baby. The doctor's appointment was marked on your calendar, and you couldn't deny that you were excited and a little nervous. It was a strange feeling, as if knowing the gender made everything even more real, as if the baby that grew inside you began to take the form of a person you would soon meet.
The doctor's room was lit with a warm light, and the constant sound of the monitor filled the air. You lay back on the stretcher, taking a deep breath while the doctor applied the cold gel to your belly. The screen in front of you showed the blurred silhouette of your baby, and you felt that knot in your chest that always invaded you when you saw it.
"Do you want to know the gender?" the doctor asked, with a smile.
"Yes, please," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.
The moment they told you was unforgettable. A child. A child who would soon become the center of your world. You smiled as tears accumulated in your eyes. For an instant, all the doubts, fears and difficult decisions vanished, replaced by pure and simple happiness.
That same afternoon, while you were walking back to your apartment, you decided it was time. For the first time in months, you felt the impulse to share this part of your life with others. It wasn't out of pressure, or to please anyone, but because you wanted to celebrate this little miracle you were waiting for.
You took a couple of pictures, wearing a white dress that highlighted your belly. The brightness of your skin, the pride in your eyes and the shy smile on your face were more than evident. You weren't the type to plan great revelations, but you knew you wanted to do something special.
You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully selecting the images and writing a description that reflected how you felt:
"After months of silence, I finally want to share the reason why my world changed. I'm expecting a beautiful baby, a boy who will arrive soon to light up my life. I can't explain in words the joy and love I feel knowing that I will be a mom. Thank you to everyone who has been asking about me and worrying in silence. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time. đâ
You took a breath before publishing it, hesitating for a moment. What would happen if this reached Max's ears? You knew I would do it but you pushed those thoughts away from your mind and pressed the publish button.
Within minutes, notifications began to flood your phone. Comments of surprise, love and congratulations appeared one after another. "Congratulations!", "You're going to be an amazing mom!", "A child? What a thrill!". The answer was overwhelming, and as you read them, you felt a warmth that enveloped you.
You allowed yoursellelless to smile again. For the first time in a long time, you let the world know a part of your new reality.
You didn't expect all that to go so far. After posting the news on your social networks, you felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability. You had shared your truth with the world, but you couldn't control who could see it, how they would react or what they would say behind your back.
Then Max's message arrived.
It was almost ten o'clock at night and you were on your couch, with your legs crossed and a bowl of ice cream in your hands, responding to the hundreds of comments that kept coming. Your phone vibrated, and when you looked at the notification, you felt how the air left your lungs.
It was a message from Max.
"Congratulations to you and the baby's father. I hope you are well. Really, I'm glad to know that you're happy."
You were frozen, reading and rereading the message as if you were unable to process it. How did he get your number? Who had told him? Why had I decided to write to you after so long? All these questions crowded into your mind, but none had an immediate answer.
You didn't know what to do. The most instinctive part of you wanted to ignore it, as if you had never seen the message. But another part, more emotional, I knew that would not be fair. He had been kind, had respected the distance, and had not hinted at anything that could complicate things.
You put the phone aside, squeezing your eyes as you took a deep breath. You had to answer, but what to say? You couldn't reveal the truth, that was clear. But you didn't want to sound cold or distant either. So you took your time, thinking about every word, every semicomon, before writing:
"Thank you, Max. I'm fine and so is the baby. I'm glad to hear from you."
You hit "send" before you could regret it, your heart beating hard while you waited, not knowing if he would answer. Every vibration of your phone made you jump, but the minutes passed, then the hours, and nothing else arrived.
Silence was a relief and torture at the same time. On the one hand, you were grateful that he didn't insist, that he didn't ask questions that you couldn't or didn't want to answer. But on the other hand, you wondered what he would be thinking, if he had really believed your version.
That night, before going to sleep, you thought about his message over and over again. It was so typical of Max: courteous, respectful, but letting out that closeness that had always existed between you. You knew him well enough to know that he must be curious, even if he didn't say it.
Max didn't write to you again. There were no more messages, calls or contact attempts. And although one part of you hoped it wasn't like that, another, more practical, deeply thanked him. The conversation had been at a neutral point, without complications or confrontations, exactly as you wanted.
The days passed with a strange tranquility. Since Max's message, you had not heard from him again, and life in London was on course. Your daily routines had become a kind of comfort: working from home, walking through nearby parks and mentally preparing for the arrival of your baby. But that calm was suddenly broken when your family called you with news that you did not expect.
You were lying on the couch, reviewing a list of things for the baby, when your mother called you. Her voice sounded excited, almost as if she was holding herst out so as not to scream with joy.
"We have something to tell you," he said, without even saying hello first.
"What happened?" you asked, anticipating that something important was coming.
âYour father and I have decided to go back to Monaco. The company is doing better than ever, and we believe it is the perfect time to return home. We've been away too long.â
The news hit you like a gust of cold air. Monaco Your lifelong home, the place where you had grown up, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you. But also the place you had left behind when you moved to London, in search of a new beginning.
"When do you plan to move?" you asked, trying to sound calmer than you felt.
"In a few weeks." We want you to come with us, of course. It's time for us to get back together, especially now that you're expecting a baby.
The proposal left you silent. You knew that your mother didn't say it with bad intentions; she was excited about the idea of having her first grandson around. But for you, the decision was not so simple. London had become your refuge, the place where you had managed to rebuild your life away from everything that tied you to your past. Returning would mean facing everything you had been avoiding, starting with Max.
Monaco was not a place where you could easily hide. Your family was well known, with important connections in the business and social circles of the city. If you came back, everyone would be behind you with questions. And even worse, there was a high probability that you would cross paths with Max during the Formula 1 break.
The following days were a storm of thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, the idea of being alone in London terrified you. With the baby on the way, you knew you would need support, and your family had always been by your side in important moments. But on the other hand, returning to Monaco meant opening a door that you had closed with so much effort.
You sat in front of the window of your small apartment one night, looking at the city lights while reflecting. You were mature enough not to worry about what people would say, but facing Max was something else. You knew each other, and you knew that his presence had an effect on you that you had never been able to fully control.
Finally, after days of thinking and rethinking, you made a decision.
You would return to Monaco.
It wouldn't be easy, but you were tired of living in fear. You didn't want your child to be born in a place where you felt isolated and vulnerable. Your family was important to you, and you knew you could trust them to support you, even if they didn't fully understand why you had made certain decisions.
The next day, you called your mother to give her the news.
"I'm going back with you," you said, your voice firm but with a touch of nervousness.
She couldn't hide her joy. He started talking about the plans for the trip, how they would organize everything so that you were comfortable. His enthusiasm made you smile, although a part of you was still restless.
The weeks passed in the blink of an eye. You packed your things, silently saying goodbye to London and the small shelter you had built there. When the day of your departure came, you looked for the last time at the streets that had become your temporary home, promising yourself that, whatever happens in Monaco, you would be strong.
The plane landed in Monaco at sunset, and the view of the city filled you with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. It was as if a part of you had never really left. But you knew the real test was yet to come. Max was there, somewhere, and sooner or later, you would have to face him.
It didn't take long for that, "The event" as your family used to say was something typical: a great meeting in one of the most exclusive lounges in Monaco, where the closest families could live together. Your parents had organized it as a kind of welcome to resume old connections after returning to the city. From the invitation, you knew that it would be inevitable to cross paths with people from the past, but you didn't think too much about who might be. There were so many names, so many familiar faces, that you assumed you could stay on the sidelines without drawing too much attention.
You dressed up with care that night, choosing a simple white dress that enhanced your figure. The fabric flowed gently over your growing belly, marking it delicately without being too flashy. You left your hair loose, with natural waves, and applied light makeup. You wanted to see yourself well, but without trying too hard.
When we arrived at the event, the room was already full. Laughter and conversations filled the air, and the children ran back and forth while the adults met in small groups. There was something familiar in the atmosphere, something that transported you to the years when you had also been a girl in those meetings. It was at one of these parties where you met Max.
Years ago...
You were a restless girl, full of curiosity and not afraid to talk to anyone, even if they were older than you. Max, on the other hand, was more reserved, even a little grumpy for his age. However, somehow, you found a way to break his serious facade. With your energetic personality, you managed to let my guard down. To everyone's surprise, he, who always seemed uncomfortable in these meetings, got along with you from the beginning. In those days, both became inseparable, exploring together every corner of these events while the adults chatted.
Returning to the present...
That memory made you smile a little, but it also made you feel a knot in your stomach. You tried to shake the nostalgia and focus on the night. You walked among the guests, chatting with those who approached you, most of them congratulating you on the pregnancy. Although you felt out of place, you tried to stay calm.
That's when you saw it.
Max was standing near one of the tables, dressed in a dark suit that sat him spotlessly. He was accompanied by Kelly, and her little daughter. The air seemed to disappear from your lungs instantly.
He also saw you.
For a second, your eyes met, and his expression changed. He seemed surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but he immediately regained his composure. You, on the other hand, felt that your heart was beating so hard that it was hard for you to breathe. Instinctively, you turned on your heels, looking for a way out. You weren't ready to face him, even less with Kelly by his side.
But Max was faster.
Before you could disappear into the crowd, he and Kelly approached you. His every step made the panic inside you increase. You wanted to run, excuse yourself, anything to avoid that moment, but there was no escape.
"Hey!" Max said, with a smile that seemed contained, as if he was also dealing with something internal. His voice was warm, as if the months of silence between you had not existed. He pointed at Kelly and saidâ: âThis is Kelly, my girlfriend.â
Kelly smiled politely and held out her hand.
"Nice to meet you," she said. Max has told me that you two have been friends since you were little.
Your mind was going a thousand per hour, but you managed to force a smile and shake his hand.
"Yes, that's right. For... many yearsâ you replied, striving to keep your voice stable.
Max, as if he wanted to relieve the tension, added with a more relaxed smile:
"It's amazing to see you here, and congratulations again, both for you and for the baby's father.â
The words "baby's father" echoed in your mind like an echo. Kelly also congratulated you, and although there was nothing in his words that sounded malicious, you felt that your whole body tensed up.
"Thank you," you managed to say, nodding with a shy smile.
You couldn't take it anymore. You made up the first excuse you could think of.
"Excuse me, I need to go get something to drink." It has been a pleasure to see you.
Before they could say anything else, you walked away with quick steps, feeling the eyes of both of them fixed on your back. You didn't stop until you were far away, in a corner of the living room where you could catch your breath.
Your heart kept beating hard, and your hands were shaking. You had managed to get out of that conversation, but the meeting had removed all the emotions you had tried to bury. Max was there, and although you hadn't admitted it out loud, seeing him had made everything feel real again.
The night continued as a blur of superficial conversations and forced laughter. Every time Max and his little family appeared in your line of sight, you found a way to dodge them, pretending that someone else required your attention. You kept busy talking to acquaintances, checking your phone and serving yourself lemon water in an attempt to distract yourself. All in vain. His presence weighed like a cloud on you, a constant that you could not ignore even if you tried.
As soon as you finished pretending to be interested in a business conversation, you decided you needed a break. The bustle of the living room began to suffocate you, and the fresh air outside seemed like the perfect solution. You walked towards the gardens, feeling the relief of the silence as you left the music and laughter behind.
The sky of Monaco was clear, and the city lights were reflected in the nearby water. You recharged against a railing, closing your eyes and letting the breeze caress your face. For a moment, the world seemed calmer, less complicated.
Until you heard his voice behind you.
"It's not very typical of you to escape from the party."
You turned quickly, with your heart racing. Max was there, with his hands in his pockets and an expression that you didn't know how to interpret. He seemed relaxed, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel that he had come with a purpose.
"I didn't escape. I just needed a little airâ you replied, trying to sound casual while your hands fiddled with the railing.
Max approached, leaving enough space between you, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.
"It was nice to see you today. I didn't expect to find you here," he said, his words loaded with something you couldn't define.
"I say the same," you replied, looking at the horizon instead of him.
There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.
"Your family must be excited about the baby and his father too. I'm sure they're spoiling you a lot.â
You smiled slightly, although his tone made you feel a pang in your chest. You decided it was better to be honest before he continued to assume things.
"They are happy, yes. But my baby doesn't have a father.â
Max seemed to stop in his tracks. His expression changed, and for a moment he seemed to be looking for the right words.
"I'm sorry... I didn't know."
You looked at him then, meeting his look that seemed sincerely hurt.
"Don't do it," you told him, your tone firm but without hardness. âDon't be regretted. I'm happy, Max. My family is happy. I can't ask for more. This child will be surrounded by love, and that's all that matters.â
Max nodded slowly, but his eyes continued to reflect something else, something he didn't say out loud.
"I always thought you would be an incredible mom," he said after a moment, with a small smile.
You forced yourself to smile too, although his comment stirred you inside. You wanted to change the subject, prevent the conversation from taking a more emotional turn, but Max was the one who spoke first.
"I want to be in your life again."
His words were like a direct blow to the chest. You looked at him, stunned, trying to understand exactly what he meant.
"Max..." you started, but he raised a hand, interrupting you.
"I'm not saying that I'm going to get into something that doesn't belong to me. I just... I want to be part of your life again, as we were before. I could be a good uncle for that little one," he added, with a smile that seemed sincere, although also somewhat sad.
That was too much for you. His words, his tone, the way he seemed so sure of wanting to be close but at the same time setting limits... It was a reminder of what had been and what it could not be. You felt your heart tighten, as if the air became denser.
"I would love to have you back in my life, Max. You've always been a good friendâ you managed to say, although it was hard for you to keep your voice stable.
He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours for an eternal second. Then he looked towards the house, as if something was calling him back.
"I'm glad to hear it. See you inside," he said softly, before turning around and walking towards the living room.
You stayed there, watching how his figure disappeared between the lights of the party. You felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn't fully decipher. There was something reassuring in knowing that he wanted to be in your life, but also something deeply painful in hearing the words "good friend" come out of his lips.
You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump in your throat. You knew that the best thing was to return too, but before you needed a few more minutes to pull yourself together.
When the night finally came to an end, and while you were helping your mother say goodbye to the last guests, you felt the exhaustion creep into every fiber of your body. Between smiles, short conversations and the unexpected meeting with Max, everything had been a whirlwind of emotions. You went up to your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long sigh. You had succeeded. You had survived that night without collapsing, although the cracks in your facade were deeper than you wanted to admit.
You took off your dress carefully, letting the fresh air ease your skin. You put on a comfortable nightgown and got rid of the makeup with slow movements. Every step of your nightly routine was an attempt to distract you from the only thing that really occupied your mind: Max. The conversation outside, his insistence on wanting to be back in your life, his words loaded with a meaning that you refused to interpret... Everything kept spinning in your head.
When you got into bed, you took your phone out of habit, checking notifications and messages before going to sleep. That's when you saw it. A message from Max.
Max: "Good night. I liked seeing you tonight."
Your heart skipped a beat when you read it. You didn't expect me to write to you, not after what they had talked about. You thought about ignoring him, but you knew you couldn't. Something inside you drove you to respond.
You: "Simely. It was nice to see you."
You sent the message before your mind could stop you, and just a few seconds later his answer came.
Max: "I don't know if this sounds weird, but I feel like I've missed you more than I thought."
You bit your lip, your fingers floating on the screen as you decided what to say. Finally you wrote:
You: "It doesn't sound weird. I've missed you too."
The conversation flowed with a naturalness that baffled you. Talking to him was like returning to something comfortable and familiar, as if the months of distance had not existed. They talked about trivial things at the beginning: how he was, how you were, small anecdotes of the event that had occurred while you were escaping to the garden. But then he wrote something that made you stop.
Max: "We should have a coffee or something. Really catch up."
Your first reaction was to doubt. You knew it wasn't a good idea. Seeing him was to risk letting your guard down, saying something you shouldn't have, opening doors that you had closed for a reason. But, at the same time, the idea excited you. You wanted to see it. I wanted to see it.
"I'd love to," you finally wrote, almost with fear.
Almost instantly came his answer:
Max: "Tomorrow? I have something in the afternoon, but I'm free at night."
You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You knew you shouldn't accept, but your fingers were already writing.
You: "It's okay. Tomorrow night."
They quickly confirmed it, deciding the place and time, and after a few more messages, he wrote:
Max: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."
"You too," you replied, even though you knew that sleeping was the last thing you would do. You put the phone aside, but your mind was still at full speed.
As you settled in bed, you looked at the ceiling with a sigh. You had done something you knew you shouldn't have done, and the anxiety of what could happen consumed you. But, at the same time, a small spark of emotion lit up inside you.
The idea of seeing him, of talking to him face to face after all, made you feel like you were playing with fire. And yet, you found yourself counting the hours for the next day.
The next morning the day began in a rather routine way, although you felt a slight tingling in your stomach when you remembered your plan for later. After a light breakfast, you made sure to review your to-do list, and among them was the doctor's appointment. Although all the previous reviews had gone well, it always gave you a little anxiety to attend. You wanted to make sure that your baby was perfect, that everything went as it should.
You put on a loose and comfortable dress, choosing a pastel shade that highlighted the shine that lately your pregnancy had given to your skin. You looked in the mirror quickly before leaving, noticing your already noticeably rounded belly. You had reached that point in pregnancy where it was impossible to hide it, and although you felt proud, there were times when that reality made you think about everything that was to come.
The clinic was calm when you arrived. After signing some papers and waiting a few minutes in the room, they called you to go to the doctor. She was a kind woman, someone you fully trusted and with whom you had developed a good relationship since you arrived in Monaco.
You lay down on the stretcher while they did the routine ultrasound. The screen lit up with the image of your baby, and as always, your eyes filled with tears of pure emotion when you saw it.
"Everything looks perfect," said the doctor, smiling as she checked the measurements and heartbeat of the little one. âHe is growing well and has a lot of energy, as always. Have you felt good?â
You nodded.
"Yes, although he's been a little restless today. I don't know if it's me or him.â
The doctor laughed softly.
"Probably a little bit of both. They feel our emotions, did you know? If you're anxious or nervous, he feels it too.â
You were thoughtful with that comment. It was true that you had been nervous since you woke up. The idea of seeing Max again, of sitting in front of him after so long, had you in a constant state of anticipation.
"I guess he's right. Today I have... an important day.â
You didn't go into details, but she gave you an understanding look.
"Well, try to relax." He's fine, you're fine. Enjoy your day and make sure you rest.
When you left the clinic, the mid-morning sun greeted you warmly, but you still felt some restlessness in your chest. You knew there was no reason to worry about the baby, but the conversation with the doctor left you thinking. Your little one was connected to you in a way that no one else could be, and his well-being was completely up to you.
The rest of the day was spent in a blur of domestic activities and small errands, but your mind always returned to Max. You wondered what it would be like to see him again, this time in a more intimate environment. Would he be nervous like you? Would it still be as easy to talk to him as it had been last night?
As the afternoon progressed, you noticed that your baby kept moving. Every time you tried to sit down for a moment to breathe, he kicked or settled down, as if trying to get your attention.
"What's wrong, little one?" you murmured, placing a hand on your belly. âAre you also nervous about tonight?â
The thought made you smile, although you felt a knot in your stomach. You caressed your belly with gentle movements, trying to calm it down and calm yourself down in the process.
You sighed as you looked at the clock. Every minute that passed brought you closer to the meeting, and although you were nervous, a part of you couldn't wait.
The afternoon was sliding into the night, and with each passing minute, you felt how anxiety was taking over you. You repeated to yourself over and over again that everything would be fine, that there was nothing to fear, that it was only Max. Max, your lifelong friend. Max, who was now much more complicated than you had ever imagined.
When it was time to get ready, you went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you, a mixture of emotion and tension that made you feel like you were about to cross an invisible line. The dress you chose was simple but elegant, a dark blue tone that highlighted your skin and concealed your belly. You left your hair loose, falling in soft waves on your shoulders. The makeup, just enough to give a touch of color to your cheeks and highlight your eyes. You wanted to look good, but without looking like you had tried too hard.
While you were putting on the last touches, your phone vibrated on the table. You took it with slightly trembling hands and read the message.
"I'm outside. I'll wait for you."
You toom a deep breath before answering.
"Ok."
You picked up your bag, taking one last look at your reflection before leaving the room. You went down the stairs calmly, although your heart was beating hard in your chest. When he opened the front door, there he was. Max Verstappen, waiting for you next to his car with a smile that, despite all the time that had passed, was still the same you remembered.
"Hello," he said softly, his eyes running over you for a moment before returning to your face. âYou look... good.â
You smiled a little shyly.
"Thank you. You tooâ
Max was dressed casually but flawlessly, a dark shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. I had always had that ability to look good without much effort. He opened the car door for you and, once you were inside, he circled the car and sat behind the wheel.
The journey was comfortable, although full of silences that spoke more than words. Through the reflection in the window, you watched him sideways. His firm hands on the steering wheel, the way he concentrated on the road, everything was so familiar and at the same time so distant.
Finally, they arrived at a small secluded, discreet and cozy restaurant, a place that Max had chosen carefully to avoid curious glances. Upon entering, you were greeted by a warm atmosphere, dim lights and tables separated enough to ensure privacy.
"It's a quiet place," he said while helping you sit down. âI thought we would be more comfortable here.â
You nodded, grateful for your consideration.
"It's perfect."
You both asked for dinner, and for a few minutes, the sound of the cutlery and the soft background music filled the space. But soon, the conversation began to flow.
"So..." you said, breaking the ice. âHow is everything? Life, the team, your relationship?â
Max took a sip from his glass before answering.
"Life... is fine. Busy, as always. The team is doing well, although this year has been more complicated than I expected. And Kelly...â he paused briefly. âWe're fine. Things are stable, which is good for me, for P.â
He mentioned his girlfriend and stepdaughter naturally, but you couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. You forced yoursellsel on your smile.
"I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always wanted you to be happy.â
Max looked at you with an expression that seemed to contain more than he was willing to say.
"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. âWhy did you disappear like that? One day you were here, and the next, you were gone. Without a word.â
You tensed up a little in your chair, fiddling with the edge of your glass. You had known that question would come, but you were not completely prepared to answer it.
"It was something... I needed to do," you finally said, choosing your words carefully. âLondon was an opportunity to start again. And... I didn't want to complicate anyone's life.â
Max frowned slightly, his eyes looking for yours.
"Complicate life for whom? To me?â
The air seemed to become denser between you. You avoided his gaze, concentrating on the napkin that you now held between your fingers.
"You already had many things in your life. You didn't need... more complications.â
Max was silent for a moment, but his eyes didn't turn away from you.
"We were always friends, remember? No matter what happened... that doesn't change.â
The sincerity in his voice disarmed you, and for a moment, you felt that the weight of the last few months was about to collapse on you. But you stood firm, smiling softly.
"I know. And I'm glad we can talk like this, like before.â
The conversation continued, returning to lighter topics: childhood memories, career anecdotes, moments they shared before everything got complicated. But, deep down, they both knew that there were things that remained unsaid.
When dinner ended, they both left the restaurant, the night in Monaco unfolded calm and cool, with a gentle breeze that caressed your skin. You felt strangely light, despite everything that dinner had moved in you. You thought the night had come to an end, but Max, standing next to you in front of the car, seemed to hesitate before saying goodbye.
"Are you tired?" he asked, with a look that contained more than what his words said. âBecause... if you're not, we could go for a walk.â
You were surprised by the invitation, but a part of you, the one that was still looking for any excuse to prolong the moment, did not hesitate to answer.
"No, I'm not tired. I would love to walk a little.â
Max smiled, a soft smile that lit up his face for a moment. He walked by your side, and soon they both left the restaurant behind and went into the quietest streets of the city. The night in Monaco was a spectacle in itself, with the lights reflected in the sea, the distant sound of laughter and music, and the constant murmur of the nightlife that unfolded around it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more than the presence of the other.
The silence between you was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt almost like a conversation in itself, a pause that allowed both of them to think about everything that had been left unsaid for so long. They walked at the same pace, their steps synchronized, and from time to time your fingers brushed his, which caused a small chill that ran through your body.
Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he feared to alter the stillness of the night.
"I like walking with you at night," he said, with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His eyes looked at you sideways, looking for your reaction.
Your heart turned upside down, and you bit your lip before answering, allowing a soft smile to form on your lips.
"I like it too. I enjoy it.â
And you meant it. There was something intimate at that moment, a connection that didn't need words. The world seemed to have reduced to you two, walking together under the dim lights of Monaco. The breeze was fiddling with your hair, and Max noticed it, because his eyes stopped a second longer on you, before looking away.
Both continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, until both of you reached a small viewpoint that overlooked the port. The lights of the yachts and the soft waves of the water created an almost magical atmosphere. You leaned on the railing, contemplating the landscape, but aware that Max had come closer, until he was a few centimeters from you.
"It's beautiful," you commented, trying to stay calm, although your heart was beating hard.
"It is..." he replied, but when you looked up, you realized that he was not looking at the landscape. He was looking at you.
The atmosphere became denser, loaded with electricity that seemed to envelop them. You felt trapped between the desire to maintain that closeness and the need to step back, to protect yourself from what that moment could mean. But you didn't move.
Max leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on the railing next to yours. His fingers brushed yours, and this time he didn't move away. Neither do you.
"I missed this," he murmured, with a voice so low that you barely heard him. âI missed being with you.â
His words disarmed you. You felt a lump in your throat, but you tried to stay calm.
"Me too..." you admitted, almost in a whisper. I missed this, you.
Both stayed like this, in silence, letting the moment last, feeling the closeness of the other. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had saved for months, but you held in. You didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.
Max turned his face towards you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His blue eyes, intense and full of contained emotions, met yours. The world around him disappeared, and all that existed was that look, that instant in which the past, the present and the future seemed to collide.
"I'm glad you're here," he said, with a softness that almost made you lose your balance.
Your breathing quickened slightly, and without looking away, you replied:
"To me too."
The silence that followed was different. It wasn't uncomfortable or empty.
But before either of them could do or say anything else, Max took a step back, breaking the spell.
"We should go back," he said, his voice a little more controlled. âI don't want you to get too tired.â
You nodded, grateful and at the same time disappointed. Both began to walk back, this time more slowly, as if prolonging that walk could change something.
When both got to the car, Max stopped before opening the door for you. For a moment, he seemed to doubt, as if he was about to say something important. But instead, he just smiled.
"Thank you for tonight. I needed.â
"Yeah. Me too..." you murmured. âThank u.â
He leaned slightly, as if he was going to say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but he stopped halfway. Instead, his fingers gently brushed your hand before opening the door. You got into the car, still feeling the warmth of his touch, and when he left you at home, they both said goodbye with a smile that said more than words could express.
That night, while you were lying in your bed, with the breeze of Monaco coming in through the window, you thought about every detail of that walk. In his gaze, in his words, in the touch of his fingers. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to dream about what could have been... and what it could still be.
#fanfic#oneshot#imagine#x reader#max verstappen x yn#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen#max x reader#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine
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đşđťđšđ°đˇ đşđťđźđŤđđ°đľđŽ | đŞđŻđšđ°đş đşđťđźđšđľđ°đśđłđś
đđđđ đđđ đđ đđ¨đłđŹ
đđ đđđđđ.. you have another study session with chris and he suggests a way to really help him remember
smut, oral (male receiving), swearing, stripping, kinda sub!chris, use of y/n, frat boy!chris, college au
2.9k words
chrisâ eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the textbook in front of him, trying his hardest to try to absorb what he was actually reading. you smiled softly at his actions, finding it almost endearing how hard he was trying. it was only basic american history, but to chris it might as well have been written in latin.
âokay,â you spoke softly, watching as his gaze met yours, âtell me what you read.â
chris closed his eyes and exhaled, as if to mentally prepare himself to recite the text he just read. you had been trying a new method of studying with chris, deeming it nearly foolproof. well, for you, but any study method for you was easy. you would have chris read a chapter section by section, then try to reiterate everything he read out loud and teach it to you. âwell,â he began, his expression puzzled as he thought, âthe pilgrims came from england because they wanted land.â you smiled, watching as he continued to speak. âand, uh.. they wanted religious freedom too.â
âyeah,â you grinned, nodding your head, âwhat else?â
his face dropped, looking at you like you were just speaking a foreign language. âwhat do you mean what else?â
âi mean,â you giggled, âwhy else did they come here? where did they land, what were the colonies like, thereâs more to it. you need to remember details.â
chris groaned loudly, burying his head in his crossed arms as he flopped his head down on his desk. he peaked up at you, his brown curls that were tucked into his backwards hat falling loose over his eyes.
you knew heâd been working hard, getting his grades up high enough to keep him on the lacrosse team. however once they were where they needed to be, they had to stay there. much to your delight, you had been tutoring (and fucking) chris for longer than anticipated. youâd figured that you would have just been another number added to his body count after the frat party, but chris was very adamant on wanting to see you again. and being his tutor three days a week made it so much easier. you both decided studying at each otherâs dorms would be a more sufficing place to study, finding the privacy much more convenient than the library.
ây/n this is so hard,â he complained, his voice whiny as he looked up at you, âi canât remember anything.â
you pouted slightly, sympathizing for him as you ran your fingers across his shoulders in attempts to help him relax. he sighed, eyes meeting yours as he looked up at you. âyouâre doing really well,â you told him quietly as you scratched his back, âyour average went up a whole letter grade in a month while you have been playing lacrosse. thatâs not easy.â
âiâm gonna fail my test next week if i canât remember this shit.â he mumbled into his crossed arms as he sighed.
you hummed, continuing to trace your nails along his back over his sweatshirt. âletâs take a break, hm? your brain is probably fried right now.â
chris tilted his head back against the chair, leaning down and sprawling his legs out underneath the desk, his arms crossing over into his face. âeverything i try doesnât work.â he grumbled.
you halt your movements on his back, your brows furrowing. âwhat do you mean?â
âevery method of studying youâve taught me. nothing works. flash cards, blurting, re writing notes. it wonât stay in my brain, like, at all.â chris says, looking over at you. âyou look confused.â
âi am,â you murmur, âbut youâve passed your tests. you got Bs and even a few As. what do you mean it isnât working?â
chris buries his face in his hands on his desk, trying his best to explain it. in the last month, he was convinced itâs been the hardest he ever had to work in school, and it seemed to have been getting the best of him. âitâs like, i learn this shit, but not all of it stays in my brain. iâm only, like, 70% sure of the answers i put on tests and whatever. i need to remember.â
you look at him, drawing your hand back into your lap and crossing them together. you look down at your lap blink, trying to think of a new method of studying. everything you tried had worked for you, how hard can it be for chris to learn? sure, he is nowhere near your academic level, but studying a skill you can learn, the same way you can learn how to play lacrosse.
âwell,â you begin slowly, âare there any ⌠ideas you may have? maybe some sort of association we can work on-â
chris perks up at this. âassociation?â
you blink again, nodding slowly. âyeah, like ⌠maybe we can try and relate something to what youâve just read, and then that association will help you remember?â
youâve never tried this method before. hell, you never even have thought about it before, you were just trying to put yourself in chrisâ shoes and rack your brain on how you can get him to remember.
heâs smirking now. itâs working.
âi have an idea,â he nearly purrs, leaning in closer towards you, âyou strip for me.â
your eyes are wide as you look at chris. âstrip?â you sputter, âlike, like how?â
now heâs got a cheshire cat grin smile plastered on his face. he nods, eyeing you up and down. âcome on, y/n/n, itâll be fun,â he coaxes, âiâll remember all this shit so clearly if i associate it with seeing you in just your panties.â
you smirk softly, your eyes flickering between his lips and bright blue eyes. âfine,â you say, âbut you better get an A on this test or weâre back to flashcards.â
he smiles wide and leans in to peck your lips, pulling away to return to his abandoned open textbook, finding where he had left off. âokay, so,â he grinned, turning to look at you, âhow are we doing this?â
now itâs your turn to smile. âi think a reward system will do - for every correct answer to a question i give, iâll take a piece of my clothes off. deal?â
chris swallows hard, his eyes wide as he nods. he isnât used to you being the one calling the shots, and he can already feel his dick twitching at the thought. ây-yeah. thatâs cool, thatâs cool.â
you smile as you watch the brunette not-so-subtly re-adjust his shorts and return to his book, looking even more engaged than before. this time, he actually studies the text, taking in as much information as his brain will hold. before he even realizes, forty five minutes have gone by, and heâs finished the chapter.
he looks up, turning to you, closing the book. âokay, iâm ready. hit me.â
a grin creeps across your face, sitting up straight as you turn to face chris. âtell me about jamestown.â
chris inhales, closing his eyes as he recalls the paragraphs upon paragraphs he just read. âit was the first colony.â
you smile, nodding for him to continue.
âit was in virginia. john smith, like, ran it. he taught all the settlers how to farm and shit so the colony would survive.â he says, looking to you for reassurance almost, and exhales happily when he sees you smiling and nodding.
âgood job,â you say in a sultry voice, your hands crossed across your chest, toying with the ends of your shirt, âtell me more about the early colonies.â
chrisâ eyes go wide as he watches you tease him, his erection growing more and more as he tries to focus.
âthere was a fuck ton in new england. plymouth was the big one, that was here in mass. they came on the mayflower and wanted to be separated from the church. so, uh, they became puritans.â
you canât help but smile. you feel like a proud parent watching their kid walk for the first time. you life your shirt over your head, revealing your laced bra, leaving very little to chrisâ imagination. he swallows hard, eyes raking over you and your body, his dick fully hard now and poking up against his sweat shorts.
âmy eyes are up here chris,â you smile slyly, leaning forward to tilt his chin back up to you. âtell me about the puritans.â
chris swallows hard, slowly bringing his eye back up to you, breathing heavily. you could tell this was really getting to him, watching as he tried to think of something other than your tits. âthey didnât want to be a part of the church of england anymore. they wanted to, like, purify it or whatever.â
âor whatever?â you smirked, cocking your head to the side, âi donât think âor whateverâ will pass you on a test.â
he just stares at you blankly, sitting there topless at his desk, before processing what you had just told him. he shakes his head, trying to focus. âyeah, um, they didnât agree with the church of england. they thought it was too catholic, and they wanted to make their own practice.â
you grinned nodding your head. âgood job.â you tell him seductively, standing up slowly as you maintain eye contact. your hands reach around to the back of your pleated skirt, unzipping it and letting it pool around your ankles. you reveal your lace and frilly panties that match your bra, chrisâ eyes going wide. you sit back down, only this time on his lap, his clothed dick pressed against you.
you smile at him, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. âyou remembering okay?â
his face has no color as he nods, his throat going dry. âyeah,â he stammers, âkeep âem coming.â
you dip your head down, leaving feather-like kisses up his neck, stopping when you get to his ear, biting the lobe softly before speaking quietly again. âone more question, then iâm all yours, think you can do it?â
chris shudders against you, nodding his head as you press a few more kisses to his neck, pulling away as you look down at him. âwhat was the mayflower compact?â
he closes his eyes, his mind buzzing with the thought of you as it goes blank. he tries, he really does, to remember what the hell you just asked him. but the only thing swirling around his head right now was you sitting in his lap half naked. he looks up at you, shaking his head. âi canât remember.â he says softly.
âno?â you pout teasingly, beginning to climb off his lap, âguess i need to put something back on.â
âwait,â he replies, a little too quickly, pulling you back on to his lap by your hips, âi know it, lemme think.â
you grin, watching his eyes screw shut again, racking his brain on what it possibly could be. âthat ⌠that was the contract, right? that all the settlers signed when they got to plymouth?â
âare you asking me or telling me?â you grin, running your hand down his chest, playing with the strings of his hoodie as you leaned in close.
âtelling you.â he whispered, eyes flicking from your own down to your lips. he leans in, about to press his mouth to yours when you pull away.
âwhat was the significance of it?â
âfuck i donât know,â chris whines, furrowing his brows while he looks up at you, âit was to make laws, all the settlers signed it to agree to be civil.â
you giggled, finally giving in and pressing your lips to chrisâ and sighing softly. he was quick to try and deepen the kiss, having grown so needy from the thirty minutes of teasing youâd just put him through. chrisâ hands roamed across your hips and ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. you decided to let chris take control as you opened your mouth slightly, letting him explore its insides as his tongue swirled around yours.
you moaned into his mouth, arms wrapped around his neck while you pressed your chest against chrisâ and leaned back slightly. you could tell he was desperate from the way he was grinding your hips against his, and began to trail kisses down his neck. you sucked and licked at the skin, leaving small dark love bites in your wake. chris made no attempts to conceal his noises, soft moans and whines escaping his lips as your lips made their round across his neck, your hips sure to have bruises where his fingers dug into you.
âtell me what you want.â you sighed into his ear, slowly grinding your hips down against his clothed erection. you kissed and nipped at the spot behind chrisâ ear, earning a quiet moan.
âyour mouth, ma, need you to suck me.â chris whispered, tilting his head to its side to give you better access to his neck. you pulled away with a grin plastered across your lips, eyes flicking up and down his face.
âyou want my mouth?â you repeated in a teasing tone, leaning in to hover your lips above chrisâ. âyou think you worked hard enough today to deserve it?â
he nodded frantically, damn near ready to beg you if he had to. âplease baby, i wanna feel your pretty lips around me.â
between his dick rutting against your heat and the noises he was making, you were already soaked. but, right now was about chris, and giving him his reward. you began to slowly slide off of his lap and onto the ground, perched on your knees in front of chris. you looked up at him with wide eyes, not looking away as you teasingly ran your hands up his thighs. he was a whining mess, eager for you. your fingers played with the waistband of his shorts, steadily pulling them down his legs and pooling them around his ankles.
chris was practically rock hard at this point, feeling like he could cum from the slightest of touches from you. he sighed shakily as he felt your nails delicately trace his bulge over his navy boxers, murmuring to him softly.
âyouâve been working so hard lately,â you spoke in a whispered tone, âyou want me to help relieve from stress, hm?â
âmhm, yeah.â chris groaned, his head thrown back as his hands came up to cup your face, thumbs tracing your jawline. you tilted your head slightly, leaving a few pecks to chrisâ hands before turning your attention back to his dick. you sighed gently, leaning in to press open mouth kisses to chrisâ cock, tongue occasionally darting out across the fabric.
you pulled back, flicking your eyes back up to his and you flashed him a sly smile. your fingers dipping below the band of his boxers and finally pulled them down. chrisâ dick instantly sprung up against his abdomen, his tip red and leaking, aching for your touch.
a small moan escaped your lips as you took his cock in your hand, thumb running across the slit as you smeared precum all along his shaft. you leaned down, placing a small and quick kiss to his tip as you sighed, âgod chris youâre so big.â
a strangled groan ripped from chrisâ throat as he peered down at you with hooded eyes and parted lips, awaiting your next move. you licked a long stripe up the length of his dick while your gaze was locked with his, maintaining eye contact as you took him in your mouth.
chrisâ hands were instantly threaded through your hair, holding your head as you sucked on his dick, tongue swirling around the tip. you began to bob your head on his shaft, deep throating as best you could and jerking what you couldnât fit. his head was tossed back in pleasure, his chest heaving while he guided you up and down his length.
âmm, come on mama, you can take it all, breath through your nose.â chris moaned, wrapping your hair in a ponytail as he fucked your face, his dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. tears pricked your eyes as you inhaled deeply, your nose nearly pressing against chrisâ stomach. your tongue repeatedly twisted and licked around chris' cock while you continued to suck, the motions of your mouth nearing chris to his orgasm.
chris gutted a choked moan, his voice cracking. âthaaatâs it, pretty girl, gettinâ me so close.â
you let out a soft sigh around him, sending vibrations through chrisâ body. that was enough to send chris over the edge, a low grown coming from his chest as hot, white spurts of cum shot down your throat. you pulled off of his cock with a small pop, your lips wet as you stuck your tongue out to show him you had swallowed it all.
his hands loosened from around your hair to grip your chin, leaning down and pulling your face close to his. he pressed his mouth to yours, kissing you deeply as he tasted himself on your tongue. he pulled away slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips and he looked at you. âthank you.â
âdonât mention it,â you giggled, kissing his cheek quickly, ânow, how do you think youâll do on the test next week?â
âwhat test?â
Š mattscoquette
đ§đ¨đđđŹ. âËęŠď˝Ą i am sooooooo happy with how this came out fr !! i started writing this in august i think ?? i truly love this âseriesâ sm i think i might make fratboy!chris an au âŚ.. but anyway thank u guys sm for all the love and being so patient with this !! sry if i tagged anyone on the taglist twice i donât expect to have so many people on it but thank u SO MUCH !!!!! ik ive been talking ab making a part two to yale for so long now im happy its done :) i hope u all enjoyed <3
#Š mattscoquette#writing đ đđ#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut
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Shy Neighbour Nanami wakes up at 6AM, his mind occupied by thoughts of you.
Shy Neighbour Nanami heads towards the shower, thinking about what you would be up to right now.
Shy Neighbour Nanami comes out of the shower smelling like clean soap, having his hands wrapped around his aching cock. He walks over to his bed and sits down, gently moving his fingers up and down his cock in mastered rhythm, trying to contain his arousal because the images of your perfect body with no clothes on crossed his mind.
Shy Neighbour Nanami sighs in frustration as he touches his tip, precum already forming on his head.
Shy Neighbour Nanami forces himself to get off his bed and puts his clothes on. His thick cock fighting back to be touched once again, but he has to get ready for work. When he puts his clothes on, he notices the visible bulge in his pants. He curses your name under his breath because he hates the effect you have on him.
Shy Neighbour Nanami makes breakfast as he daydreams about how pleasant it would be if he could make you breakfast. He sits down on his dining table and looks at the chair across him, imagining your presence. His cock reacts once again, bulging against his fabric, begging to be touched. He hisses in irritation and grabs his cock, rubbing his hand over the swollen area, trying to calm himself down.
Shy Neighbour Nanami waits at the window and watches you exit your house. He immediately rushes out of his house - making it seem like you both were leaving for work at the same time. Before even locking his door, he turns towards you and smiles at you and is caught off guard when he catches your gaze already on him. âWhat a coincidence, huh?â you comment, and a shy ây-yes,â escapes his lips. âWell, see you in the evening then,â you say and wait for his response. He simply nods, unable to speak because you're right in front of him. You smile and turn away, walking towards your car. He watches you walk away, hips swaying seductively at him, your curves inviting danger.
Shy Neighbour Nanami gathers himself together and clears his throat. He heads towards his car and drives for work. His cheeks turn a light shade of pink when he thinks about the short conversation he had with you.
Shy Neighbour Nanami spends his entire day at work, with recurring thoughts of you and your smile. He cannot wait to go home. To get a glance of you. To talk to you again.
Shy Neighbour Nanami reaches home at the same time as you. âWanna come over to have a drink?â you ask him. He pretends to think about the offer, not wanting to sound desperate when the âyesâ slips out of his lips. He watches as your face lights up, a small grin playing over your tempting mouth. âPerfect!â you exclaim.
Shy Neighbour Nanami enters your house and before he even knew it, he's sitting on your sofa, drinking a glass of wine. After an hour, he gets up to leave. Thanking you for the drink. âNo problem,â you say, your cheeks red because you had a little too much to drink, and your mind was also filled with distracting thoughts. He finds your flushed expression adorable and fights the urge to kiss you on the cheek. He nods his head and turns to leave.
Shy Neighbour Nanami feels a hand pull the back of his shirt and is forced to suddenly turn around. Before he could even process what was happening, he feels your lips crashing into his. He stands still for a couple of seconds but immediately takes control of the situation and kisses you back. You wrap your arms around his shoulder and he encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. He lifts you up with ease and mumbles between kisses, âthis is wrongâ. You kiss him desperately and let out a disapproving moan, disagreeing with him. This, in fact, was good. This was what you wanted to do with him for a long time.
Shy Neighbour Nanami pushes you on the sofa, his kisses eager and deep. He sucks at the sensitive spots on your neck and nibbles playfully at your ear. You giggle under his touch and he pulls back to admire your beautiful face. âWhat?â you ask shyly, trying to cover your face with your hands.
Shy Neighbour Nanami reaches out and holds your hands, pinning them to your sides. âYouâre so beautiful,â he whispers so you realise that the words were only meant for you. Your face turns red in response and he chuckles at your expression.
Shy Neighbour Nanami leans forward, his breath warm against your ear, âI crave you, y/nâ.
Little does he know you crave him too.
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
do not plagiarise, copy, translate or repost my works on any platform!!!
#jjk#jjk nanami#jjk x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami x you#jjk fanfic#fanfic#writeblr#writing#nanami smut#jujutsu nanami#nanami kento#smut#jjk smut#nanami x reader#jjk kento#kento x reader#kento smut#kento x y/n
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Ë ŕŁŞâ CERTIFIED FREAK !
â sum: sunday, gallagher, aventurine, and sampo's kinks.
contents: (MDNI!!!), f!reader, bdsm, dacryphilia, exhibitionsim, orgasm denial, slight degradation, praise, p in v, fingering, creampie, squirting, daddy kink (gallagher) sampo is subby and whiny, choking, just... freak shit hehe ;)
note: writing slump: 0 ellie: 1 ( ͥ° ÍĘ ÍĄÂ°)
SUNDAY - BDSM
yeah, he can indeed fool someone with those angelic looks, canât he? he can easily deceive with them. giving you the impression that you could get away with just about anything under his watch, huh? you were simply wrong. little did you know the things he was capable of.
who wouldâve thought youâd find yourself tied up, bound, hands clasped together by ropes, ankles tied to the ends of the bed, with sunday looming over you like a tantalizing, impending, dooming shadow, his sharp gaze like daggers, like frosty ice, boring into you, boring deep.Â
âshould i have brought a gag along with me too, darling?â he teases, inching his face closer and closer to you as your pussy pulsates with a brutal need, drenched in your arousal. he can practically smell it on you. smell your surrender, your submission.Â
and oh, how beautiful the sight of your naked form is⌠trembling, goosebumps tickling your skin. itâs purely art to him. a masterpiece. and it's all for him and him only.
you vigorously shake your head in response, watching him slowly stroke his cock as he aligned it just barely at your weeping entrance, and you impetuously rut your hips up, desiring friction, attention, any sort of contact, as you writhed in agonizing desperation, deprivation. "n-no, please⌠please, fuck meâŚâ
he hums at the sound of your frail voice, a smile spreading along his face. "such a pretty mouth uttering such filthy words⌠hm,â
and before you can say anything else, you suck in a deep gasp, the intrusion of his length taking you out in one go. he buries himself to the hilt in one thrust, and slowly, tormentingly begins rolling his hips, watching your expression like a hawk the entire time. he canât help but hiss, your spongey, melting walls encasing him, sheer blankets of your slippery slick smearing along his cock. this couldnât be mere pleasure anymore, this was euphoria.
and heâs already lost his sanity,
âo-oh, yes, yes,â you gasp, the thump of your heart skyrocketing in speed, as his pelvis starts smacking into yours faster⌠and harder⌠the woody material of the bed frame beneath you creaking, and ramming into the walls. you simply canât understand how he can possibly feel so good. reaching places inside you you never knew you could feel, as if he were attempting to merge the two you into one.
"i want you to tell me,â sunday whispers breathily, glacially, almost like an eerie rustle of wind, like a whoosh of arctic air blowing right through every inch of your weakened, restrained body. he reaches out, takes your jaw in his slender hand, his penetrating stare not moving an inch from your beady eyes. âhow good does it feel, darling?â
your vocal cords are giving up on you, being pulled at with every labored mewl and sob running off from your quivering lips. you can barely form a response, a creeping warmth scratching at your skull, making you feel dumbified. âs-so good! c-canât⌠last longâŚâ
and neither can sunday, not with how pretty you look, not with how the sweet, harmonic melody of your sounds makes the ache in his cock escalate overwhelmingly. all the sensations are getting sharper, more vivid, his pulse syncing with his rapid panting.
"cum with me,â he permitted, his tone close to urgent, almost like a plead. âlet go for me. together.â
and it all happens quick. sunday grabs onto your waist, tightly as if for leverage or grounding, his eyes going wide as heâs met with his climax, his cock twitching inside your cunt before dumping his load inside, strained groans breaking out his throat as you gush all over him simultaneously.
yeah, heâs addicted. addicted to basking in the blissful pleasure of your body, basking in it with you.
GALLAGHER - EXHIBITIONISM
oh, the things you do to him.
heâs on a shift. but you, being the damn minx that you are, decided to prance on into the drink lounge with your pretty ass, giving him that look, seductively licking the rim of sugar that coated the top of your glass, while looking him dead in the eye.
you little tease,
would it be shocking for you to end up pressed up on the wall in the employee room, that gratuitously short skirt (that you very much wore on purpose) hiked up around your waist, with his thick cock drilling into you? he shouldnât even be indulging in this, since youâre such a brat. you shouldnât be getting what you wanted. but he canât fucking resist, not when you play with him like that.
"showing up to the lounge, teasinâ me like a little slut, huh? while iâm working?â he snarls, his deep, gruff voice snaking up from behind you and right into your ear, making your knees give out. gallagher peers down, before lightly pushing at your ankle with his boot, urging you to spread those pretty little legs wider for him, his hands grabbing at your bubble ass, fondling and spreading the globe-y flesh. he wants a nicer view of that pussy swallowing him whole.
and god, itâs like a fucking glove. a sleeve,
your pussy is crying for him, hugging him, holding on like you canât bear the thought of letting him go. youâre coating him in that creamy, syrupy slick, and every stroke has the static in your mind playing more and more frenzied. and heâs just so big, that thick head of his cock bullying your cervix with every sloppy, rough smack of his hips against that ass⌠fuck.
"hnghâ n-needed you⌠so badâŚâ youâd whimper, choking on every whiny noise that you try to suppress, as youâre still trying to keep in mind that you are indeed in public. not that youâd admit that it turns you on more. you canât help yourself. not when youâve got him on your mind all day, his musky scent that engulfs your senses in flames, his perfect body⌠those muscles that youâre always ogling at.
oh, and speaking of musclesâ your eyes suddenly roll right back into your skull the moment his beefy, rock-hard bicep curls around your throat, manhandling you in a chokehold, pulling your head back and making you arch against him, his dazy gaze right up in your fucked-out face, and he chortles.Â
"yeah, didnât you? canât go a little while without some dick, huh?â gallagher practically growls, his teeth gritting hard with his jaw taught and set in a firm clench. if anyone could get a glance of his expression right now, theyâd think he fucking hates your guts, like heâs fuming. with the way his sleeves are pushed up his arms, the veins in his forearm are visible, throbbing and bulging just like the veins of his cock inside you, the veins that your pussy can map out perfectly,
"w-with no haahâ panties underneath this fucking shit,â gallagher groans, before his free hand lands a sharp smack to your ass, leaving behind a delicious sting. heâs not even surprised that you like that shit. like the naughty, cock-hungry whore you were.Â
âdaddyyyâŚâ you whine, your tongue lolling out dumbly as you went limp, every part of you going numb except your pussy, throbbing and aching harder and harder the more he plowed into you with ruining force, as if he was trying to make you crumble apart entirely.
âgonna cum for daddy, huh?â gallagher huffs, his tone of voice nearly mocking. âyeah⌠how âbout you shut the fuck up and take it? k-keep milking my shit dry fâme⌠f-fuck.â
and thatâs when it hits, your orgasm. itâs like a freight train, like a harsh blow, knocking you out in a blink of an eye. there was no way you could hold it anymore, not with the authority in his voice combined with his unmatched fervor and strengthâ
itâs splattering, your juices squirting out your pussy like a fountain, your mouth agape as your nails claw at his arm that stayed put around your throat. gallagher groans out loud at the sight, his own eyes rolling back as a rushed, âfuck, fuck,â rasps out his strained throat. thick, hot streams of his seed plugs your wet heat up to the very brim, and he stays there, panting hard with you pressed against him.
"f-fuck, sweetheart. made a goddamn messâ"
"gallagher?! whaddyaâ doinâ in there, man? you disappear on me, or what?â aaand thereâs siobhan⌠fuck.
you can only glance back at gallagher with a cheeky little giggle. hehe⌠whoops.
AVENTURINE - DACRYPHILIA
âdon't you take those eyes off of me.â aventurine coos, his gaze flickering back and forth from your pussy, then back towards your face. heâs got you prettily sprawled out on the bed, two of his slender fingers pistoning inside your drooling cunt, curling at just the right angle, reaching nice and deep. his vigor is just relentless, youâre desperately trying to clamp your legs together, your face shying away as your eyes squint and your eyebrows curl inward, a squeal escaping from your throat.
âoh, i donât think so,â aventurine grunts, his free hand roughly spreading your legs back open, his forearm shoving against the back of your thighs so that they stay pushed back. âyou are not running from me, darling. take it like a good girl, won't you?â he purrs, and you gasp, dragging out a hoarse whine as he picks up the pace, the wet sloshes that your cunt produces getting progressively louder. even flecks of your juices were flying out with every thrust of his hand at this point, and fuck, was it lewdâŚ
âgonna cumâ!â youâd croak out, warm tears flooding your vision and pooling up along the waterline of your eyes as youâre unable to sit still, creaks and rustling ringing out from the bed as you desperately attempt to thrash around, despite aventurine holding you in place. that familiar tingle in your lower tummy was brewing up, and quick.
and oh, were those tears he saw?
the ache and the strain in his pants only hardens at the sight, serving to drive him even crazier. he canât help it. you look so helpless, so vulnerable, yet so needy, so desperate. and itâs all because of himâŚÂ fuck. makes him wanna devour you whole, like heâs lost every train of thought, every bit of composureâŚ
âmy, oh my,â he snickers, shaking his head incredulously as he keeps his gaze glued to you, his violet orbs bordering a feral look to them. he loves seeing those crystal streams trickling down those cheeks that are prominently coated in a deep, rosy flush of color. you look like a doll.
his doll,
and he can tell when his doll is close. that adorable look on your face gives it away, eyes wide, gazing up at him, your mouth dangling open, hands grasping at the sheets for dear life. âgonna cum for me, arenât you?â he murmurs, his tone low, almost taunting, so velvety, so smooth, it's practically spine-chilling, and that alone makes your walls clench around his digits once more. as if you hadnât done that enough already.
"y-yes, gonnaâ fuck!â youâre cut off as aventurineâs thumb meets your clit, rubbing the swollen nub with skilled precision, causing your pleasure to soar up to insanely imposing heights. its as if heâs trying to coax your pussy into orgasm, trying to lure you into cumming. and fuck, is he doing a good job at it. a good job is an understatement. his hands⌠itâs like they could cast a motherfucking spell on your pussyâŚ
âcum, pretty. make a mess all over my fingers. go on,â he urges, the smirk on his face flashing brighter as one last whimper rips out from your throat, until youâre squirting all over his hand, and his mouth drops open, his pupils blowing and darkening.
"oh, yess,â he groans, eager to milk every last drop out of your pretty pussy, continuing to finger fuck you through your high, elongating it, even as youâre a shaking mess, trying to pry away from him.Â
âmhmm, would you look at that,â he huskily purrs, sliding his creamy, sticky fingers out your pussy with a squelch, licking them clean with a smirk, before your pussy throbs at the contact of his hand meeting it in a mean slap, spanking your pussy and sending a jolt through your body.Â
"made my pretty girl cry from both her eyes, and her pussy, hm? poor thingâŚâ
SAMPO - ORGASM DENIAL
sampo is a mouthy one, thereâs no doubt about that. roguish, cocky, cheeky. you can't help but feel this itching urge to shut him up. to put him in his place.
hence why youâve got him in between your legs, his back to your chest, one of your hands pumping his cock while the other is over his mouth, muffling his needy moans.
heâs bucking his hips up as you stroke his cock, fucking up into your hand, his eyes rolled back,
âohh, baby,â you coo with a sly grin, your warm breath fanning against the shell of his ear before you give it a small nibble. âdonât tell me you wanna cum already, hm? its too early for that, silly boy.â
you lift your hand off of his mouth, only to gently wrap it around his throat, and he lets out a hoarse whimper, shaking his head. ân-no⌠w-won't cum yet⌠wonât cumâŚâ he whines, and it practically pains him to say that, as heâs just dying to cum, his angry tip flushed bright red, his balls heavy and aching, desperate for release.
"good boy. you just sit still and take it.â you giggle, your words alone making him even needier by tenfold, his legs shaking, his hands grasping at your legs like lifelines.Â
youâre pumping harder now, schlick after schlick, sticky and creamy, his arousal making a mess out of your hand.
he throws his head back against your shoulder with a loud moan, his hips bucking more frantically before you land a soft spank to his balls, earning a sound from his throat that almost sounded close to a shriek.Â
âdidnât i just tell you to sit still?â you resume your quick, rough stroking as sampo has to hold back from literally throwing himself around, his consciousness practically out the window at this point. âyou were doing so good fâme, sampo. what happened? donât you wanna cum?â
"yes!â heâs quick to respond, burying his face in your neck as he sniffles, shaking hard like a leaf. ây-yes, please⌠âm sorry, so sorry⌠w-wanna cum so badâ!â he whines, hearing that buzzing begin to ring in his ears, his vision a bright white light. his limits are being pushed and pushed and pushed, about to burst like a balloon. its too much for him.
"p-please⌠c-can i cum for you? n-need to cum for youâŚâ he whimpers, lifting his face to look into your eyes with a pleading, almost teary gaze. his cock is solid, and he needs this release so bad itâs close to paining him. âs-so much⌠h-have so much for youâŚâ
"mm, wanna make a mess all over me, donât you? all for me,â you giggle, pumping especially harder at the tip, making the twitch in his thighs quicken.
"go on, then. cum for me. let me see how bad you need to,â pfft. you didnât need to tell him twice. like jets, his cum splurts out, shooting straight up and all over his hand as heâs whimpering, and whimpering fucking loud. his jaw falls slack, fat beads of sweat running down his temples, his eyes going straight back into his head yet again as he thrashes back against you. you gasp, chuckling softly as you keep your gaze glued to his twitching cock, leaning in to gently pepper kisses along his neck, making him shiver harder.Â
âlookkk at that, baby,â you purr, your hand that was around his throat sliding up to brush his hair away from his face. âthere you go, easy, baby,â you whisper, and he chuckles breathily, whimpering small little, âthank youâsâ before his eyes flicker back open and fall upon your tongue licking his cum off your hand.
yeah. thatâll do it for him. now heâs definitely gonna slurp your pussy off the bone.
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So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).
Anyway, the story:
I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.
"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.
We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."
Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.
I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.
Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.
The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.
I took a sip of my coffee.
"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"
He looked surprised and snorted.
"What?"
"You swore."
It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.
Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."
"I never thought of it that way..."
"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."
We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.
"Do you still make art?"
"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"
"Your last required art class. Got it."
I gave him a side eyed glance.
"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"
He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.
I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.
"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.
The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."
I gave him my business card.
"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."
We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.
Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: âToday we are going to make a picture.â âGood!â thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, âWait!â âIt is not time to begin!â And she waited until everyone looked ready. âNow,â said the teacher, âWe are going to make flowers.â âGood!â thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said âWait!â âAnd I will show you how.â And it was red, with a green stem. âThere,â said the teacher, âNow you may begin.â
The little boy looked at his teacherâs flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacherâs But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacherâs. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: âToday we are going to make something with clay.â âGood!â thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, âWait!â âIt is not time to begin!â And she waited until everyone looked ready. âNow,â said the teacher, âWe are going to make a dish.â âGood!â thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said âWait!â âAnd I will show you how.â And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. âThere,â said the teacher, âNow you may begin.â
The little boy looked at the teacherâs dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacherâs But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacherâs. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didnât make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: âToday we are going to make a picture.â âGood!â thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didnât say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, âDonât you want to make a picture?â âYes,â said the little boy. âWhat are we going to make?â âI donât know until you make it,â said the teacher. âHow shall I make it?â asked the little boy. âWhy, anyway you like,â said the teacher. âAnd any color?â asked the little boy. âAny color,â said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
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