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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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strip poker — gojo satoru.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo Satoru. Since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind. You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

WARNING/s: NSFW (R18+), Fluff, Romance, Love at First Sight, Strangers to Lovers, Pet Names (Doll, Boy, Baby, Etc), Profanity, Stripping Clothes, Oral Sex, Fingering, P to V Sex, Kissing, Making Out, Humor, Flirting, Teasing, Mention of Stripping, Mention of Body Parts, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Alcohol, Depiction of Sexual Acts, Depiction of Nudity, Depiction of Alcoholic Beverage;

WORDS: 7.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: lately a lot of my works were really long, so i realized people need a refreshing thing from me than my long story formats. i thought about this during a writing block and i just thought that maybe, satoru would be the type to enjoy something like this, you know? and i think shoko and suguru would just try to make gojo greet all the guests and he'll be pouty. unless its reader, because reader is loved by gojo a lot (he just met you at this party) but anyway, if i posted this, it means the majority poll meant gojo won. but anyway i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all~ 🫶

ADDENDUM: with an hour left in the vote and the gap being wide — gojo does win 🙂‍↕️

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE WAS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING EXCITING. Gojo Satoru leaned against the doorway, his drink swirling lazily in his hand, the dim light of the room casting playful shadows across his face. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once, were fixed on you. You were standing with Shoko and Suguru, laughing at some private joke, and he couldn't help but wonder how he had never noticed you before.

It was strange. He knew everyone worth knowing, especially those who moved in Shoko's and Suguru's circles. But you... you were different. Your laughter was genuine, your smile bright, and there was a certain ease to the way you carried yourself—a confidence that wasn’t showy but quietly powerful, drawing people in without even trying.

As you spoke, he watched the way your lips curved into a grin, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. He could see that Suguru was captivated, leaning in to listen more closely, while Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile that suggested she was used to whatever game you were playing. Satoru couldn't quite hear what you were saying from where he stood, but he caught snippets of your voice, warm and inviting, tinged with a teasing edge that piqued his curiosity even more.

"How is it," he muttered to himself, "that someone like you has managed to slip under my radar?"

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering, trying to piece together the puzzle that was you. Maybe you were new to their circle, or perhaps you had always been there, hidden in plain sight, and he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Either way, he was intrigued, and that wasn't something that happened often.

When Shoko glanced over and caught his eye, she raised an eyebrow, smirking as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He gave her a playful wink in response, but his attention quickly returned to you.

Suguru, noticing the shift in focus, turned and followed Shoko's gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Satoru, come here." he called out, motioning for him to join. "Why are you lurking over there like a ghost at a party? Come say hi."

Satoru grinned and pushed himself off the doorframe, making his way over with a casual, easy stride. "I wouldn’t call it lurking, Suguboo." he said, slipping effortlessly into the group, his gaze still locked on you. "Just... observing."

You turned to face him fully, and for the first time, he felt the full force of your presence. Up close, you were even more intriguing—eyes bright and challenging, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Observing, huh?" you echoed, clearly amused. "Is that what they’re calling it these days?"

His grin widened, loving the way you didn’t shrink under his scrutiny but seemed to meet it head-on. "Well, you know, doll." he replied smoothly, "I like to get a feel for things before diving in."

Shoko snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "Translation: he likes to watch before he pounces."

"Careful, Satoru." Suguru added with a chuckle. "You’re starting to sound like a creep."

Satoru laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Maybe I am, Maybe I’m not." he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. "But I like to have some good surprises for the interesting ones."

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the attention, and you leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you. "So, am I interesting to you, Gojo?"

He felt a spark of electricity at the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue like you’d known him for years. “Oh, definitely.” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, playful drawl. “Interesting enough to make me wonder how I've missed you all this time.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.” you teased him. “Maybe you need to have a better look, don’t you think?”

He leaned in closer, his smile turning sly. “Oh, I’m looking now.”

There was a beat of silence, charged with unspoken words and possibilities, and Satoru could feel the air between you crackle with an almost tangible energy. He was used to this game, the dance of flirtation, but there was something about you that felt different—like you were two steps ahead of him, and he was enjoying every second of trying to catch up.

“Let’s see if you can keep up.” you said, your eyes glinting with challenge. “Because I’m not that easy to catch, Gojo.”

His grin widened, excitement bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I do love a challenge, doll.” he murmured, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “And trust me, I’m very persistent when I sense something good for me.”

“Then am I good for you?” You grinned at him, eyes full of amusement.

He returned your grin. “Why, the moment I saw you, doll — you were good for me and all of my lifetimes.”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged glances, their amusement clear as they observed the growing tension between you and Satoru. Shoko's eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama, while Suguru's smirk spoke of his own quiet amusement at the game Satoru was now fully immersed in. They didn’t need to say a word; their silent communication conveyed everything—this was going to be entertaining.

Satoru, however, was oblivious to their silent exchange. His focus was entirely on you, his mind buzzing with possibilities. The playful challenge you’d just thrown at him had ignited a spark of curiosity and interest that he couldn’t ignore. As he watched you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief and your smile held a promise of excitement, he found himself drawn in even more.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind.

You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

"Are you serious?" Satoru chuckled, his grin spreading wide across his face. The light overhead cast a gleam on his white hair, making him look even more striking under the dim glow of the room.

"Dead serious, darling." you replied, eyes glinting with a playful challenge. "Unless, of course, the great Gojo Satoru is afraid of a little game."

His grin only widened at the bait. "Afraid? Not exactly my style. But I've got to admit, it's not every day someone proposes strip poker to me the first time we meet." He took a sip from his drink, eyes never leaving yours, scanning for any sign of bluff or mischief.

You shrugged, leaning against the table with an easy confidence that only intrigued him more. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And you looked like you could use a little excitement."

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "So, what's the catch? I lose, and you get a fun little story to tell your friends? Or do I win, and...?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who says I intend to lose? Besides, winning isn't everything. It's the fun in between, Satoru."

He blinked at the use of his first name, a small surprise evident in his expression. Most people would hesitate to use it so casually, but coming from you, it felt oddly natural—like it had always been meant to be spoken by you. There was something about the way you said it, with that hint of mischief and confidence, that made it feel less like an invasion of personal space and more like an intimate invitation.

For a moment, Satoru’s gaze flickered around the room. It was then that he realized Shoko and Suguru had somehow vanished. The two had a knack for disappearing at precisely the right moment, leaving him in a situation that was both intriguing and precarious. Typical of them, really. They always seemed to know exactly when to make their exit, leaving him to fend for himself in whatever delightful predicament they had orchestrated.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he looked back at you, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and a hint of challenge. “Well, it looks like we’re on our own.” he said, his tone light but laced with a playful edge. “I suppose that means we get to make our own rules now.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the turn of events. “Seems like it, glasses.” you replied, your voice smooth and teasing. “So, what do you say?”

He grinned, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger. “I think we should make the most of this opportunity, doll. Let’s not waste time,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “After all, it’s not every day I get to have a game of strip poker with someone as intriguing as you.”

His words were laced with a mix of flirtation and eagerness, his tone smooth and inviting. The term “doll” came out with a casual intimacy, making the moment feel even more charged. You could feel the heat between you intensify as he closed the distance, his presence commanding and electrifying.

You met his gaze with a confident smile, your heart racing a little faster. “Alright, Gojo.” you replied, your voice low and sultry. He pouts. You returned to calling him by his last name. You liked teasing him, he thinks. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You better watch it, doll.” he said, setting his drink down and crossing his arms over his chest, still grinning. “I’ll bite. Let’s play. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. And don’t think for a second that I’ll be the one taking off anything first.”

You laughed, a sound that made him feel strangely lighter, more at ease. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” you said, your voice full of playful confidence.

His grin widened, the challenge lighting up his expression. “You’re so interesting, doll.” He chuckled, clearly delighted. “Where have you been all my life?”

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the way his words seemed to both flatter and intrigue. “Well, you know….” you replied, your tone teasing. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make an entrance. And tonight, it looks like the stars finally aligned.”

Satoru’s eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity and admiration. “I have to say, I’m glad they did, doll.” he said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Because you’ve definitely made this night unforgettable.”

“You’re quite the flirt.”

“Gotta shoot all the shots to win, doll.” He winks at you.

You shrugged, your smile teasing. “Well, you say this now….but you’ll lose to me too.”

He laughed, a carefree, confident sound that made Shoko and Suguru glance over with a raised eyebrow from a distant space. “Oh, I never lose.” he replied, leaning closer, his voice a low, tempting drawl. “Especially not when there’s something I really want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin didn’t fade. “Then prove it.” you said, nodding toward a quieter, dimly lit room down the hall. “Let’s go.”

Satoru, for his part, didn’t hesitate. He set his drink down with a casual flick of his wrist, his bright cerulean eyes still locked on yours as he pushed off the wall. He reached out and took your hand, his grip warm and confident.

“Lead the way, doll.” he said, his voice dripping with playful challenge.

You felt a rush of excitement at his quick agreement, and you couldn’t help but grin. You felt a thrill of excitement as you led him down the hall, the dim lighting casting soft shadows and adding an air of intimacy to the moment. With every step, the noise of the party grew more distant, replaced by the soft thrum of your heartbeat and the electric tension between you.

As you reached the door to the quieter room, you glanced back at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Gojo Satoru’s gaze was unwavering, his bright eyes reflecting a mixture of anticipation and admiration. He could feel the adrenaline in him. This was exciting. And he liked it. He liked you.

You pushed open the door, revealing a cozy, dimly lit space that felt almost like a secret hideaway. The room was furnished simply but comfortably, with a plush carpet and a few scattered cushions. It was the perfect setting for the game you had in mind.

He looked around, a playful smirk still on his face. “Alright, doll.” he said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, shuffling them with a practiced ease. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Gojo.” you teased, dealing the cards out between you.

Satoru sat opposite you, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was intense, locked onto you with an almost predatory focus. “I think I’ll take my chances, doll.” he replied smoothly. “And please, call me Satoru. Gojo is too formal for your gorgeous lips to mouth.”

You smiled, enjoying the tension that hung thick in the air between you, the game already beginning before a single card was played. "Alright then, Satoru." you said, your voice dripping with anticipation. "Let’s see who’s getting undressed first."

He chuckled, picking up his cards and leaning back comfortably. “Oh, it’s on now.”

And just like that, the game was set—a battle of wits, charm, and maybe something more.

You watched as his long legs folded with a graceful ease that didn’t quite match the competitive glint in his cocky blue eyes. He grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, his movements fluid, almost theatrical as he shuffled with deft, experienced hands.

You sat across from him, the distance between you feeling both vast and electric, like an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. The way you held his gaze, unwavering and unyielding, only made Gojo Satoru more intrigued. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that—like he was just another person in the room, not just some role people fit upon him or a man with a reputation that preceded him.

“So, doll….” he began, dealing out the first hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. “How do you know Shoko and Suguru? And why haven't we met before tonight?”

You picked up your cards, smiling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve mentioned me. I’m just good at staying under the radar… when I want to.”

He leaned back, considering your words. “Mysterious. I like that. But I'm pretty good at picking up on secrets. Better watch out.”

You chuckled softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The game began, and with each round, you both played with a mix of strategy and daring. He tried to read you, his eyes narrowing whenever you made a bold move, but you held your own, bluffing with an expertise that surprised him. His usual smug grin faltered slightly, and you could tell he was trying to decipher the mystery in your gaze. The room seemed to shrink with the tension between you, each card dealt heightening the stakes.

Satoru leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face, a playful yet challenging spark in his eyes. “You’re a lot harder to read than I thought.” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward in amusement. “But I like a good mystery.”

You smirked in response, feeling the heat of his stare, knowing he was trying to unravel you with every glance, but determined to keep him guessing. You were sure that soon enough, a pile of discarded clothing would grow between you steadily. But so far, there has been little, with your little ties. All you had removed were little, like a hair tie or a necktie.

You agreed it was still part of clothes. But then again, you just both wanted it to last a little longer. One after the other though was tossed aside with a flick of your wrist or a slow, deliberate grin from him, marking the razor's edge between victory and defeat.

The room little by little crackled with tension, the air thick with challenge and heat, and every turn of a card seemed to bring you closer, like magnets drawn together by an irresistible force. The game had become something more than a little fun thing — it was a dance with a Russian roulette where every bluff was a whispered confession, every raise a daring promise.

Your pulse quickened with every sly smile he threw your way, every calculated tilt of his head, and his eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. The stakes climbed higher with every move, the line between a win and a loss blurring into something electric, something tantalizingly close to dangerous.

You could feel it in your bones — this was no longer just about cards or luck; it was about who would yield first, who would surrender to the inevitable tension simmering in the space between your bodies. And you like winning. But so did he. Winning was after all, a different sort of drug to be enjoyed.

Neither of you spoke, but the room was filled with a silent conversation, an exchange of glances and gestures that spoke volumes. The game wasn’t just about winning — it was about who could push the other further, who could tease out the truth hidden behind those guarded eyes. Neither of you wanted to lose, not when the real prize was so tantalizingly close. And as another card fell, you knew this was only the beginning.

"You're not bad, doll." he admitted, his shirt still firmly on but with a hint of pink on his cheeks, likely from the alcohol. “But I’ve been known to turn the tables.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested this game if I didn’t think I could win, Satoru.” you replied confidently, leaning forward. The playful spark in your eyes never left, and it only seemed to fuel Satoru’s competitive spirit further.

Round after round, pieces of clothing slowly came off. A shoe here, a sock there. He was still confident, leaning in closer as he laid down another hand. "Full house." he declared, his grin downright wicked now.

You glanced at his cards, then backed up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Nice." you said, sounding impressed, before laying your cards down with a flourish. "Straight flush."

He blinked, then laughed—a genuine, delighted laugh that came from deep in his chest. "No way! You little—"

“Looks like someone’s going to lose a little more than just their pride, Satoru.” you teased, enjoying the way his grin faltered for a moment, his confidence taking a tiny, amusing dip.

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to think deeply, then slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “Alright, alright. I’m a man of my word, doll.” he conceded, though his eyes never left yours, sparkling with mischief. “But don’t get too comfortable. The game’s not over yet.”

As he shrugged out of his shirt, you found yourself momentarily distracted by the unexpected sight—his lean, toned frame catching the dim light. Satoru noticed, his smile turning sly. “See something you like?”

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "Just waiting for my next win."

He laughed again, a sound that seemed to fill the room, light and unburdened. “Oh, this is really crazy. I like that.” he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I like you.”

You raise your glass, meeting his gaze with a bold smile. "The feeling might be mutual, but don't think for a second that means I'm letting you win."

For the first time in a while, Gojo Satoru felt a genuine thrill that had nothing to do with curses or danger. Just the electric spark of a moment, a challenge, and the intriguing mystery of the person sitting across from him, daring him to come closer.

The game continued on, the air thick with anticipation, each round upping the stakes. Satoru was completely absorbed now, his usual nonchalant demeanor replaced with focused intensity. For every card dealt, every sly smile exchanged, he found himself more drawn into this unexpected encounter.

As the rounds progressed, it became increasingly clear that you were holding your own. The playful banter between the two of you had turned into something sharper, more personal. It wasn't just a game anymore; it was a test—a test of wills, of understanding, of reading between the lines of every look and laugh.

Satoru tossed his next set of cards on the table. "Three of a kind." he said, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, eyes flickering with amusement. "Not my best, but not bad."

You looked down at your own hand, considering your options. "Hmm…." you hummed, tapping your chin thoughtfully before placing your cards down. "Four of a kind."

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. "No way! You’re cheating!”

You laughed, a carefree sound that seemed to light up the room. "Maybe you just need to step up your game, Gojo Satoru."

He tilted his head, pretending to look hurt, but his smile was as bright as ever. “Oh, I see how it is. You're trying to humble me. I can't let that happen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it with deliberate slowness, making a show of every movement. "You really want to play with fire, huh?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Careful, you might get burned."

You met his gaze head-on, your smile never wavering. "I think I can handle the heat."

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his energy, his presence suddenly more intense. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not here just for a game, are you?”

Your eyes sparkled, the corners of your lips curling up just slightly. “Maybe I’m here to see what all the fuss is about. People talk about you, you know… like you’re this untouchable legend.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful smirk. “And what do they say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Oh, you know… that you’re the strongest, the smartest, the most arrogant—”

“Hey!” he interrupted, laughing. “I’m not that arrogant… just very self-aware.”

You laughed too, feeling the tension between you soften into something warmer, more familiar. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

His grin widened. "You think I’m a show-off, huh?”

“I think,” you said slowly, leaning in just a little closer, “that you like being the center of attention. And I think you’re not used to people seeing through that.”

Satoru blinked, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just slightly, replaced by something more genuine, more intrigued. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

You paused, considering your answer, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him guessing. “I see someone who likes to keep people at a distance. Someone who hides a lot behind that smile.”

He tilted his head, his expression softer now, almost contemplative. “And you think you know what I’m hiding?”

You shrugged. “Not yet. But I think you might want someone to try and figure it out.”

For a moment, he was quiet, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and yet reveal nothing. Then, slowly, he smiled—a softer, more sincere smile than before. “Maybe I do.”

The tension in the room shifted again, this time to something less tangible, a mix of curiosity and possibility hanging in the air between you. The game had become secondary; it was clear now that something deeper was at play. Satoru leaned back, his grin returning, though his eyes were still searching for yours.

“Alright, doll.” he said, voice vibrant and light. “One more hand. Winner takes all.”

“All?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘all,’ Satoru?”

He leaned forward again, his smile turning mischievous. “That’s the fun part—we get to decide. Maybe it’s another game. Maybe it’s just a walk under the stars. Or maybe…”

“Maybe?” you prompted, leaning in as well, feeling the pull between you tighten.

“Maybe, doll….” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “it’s just finding out who you really are, and why you make me feel like I’ve met you before, even though I’m sure I haven’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected honesty in his words. This was not the Gojo Satoru you’d expected, not quite. But maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something neither of you had anticipated.

“Deal.” you said finally, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Deal.”

You felt the warmth of his hand linger longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Neither of you pulled away, your hands still clasped together, as if testing each other’s resolve.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you teased, but your voice came out softer than you intended, betraying the flutter of anticipation building in your chest.

Satoru’s smile widened, a hint of something darker and more thrilling sparking in his eyes. “Is it working?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You held his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with tension, the kind that made your pulse quicken. “Maybe a little.” you admitted, and his grin grew even more wicked.

He didn’t release your hand, instead using it to pull you closer across the small table, until you were only inches apart. “Good.” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m curious… What else could I do to distract you?”

Before you could answer, his free hand reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle but purposeful. “I’ve got a few ideas.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement like he was memorizing every detail.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved down, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch feather-light but sending sparks of heat through your veins. “You talk a big game,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady, “but can you back it up?”

His eyes flashed with amusement and something else—something darker, hungrier. “Oh, I think you’ll find I’m very good at keeping my promises.” he replied softly, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours. “Especially the fun ones.”

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first, almost teasing, before deepening with a sudden intensity that made your head spin. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and you felt the world around you disappear, leaving just the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent a rush of heat through your body, your skin tingling everywhere he touched.

He broke the kiss, just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re full of surprises,” before diving back in, his kiss rougher this time, more insistent. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap in one swift movement. You gasped against his mouth, feeling the firmness of his body beneath you, the heat of his skin through the fabric of your clothes.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a low groan from him, a sound that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Satoru.” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips like a secret, and his response was a grin against your mouth, wicked and knowing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, his hands roaming up your back, sliding under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left trails of fire in their wake.

You didn’t answer, just kissed him harder, pressing your body against his, feeling the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. His lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your head tilting back to give him more access.

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. “Sensitive, are we?” he teased, but his voice was strained, as if he was barely holding himself back. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and pressing you down against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice breathless. “But I think you like that.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I do,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I like everything about you… so far.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, seeing the raw desire there, the need that mirrored your own. “Then maybe, Satoru, baby.” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his, “You should stop talking and show me.”

He grinned, a wicked, knowing grin that made your heart race. “Challenge accepted, doll.” he said, and then his lips were on yours again, his kiss consuming, his hands exploring, leaving no part of you untouched, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You looked at him and grinned. “Let me make you feel good, boy.”

“Make it happen then, lovely.” He steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his member.. Your eyes meeting him.

You held his gaze, your grin widening as you saw the anticipation flicker in his eyes, a mix of mischief and hunger that mirrored your own. “Oh, I will,baby.” you promised, your voice a low purr that seemed to send a shiver down his spine.

You let your gaze trail down his body, taking in the sight of his lean, toned form before letting your eyes settle on his length, now freed and hard. A spark of excitement danced through you, and you licked your lips, feeling a wave of heat wash over you as you dropped to your knees on the plush carpet, every movement slow and deliberate, keeping his attention locked on you.

Satoru watched you, his breath hitching, and you could feel his intense gaze on you, almost like a physical touch. Your hands reached up, fingertips brushing lightly against his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over his length. His eyes widened slightly, a soft exhale escaping his lips, and you could tell he was already on edge, trying to maintain his composure.

You looked up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze with a wicked grin. “Ready, Satoru?” you teased, your voice soft and sultry, letting the anticipation build for a moment longer.

His eyes darkened, a soft growl escaping him. “Stop teasing, doll.” he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, betraying his eagerness. “Do your worst.”

Without another word, you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to tease the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had formed there. Satoru sucked in a breath, his hips jerking slightly at the contact, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the effect you were already having on him.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him inch by inch into your mouth, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely. His hand moved to your hair, fingers threading through your strands, not pushing, but just holding, grounding himself in the sensation of your warm mouth around him.

You started to move, your mouth sliding up and down his length with slow, deliberate strokes, your tongue swirling around him, adding just enough pressure to draw soft, breathy moans from his lips. You glanced up at him, his head tipped back slightly, his mouth parted as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

“Fuck…..” he breathed, his voice strained, the hand in your hair tightening just a bit. “That’s… you’re good at this…”

You hummed around him, a low, vibrating sound that made his hips twitch, his fingers tightening in your hair. You felt a surge of triumph, your movements becoming bolder, faster, as you took him deeper, letting him feel the heat, the slick slide of your mouth, the way your lips tightened around him.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of pleasure escaping his lips, his usual confidence wavering under the intensity of your attention. His hips began to move with you, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into your mouth, and you welcomed it, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper still.

You felt his muscles tense under your hands, heard the low growl building in his throat, his fingers gripping your hair tighter as if he were holding on for dear life. “God… you’re driving me crazy, doll.” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his control slipping.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to speak, your breath warm against his length. “Good.” you whispered, your voice a husky murmur, “because I’m not stopping until you come undone for me, Satoru.”

He looked down at you, his eyes blazing with need, and you saw a flicker of surrender there, a flash of vulnerability that made your heart race. “Then don’t stop, doll.” he whispered back, his voice a low command. “Make me lose control.”

You grinned up at him before taking him back into your mouth, your movements faster, more deliberate, determined to bring him to the edge and push him over. You felt his body tighten, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hips thrusting in time with your movements, and you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes, a few more swirls of your tongue, you felt him shudder, his whole body tensing as he let out a low, deep moan, his release hitting hard and fast. His hand tightened in your hair as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a satisfied grin.

You pulled back slowly, watching him as he came down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. He opened his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Damn.” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re… something else.”

You smiled, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, feeling a flush of your own. “Told you I’d make you feel good.” you replied, your voice light, teasing.

He chuckled, pulling you up to your feet and closer to him, his hands resting on your hips. “I think you’ve more than proven your point.” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, his smile warm against your mouth. “But now… it’s my turn.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his touch moves with a deliberate, tender pressure. The sensation sends ripples of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch. Your back arches instinctively, your body pressing closer to his. Every touch, every movement feels electric, your emotions swirling in a beautiful, overwhelming storm.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss feels like a spark, igniting a fire that grows with every passing second. His hands glide along your back, pulling you closer still, as if he wants to feel every inch of you against him. Your breath quickens, matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat.

His gaze meets yours, a mix of tenderness and something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter. “I want to make you feel everything, baby doll.” he whispers, his voice low and filled with promise.

You feel a surge of anticipation, your senses heightened, every touch sending a shiver down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every curve and contour, as if memorizing you. You’re lost in the sensation, in the way he makes you feel cherished, wanted, and entirely his. The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared intimacy and unspoken connection.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a soft, satisfied hum, his smile widening against your skin. “Stay with me, ‘toru.” you breathe, the words escaping almost involuntarily, a plea and a declaration all at once.

His hold on you tightens, and he nods, his eyes filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. “Always.” he promises, sealing his vow with another lingering kiss that sends a wave of warmth through your entire being.

His hands roam down your sides with a deliberate slowness, tracing every curve as if savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips. His touch is both gentle and insistent, a wordless reminder of the connection between you. As his lips move back to yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more consuming, his tongue teasing yours in a dance that sets your nerves alight.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. Every movement is careful yet filled with an undeniable urgency. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your clothes, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Your breaths mingle, becoming heavier, the room thick with the electric charge of your shared desire.

He pulls back just enough to study your face, his gaze intense and filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you. “You’re so beautiful, doll.” he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. “Every part of you.” His hands move lower, caressing the sensitive skin of your waist, drawing a soft sigh from your lips.

You could feel the edges of your nails dig deep into Satoru’s back, leaving red marks once after another in the canvas of his supple skin. Each breath comes out in a shaky gasp, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch, his skin heating under your fingertips. He groans softly at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you deeply, hungrily.

“‘Toru…baby….” you gasp out between moans, voice trembling with need. “You feel so good, goddddd…”

Your hips move instinctively against his hand, seeking that delicious friction, chasing the elusive climax that seems tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. You wondered where he has been all your life, where has this pleasure been all your life.

He smiles against your lips, his voice a low whisper, almost teasing. “I’ve got you, doll.” he murmurs, his fingers pressing deeper, moving with a slow, rhythmic intensity that makes you cry out softly. “Let me take you there.”

Satoru’s thumb circles gently, adding a different sensation, his eyes fixed on yours, watching every expression, every shudder of pleasure that passes over your face. His other hand is firm on your waist, guiding your movements, coaxing you closer, pulling you toward that edge with a deliberate slowness that drives you mad.

You feel the tension build inside you, every nerve ignited by his touch, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Satoru… baby....please…” you beg, the need in your voice is unmistakable.

He chuckles softly, his breath hot against your ear. “I love hearing you say my name like that, doll.” he whispers, his touch becoming more insistent, more purposeful. The heat between you grows, every sensation amplified by the intensity of the moment, his pace quickening, matching the desperate rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your body arches toward him, every inch of you attuned to his movements, and you feel yourself spiraling, that sweet ache within you growing sharper, hotter. His fingers find that perfect spot, and suddenly, you’re lost to the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, your body trembling, a moan of pure ecstasy escaping your lips as Gojo holds you close, his name a soft prayer on your lips.

“I’ll eat you out later, doll. I promise.” Satoru whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a playful promise that sends a shiver down your spine. “But right now… I need to be inside you.”

He positions himself between your spread legs, leaning down to tease the head of his member against your hungry, slick folds, rubbing himself gently against you. Each movement is torturously slow, spreading your wetness across both of you, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips. He watches your reactions with a smirk, his bright blue eyes darkened with desire.

Looking up at you, Satoru grins, his expression mischievous and full of intent. “Let’s do something else for now.” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. He starts to push into you slowly, stretching you inch by inch, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively arching to take him deeper. You can feel every part of him, the way he fills you perfectly, the way your body molds around him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves further, a low groan escaping his throat. “You feel incredible, baby doll.” he breathes, his voice rough with pleasure, his control hanging by a thread.

Your nails dig even harder into his shoulders as he continues to push in, stretching you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips, his voice softer, seeking reassurance even amidst his own urgency.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m okay… more than okay, ‘toru.” you murmur, a breathy moan escaping you as he begins to move again, slowly pulling back before thrusting in, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

His pace quickens, each thrust more intense, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to draw every sound, every sigh, from your lips. His name falls from your mouth in a mix of gasps and pleas, and he responds with a low growl, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

Satoru’s hands wander, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip, guiding you into his rhythm. Every movement feels perfectly timed, perfectly in sync, as if he knows exactly what you need, where to touch, how to move to drive you to the brink of ecstasy.

“God, I love the way you feel, doll.” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace becomes relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Your body tightens around him, drawing him deeper, the heat between you building to a crescendo, and you feel yourself start to unravel.

“Don’t hold back.” he urges, his voice thick with need, his eyes locked on yours. “Let go, doll… I want to feel you come undone.”

And with those words, everything inside you shatters in a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. Your body trembles, your breath catches, and you call out his name, your world reduced to the feeling of him moving within you, holding you, as you both reach for that beautiful, shared climax.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

epilogue

You were exhausted. But you still had a curfew and your mother would be looking for you by now. When Satoru heard that, he immediately jumped up and said he'll take you home.

As you both fumbled to put your clothes back on in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, Gojo’s mischievous grin didn’t fade for a second. His white shirt was still unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, and his pants were inside out — not that he seemed to care.

You tugged your shirt over your head, smoothing down your hair with a breathless laugh. "You look like you got dressed in the dark." you teased, glancing at the ridiculous state of his attire.

Gojo chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well, to be fair, I was a bit distracted by you, doll."

Rolling your eyes, you gave his chest a light push. "Sure, blame me for your lack of coordination."

He winked and, with a dramatic flair, flipped his sunglasses back on, even though it was well past midnight. "Oh, definitely. It’s always your fault when I can't keep my hands to myself."

You both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. Finally, Gojo took a deep breath, still grinning but with a hint of sincerity creeping into his voice. "So… now that I've seen you at your best — and, uh, at your most undressed — how about a date?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "A date? Like… a normal date?"

He nodded, his expression surprisingly earnest despite the disheveled hair and the inside-out pants. "Yeah, you know, the kind where I take you out, we eat something that isn't each other, maybe even talk about our feelings."

You snorted, trying to stifle your giggles. "You sure you can handle that, Satoru? The whole talking thing sounds like a lot of work for you."

He dramatically clutched his chest as if wounded. "Ouch, doll, that hurt. But yes, I think I could manage… if it means I get to see you smile like that again."

You pretended to consider it for a moment, then shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. But I’m picking the place, and you’re wearing your pants the right way this time."

Gojo laughed, pulling you into his arms. "Deal. As long as you promise to wear something that makes me lose at poker again."

You smirked, leaning in close. "Oh, I think I can arrange that."

And as you both laughed, tangled in each other’s arms, the idea of a "normal" date didn't sound so bad after all.

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nelkcats · 1 year ago

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Immortal Nanny

Bruce Wayne had never been a father. He knew what it was like to be a good father, and he knew what good fathers should be like, but adopting Richard was an impulse, a moment when he decided to give a child the comfort he needed, as he himself had needed in the past.

But just because he knew and understood didn't mean he could do it, or that he could become a good father instantly. Alfred would be a great help, of course, but it was he who had to raise the boy, Alfie was too old to start raising another child.

So, it was only natural that he forgot all about his busy life as "Brucie Wayne", adopting Dick hadn't stopped the million interviews or meetings, and while Alfred was extremely capable, Bruce still decided to hire a nanny.

Daniel Nightingale was a bit of an outsider (in a good way), he was studying at Gotham U, and was doing very well in his chosen career; though his records were strangely empty, Bruce knew he could trust him. His tired look and the shy smile he gave him upon arriving at the mansion was enough to calm his concerns.

Perhaps it was because he was just starting out as Batman at the time that he didn't investigate further.

Anyway, Dick loved Danny, from that first day, he used to tell Bruce about his "adventures" and how much fun he had. On one occasion he even told him they had a snowball fight (which confused him, because it was July but he was too tired to question the excited kid).

So, Danny became Dick's, and later Jason's, official nanny. He never complained and always smiled. The boy got along quite well with Alfred and would attend to any emergency, although he was never involved in the vigilante business.

It was only after Jason's death, when Tim arrived, that someone began to question Danny. Tim wasn't sure about Danny, there were a lot of things...that just didn't fit, and if the old photos of the mansion were any indication, the nanny wasn't getting any older.

Dick wasn't ten anymore and that was pretty obvious, but Danny looked exactly the same. Tim frowned, puzzled as to how no one had investigated such an oddity before. Alfred simply looked at him with an amused smile. He wondered how long it would take for the family to notice the (rather obvious) secrets of the elusive nanny.

Alfred couldn't blame the boy, the easiest way to hide something was in plain sight. And he knew the halfa would never hurt his family.

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pathologicalreid · 7 months ago

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fluff masterlist

main masterlist

note: italicized titles denote requests

spencer reid x fem!reader

clue: in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

doctor and doctor: in which you add a degree to your repertoire

newly creds: in which the BAU team wants to see your newly issued credentials

nicknames: in which you meet the team for the first time, and receive your first nickname

attention: in which you attempt to get your boyfriends attention

fluorescent: in which spencer rambles about rocks and you get distracted

drop: in which reid seems to be there every time you drop something

occupational hazard: in which you and spencer have a discussion about the dangers of his job.

in sickness and in health: minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

cryptic: you and spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams

breakfast in bed: your boyfriend surprises you with breakfast in bed to celebrate spring break

in plain sight: your quick thinking (in an attempt to protect him) leads to a very thankful spencer

puzzling: trying to tell spencer you're pregnant, but he's too concerned with your well-being to fill out your custom crossword puzzle

red flags: spencer protects you from a drunkard

(lack of) convenience: the power of suggestion leads you to take a pregnancy test while you're on a case - and it's positive

three's a family: you and spencer are surprised to find out that you're pregnant, while you're already in labor (yes, this is a second cryptic pregnancy fic)

pure and applied chemistry: your boyfriend picks you up as a surprise at your chemistry lab (biochemist!reader)

separation anxiety: spencer's first case back from paternity leave involves children, so a concerned party reaches out to you

orange juice: you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not sure how to go about it

a special occasion: moving your daughter into a toddler bed brings about some interesting conversation

kindergarten crush: when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to question you

goads and goats: telling your dad (who's also your boss) you're pregnant ends in him giving spencer a hard time

a league of your own: when your boyfriend seemingly evolves, you resign yourself to the feeling of being left behind

fishbowl: you offer to bring spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU.

dewey decimal system: in which spencer does the most spencer activity first thing in the morning - reorganizing your bookshelves

amorphous: your first ultrasound goes exactly how you'd expected it to, but not exactly how you'd wanted it to

sweet talker: in which french!reader gets caught using a special nickname for a particular genius

litmus test: in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

blue ribbon: in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

first snow: in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

spencer reid x gn!reader:

heatmiser: spencer takes care of you when he comes home to find you sick

running on empty: spencer makes a bet to go without coffee and ends up foregoing all caffeine

spencer reid x platonic!fem!BAU!reader

neophyte (2): in which dr. reid gives advice to help you cope with the requirements of your new job

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds masterlist #spencer reid masterlist #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #margot's masterlists

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

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wishful thinking. (masterpost)

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; individual warnings for each part

current word count: 31.5k+

listen to 🎧: the playlist

updated: 28.08.2024

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / main masterlist / taglist / ko-fi

chapter index:

one: flutter / intro (2.3k) ⤷ neither of you owes the other anything at all.

two: in plain sight (4.9k) ⤷ “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re jealous of him.”

three: puzzle pieces (3.2k) ⤷ there’s something about today. some lines, blurred.

four: spring daffodils (3.5k) ⤷ your axis shifts. it’s overwhelming just how much you want to be good for him.

five: say what you mean (2.8k) ⤷ “did anything change for you?”

six: like lightning (4.9k) ⤷ it strikes you the same way lightning splits open the whole sky on a cloudless night, abrupt and unmistakeable.

seven: built to break (4.3k) ⤷ “time for yourself, or time away from me?”

seven.5: limbo (5.6k) ⤷ you were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. he was watching you.

...

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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azullumi · 8 months ago

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“lyra” ; dazai osamu

summary — the many times you felt loved by him and the one where a confession happened.

pairing — dazai osamu (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (kind of), utilization of the friends to lovers trope, slightly proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs

note — i literally haven’t written for him for years now and i swear i lost my mind and pulled my hair,, i could have done this better !?

Dazai is unpredictable.

In more ways than one, he is erratic, able to conceal his intentions beneath that long trench coat of his, tucked in the loose parts of his bandages, hidden somewhere only he can see. He is the definition of an enigma, he is more than a puzzle, not just a paradox that continues to exist despite death being the only companion and comforting thing to him—a man of mystery that is better left unknown.

“My, you always look as ethereal and beautiful as a lotus blossom.” The dark-haired man says as he holds your hand in his, his finger delicately tracing the lines of your palm, and his eyes looked softer than usual, his gaze holding something that lies between the line of affection and seduction. Sparkles and flowers seem to bloom behind him, the background of the cafe fading and turning into a plain pink one with hearts that float around his figure.

(Flirty.)

He’s fluent in the language of amorous words laced with playfulness accompanied with gentle touches and slow caresses on your skin. He doesn’t hesitate in getting close, invading your space and going over the line, and maybe he’ll show that he is into you but only a fool would think of his words as genuine affection meant for you and only you.

“My eternal light to the darkness, would you be willing to—” However, he’s unable to finish his sentence as you take your hand back from him, offering him a smile instead as you subtly set a distance between the both of you—as if you were telling him to never cross the line, to stay at an arms’ distance.

“Good morning, Dazai. What brings you here to the cafe?”

Fortunately, you weren’t a fool.

“Ah, rejection again, I see.” The pink background that blooms behind me seemingly shifts into a dark one as the man’s expression contorts into a mix of sadness and disappointment, all displayed in an overly dramatic way; his form is slumped, faux tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, and his lips are in a pout. The sound of a short (mirth) laughter is heard from you—you’ve gotten used to this sight of him, of his dramatic expressions, and flirty approaches just to ask you something ridiculous.

“I’m here for you.” He says.

(And persistent.)

You have witnessed evidence of his persistence expressed in his words and actions every time he’s free from any of his work and he comes to the cafe you work at (his definition of free is escaping from his responsibilities and choosing to slack off). He’ll always take the opportunity to hold your hand, whisper such affectionate words only one would say to their lover, and he’ll kiss your skin so gently as if it was made from glass.

That was what happened in the first meeting between you and him—first day on your work in this cafe and just as you were serving the order of this loud group that the owner is acquainted with, you caught the eye of the man covered in bandages and dressed in a somewhat messy yet orderly way. Then you know how it went and from then on, Dazai doesn’t let the chance to bother you slip from his grasp.

But you don’t fall for it, never would you. You’re not supposed to and you’re not going to. He has said such similar things to other people who he deems beautiful or attractive, he has touched others and tainted them with his caresses the same way he did with yours, his lips have felt the softness of others’ skin, not only yours. You’d be stupid enough to think that there’s something more lingering in the depths of his voice, something different that tugs at his tone and threatens it to break.

The two of you are just friends, maybe even less than that.

“Where’s Kunikida?” You ask him, eyes roaming around to look for a single strand of golden but there was nothing. You failed to notice the falter in the expression of the man before you, tension seeping into his features for a moment before it eases at the mention of another man’s name. You continue, “Are you slac—” only to be interrupted by the sound of the door chime ringing followed by a set of heavy footfalls.

A loud shout of Dazai’s name is heard, echoing off the brick-patterned walls of the place, as Kunikida enters. There was a furious look on his face, nose fuming as he spotted the one he was looking for and as soon as he did, Kunikida smacked the back of Dazai’s head. There goes it, you know how this would unfold, how everything would happen—you’re used to it, having already seen this scene enough times to tell how it would end: Kunikida will scold Dazai, calls him with a new nickname (it’s President of Wasted Bandages this time), drags him outside but before that, he’ll apologize on behalf of his co-worker’s behavior, and you’ll wave at them as they leave.

“Why do you always come to ruin good moments, Kunikida? Do you not wish to see me happy?”

“Happy?! Maybe if you stop slacking off, you'll be happy.”

You could hear their distant argument and you heave out a sigh when they disappear from your sight, the smile fading from your lips as the loneliness looms over your figure. Silence rests heavily on your shoulders and you ignore the ache in your chest.

The cafe is located on the first floor where the detective agency is and you work alongside a waitress and a kind owner. Members of the agency are often seen frequenting the place, thus you’ve become familiar with their faces, memorized their names, and even learned some things about themselves. Honestly, it’s all simple for you; you have a nice and peaceful job (ignoring the chaos around you and the occasional disturbance from Dazai), and you’re being paid well. What else could you ever wish for? It was all serene for you.

Not this time though.

It seems like luck has run out for you seeing that you’re bound on the ground right at this moment, becoming a hostage to a small criminal group. Everything that happened prior feels like a blur, you remember men suddenly entering the cafe with guns and threatening everyone, you remember them hurting the owner, and you remember being taken away. They want to use you as bait, a guarantee for the detective agency so that they will bite and get lured into the criminals’ trap, or whatever they were telling you earlier. You weren’t listening—maybe you were but their words just passed from one ear to another—, hands curled into a fist as it trembled, the cold floor felt like spikes stabbing into your skin, and as the rope dug into your skin.

Afraid? Perhaps you were. It’s not everyday you get a gun pointed at you and a man threatening your life. Is this how you’re going to die?

You try to distract and ease yourself by thinking of other things, your mind drifting to somewhere else instead of staying at where you are—the cat that you occasionally see across the street, the passing cars you’ll see outside the window, the music playing from the vinyl in the cafe, the ringing of the chime as the door opens, and the dark-haired man and eyes that reflect the earth. Dazai with his never-ending tab, with his continuous ridiculous offers, his dramatic expressions, his stupid whims, the way he would always annoy you as if it was a daily requirement, his messy bangs that frames his face, his words that poke and probe at your being, and his—

You are snapped out of your thoughts, a familiar voice calling your name, coming into the stream of your senses, and pulling you out of the daze that you are in.

“Dazai?” Something is drowning in the pools of his eyes, lurking in the depths, and the way he looks at you is different. The usual calm in his expression is disturbed by a mixture of emotions—like rain droplets on a surface of still water—, anger, worry, care merging into the gentle lines of his features. Your hands that were once bound were free, though your wrists are left with marks from the rope bindings and you could still feel the way it burns on your skin.

“What happened? Why are you here? Are you hurt? Did you come alone? How did you find me?” Many questions came pouring out of your mouth but your voice trembles as you speak, tone unstable as the words fall and shatter on the ground. Dazai only lets you, your form crumbling and he holds your pieces in his hand, and he assures you: “Everything is alright.”

He continues, taking off his coat to wrap it around your form, “Were you scared?” And you meekly nod, knowing that your voice will only betray you. Dazai doesn’t say anything and only pulls you close to him, embracing you in his arms (“I’m sorry I took so long.”). There was the scent of his perfume accompanied with a trace of gunpowder when you buried your face on his chest—you feel a sense of relief, comfort and warmth that makes its way through your thoughts and the feeling of suffocation slowly leaves you.

He draws small circles on your back as he tries to soothe you, “You’re safe now.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he inhales the smell of your hair. (You’ve never had him this close before, this soft, this warm. It feels like the man you have known him as before were all fabrications from your illusive mind and the one before you is a different person.)

He brings your hand towards his lips and he presses a kiss on your pulse, right where the marks of your wrists are, ever so gently, ever so sweetly, “Nobody will hurt you ever again.”

You descend down the flight of stairs leading to a basement—a bar tucked away and hidden in plain sight. You’ve only known of it all thanks to a certain blabbermouth, he said it’s his favorite place to go. When you arrive, the interior shifts to a dimly-lit one with warm lights illuminating the whole place in contrast to the dark and foggy street outside. There’s the sound of jazz softly playing in the background, setting the tranquil ambience the whole bar carries.

And there he is, the man of the hour, basking underneath the golden glow. Sitting on the stool by the end of the counter, he has a glass of whiskey settled in front of him.

“I didn’t expect for you to actually come.” Dazai speaks, his voice molding into the gentleness of the song playing.

“I was curious. Though I didn’t know you'd be here at the same time.”

“Come sit.” He pats the spot beside him and you follow. You order something to drink as you sit and a glass is served in front of you after a few minutes. Silence crept up to the both of you as you didn’t say anything—and you wish you could read his mind at this moment, to know the thoughts that plagues his mind—and the stillness was an unbearable kind;

You begin, “Do you always come here?”

Dazai takes a sip from his glass before he answers, “Just often.”

“I see.” And before the silence could last even longer, you spoke once more: “You haven’t been coming to the cafe lately.”

“Why? Did you miss me? Are you finally going to take up my—“

“No.” He muttered a small “aw” at your firm rejection. “You still have an unpaid tab.” And he groans at that while you chuckle, finding amusement in the way his expression crumpled.

The sound of your laughter dies down after a few moments, trailing off to a gentle mutter of an: “Thank you.”

“For?” He asks, even if he already knows what you’re talking about.

“For back then.” For giving you his coat as he noticed you shivering, for assuring you that everything is okay and you’re not going to be harmed anymore, for blocking your sight of the men’s bodies that laid like lifeless corpses on the ground, for protecting you.

It has been weeks since it occurred but you could still feel the warmth of his body against yours and maybe his scent will linger no matter how much you try to wash it, and maybe you’ll have to forever carry the thought, the wishful thinking that maybe there’s something more. And maybe it’s the alcohol making him light-headed but three words are whispered to the air that settles in the space between you and him.

“I like you.”

#— STARCROSSED 2024 !!#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x you #bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #dazai fluff #dazai imagines #azul.writes

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whispereons · 1 year ago

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 20

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 19, Part 21

1K special

Warning! This is yandere, sagau imposter au so expect lots of gore in the series. This chapter is tame in comparison to the others.

The moon glimmers in the starlit sky as a hand brushes against your newly scarred skin. Eyelashes fluttering, your vision begins to focus on the plain ceiling above you.

A coarse groan leaves your cracked lips as you flinch from the sudden pressure on your stomach. The hand quickly retreats as a pale green blob comes into view.

"...are…eeling?" The voice is barely picked up as your ears ring. Squinting your eyes, you swallow the dried saliva tasting faintly of blood.

"W-Who?" The word is coughed out as your throat struggles to form the words. Before you can ask for water, a cup is brought to your lips. The cold water brings sweet relief to your parched body.

Your senses begin to sharpen and clarity is brought back to your vision. Baizhu stands next to your bed helping you drink from the cup, though Changsheng isn't wrapped around his neck like she normally would be.

The water runs out and he draws the cup away. "How are you feeling? Your body is technically healed of its major injuries but it's still trying to adjust. The pain will continue to persist for a long while."

"I feel better than before." The reply is automatic as your hand twitches in an effort to move your muscles. The recollection of what had even brought you to Baizhu's care is a slow trickle as you process his words.

Shenhe, Yelan, the treasure hoarders, the fall and Qiqi are slotted into your memory like perfect puzzle pieces. The small pitter-patter of footsteps coming closer to you and the sound of metal being set down goes unheard by you as you focus on sitting up.

Soreness and exhaustion are impossibly heavy weights as you struggle to lift your body a few inches away from the mattress. Gentle hands support your body, along with much smaller ones on your other side.

"Thank you…" Your words are choked out between your bitten lips as a dull ache plagues your body. Clenching the blanket in your fists, you sigh in relief as a cold compress is applied to your bare back.

Wait, your bare back?

The strangeness is not lost on you as you look down at yourself. A thin hospital-like gown is all that you seem to be wearing with the blanket pooled around your waist. It takes a second for you to properly process what this means for you before you’re frantically reaching up to your face.

“No need to fret, your mask was left untouched during the treatment.”

It seems to be the truth, as your fingertips are met with cool porcelain and flaking blood. Not to mention the casual way Baizhu is speaking to you and the lack of Millelith guards swarming you.

Licking your chapped lips, you eventually arrive at the question: where do you go now? Ningguang would surely kill you if she finds out you’re still alive. Zhongli is still expecting an answer, god knows what Yelan would do and Shenhe is a wild card-

The thoughts racing in your mind are abruptly cut off as a metal tray is plopped onto your lap. A warm bowl of soup and yogurt with a soft pastel color greeted you. The refilled cup of water placed on your bedside is ignored as your mouth waters at the sight of the meal.

“Clear chicken carrot soup and fruit-flavored yogurt.” A child-like, monotonous voice comments with a deeper melodic voice following up. “I would have had food suited to your taste, but you hadn’t awoken until now. Are you allergic to anything?”

“Nope.” You replied by popping the ‘p’ before pulling the tray closer and picking up the utensils. Allergies didn’t concern your ravenous mind, as your dormant stomach awakened painfully at the smell of food. Who knows, maybe your creator buff will also prevent any allergic reactions.

An upside to being the creator was something you desperately needed after the saga of pure bullshit you’ve been through.

Baizhu gently directs Qiqi out of the room after instructing her a message you couldn’t bother to hear as you gulp down the food. When he returns, he sits next to you as the moonlight shines down from the window.

“Let me explain your previous and current state while you eat. Qiqi brought you in with multiple minor injuries, a few stab wounds, head trauma, elemental damage, with fractured and broken bones. That’s not even mentioning the severe blood loss and infections beginning to manifest on your poorly healed past injuries.” Each description is like a stab to the heart, with the visualization of your passed out body arriving to Baizhu on death's doorstep crystal clear.

“Thankfully your body reacted well with my elemental healing so the life-threatening wounds were healed, without infections, and your critical condition was toned down. That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”

The soup and yogurt is picked clean, leading you to gulp down the water next. Looking at him, you open your mouth to ask for more food when he cuts you off firmly. “Don’t bother asking for food, the arrows didn’t hit your lungs or heart, but your abdominal organs weren’t spared. You’ll be stuck with light meals until I’m positive it’s safe.”

Resisting a scoff, you ask him. “So what’s my current condition? Will I have to stay here overnight? Hold on, can I even afford that? How much did this treatment even cost?!”

“Please calm down, Y/N.”

“How did you-”

“Your name was etched onto the bag that Qiqi brought along. As for payment, there’s no need to worry. You had a rather generous benefactor that has given us more then enough mora to cover your total cost in every possible scenario.”

That was suspicious beyond belief, but you didn’t have a reason not to believe Baizhu either. Baizhu would have healed you even without payment, but not being in debt was ideal.

This benefactor either wants something from you, wants to kill you themselves, or knows you personally.

A few people come to mind that could fit your suspicions but with so little knowledge you couldn’t confirm anything. Instead, you asked. “Isn’t doctor-patient confidentiality a thing? Did they leave any message for me?”

If Baizhu was surprised, then he hid it well. “She knew your name and appearance, though I never confirmed that you were here. She simply left the money and a verbal message asking you to have dinner with her tomorrow at 1800 in Xinyue Kiosk. But please be aware that I’m not forcing this, whether you would like me to refund the money so you can avoid interacting with her or not is completely up to you.”

Shaking your head, you declined it. “I’ll go. Since everything is paid for by her, does that also include any medicine I have to take for whatever current injuries I still have?”

“That’s right. I’m mostly prescribing supplements for the blood loss and fluid imbalance. Some are for the bones that broke, even repaired they might cause problems, so calcium intake is also important. A simple drug for your immune system, as your body's defenses are relatively low from the wounds. As well as per needed fever and pain medications.”

… You didn’t want to imagine the cost of those medications, let alone the treatment. A dinner in the most expensive restaurant in Liyue within the city with an unknown woman isn't that bad.

You've met people in worst locations and survived this long.

Pushing back the lingering worry, you focused on Baizhu’s explanation over what condition your body is in, what time to take the medicine and any other problems that could arise. It was boring, but you weren’t looking to get sick from your own stupidity.

The conversation had gone as you expected for a while until he brought up a strange topic. Flipping through a few papers, Baizhu steered the topic onto your- “Scars. Many of what you suffered from will leave new scars on your body. It’s the old scars that were peculiar.”

Knowing your luck, your scars must also be known to them. But you weren’t going to bring it up if he didn’t.

“They are imbued and cultivated with a power that is strikingly familiar, yet foreign. It actually perfectly correlates with my researched point of interest. I wanted to ask your permission on getting a sample of it before your discharge.”

That was a risky request. Your face stayed neutral as you thought to yourself. The consequences could be minor, but what if it became another situation of an accidental connection to the Creator again?

Looking back at the smiling snaked eye man, you opened your mouth to respond when he suddenly gave the fakest gasp.

“I almost forgot to mention that your old scar formations are the exact locations of the Creator’s real scars! This along with everything else I’ve seen is almost enough for me to report this to the Mille-”

“For fuck's sake just take it.” You could be excused for not playing mind games this time, being nearly dead should be enough reason for a day off.

“I want some form of compensation, though!” Being stupidly tired is a different matter then being just plain stupid.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll most likely take the sample sometime tomorrow before your discharge. So please, tell me what you have in mind by noon tomorrow so I can fetch it in time.”

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that Baizhu would ask this of you. Your body has clearly undergone some changes as you lived in Teyvat and Baizhu is dead set on finding a way to be immortal.

There was a time you had wondered if you might be immortal due to being the creator, so maybe Baizhu can figure it out with your sample.

“The last thing I want to address before you rest is-” Baizhu is cut off by a knock on the door. He glances at you, asking permission to open the door with his eyes before you nod firmly. Qiqi walked in earlier without knocking, so maybe it’s a visitor? But considering how late it is, maybe you were wrong…

“Come in Qiqi and bring the visitor in too.”

The door opens slowly as you watch Qiqi walk in stiffly with a yawning girl following her in at a similar height. Long light brown hair is loose as the girl rubs her eyes tiredly.

“Hello Dr. Baizhu, I came back to check one last time if the oracle- Oh!” Caramel colored eyes widen at the sight of you sitting on the bed, and the girl hurriedly gives a polite bow. A yellow plush bunny is smooshed in her arms in the process.

“Hello, pardon my rudeness. My name is Yaoyao and I was sent by my master to check on you! It’s my honor to make your acquaintance, Y/N, or would you rather me call you by the oracle title?”

The ‘little adult’ looks different without the decorative bells she usually wears in her tied up hair, but the bunny was a dead give away. You smile at the nervous girl while wondering just who told her about you being an oracle.

Baizhu was giving you a look that basically screamed suspicion.

“You can just call me Y/N. By master, you mean Madame Ping, right?” Yaoyao beams at that as she steps closer.

“That’s correct, we learned about you from the other Adepti and Xiangling.” You should have known. “When we heard that you were here, I was sent on my Master's orders and Ganyu’s concern. Visitors weren’t allowed earlier, but I wanted to check one last time.”

Ganyu too? That basically guarantees Ningguang, Keqing, Zhongli and even more knowing that you’re here. But more importantly was the fact that Baizhu investigated anything connected to the Adepti for his immortality quest.

You could only hope that Baizhu would be happy with a basic explanation and the sample of your scar tissue as promised.

“Visitors was the last topic I wanted to address.” Baizhu smoothly joins as he gets up from his seat and heads toward a desk on the far side of the room. A small pile of letters and a pile of gifts sit on the table next to your bag. How didn’t you notice it before?

“After a patient here noticed you before she was discharged, she and her guardian left you a letter with a present. I believe she may have been the one to spread it, but I ask you to kindly not hold anger against her. She’s rather young.”

So the little leaker was a child? It could be one of the kids you saved, but none of them could really afford to go to Baizhu. Not that he would have denied them but most children in that situation don’t go unless on the verge of death or pushed by an adult.

“It’s okay, I’ll look through the stuff in the morning.” As if on cue, Yaoyao fails to hide a yawn as she walks to stand next to your bed.

“Auntie Cloud Retainer and the rest of the Adepti told Master what happened on Mt. Aocang. Master really wants to meet you, so if you have any time to spare, please pay her a visit here at the Yujing Terrace near the Yiyan temple.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you make a mental note of that before asking Yaoyao a question in return.

“Just how many people in general know that I’m here? I know quite a few people and Qiqi being here must have been quite a spectacle… But surely it must not have been too much considering that it was the middle of the night.”

The nervous expression on Yaoyao face dashes away any hopes you had.

“Sorry Y/N but a lot of the city was speaking about you. Even nature and the animals kept mentioning you! Though they were a little more vague. If it helps, most people know you as a masked person rather than your name.”

Sighing, you don’t even bother hiding the distaste on your face. Changing masks wouldn’t do much and you sure as hell can’t remove it either, leaving you with the sole option of leaving.

Leaving before anyone else can attack you in this fast-pace city filled with greed and ambition. If you stayed here any longer, you’ll surely be pulled into whatever new situation happens and only get more attention.

The dinner you had first worried about is almost miniscule compared to the threat of Yelan and Shenhe knowing your location. More so, Yelan as she has an obligation to get rid of you due to her job rather than Shenhe’s emotional motive.

Your mind replays the last bit of your fight where you had touched the waypoint and- Oh fuck. Groaning, you dumped your face into your hands as Yaoyao watched you worriedly. Her worried calls rolled off you like waves as you remember how the teleport waypoint glowed in front of everyone.

That’s a complete group of people, treasure hoarders nonetheless, that saw you activate it. Yelan could use that information and the witnesses in whatever stupidly clever way she wants!

Yaoyao looks back at Baizhu confused as he shakes his head silently. Qiqi picks up a glass of coconut milk and begins to walk towards you with it before Baizhu blocks her way.

Fingers digging into your scalp, you resist the urge to pull your hair as you bite your still slightly bruised lips. The realization of what kind of ammo you gave Yelan was killing you.

Baizhu takes the glass from Qiqi and puts it back down before handing her a glass of water. Qiqi stares blankly at Baizhu before switching the glasses again. As the two continuously switch cups, Yaoyao rummages in her bag.

A sting of pain begins to grow as you get dangerously closer to the recently healed head wound. The smell of something sweet yet earthy snaps you out of your stress-fueled self depreciation as small hands pry your rough ones away.

“Please be careful Y/N, Dr. Baizhu is a great doctor but you shouldn’t hurt yourself like this. Have a candied date, it's golden honey flavored and works great to get rid of the bitter medicinal taste that he prescribes.”

It didn’t smell too bad, so you hesitantly took it from her hands and glanced back at Baizhu in case he tries to confiscate it. With his back safely turned, you pop the candied date into your mouth.

It’s a nice taste and it does work well as a distraction from your worries. “Thank you Yaoyao.” Your hand reaches out instinctively and pats her head. “The Creator views you fondly and one day your fate will intersect with the creator’s just like it did with the Adepti.”

The lie flows smoothly from your mouth as she smiles brightly up at you. Her eyes move down to the blanket as she responds. “I still don’t quite know what that means, but I’m sure I’ll be able to properly appreciate it once I’m older.”

Qiqi joins you both and hands you a glass of water that you take from her gratefully. Your hand leaves Yaoyao’s head to rest on the bed, making Qiqi look away with a pout. Before you can question the unexpected reaction, Baizhu redirects the conversation.

“I understand that you hold some valid concerns over your safety, Y/N. This situation isn’t one we deal with frequently, but we do have measures in place.”

The look you send him speaks a thousand words as he sighs and adds. “Free of charge, of course, as it counts as patient confidentiality.”

“Bubu’s Pharmacy has tight security measures and Millelith frequent the area due to it being near the Yiyan Temple and the Welkin Temple.” You were 100% sure that the second temple did not exist before you came here. “Me and Qiqi both reside here and as experienced vision holders, you’ll be in safe hands.”

Nodding in understanding, you can’t deny that it felt safer knowing you weren’t going to be left alone. Your body was still exhausted and in the midst of healing so you didn’t have much energy to defend yourself with if Ningguang were to send another person after you.

“Qiqi doesn’t sleep much, so she’ll keep an eye out for anything amiss.” And you were right back to feeling anxious. Baizhu was relaxed as he tidied up the room, while Yaoyao spoke softly to Qiqi.

Glancing at the zombie child, you repeated the mantra to yourself that anyone could be a DPS in Genshin. You just needed to check her equipment before bed.

Yaoyao turns back to you with a sleepy smile. “I’ll be taking my leave now. I wish you a swift recovery, and I look forward to seeing you again with my Master.” With a casual wave, you let that be your only farewell as you drink the glass of water Qiqi handed you earlier.

Baizhu pats his clothing down as he calls out to Yaoyao right as she opens the door.

“Oh Yaoyao, since you’ll be relaying the message to Madam Ping and Ganyu, please have Ganyu tell Ningguang about Y/N’s acceptance to dinner for me as well.”

The water you were drinking goes down the wrong way at those words.

Coughing, you yank the glass away as you look back up to the surprised Baizhu. “Did you say Ningguang? Was she the one who paid for everything and asked for the dinner?”

Baizhu smiles pleasantly with little regard for your shaky tone as he nods. There goes every flicker of hope you had that Ningguang wasn’t your benefactor.

Every drop of blood your body synthesized to restore you back to normal is drained as you pale at the confirmation. Just how the hell did you manage to meet Zhongli, Yelan, and Ningguang!?

They are all people you wanted to avoid, and you definitely shouldn’t have met, considering the fact that people pay to even get an hour with Ningguang, let along a whole ass dinner invite!

Was there some stupid rule that goes along with being the creator making you meet nearly every acolyte that exists?

So busy cursing yourself and the entirety of Teyvat out, you don’t notice how Baizhu corrals Yaoyao out of the room before heading to you, as Qiqi watches from the sidelines.

“My, my you’ve gone pale at the news Y/N.” Baizhu’s glasses glint a little from the flickering lantern illuminating the room. He smiles down at you with half-lidded eyes that stare at you strangely.

“I didn’t realize that I forgot to tell you who it was. If you decide to, we can always cancel it and send a priority letter before discussing a payment plan.”

Squinting your eyes, you shake your head ‘no’ as you try to read the simultaneously shady yet reckless doctor. It didn’t seem like he had any malicious intentions, as he very much did mean to hide it. But you can’t be sure that he had any good intentions either.

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to discussing alternate ways of paying that don’t require mora.” …Yeah, no matter what way you put it or how clean Baizhu keeps his reputation. One can not simply not be seen as shady while going around saying stuff like that.

So not only is Baizhu showing signs of that strange attachment in a matter of hours, but Ningguang decided to suddenly switch her tactics. From ‘investigate and kill if deemed a threat’ to ‘generous wealthy person that totally isn’t covering up a crime’.

Could you possibly get Yanfei to sue Ningguang if you aren’t poisoned at the dinner?

Maybe, but that’s all riding on the chance that you aren’t killed in some coincidental accident before then. Waving away the pessimistic and slightly comical thoughts, you look up at Baizhu as he dims the lantern.

“The pharmacy opens at 0900 in the morning. Are you willing to take visitors from that point on till your discharge at 1300?” Briefly looking at the letters and gifts, you nod silently.

Baizhu’s smile doesn’t waver as he responds casually. “Many people will be happy to hear that Y/N, you seem quite popular.”

He opens the door before kneeling to Qiqi’s height. “The last order I have for you tonight is to keep watch over Y/N and protect them if need be. Understand?”

Qiqi tilts her head at that and blandly states. “Order received. Order cannot be processed. Original intended function still active and in place.”

Baizhu frowns at that as you look at Qiqi curiously. His expression quickly smooths back to a calm smile as he stands up. “As long as the ending is the same, then I don’t mind.”

He glances at you one last time as the door creaks open to show the dark hallway. Slitted eyes meet yours, full of curiosity and intrigue. They almost glow as he steps into the hallway with Qiqi in tow before the door closes softly.

Sighing in relief, you flop back onto the bed and roll in the covers for a position that won’t put pressure on your aching muscles. Baizhu’s increasingly strange behavior slithers back into your mind as you close your eyes.

Just why didn’t he ask you about being an oracle yet? Is he planning on getting the Millelith? No, he would have done so much earlier. Maybe he’s trying to gather some blackmail on you?

The possibilities torment your exhausted mind as you finally settle on just explaining yourself tomorrow when you get the scar sample from you. When you open your eyes, the flame has already burned away, leaving your only light as the moon.

Staring at it, you think back to the waypoints. Are they finally fixed? Can you use them again? You couldn’t test it out now, but you could do so when you leave after the dinner with Ningguang.

Which region should you travel to next? There was no may you could stay or go back to Inazuma, so it’s either Mondstadt or Sumeru as they are the closest.

Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what traveling through the terrain would be like to arrive in the city. Frowning, you continue by imagining what it would be like traveling in that region for the weekly commissions.

It’s a simple decision really as Sumeru had a wide range of animals and poisonous plants to fight past. While Mondstadt had that sweet peaceful greenery from being the starter city with the lowest amount of treasure hoarders thanks to a certain Cryo user.

Deciding that you’ve picked your brain enough on the topic, you shut your eyes for some actual rest.

A moment passes, and then another, as the wind rustles the leaves on the tree outside the window. The faint sound of a sweet croon reaches your ears as you stubbornly keep your eyes closed.

As your mind is slowly consumed by the heavy exhaustion and the dimness of the room, two thoughts come to mind.

One, you forgot to check Qiqi’s equipment. Two, just what made you be locked out from the teleport waypoints if it counts as a game mechanic from Genshin Impact itself?

—---------------

“The moon is quite beautiful at this time of night.” A kind and knowing voice says as wrinkled hands pick out the bits of leaves from long white hair. The moonlight illuminates the silvery strands as it gradually is picked clean to its former glory.

“Child, just what has happened that you come to me out of all the Adepti for assistance?” A red rope is cut into perfect portions and tied to form the perfect braid. A Cryo vision sits innocently as the centerpiece, while a monochrome ornament adorns the top.

“I cannot advise you on the matter that troubles you if you do not speak, Shenhe.” Iridescent eyes finally move up from the ground to meet the elderly woman’s warm ones. Shenhe struggles to speak as her head dips forward.

“I… I hurt someone badly. But they hurt me too.” Shenhe holds her hands together in a prayer like motion as her eyes flutter close. “But at the end, they showed me something I couldn’t believe. No. That I refused to believe and even helped me.”

With a hunched back and patience learned over thousands of years, the old woman stays quiet. Giving the oh-so apathetic disciple time to put her thoughts into words.

“I don’t know what to do, and master isn’t the most adept when it comes to humans. But you, Streetward Rambler are, in more than one way. You constitute as a human more than me.”

Shenhe closes her eyes as she thinks back to her encounter with you. The truth you didn’t hesitate to spit in her face, the raw anger you expressed at her delusions and denial.

“I just want to understand these emotions. Are they a witch’s, an Adepti’s or a human’s emotions? Not even these ropes are stopping them!” Shenhe tugs at the newly bound rope in frustration but stops at the touch of light fingertips.

Madam Ping smiles warmly down at Shenhe. “None of those answers are correct child. They are simply your emotions. And I believe deep down, you already know what you feel. You just don’t know what to do with them.”

Shenhe looks at the ground with a mixture of guilt and self-loathing swarming inside her. It was true, wasn’t it? That day you spoke her feelings in the bluntest way possible, but here she was, still trying to deny it.

“Then what do I do? Is it really okay to love someone that hurt you? I don’t want a repeat of my childhood… I just want to treasure and use this new chance at connecting with my entire self that the Creator has graced me with.”

The hand that pats her head is familiar and warm. Childhood memories of her shedding those human emotions she once thought weak come to mind before Madam Ping’s voice brings her back.

“Trusting in the Creator and following the path they opened for you, no matter how scary or concerning, is always the right path. Follow me Shenhe.”

Madam Ping is quick to walk away toward the two temples, as Shenhe follows her swiftly. The Yiyan Temple for the Geo Archon is laughably small in comparison to the huge Welkin Temple behind it.

They climb the stairs past the Yiyan Temple and enter the luxurious archway leading into the Welkin Temple. Decorations laced with jewels, paintings of the highest caliber, and statues of the rarest minerals are a common sight in it.

As Liyue Harbors sole temple, the city and its citizens spared no expanse in making sure it was top-notch. That included the deceased Geo Archon who left it in the care of the Liyue Qixing before his passing.

The pair walked through the halls as many people prayed and worshiped within the dead of the night without care for the passing onlookers.

Everyone gathered here at this time of night is here to do the same thing after all.

A couple of people amble past the determined Adeptus and disciple into the barren clinic as physicians begin to care for them. The blood, bone, and missing parts of skin are applauded before quickly being catered to.

Madam Ping enters the hallway where many citizens wait outside the rooms for their turn. Yet instead of stopping like Shenhe expected, the old woman brings her to a hidden staircase around the corner.

The two climb up and up, till they reach the rooftop where an alter sits. Shenhe is well aware what she must do for the answers she desires. Kneeling before it, Shenhe gratefully takes the ceremonial spear handed to her by Madame Ping.

“You have matured enough to earn the privilege of giving a piece of yourself to the Holy One. I can only excitedly wait for the day my own disciples can have this honor.” With a calm yet cheery chuckle, Madame Ping moves away from the grave faced Shenhe.

“Oh Holy Creator, God of all that has lived, lives, and lives on. Listen to this acolytes prayer and grant me but a crumb of your wisdom. Though I am foolish and mortal, your mercy shines down on in the form of that person.”

The spear is raised into the air as Shenhe stays kneeling and points the spear down.

“Please, Divine One, show this wretched girl just how I’m supposed to make it up to Y/N.”

The spear drives down and the crimson droplets stain the altar like a dazzling flourish of rose petals.

Well this took a long while. This time it wasn't school but just personal stuff. Between house hunting, family feud, car problems, and just trying to keep up with school. I haven't got much of a break. But things have finally calmed down somewhat so I used it to get this done. What also helped was making the outline for the 1k special. I think I should have it done for the next update instead of the regular chapter. But I did notice that a good chunk wanted regular chapters instead so I got a compromise. The special features Mondstadt (as most sagau start in Mond so I thought it would be fun) and it'll be a teaser to what Mondstadt has in store for you all. I'm not sure how many of you have noticed but each region has a certain theme when it comes to worship. Inazuma with sacrificing, Liyue with self mutilation, and Mondstadt will be hinted at in the special. My editor, @serpent-benediction, did this super late last night so props for once. But if there are claims to being anything more than an editor then don't listen. I keep basically everybody in the dark. Kinda feel like death so if you have any questions or comments I will answer them as soon as I can read again. Taglist: is open for anyone so just comment if you want to join <3

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe

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estebanbicon · 7 days ago

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The F1 driver who takes every opening he sees

A mechanic’s son, Esteban Ocon took an unlikely path to an F1 driver’s seat. Now he’s fighting to keep it.

MONTE CARLO, Monaco — The mechanic’s son walks past women in bright dresses and men in fine suits, many of them sipping champagne. He breathes in the salty air of the Mediterranean, its shoreline neither rocks nor sand but dozens of mega-yachts.

The Monaco Grand Prix, held each May, is the global peak of sports opulence, less street race than picture postcard from high society: A-listers and royals toasting the good life in the richest place on Earth. Several Formula One drivers live here, their plain-sight hideaway amid a Netflix-fueled fascination with their sport. Among them are Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton — champions, multimillionaires and household names in a sport Hamilton has called a “billionaire boys club.”

Esteban Ocon, though, is not of this world. When Ocon was a karting wunderkind, other drivers would sneer at him and scoff, whispering that the only child of a dumpster-diving mechanic doesn’t belong. That the Frenchman, now 28, will forever be a [wanderer] playing dress-up in a place such as Monaco. Even after eight years on the grid, he remains an outsider.

Then again, an impressive finish here would change minds. It might even change Ocon’s, convincing him it’s possible to be born into one end of the economic spectrum and, with enough talent and moxie, reach the other.

He changes out of his jeans and into an Alpine race suit. He stretches the muscles on his thin frame and climbs into a $15 million super machine. The green flag drops. Ocon accelerates, 0 to 100 mph in 2½ seconds, trying to position himself and his team for an early chance at points. Over the years, he has proved himself as a skilled and fearless driver, aggressive sometimes to the point of recklessness.

With Monaco’s narrow streets and hairpin turns, passing is dangerous. Three-time world champion Nelson Piquet once compared it to riding a bicycle in your living room. And trying to pass a teammate? It simply isn’t done.

Before the race, in fact, Alpine instructed its drivers to avoid each other. Whoever is ahead after the first lap should stay there; the driver behind him is to protect his blind side.

Midway through the first lap, the cars are clustered. Pierre Gasly, Alpine’s other driver, is immediately in front of Ocon. On the eighth turn, just before the circuit’s famed tunnel, Gasly eases off the accelerator. Ocon sees his teammate drift left, allowing space between Gasly and the wall, creating an opening.

FIVE HUNDRED MILES NORTH, there’s a small French village built into the lush countryside. People in Évreux raise chickens, recycle batteries, mow their own grass. And the locals tell of a man north of town who could bring back the dead, so long as the corpse had four wheels.

One of those locals, Marc Guillouet, still remembers the sound of Laurent Ocon’s air compressor bellowing at all hours as Ocon performed reconstructive surgery on another broken-down used car that had been towed through his gate. Then, hours later, another sound: the engine humming back to life.

“The way he refurbished it,” Guillouet says, “it was like new.”

Laurent was a self-taught mechanic who built his shop onto the back of the Ocons’ home, a single-car garage jutting out in yellow stucco. It was in the house’s rear, but it acted as the family’s entrance. Before school some mornings, young Esteban would see his father, grease up to his elbows, still trying to solve the previous night’s puzzle. When Esteban returned in the afternoon, he would watch Dad beamas he turned the key, listened and … there it was, that beautiful music.

“We live for that,” Esteban says now. “He wants to win, like me.”

Laurent’s passion was reviving machines. His son’s was maneuvering them. Esteban says he was 4 the first time he got behind the wheel of a go-kart, gliding around the track at an amusement park, through cones and around other karts as if it were second nature. His friend who came along drove straight into the wall.

Esteban kept driving, testing himself in bigger, faster, more complex machines. The families of some other 8-year-olds hired engineers, barked into radios and traveled with professional mechanics. But Laurent and wife Sabrina had no money for that. If Esteban’s carburetor failed or his torsion bar broke, it was Laurent who mounted a new one. Then they would return to Évreux from Ambourville or Rouen, often with Esteban cradling another trophy.

“We tried to protect Esteban from pressure as much as possible,” Laurent says, answering questions emailed by The Washington Post. “But unfortunately, the only solution is to perform.”

After one of Esteban’s races, a representative from a management company approached. The boy had the talent to make racing his career, the man said, but it wouldn’t be easy. Or cheap.

Thousands of European kids grow up dreaming of the Formula One life, waiting to pilot a rocket at circuits such as Monza and Silverstone and Monaco. Most never make it, and even those who only come close do so after millions have been spent on equipment, travel and engineering.

The families of many drivers commit hundreds of thousands before their child becomes a teenager, largely to get noticed by top feeder programs and driver academies. Among the hopefuls are the kids of billionaires and oligarchs, able to bankroll the pursuit of a nine-figure dream. A few even pay their way onto the F1 grid, with cash-strapped teams agreeing because it transfers the financial responsibility.

Most, though, spend years working their way up.

“Even if you are talented,” Esteban says, “if you don’t have the right people, you don’t manage.”

But all he had were his parents.

“If he really wants to do it,” Esteban remembers hearing Laurent say years ago, “we’ll give him everything we can.”

LAURENT AND SABRINA SOLD THEIR HOUSE and the family business, leaving behind anything that didn’t fit in a 21-foot motor home. They stuffed Esteban’s mini-kart into the rear of a van, surrounded it with tools and Esteban’s toys, then hitched the motor home to the van’s rear.

“Prepping,” Esteban’s parents told him, “for the rest of your life.”

With Évreux in the rearview, home now was a parking lot in Lyon or a roadside in Le Mans. Ten-year-old Esteban had his bicycle and the family border collie to keep him company. Sabrina outfitted the motor home with a fake fireplace and told friends it was their mobile chateau. Le Palais des Ocons had a living room and shared sleeping quarters, with views that were a mountain some days, a vineyard others.

Sabrina and Laurent convinced their son that each day was an adventure, each morning a chance for Esteban to open the door so he and their dog, Viper, could breathe in a dramatic new backdrop. He and Laurent sometimes went on long bicycle rides, where they talked about engines, racing, the future. Then the convoy headed to a nearby track, where the soft-spoken Esteban slid on a helmet, climbed into his kart and transformed into an assassin. There wasn’t an opening he wouldn’t hit, a pass he wouldn’t attempt, a throat he wouldn’t cut. Esteban wanted to win races, yes, but victory was about more than bragging rights.

In his 9-year-old mind, he says, it was the only way to repay his parents.

“I had weight on my shoulders very early,” he says. “There was never a Plan B in my head.”

In 2006, Esteban, then 10, won the regional mini-kart championship, which qualified him for a spot in the French Cup’s “Minime” division. He reached the final heat, and he and another young star, Charles Leclerc, angled for positioning on the last lap. Esteban went inside, trying to overtake Leclerc, and their tires touched. Leclerc spun out and hit the wall; Esteban recovered but finished outside the top five. The two boys spent the rest of the day crying.

The family returned to Évreux each winter, staying with family so Esteban could attend a few months of school before the new season. Otherwise, they kept moving, rarely in the same place for more than a few days.

Esteban won the French Cup in 2007, the “Cadet” title a year later, the junior championship in 2010. With every promotion came longer trips and more expensive gear. An entry-level “baby” kart costs about $3,000, not including registration fees and fuel, and a used mini-kart engine and chassis can be twice that.

By 2011, with a promotion to Winning Series Karting, the chateau was crossing borders so Esteban could race in Spain, Italy and Portugal. Entry fees alone were upward of $5,000 per race, with fuel and spare parts pushing the cost higher. All youth sports have their own unique cultures, and in this one, there is an established taboo: Kids don’t talk about their parents’ wealth.

But chatter happens anyway. Jos Verstappen, father of 14-year-old Max, used to drive in Formula One and spent $1 million bankrolling his son’s career. Leclerc grew up among the yachts and Ferraris of Monaco, and Lance Stroll’s dad, Lawrence, was a fashion billionaire.

Esteban’s folks?

Homeless, the other boys murmured. Sometimes, they said, they even saw his dad lurking near the circuit, waiting to pull other drivers’ used tires out of the trash.

IN 2014, OCON, THEN 18, won nine races and finished in the top three in 21 of 33 races to claim Europe’s Formula Three championship. But it was 17-year-old Verstappen, who had finished third, who was promoted seven months later and became the youngest driver ever to appear on the F1 grid.

“My dad always said it’s not going to be easy,” Ocon says now. “I didn’t really know what my future would be.”

He spent the 2015 season with Mercedes and Lotus — discussed alongside Verstappen, George Russell and Gasly as the sport’s next generation of starsbut still toiling in its minor leagues.

The next season, another young driver, Indonesia’s Rio Haryanto, won a spot with Manor Racing, a fledgling F1 team from Britain. F1 teams today operate under an annual maximum budget. Back then, though,the annual cost for a two-car team could reach nearly $200 million per year. Some teams have lucrative sponsorship agreements and investments from engine manufacturers, but others rely only on prize money and the potential share of a year-end financial pie that is distributed to the teams that finish in the top 10 in points.

Haryanto started the first 12 races that year before Manor dropped him — and not just because he never finished better than 15th. It was because Haryanto, initially backed by a $16.65 million investment from an Indonesian oil and gas company, ran out of money.

Manor’s own survival depended on performance, so in August 2016, it contacted the most talented driver available and told 19-year-old Esteban to get to Belgium. A management company had agreed to underwrite Ocon’s career, so with the motor home now retired, the family traveled by plane.

“A lot of emotions and relief,” Laurent recalls. “The culmination of 16 years.”

FOUR MONTHS AFTER ESTEBAN’S F1 DEBUT, with the sport itself at a crossroads, Manor Racing announced it was broke.

It was January 2017, and this was the first of several dominos to tumble.

The next was that Force India, a well-funded team and a new contender, offered Esteban a multiyear contract after its No. 2 driver, Nico Hülkenberg, defected for Renault. With an elite car, Esteban finished seventh in Russia, fifth in Barcelona, sixth in Montreal — valuable points for his team and proof he belonged.

Then, in Azerbaijan, Ocon saw an opening. He tried to pass Sergio Perez, his Force India teammate, before their wheels touched. A moment later, he went for it again, contacting Perez’s car and damaging both vehicles.

“What did Esteban do, guys?” Perez said on his headset radio. He later called Ocon’s behavior “unacceptable.”

Three races later, Ocon again collided with Perez in Hungary, and a week later in Belgium, Ocon tried to pass his teammate on the inside. The cars made contact, Perez’s front wing flew off, and the veteran driver’s anger exploded.

“Honestly, what the f--- is this guy doing?” Perez said. “F---ing idiot.”

High drama — which, considering the sport’s new ownership, was undoubtably welcome.

Long owned by a European private equity fund, Formula One had recently been purchased by Liberty Media, an American entertainment titan that parlayed its ownership of struggling assets, from satellite radio to the Discovery Channel and QVC, into ownership of the Atlanta Braves. It wasalready planning the all-access Netflix docuseries that would debut in 2019 — less than a year before the pandemic. When the sports calendar ground to a halt, “Drive to Survive” became a massive hit that sent each team’s value soaring.

Sponsors and investors were fighting for a piece of a sports gold rush. Not everyone could keep up, though. Force India’s owner, Vijay Mallya, defaulted on more than $1 billion in loans after his airline failed, before numerous banks accused him of fraud. (Mallya has called these accusations “rubbish” but, after fleeing India for England, is still considered a fugitive.) He sold his team to a group of investors led by Canadian billionaire Lawrence Stroll, who had made his fortune on the threads of Tommy Hilfiger and Michael Kors. And who happened to have a son, Lance, who drove, if not very well, for Williams Mercedes.

Just like that, it was Ocon being bumped, his dream blown to pieces by his own team. When the 2019 season started, he was out of a job. He blamed “politics.”

He joined Mercedes as a reserve driver, and during race weekends, he says, he would climb into a racing simulator and go through scenario after scenario until 4 a.m. On no sleep, he would go to the airport and travel to wherever F1 was because that’s also where Ocon could meet with potential investors, sponsors and engineers. Then, a week later, he would do it all again.

“I didn’t care because I said, ‘Let’s give it a full go,’ show the people how hungry I am,” he says. Failure, he told himself, would mean that his parents’ sacrifices had been in vain.

“I didn’t do all that just to sit on the side,” he continues. “Teams saw how much I was willing to give, how much I was willing to suffer. I wanted to show everyone that I’m willing to go further than anyone else. No sleep for three straight days, simulator day and night, I’m going to do it. And, yes, I’ve lost four kilos in that year and got sick seven or eight times, and the reality is, yes, I’ve suffered and it was tough. And I don’t want to be suffering forever.”

In late summer 2019, with the first season of “Drive to Survive” being filmed, Ocon’s phone rang. Renault was parting ways with Hülkenberg. The French team wanted the kid from Évreux to come home.

“A crazy moment,” Ocon says. “This was it. The tough times are over now.”

LAST YEAR IN MONACO, something happened that was highly disruptive: Ocon finished third. It was his third appearance on the podium and his best result since he won the Hungarian Grand Prix in 2021. In one of Europe’s nightclub capitals, the 27-year-old celebrated. Hard.

Fatigued, dehydrated and emotionally drained, Ocon again got sick. He was nonetheless due back on the grid in Barcelona four days later. He finished eighth in each of his next two races, then 14th, then didn’t finish the two after that.

Nobody weeps for the motorsports rock star, but a life spent in constant motion does take a toll. A year after signing with Renault, which rebranded as Alpine, Ocon was reportedly paid $5 million per year. He put Laurent and Sabrina on the payroll of “Team Esteban,” he says, assigning his mother administrative tasks and his father responsibilities such as renovating Esteban’s house. He could also hire a performance coach to keep his body and mind sharp — or as sharp as possible in a sport whose schedule features two dozen stops around the globe.

Now, years after Laurent and Sabrina tried shielding their son from many of racing’s pressures, it is Tom Clark’s job to act as Ocon’s conscience. To tell him it’s okay to sleep in on weekends, to grab a nap after practice, to avoid media and fans because more interactions mean more exposure to pathogens.To urge him to eat more lean protein and complex carbohydrates, stay ahead of time zones by wearing sunglasses to simulate darkness, use a light therapy lamp or glasses that emit a bright glow above the eyes. To encourage him to take it easy sometimes, especially when it comes to challenging teammates, and maybe to even think about gearing things down a tad.

“Let’s really just put a bubble around you,” Clark says he tells Ocon.

The problem is this is in conflict with the instincts that got Ocon here. Without deprivation and exhaustion, would he have ever left Évreux? If not for aggressive racing and a ruthless competitive drive, could he have even reached the grid? Especially when it comes to challenging teammates, can’t he gear things down a tad?

ON THE FIRST LAP at this year’s Monaco Grand Prix, there’s Gasly in 10th place. Ocon is 11th. Points are awarded to only the top-10 finishers.

The Alpine drivers have known each other since childhood, their hometowns just 20 minutes apart, friends scratching and clawing for better footing. When they were 12, both were in the same championship race. Gasly overtook Ocon on the last lap to win. “I kicked his ass,” Gasly told the Netflix documentary crew, “and he didn’t like it.”

Not long after, the French racing federation had an opening at its sports academy in Le Mans, a kind of Hogwarts for kid racers. It was Gasly who got the invitation, not the mechanic’s son. The friendship crumbled, just one more thing Ocon left behind as he boarded the motor home once more, looking to win races, yes, but also in search of acceptance.

“But look where I am now,” he says. “That has helped me to get through a lot of steps in my life. That’s what made me so competitive, I guess, from so early on.”

Ocon and Gasly hadcollided in 2023, too, in Australia, with both cars taking race-ending damage. After that, tension between the teammates boiled over when Gasly accused Alpine of coddling Ocon. Before Monaco, the team told the pair to cool it.

And they did, for all of 40 seconds. Now, seeing that narrow opening, Ocon goes for it.

His rear tire connects with Gasly’s front wheel once, then a second time, sending a bitter cloud of burned rubber into the sea air. Ocon’s car goes airborne before turning sideways, and though it lands on its wheels, the impact causes catastrophic damage.

“What did he do?” Gasly says into his radio.

Pieces of carbon fiber fly off Ocon’s car. The tire is punctured, the gearbox fried, the suspension arm broken.

“That’s it, guys,” Ocon tells his team. His Grand Prix is finished.

Needing repairs that will cost tens of thousands and with Ocon’s car due in Montreal in 10 days, Bruno Famin, Alpine’s team principal, publicly admonishes Ocon and vows “consequences.” F1’s governing body, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile, penalizes Ocon after ruling he initiated the collision.

A week after Monaco, Alpine announces that, in 2025, it will replace one of its drivers. Neither had gotten a podium, and only Ocon had won a point for Alpine. But the team chooses to keep Gasly, meaning Ocon again will be set adrift, the [wanderer] seemingly destined to forever roam.

A FEW MONTHS AGO, Esteban and Laurent went for a long bike ride. The old man still lives near Évreux, operating a shop his son bought him. He still likes to work on cars and make music, albeit as more hobby than job, andprefers to traverse the countryside on an e-bike.

Even against his dad, Esteban can’t help himself.

“I still pull away,” he says.

First, though,during a quieter moment on a recent ride, Laurent told his son a story.

There was once another boy with talent and ambition, the story went, hoping to someday become a professional cyclist. He was as skilled as anyone, but the other kids had access to training and coaches that this boy’sfamily couldn’t afford. So lying in bed one night when he was 16, he succumbed to these economic realities and abandoned his dream, diverting his attention and passion into becoming a mechanic.

So, he went on, when that boy became a man and a husband and a dad, he and his wife agreed to do everything possible to position their son for success. To tell him about possibility, not limitation, and raise him in an environment that would eliminate regret.

“He had never told that story,” Esteban says. “That moment, basically, when he was lying on the bed like that, probably changed my life. They clearly gave more than what they could, and without them I wouldn’t be here.”

Esteban says he occasionally fantasizes about what it would be like to stay in one place: to stop moving, inhale, feel settled. Maybe someday, he says, but not just yet. In July, after Ocon was two months adrift, Kevin Magnussen announced he would be leaving Haas.

Haas, as it happens, is run by Ayao Komatsu, a former F1 engineer who had met and encouraged Esteban when he was just a teenager. A decade later, Komatsu came through. Haas offered Ocon not only a seat for 2025 but acceptance for all the things he is and is not.

“Esteban, he needs an environment that he knows the team is behind him, supporting him, listening to him,” Komatsu says. “No politics. I believe we can provide that.”

But what about the suggestion that Ocon doesn’t play well with others? That you can never take the Évreux fully out of the kid?

“If I was worried about that,” Komatsu says, “I wouldn’t sign him.”

After their bikeride, Laurent and Esteban turned around but kept talking over the wind. Farmland and hills blurred past, same as they did years ago, and a favorite memory of Esteban’s sprung to mind. It was morning, and the 12-year-old awoke in the motor home again with no idea where he was. So he opened the door to see blue sky, the slopes of great mountains, the shoreline of the Mediterranean.

Laurent had parked the van and motor home in Monaco, where yachts are moored and the best drivers live. Esteban remembers the feeling of that moment, the possibility, and his dad stepped out and said there was nothing to stop his son from racing here someday. Whatever came next would be determined by Esteban.

“There was no guarantee,” Esteban recalls his dad saying. But the boy had a chance to prove he belonged. Picturing the momentyears later, he inhaled, kept pedaling and let Laurent catch up as the two of them headed home.

#used a site to remove the paywall #so here is the whole article for those interested! <3 #esteban ocon #f1 #btw the things i put in brackets is bc the author used the g slur and while i get the implication #of este always being on the move in the caravan and now as adult as well #i still think it is a bit in poor taste #also be aware that this author has zero wheel knowledge bc he mentions incidents that were simply not este's fault #and feed into the dumb bad teammate narrative

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aviiarie · 1 month ago

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˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ IN PLAIN SIGHT — feat. kazuha event masterlist.

synopsis. you know for a fact that your new next-door neighbour is a supernatural creature of some kind, and you're determined to prove it. warnings. mind control?? i guess???? notes. requested by @sailorstar9! siren!kazuha. gn!reader. 2.5k words. slight cliffhanger ending lmao.

It took one week, two days, seventeen hours, and fifty-five minutes to fall head-over-heels in love with your neighbour.

Although, even that estimate that might have an exaggeration. With the way your heart fluttered as soon as that easy smile fell over his lips, and a smooth greeting fell out, you might as well have fallen from the moment you met him.

“Kaedehara Kazuha,” he introduced himself, voice sweet and melodic like a song, carried by the wind. “But please, spare the formalities. You may call me what you wish.”

The casualness of his greeting did nothing to sway the effortless grace that he held; every movement was measured and precise, with the elegance of a swan and the gentleness of an autumn breeze. There was an almost glow that shone from his presence, dulling the world around him.

As he leaned closer to shake your hand, you caught the scent of maple clinging to his skin. The smell was sweet, almost dizzying, making you stumble over your own words. “U-Uh... I'm [Name]. It's nice to meet you, K-Kazuha.”

And then he had smiled, and your chest had soared. Love at first sight was a foreign concept to you, but if it was real then this was the closest you would ever get to it.

The next week was nothing short of blissful. Stolen glances were exchanged in the mornings when you happened to walk by at the same time, idle chatter that stretched on for what seemed like hours. Every time he opened his mouth, sonnets seemed to fall, captivating you over and over again.

You weren't the only one entranced by him either. Everyone in their neighbourhood was completely and wholly enamoured by the man, from the young couple next door to the old lady down the street. Asking anyone about him would result in gushing about how he was such a sweet and polite boy, always lending a hand. He was charming, he was handsome, he was kind. And yet, you never were able to get much more than a surface-level answer about him. When you pressed, no one could tell you any more about who he was, where he came from, or even what he did for a living.

He was a mystery; simultaneously known by everyone and still a stranger to them all.

Truthfully, you should have pieced together the peculiar puzzle long before you did, but Kazuha's charm had rendered you blind. The odd sparkle to his eyes, the song-like quality to his voice, none of it struck you as odd, until you started to notice just how much he affected the people around him.

'Love', as you'd naively called it, had afflicted more than yourself. There was an infatuation for the man that had spread like a disease, infecting almost everyone he came in contact with. And as soon as you started to notice it, you couldn't stop; that lovesick expression was present on every face you saw.

“Do you know Kazuha?” The question slipped out before you could hold it back, making the girls sitting opposite you pause. When you weren't in front of him, the fog over your mind seemed to clear, but it didn't stop him from creeping into your thoughts.

“Kazuha...?” One girl—Ayaka, she introduced herself as—echoed. There was a quiet, barely noticeable lilt that fell over her voice as she said the name. The sudden shift made something settle uncomfortably in your gut.

“Yeah, he lives next to me. Do you know him?” You pressed further, studying her expression.

“Kazuha...” Ayaka breathed, her eyes glazing over. A soft, almost spacey smile settled over her lips. “He's amazing, isn't he? I could listen to him talk for hours and hours and never get sick of hearing him. He's... he's perfect.”

“He's like... something out of a fairytale.” The other girl, Yoimiya, breathed. The spark of joyfulness in her eyes had been snuffed out, leaving them blank and glistening with bliss.

“…Right.” Something was off about their responses. It tugged on the part of your mind that was still fully conscious, unravelling the layers of infatuation that had clouded your thoughts. “What do you know about him?”

“Um… he writes. Poetry, I believe.” Ayaka’s smile widened. “He read me his poetry a while ago. It was breathtaking, it felt like… like he was casting a spell on me.”

She was oblivious to the way you froze at her words, blood rushing into your ears and drowning out the rest of her gushing. She didn’t notice the way your face contorted into something horrified, too caught up in her own daydreams to realize she had chipped away the last piece of what was blocking your mind.

Abruptly, you stood, chair scraping loudly. “I have to go. Thank you for inviting me out for coffee, it’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”

Yoimiya’s eyes widened in surprise, as she hurried to stand up too. “O-Oh! So soon?”

“Yes.” You nodded stiffly. “I’ll see you around. Hopefully we can be friends.”

“I would love that.” She smiled at you. “Say hello to Kazuha for me, won’t you?”

-----

How did you not realize it sooner? You were kicking yourself on the walk home, berating your own mind for being so weak-willed to fall for him so easily. It was so obvious in hindsight that something was off about him, but it seemed you weren’t immune to whatever charm he’d put the neighbourhood under.

With a steeling breath, you tried to steady your racing thoughts. You couldn’t let yourself spiral, not when the danger was so close. Your head was clear, so the grip he held on your mind had snapped—or at least weakened—but he was still present, lurking one house to your left.

When you got to your door, your heart stopped as you met a familiar set of crimson eyes, as if he was waiting for you.

“Ah, [Name].” Kazuha smiled, drawing out the sound of your name like he was savouring it. “I was just about to knock on your door.”

When your heart pounded this time, it had nothing to do with love. “Y-Yes... I was just out grabbing coffee.”

“At the cafe down the street?” Kazuha's smile widened. “They make a wonderful macchiato.”

“Mhm, I'd best be going.” With a forced smile, you push past him and slide your key into the lock, turning it with a click. “I'll see you around, I guess.”

But before you could leave, a calloused hand caught your arm.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” Kazuha asked, the lazy smile still playing on his lips. For once, the sight didn't make your chest flutter. For once, the curl of his mouth seemed too sharp to be considered charming. There was something a little too eager in the grin, an almost-hunger that made your skin crawl.

You thought of sweet Ayaka, and her dazed expression; bright Yoimiya, her sparkling eyes dulled as soon as his name was mentioned.

Whatever twisted game he was playing, you wanted no part in it.

You pulled your arm away, shooting him a venomous glare. “No. Thank you.”

And with that, the door was promptly slammed in his face.

-----

After the initial shock wore off, your mind clicked into gear. It started with the locks, checking every door and window to make sure they were bolted shut—just to be safe. Then, the plan.

If being aware of his control over you was what broke you free, then you just had to make sure that everyone was aware.

“Isn't there something odd about that Kazuha?” You had brought up the topic as causally as you could, in the middle of a chat with your other neighbour, but she still froze.

“Oh, such a sweet boy he is,” The old woman gushed, as if she only heard his name.

“Yes, but he's a bit strange, right?” You pressed.

“Hm? I have no idea what you're talking about, love?” She frowned. “Are you okay?”

Soon, you switched tactics.

“Do you believe in the supernatural?” The question almost made you cringe as soon as you said it, but you didn't let it show. Your newest target—Heizou, who lived three houses down—stared at you blankly.

“Eh? Like spirits and demons, and stuff like that?” Spirits, demons, monsters... even if you didn't know what Kazuha was, you knew he wasn't human.

“Yeah.” You nodded stiffly.

He paused in thought. “Well, I suppose you can call me a skeptic. The possibility isn't ruled out in my mind, but I can't say I go looking for ghosts.”

“What would you do if you thought you had discovered someone you know is a supernatural creature? A spirit or demon of some kind?” You paused. “Hypothetically.”

Heizou raised an eyebrow. “...I'm not sure. Is this hypothetical creature malicious?”

“Not... outwardly.” Outwardly, Kazuha was the most friendly, polite, and perfect person you had ever met. That was the problem. “But I fear their intentions. There's no way to be certain if this creature will cause harm, and they've proven to be capable of it.”

“What an interesting hypothetical you have here...” Heizou chuckled. He saw right through you, you could tell that much, but he still seemed willing to entertain your questioning. “Tell me a bit more about this 'creature'. What are their characteristics?”

You hesitated. “They can... charm people, I think. It's like as soon as you talk to them, you're completely entralled without even realizing it. And by the time you do realize it, you're the only person who has, and everyone else has already fallen for him.”

“Sounds like a siren.” Heizou looked over them curiously. “This isn't a hypothetical, is it?”

You were silent.

“Thought so.” Heizou laughed, completely unconcerned by the idea of a monster in his vicinity. “Well, I would say there are two options here.”

“Which are?” You asked urgently.

“Confront him if you're concerned.” Heizou shrugged, his smile amused. “Otherwise just leave him be. I doubt you're in any danger, [Name].”

The problem was he had no intentions of leaving you alone. You'd tried, tried as hard as humanly possible to avoid him. You had even made yourself late to work, day after day, by delaying your exit from your house, all so you didn't have to walk past him in the morning. Somehow though, even when the street was empty, he would still manage to appear and draw you into a casual chat.

While you had naively assumed your blunt dismissal would be enough to scare him off, the rudeness only seemed to entice him into chasing after you.

“I'm busy, I have to go.” You said, each time angrier than the last. But he kept coming back, undisturbed by your rolling waves of fury.

“You fascinate me,” he admitted one day. “I've never met anyone quite like you.”

“Likewise.” You said through gritted teeth, before closing the door and locking it.

He did fascinate you, but not in the way he meant it. You were fascinated by him in the same way a fish was fascinated by shiny teeth of a shark. He was the predator and you were the prey, no matter how sweet his howls sounded to your ears.

It was scary how easily you were forgetting the danger he posed, how quickly you slipped up and found yourself craving the sound of his voice again. You had to remind yourself to keep him at arms length, until you could break his control over the neighbourhood.

But you couldn't escape him, not when he lurked in every corner, and especially not when his interest seemed squarely fixed on you. It was only a matter of time before you slipped up, before—

“I've been looking for you everywhere.” The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You dug through your bag, searching desperately for your house key with your back still turned to him. “I thought you were avoiding me...”

So he noticed.

When it was clear your keys were not there, you forced yourself to turn and face him, grimacing at the amusement in his eyes.

“I wrote a poem for you, [Name].” Kazuha finally smiled. “Do you want to hear it?”

Your chest seized. This was it, then. The moment that he ensnared you for good. You knew as soon as his sweet, melodic prose reached your ears, you would be too far gone to resist him.

“N-No!” You stumbled backwards. “No!”

There was a brief flash of alarm that flickered over his expression, before it shifted to a frown. “[Name]? Are you alright?”

“Stay away from me.” You hissed, back pressed against the door. “I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work on me!”

“What I'm doing? I have no idea what you mean. Are you feeling okay?” Kazuha asked, that familiar care in his expression that hurt to pull your eyes away from.

“I-I know what you are. The rest of this place might be under your spell, but I'm not, and I'm not gonna let you entrance me again!” The words were spilling out before you could stop them, like the floodgates had been opened and all of your pent-up anger was flowing out. “You think I would just ignore the effect you have on me a-and everyone else? You're a siren, or—or some kind of demon, or—”

“Really? And what effect do I have on you?” Kazuha's tone was curious, perhaps even surprised.

“You... know what I mean...” The anger was fizzling out the longer you talked to him, leaving your shoulders slumped and your head dizzy.

“Do I?”

The longer you spoke, the more... absurd it all sounded. How could you have let yourself come to such a ridiculous conclusion, when Kazuha had been nothing but kind... polite... charming...

Within seconds, the sticky feeling had tangled its way back into your head, melting your thoughts together into a Kazuha-filled fog.

“I meant what I said,” He said quietly, almost a whisper. “You truly are fascinating.”

Kazuha stepped back, leaving a healthy amount of space between you. Some distant part of you screamed at the loss of closeness, but it was lost to the sound of your heart pounding.

“And by the way” He paused, fishing through his pocket to pull out a familiar set of house keys, with a small piece of paper tucked into the keyring. “You should keep better track of your keys. Wouldn't want to get locked out... who knows what kind of people are lurking.”

In a half-witted daze, you managed to catch the keys, staring dumbly as Kazuha turned and left. It was only when he had disappeared from your vision that you had the thought to shove the key into the lock and let yourself into your house.

In your hands, the piece of paper slipped through your fingers and fell to the floor, the words glaring at you in bright red ink.

Bright, clear, steady eyes,

Staring straight through howling storms,

Keep your senses sharp.

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @wystiix, @mikashisus.

#☆ — ghost stories.#✒️ : avie's writing . ⊹ ˚ .#—stellaronhvnters.#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin impact kazuha x reader

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godspeedviper · 5 months ago

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The Arkham County Jane Doe - Crane x Reader x Hannibal (18+)

𖤐 Requested by Anonymous: Hi, could you maybe write a fanfic where both Dr. Crane and Hannibal are obsessed with their patient ( maybe in a mental hospital) and actively isolate her from other patients? After she tries to escape, they make it clear they won‘t allow it unless she stays with them in some form. With smut in the end?

𖤐 Type: Oneshot || Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader x Jonathan Crane || Smut || Crossover

𖤐 Word Count: 2,605

𖤐 Rating: Explicit || Spitroasting || Manipulation || Obsession || Threesomes || Asylums || Doctor/Patient Relationship

𖤐 A/N: Hope I got this one right! Apologies for taking so long with it, it's been the most challenging request I've written thus far. Thanks for trusting me with it!

When Hannibal first laid eyes on her, she was standing in a secure hospital room wearing what appeared to be just a men's XL shirt, plain, and some socks, all covered in dried blood and dirt. She was found in a shed on a vast property at the edge of Arkham county, held captive along with two other young women, who had originally gone missing from Franklin, Maryland. However, nothing was known about her in particular. No one had reported her missing, unlike the other two victims, and neither of the two knew her name. Most perplexing of all, she herself claimed to not know her identity either. With the perpetrator still in the wind, it was up to Hannibal to try and coax information from her in hopes of solving the case. She was his patient now. His, and only his.

When Jonathan Crane first saw her, she was dressed in a cream colored Arkham Asylum patient uniform – which consisted of a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, matching gripped socks, and a white t-shirt underneath – the standard for all the non high risk patients. She was a puzzle, and he wanted to crack her open and reach inside

to consume

to taste

to know.

Unfortunately, he would have to be sharing her with the BAU as she potentially held vital information to an open case. He watched as the FBI’s chosen psychiatrist stepped into his office. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a man unlike any he’s ever encountered. Crane was accustomed to being the apex predator within Arkham’s walls, both amongst staff and patients alike. He didn’t like the confidence with which the other psychiatrist paraded himself around the office like he owned the place. Crane especially didn’t like the bold familiarity with which Dr. Lecter approached his favorite patient. It was far too close for Crane’s comfort. She was his and his alone… or so he thought.

“Hello Jane.” Dr. Crane watched, and listened, as Dr. Lecter interacted with his patient through the security footage.

“Must you call me that?” she replied.

“Until we can find out your name, yes I’m afraid I will have to call you that.” He smirked and leaned forward, closing the distance between them and obscuring Jonathan’s view of her from the security camera, positioning himself between her and the camera’s line of sight.

What a cocky bastard. Crane thought to himself. He took a sip of his coffee and leaned closer to the monitors to get a better look at their interactions. I wonder what he’s afraid of… Jonathan made a mental note to take some time to customize a batch of fear toxin to use on Dr. Lecter at his earliest convenience. The rest of the session was uneventful to the untrained eye, but Jonathan’s psychiatric expertise compounded with his raging jealousy was causing him to make mountains out of molehills. He spent the remainder of the week visibly distracted as the envy consumed him. He would have to move her to higher security to ensure that any upcoming “sessions” with Dr. Lecter wouldn’t be so cozy.

The next time Dr. Lecter met with Jane Doe he had to go past additional security clearances and into a whole other room. This time she was behind a plexiglass window with a phone on the wall, similar to prison visitation. He frowned, surely this was wrong. How could they treat a victim like a prisoner? Like a suspect? The whole objective was to establish rapport and glean insight. How could he when she was now being treated like the people who harmed her? No, this simply wouldn’t do. Hannibal sat down and picked up the phone, his eyes quickly scanning the room to find where the security cameras were situated.

“Hello again, Miss Doe.” he gave a warm smile and then he leaned in to whisper “I’m going to get you out of here, I promise, but you must do as I tell you.”

She mouthed a desperate ‘ thank you’ and relaxed her body in relief.

This only escalated the situation.

Hannibal was able to convince Jack Crawford and Co. to plead a case with the Arkham board of directors to reduce security clearance on their Jane Doe. In two weeks he was face to face with the board alongside Dr. Alana Bloom, Dr. Frederick Chilton, and even Jack Crawford himself, all threatening to pursue a transfer closer to Quantico unless they stop treating her as one would a suspect or dangerous patient. Dr. Crane was present at the meeting, and subsequently yielded, only to have her transferred to an entirely new wing of Arkham in a few weeks under the pretense of using alternative treatment methods for her benefit. For months, the two psychiatrists continued to battle for dominance over the case of the Arkham County Jane Doe, to the point that even Freddie Lounds and Vicki Vale caught wind of it. The two journalists began hanging around the asylum trying to interview as many people as possible regarding the situation. Soon it became more than that, writers began flocking in from all over, from the Gotham Gazette to the Daily Planet and even a few true crime youtubers tried to throw their hat into the ring.

“Why is Arkham Asylum so keen on keeping the FBI out of this case?”

“What is the extent of the BAU’s knowledge on the living Jane Doe?”

“Don’t you think all this back and forth, all this bureaucracy, is just hindering the investigation?”

“Isn’t this just another dick measuring contest between bureaus to see who can keep the glory?”

The two men continued their game of chess – with Jane Doe as their queen, their objective – with laser focus, but alas great minds think alike, and as such it was like trying to fight their own shadow. Both men were incredibly intelligent in more ways than one, and both were more than willing to fight dirty. As their rivalry intensified, so did the cracks, and she knew it would only be a short time before an opportunity presented itself. She was playing them both like a fiddle and not a single person had caught on, not the two doctors in question, nor the rest of the asylum staff, not even the FBI were alerted to her manipulative tactics, and all she had to do was sit back and let them consume each other. All remained on track until the 6th month of her capture, when one of the journalists tried to bribe their way into the asylum. This rang a few alarm bells for Dr. Lecter’s case partner, Will Graham, causing him to confront the doctor with his theory.

And so Hannibal Lecter set up a very special dinner.

“What brings you here today Dr. Lecter?” Jonathan Crane tried to feign disinterest, but this was so out of the blue that he couldn’t help his curiosity. He fixed his eyes on the man sitting across from him waiting to catch any minor movements that would aid his understanding of the present situation. Hannibal sat tall in the guest seat in Jonathan’s office, hands folded neatly in his lap, his legs crossed at the ankle below.

“It seems we have a problem.” Hannibal almost purred.

“We?” replied Crane, raising a brow inquisitively.

“Yes, it concerns our mutual patient.” Dr Lecter smirked. He let the information sink in and he watched with rapt attention as the mad doctor before him shifted his body from curious, but defensive, to fully alert and open. “I would like to discuss this with you over dinner tonight if that is possible. These walls have ears.”

“Don’t I know it.” Jonathan hummed in agreement.

After the journalist’s attempt to break into the asylum, the Arkham County Jane Doe was moved to an extra special cell deep within the bowels of the madhouse. She was given a new set of clothing, bright orange, for the high risk patients. It was for her own safety, they said, but her gut instinct doubted it. The cell was completely padded, it had a bed built into the floor, entirely padded as well, and a small toilet with a minor covering sat in the furthermost corner. It would all be comical if not for the gravity of the situation. She would never escape from here, there wasn’t even a window. An eternity seemed to pass her by in that strange little room before the monotony was broken by the sound of the heavy door being unlocked from the outside. However, she didn’t stir, she remained in the makeshift bed with her back towards the door, she already knew who was about to come in there was no one else it could be.

“There are very few people within Arkham that even know of this room’s existence.” Said the voice, it was Dr. Crane. “And even fewer still can access it.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, yet she still refused to turn around.

“It is a real privilege to be here.” Said a different voice, and this one caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on attention. The voice belonged to none other than Dr. Lecter. This time, she almost feared turning around to greet them.

The heavy door closed behind them, making a sort of suction sound as it sealed shut. Both men stood in front of the door with their hands behind their back and hungry smiles spread on their lips like wolves overlooking helpless prey. She lay there, frozen, unsure of how to react as she began to hear the men pacing around the room, circling her like vultures. The two were entirely in sync, a stark contrast to the rival dynamic they had for the past 6 months. Their voices blended together into one and they even finish each other’s sentences. A malicious alliance.

“You know, it takes quite a lot to pull the wool over my eyes…”

“...but to do that to both of us? That takes serious skill.”

“We’re impressed darling, really, we are.”

“That’s exactly why we have decided to give you a choice.”

At this, she finally perked up, sitting at the edge of the bed to finally face her two captors.

“There’s that lovely face.” Said Jonathan with a cheeky smile.

“What are my options?” she asked.

“You can stay here at Arkham, under strict surveillance until the brass solves the case and figures out what to do with you.” Jonathan then turned to look at Hannibal, who spoke without missing a beat.

“Or you can give us some information, and we will then take care of you… If you wish." His smile was hungry and wolfish.

“And what must I do to earn your good side?” she asked, there was something missing in this whole equation. “You two wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to offer me this for nothing in return.”

The pair of psychiatrists stepped forward, flanking her on each side, each man looking like a mirror image of each other. Both tall, lean, with stark chiseled features and stoic expressions that revealed nothing and everything all at once. Without warning, Hannibal sat down on the bed beside her and pressed his mouth to her throat, worshiping her soft skin with his lips. Jonathan eagerly joined in, resting his head on her shoulder and mirroring the other’s actions on her throat. She gasped in surprise and then straightened her back, lengthening her neck, and leaning into the action as much as her body would allow. She felt a hand grab her inner thigh, pulling her legs apart, while another slipped under the top of her asylum uniform, sliding up her torso and reaching for her tender breast. Her head lolled back and her eyelids fluttered as her skin grew hot. She heard them speak but she could no longer tell who was who, it was as if the three of them were slowly melting into one.

“We’ve seen how you look at us.”

“Surely you must’ve been anticipating intimacy with at least one of us.”

“You were going to seduce us, and now we get to seduce you.”

A rhythm was soon established, set by the frantic beating hearts and breathy wanton moans. The whole room seemed to almost pulsate with energy as the sexual tension was ratcheted up exponentially. The ebb and flow was abruptly stopped by three simple words.

“I want you.”

Even she was taken aback by the sound of her own voice, let alone her choice of words.

“Which one?” came the reply.

“Both.”

Neither psychiatrist wasted any time in disrobing their patient, any regard for professionalism or ethics had been left outside this door along with their dignity. In this room, they were all mad. Despite their haste, she felt as if nothing would ever be fast enough to quench this burning desire in her core. Once fully nude she lay back on the bed, eagerly waiting to be taken advantage of. Both men were visibly hungry and hard. Their hands moved on instinct alone as neither could tear their eyes away from the nude figure before them, she captivated their attention like hypnosis, they were powerless in her grasp, she who manipulated them both and preyed upon their competitive jealousy for her own benefit. Freeing his member from his slacks, Hannibal ruthlessly grabbed the back of her head with one hand and his length in the other. She salivated at the sight and wrapped her lips around the head. She could just barely hear him curse beneath his breath in another language. Suddenly, Dr. Crane’s hand grabs onto her hip, pushing her up onto the bed on all fours. Once in position, he got up behind her and spread her thighs, using his hand to guide himself into her from behind. She whimpered against Hannibal’s cock in her mouth as she felt Crane spear her open. The warm ache of being stretched by him simply spurred her on. She slowly widened her jaw, taking Hannibal deep while Crane set a punishing pace. Hannibal gripped a fistful of her hair while Jonathan grabbed onto her hips with both hands.

The heavily cushioned room acted as soundproofing, muffling the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh and desperate, animalistic moans as the trio selfishly chased after their own orgasms. The fact that she was fully nude while both men were still clothed made her blush all over. She belonged to them both, and each man stood his claim. Her throat tightened around Hannibal’s cock as she tried to scream. She was utterly overwhelmed, her mounting orgasm causing her to rock back against Jonathan’s hips in search of that sweet release. It didn’t take long before she was seeing stars, but neither man had relented. The overstimulation was beginning to ache and she was reduced to a twitching, whimpering mess.

“No no,” She heard them say. “You owe us this. You played us, and now it’s our turn to have fun.”

The sweet torture did not last much longer, and she soon felt Dr. Crane coating her insides with his own release. He shakily bucked against her as he finished, paralyzed by pleasure, he let himself grow soft inside her. Dr. Lecter came soon after, spilling his seed down her throat and holding her head flush against him, forcing her to obediently swallow it all.

“Good girl.” He gasped.

“We’ll take good care of you.” Said Jonathan.

“You won’t want for anything.” Added Hannibal.

She merely nodded in agreement, accepting whatever terms as long as it meant safety and pleasure in their arms.

Ao3 || Guidelines || WiPs || Ko-Fi

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sebastianswallows · 8 months ago

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The Little Death — 3. Strengthen what they would prohibit

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: just a bit of smut

— WORDCOUNT: 2k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @localravenclaw

Laws to suppress tend to strengthen what they would prohibit. — Bene Gesserit Coda

Sleeping was sweet. At some point indistinguishable from oblivion she became aware of not being aware of being asleep, but she wasn’t ready to wake up yet. The tendrils of her mind touched only shyly the membrane on the other side of which reality was waiting. And even though her feet were cold and her head felt heavy, she felt as though she was floating in the air, held by some invisible force in perfect safety.

A sense of urgency tugged at her, and with reluctance she let herself be pulled. Gradually she realised that her neck hurt from the awkward pose she’d fallen asleep in. That she was sitting on the floor, her legs curled under her and stiff. That his hands were feeling up her body.

Her eyes opened to the sight of her new master sitting on his knees before her. Feyd was still completely naked, and his body dared to have a rosy flush from sleep across his pale white skin. He held a knife to her, slicing through her shift to part it from her body, smiling as if he was opening a gift. He paused at her chest and slid his hand across her skin — the one that wasn’t holding the blade, mercifully — and gently cupped her breast, holding it in such a way that her nipple was caught between his index and his thumb. A practised hand. She reacted before her body rebelled and responded to him.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, and in one motion she slapped his groping hand away and gripped the knife out of the other.

He looked at her in excitement for a moment, or perhaps his mind had not caught up to things and was still tasting her body. She flung the blade away before she could find out which. Feyd pouted like a spoiled brat.

“Yesterday, you agreed that —”

“I’m a Bene Gesserit, not a concubine,” she said as she pulled the tatters of the shift around her and moved further away.

Feyd was still processing the novel information that there was a difference when he got up to his feet. She busied herself with her ruined clothes and tried to ignore that his cock was right in front of her. He looked down and seemed a few times to want to say something, or ask, but then his mind was made up and he walked right past her. Oh, he just went to pick up his blade.

She took this opening to move away and gathered up her clothes.

“Won’t you dress me?” he asked, turning to her with a puzzled expression.

“No,” she said, plain as can be, and slipped into the washroom. She only caught him muttering something about her being useless as she shut the door.

He was gone by the time she came out again.

It crossed her mind that she might have hurt his feelings. After all, he can’t have been used to women slapping his attention away like that. He’d even been fairly considerate, for a Harkonnen. No blood drawn.

But in hindsight, she recognised her instincts were correct. She was the kind of toy he’d never had before. Nobody had ever treated him that way, and now he was going to spend the whole day trying to understand his own emotions, spilling his poison on the other staff no doubt.

She walked through the palace with newfound confidence, and even when eyes turned to her, followed her quick steps and the flowing of her gown, nobody dared question her. Quite efficient in communications, these Harkonnen. They already know who I am, she thought with reserved admiration.

Her first stop was the laundry to replace her ruined clothes and get a couple more. She would need them, living with Feyd-Rautha, it seemed. She ate later, quickly and in the most unassuming part of the canteen. Arrakeen gruel with a Harkonnen twist, dry and oily with a sprinkling of melange on top. It stuck in her throat and there was only cactus juice to wash it down with.

It was only during her noon meditations, on a lonely rock outside the southern wing, that the impact of everything that happened finally came upon her. She shivered terribly, felt tears bead at the corners of her eyes, and breathed deeply to steady her pulse. Fear had passed through her, and death, and she was still left standing. It was a very precise part she had to play, and for all her training and prescience, the spice could only show her certain futures.

Rejecting his touches had been the right choice. Refusing to look at his body had been the right choice too. She teased both him and herself, and the natural energies that flowed between men and women would do half the work for her, especially with such an excitable specimen as Feyd-Rautha to work with. Now all she needed to do was reward him.

She thought back to his nightmares, those twitches and struggles in the dark, alone, and she remembered the instincts of her body: to hold him, to comfort him, to feel his naked skin on hers and let them melt into each other. She smiled, thankful for the infinite genetic wisdom, guiding her path through this most dangerous of circumstances, because now she knew exactly what Feyd wanted.

“Terra firma,” she said to herself. “Something firm and unyielding. Capable of giving him both punishment and pleasure.”

She waited for him in his chambers by the window, sewing that morning’s ruined shift. Her mind was split between that task and meditation, letting her consciousness drift through the environment, expanding to the outer halls. There was a slight commotion in the hidden room next door, and she felt the unmistakable presence of Feyd there. He wasn’t alone. But he felt happy, confident, but with some restraint still in his manner. She could hardly grasp the threads of his thoughts before he moved too far away from her senses.

He entered the room not long after, stopping in the doorway when he saw her there.

She held his gaze, allowing her eyes to say nothing while his told her everything. He was apprehensive, excited, fearful, and fought against an inner urge to see in her a motherly figure — after all, she’d chosen to be seen sitting quietly in the pale light sewing quite on purpose. Her lips were set in a line that wasn’t yet a smile.

He shut the door behind him with finality and walked toward her.

“I hope you had a good day, my lord na-Baron,” she said, getting up to her feet to lightly bow.

“We started harvesting the spice again today,” said Feyd. “The first batches have already started filling the silos.”

He wanted to be praised…

“A great achievement. Your uncle must be pleased,” she smiled.

“Well, he’s always been easy to satisfy.”

Feyd stopped before her and shamelessly looked down her figure. He smelled of sand and sunlight, and a hint of cinnamon. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from his suit. Without asking, he reached for her hand that held the needle and let his finger trace its length. It fell off the sharp tip without breaking his skin.

“Fixing what I broke this morning?” he chuckled.

“Yes. I have the impression there will be many more mornings like that.”

“Not if you do as I say,” he rasped.

“I can not sleep naked as you do. The nights in Arrakeen are too cold.”

“Funny,” he said with a playful tilt of his head and a smile. “You didn’t seem to mind seeing me. Yet I can’t see you?”

She hardened her expression deliberately, chastisement evident in her every muscle. “No,” she answered.

He nodded and tried in other ways to seem indifferent, but he couldn’t hold it up for long. He gripped her sewing hand again, but this time harder, and without giving her the option to protest, he tore the shift from her hands and threw it down behind her.

“If you live to serve,” he hissed, “you serve.”

“That’s not what —”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

She didn’t stop him from unlacing her dress, although her every muscle shouted at her to. His fingers were more careful than she thought, and he made short work of it. Then, without daring to look into her eyes, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. He wanted to take her black veil off by himself… Of course.

He felt at first how it was held — pinned within her hair from both sides. As gently as a bard unboxing his instrument, he uncovered her, letting the veil fall to the floor, then his hands went to her shoulders and pushed the dress down her limp arms. It went down to her waist where a narrow belt held it.

She was surprised to feel a touch upon her back, careful and precise, but harsh. If she focused, she could almost hear his heartbeat, hear his breathing, see behind her closed eyelids the expression on his face. His presence was as intense as when she’d first seen him take his first steps on Arrakis. He was not someone who liked to be ignored.

She turned to find him smiling, and couldn’t help a shiver of pleasure to find him happy from so small a thing. She realised then that what he’d been enjoying was the way tendrils of her hair fell on her skin. She held his gaze and, as if it meant nothing to her, took out the pins that kept it all together. It fell in waves around her shoulders and framed her breasts in teasing curtains, her hardened nipples just barely peeking through.

Feyd drew a sharp inhale and smiled as if he’d just received a present. Even his eyes looked innocent for a moment as if all power and control were drained from him, rendered unnecessary, because he’d just gotten everything he wanted. And then she slapped him in the face.

It was probably the hardest hit she’d ever given, and it still wasn’t enough to move him. He didn’t even waver on his feet. But his expression fell from pampered to petulant. It took a moment for his anger to be summoned up, and he flashed his black teeth at the sensation, cupping his cheek to soak the feeling in. He blinked and frowned at her — confused, perhaps, as to why she didn’t seem afraid, or why she dared to do it in the first place. But she saw in his expression a similar sort of thing to what passed across the eyes of sisters who accessed genetic memories. In his case, it was probably half-forgotten recollections from his childhood.

“You want it harder?” she asked with a deliberately indifferent tone.

Feyd didn’t waste a single breath. He gripped her throat and started squeezing, but she was unshakable now. Beneath his skin, she knew, her slap still sang throughout his blood. She stood before him half-naked, and he was the vulnerable one.

She slid her hands out of the sleeves of her dress and gripped his wrist — not to push it away, but to hold it — and dipped her head to bite into the flesh between his fingers. Feyd breathed in but let her do it, a shiver of pleasure running up his arm. He moaned, and immediately she felt his blood against her tongue. Pretending to enjoy it, she closed her eyes and drank it down. Then, with a kittenish lick at his wound in parting, she raised her head and started walking.

“You say I’m here to serve,” she whispered, pushing him toward the bed. “I know just how you want it.”

She brought him to the edge of the mattress and kneeled, forcing him to sit down. He did it as if mesmerised. As reward, she kissed him where his skin was bleeding, then sank her teeth in it again.

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

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mariasont · 9 months ago

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Ours Minds Entwined----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Spencer Reid x Original Character x Aaron Hotchner

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Three:

The precinct doors swung open, admitting the BAU team into a world where the air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The local officers, scattered like leaves, paused mid-motion their gazes drawn at the badged newcomers. Among them, the chief stood out, his shoulders bearing the slump of defeat.

Evelyn stepped through the threshold, her arrival stirring the calm atmosphere as subtly as a breeze disturbs a tranquil pond. The male officers couldn't help but glance up from their desks, their conversations trailing off as they took in her confident stride and bright energy she carried like a torch. She was oblivious to the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances that followed her path to the map.

Hotchner's gaze, sharp and discerning, caught the brief interplay of looks, a silent conversation in the language of glances. Beside him, Reid's observation was more analytical, noting the dynamics without judgment, his mind already cataloging and discarding the information as irrelevant to the task at hand.

Hotchner's voice cut through the low buzz of the precinct, clear and authoritative. "We're here to assist, not take over. Your insights are invaluable." His words were a bridge, extending partnership to the weary officers.

The chief, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen too much, stepped forward to greet them. "We're at a dead end," he admitted, shaking Hotchner's hand with a grip that spoke of desperation. "This guy is thorough, leaves no trace."

Reid, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses, peered over the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Has there been any consistency in the locations of the attacks?" he asked, his mind already sifting through the data like a codebreaker.

A detective, her badge dulled by the dust of the chase, shook her head. "All within a ten-mile radius, but no specific pattern. Random as far as we can tell."

Evelyn leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the spider web of roads and locations, her brow in concentration. "Not random, a constellation..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

It was there, in the quiet hum of her focus, the pattern emerged--a dance of dates and places that wove together.

"Look at the dates," Evelyn said, her voice a beacon cutting through the fog. "Each one aligns with a local event. It's not random; it's opportunistic. He's hiding in plain sight, using the crowds as cover for escape."

Silence fell, a heavy cloak, as all eyes turned to Evelyn. Reid's lips quivered in a semblance of a smile, his respect for her clear in the warmth of his eyes. "She's right," he affirmed. "The unsub isn't just local; he's embedded in the community, using public events as his hunting ground."

Hotchner's nod was slow, thoughtful, the gears of strategy turning behind his stoic facade. "Good work, Evelyn. Let's get a list of upcoming events, cross-reference with his known comfort zone. We might just catch him in the act."

The office was a cocoon of concentration, bathed in the soft hum of working minds. The only sources of light were the twin glows of computer screens, reflecting off Reid and Evelyn's focused faces. Papers littered the desk, each one a piece of the puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

Reid, his eyes scanning the data before them, spoke without looking away from the screen. "If we consider the unsub's preference for high-density events, it's logical to deduce that he will utilize the inherent disorder as a smokescreen for his escape," he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Evelyn's eyes, bright with the thrill of the hunt, were fixed on the screen as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by the list of events. Her hair had loosened during the long hours of research, giving her an air of approachability.

Reid, ever the picture of academic focus, had his brows furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, the curls just slightly askew. The faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow graced his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Evelyn leaned in, her eyes scanning the list. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to an entry on the screen. "The annual bourbon event. It's popular, draws a big crowd, and it's happening within his hunting grounds."

Reid's eyes flickered with approval. "Good catch," he affirmed, his voice steady and calm, yet there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm for her keen observation.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with pride. The praise from Dr. Reid, sent a wave of elation through her--all the way in between her thighs. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, straightening her posture, as she turned to him. "So, we could catch him there," she said.

Reid observed the transformation with a gentle, knowing smile. There was a vibrancy to Evelyn's enthusiasm that reminded him so vividly of his own younger self--brilliant, eager to prove, and somewhat oblivious to the darkness they were about to face. Yet, there was a shadow of concern that crept into his thoughts; the job had a way of chipping away at one's spirit, and he hoped Evelyn would be spared the harsher realities for a little while longer. He saw her potential for greatness, but also the innocence that he once carried--an innocence he hoped to protect, even if just for a little while longer.

Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Evelyn's with a mentor's patience. "It's a multifaceted problem," he began, his tone measured and informative. "We have to account for variables that could influence the unsub's behavior--law enforcement visibility, crowd dynamics, ingress and egress points."

Evelyn nodded, her pen pausing over the notebook that was quickly becoming a testament to her dedication. "Right, exit strategies," she echoed, her voice a mix of realization and admiration. "I didn't even think about that."

"There's always a pattern, a logic to their choices, even if it's skewed by their own delusions," Reid continued, the profiler in him surfacing as he spoke. "Our job is to decode that logic, to think like them, so we can be there to stop them."

Evelyn's scribbles grew more fervent, her eyes alight with the challenge. "To get into their heads," she mused, looking up at Reid with newfound understanding.

"Exactly," Reid affirmed with a nod, a subtle smile acknowledging her quick grasp of the concept. "And remember, the most seemingly insignificant detail could be the key to unlocking their next move."

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the urgency was palpable in the room. Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the date, her voice a mix of alarm and adrenaline. "Reid, it's tomorrow," she said, the words tumbling out with the weight of their implications.

Reid's reaction was immediate, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. His eyes now mirrored Evelyn's intensity. "We need to call Hotch," he stated, the command in his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

The BAU team, after hours of meticulous planning for the bourbon festival operation, stepped into the hotel lobby--a spacious area with high ceilings and a grand chandelier casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and fatigue from the day's efforts.

Morgan's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the surroundings before resting on Evelyn. His muscular frame relaxed against the front desk, his FBI badge glinting under the lobby's lights. "You know, for a rookie, you're not too shabby at this profiling gig," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Evelyn, despite the exhaustion that shadowed her features, still managed to exude an effortless elegance. Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had strands falling loosely around her face, softening her determined expression. "Oh, please. I learned from watching the best," she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Morgan chuckled. "Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone gets out-profiled by the new kid."

In the hours between the precinct and the hotel, the team had dissected every detail of the unsub's previous attacks. They mapped out the festival grounds, assigned undercover positions, and established communication protocols. They even ran through several scenarios, each time refining their strategy to ensure they were ready for any contingency.

As they finalized check-ins, Garcia buzzed in with last-minute intel, adding another layer to the plan. They would need to be vigilant, adaptive, and above all, united to outsmart a foe who had eluded everyone thus far. The team dispersed to their rooms, Reid lingering behind with Evelyn as their rooms ended up being next to each other.

The dimly lit hallway to their rooms was quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Reid walked alongside Evelyn; his profile bathed in the intermittent glow of the overhead lights. His hair was tousled, likely from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it in thought, giving him a disheveled charm that Evelyn couldn't help but find endearing.

As they reached her door, Evelyn's bag strap slipped from her shoulder, prompting her to grasp it tighter. In doing so, the sleeve of her blouse shifted, revealing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Reid's gaze inadvertently followed the movement, and he felt an inexplicable warmth flood to his cheeks. It was a simple, innocent moment, yet it stirred something within him.

"Here we are," Evelyn said, her voice breaking the silence as she fumbled with her key card.

Reid, still slightly flustered, cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Evelyn. See you in the morning," he managed to say, his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should've before he turned towards his own door.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she replied, her use of his first name sending a ripple through the air.

The bourbon festival buzzed with energy, a tapestry of sounds and colors under the open sky. The scent of oak and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of the surrounding food stalls. Laughter and lively conversations created a backdrop to the twang of banjos and fiddles playing a lively bluegrass tune, setting toes tapping on the grassy grounds.

As Evelyn navigated the festival crowd, Reid found his attention inadvertently drawn to her. The way the setting sun played with her hair, transforming it into a cascade of burnished waves, and the way the sundress accentuated her every curve with an understated elegance. There was something about Evelyn in this light, in this moment, that captivated him, and he caught himself appreciating the sight more than he had anticipated.

Reid's attire was a departure from his usual suits--a plaid shirt that brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that were both functional and inconspicuous. His hair lay in casual disarray, seeming as though the festival's carefree spirit had influenced his usually precise appearance.

The bourbon festival was in full swing, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. Undercover among the revelers, Reid and Evelyn blended in seamlessly, their casual attire and relaxed demeanor belying the sharp vigilance in their eyes.

Evelyn leaned against a wooden stall, sipping her fake drink as she observed the crowed. "So, we're looking for a male in his 30s, likely with a history of gambling debts and penchant for superstition," she recited quietly to Reid.

Reid, who was pretending to be engrossed in a festival brochure, nodded subtly. "Exactly. The four-leaf clover he leaves with his victims--it's not just superstition; it's a signature. It suggests a compulsion, a need to leave his mark, which is indicative of a narcissistic personality. He's taunting law enforcement, believing he can control the outcome of his crimes--like he's playing his own game of chance."

Evelyn, her voice low and steady leaned in. "So, we're looking for someone who blends in too well, someone who's watching but not engaging," she observed, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Reid nodded, his attention divided between her and the faces passing by. "Our unsub targets individuals who are isolated, perhaps separated from the group--easy prey in a setting like this," he explained.

Evelyn's eyes followed his line of sight. "Right, the loners. The ones who look like they're searching for something or someone," she added.

As the evening progressed, the shadows began to cast across the faces of the crowd. Reid and Evelyn moved through the throng, their gazes sharp and discerning. They passed a group of raucous college students, their laughter ringing out as they clinked their glasses in a toast. A little further on, a family of four navigated the crowd, the children's faces painted with whimsical designs, their hands sticky with cotton candy.

The air was rich with the scent of smoked meats and the char of oak barrels, the soundscape a blend of folk music and the murmur of hundreds of conversations.

Reid's voice was low as he leaned in, "It's fascinating how a beverage can be both a social lubricant and a potential clue in a criminal investigation. I suppose that adds a whole new layer to the term 'spirit detective'."

Evelyn's laughter was like a melody that cut through the ambient noise of the festival, infectious and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, not just for its volume but for its genuine quality.

She turned to Reid, her eyes alight with a playful glint. "So, we're adding 'spirit detective' to your already impressive resume? I must say, it's quite the title upgrade from genius profiler," she quipped, her tone teasing.

"Easy, we don't want to draw attention," Reid murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Her laugh was a laugh he realized he wanted to hear again, a candid burst of warmth that cut through the coolness of his analytical mind.

The festival's din faded into the background as Evelyn's attention was momentarily captured by Hotch's presence. He stood there, a figure of quiet authority even in his casual undercover attire. The subtle checkered pattern of his shirt did little to conceal his disciplined build, and the way his jeans fit just right made Evelyn's mouth feel dry all of a sudden.

Hotch's eyes, usually a well of stoicism, held a flicker of something else as they met Evelyn's--a momentary lapse in his guarded demeanor. His gaze, sharp and assessing, traveled over her in a swift, sweeping motion that was both professional and personal. It lingered just a beat too long on the curve of her neckline.

Hotch, after his brief lapse, was once again the picture of professionalism. His conversation with Rossi resumed, his demeanor unreadable, the brief moment of personal interest concealed behind a mask of focus and command. Evelyn, still oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of attraction, turned her attention back to the mission, her mind as sharp as ever.

Evelyn excused herself from Spencer, weaving through the crowd in search of the bathroom. The path to the restrooms was a stark contrast to the bourbon-soaked revelry Evelyn had left behind. The vibrant string of lights gave way to the occasional flickering bulb that did little to pierce the encroaching darkness. The music, once a lively companion, now played a muffled soundtrack to her solitary walk, the notes distorted and distant.

The restrooms, a small cluster of temporary structures, stood isolated at the edge of the festival grounds. Evelyn's boots sank slightly in the soft earth with each step, the recent rain turning the ground to a treacherous mix of mud and grass.

As she stepped out, the sense of solitude was abruptly shattered. A hand clamped over her mouth with startling force, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Her assailant's arm was an iron band around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. Panic flared, her breath hot and desperate against the palm pressed to her lips.

Panic surged, her heart thundering in her chest, her mind screaming for action, but her body momentarily paralyzed by fear. It was him--the unsub. His breath was hot against her ear, his grip unyielding.

Adrenaline surged through Evelyn's veins, her training taking over as she drove her elbow back with precision, aiming for the soft of her attacker's abdomen. The unsub grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his hold. The unsub recovered quickly; his face contorted with anger.

He lunged at her, throwing a punch that Evelyn narrowly dodged. She countered with a swift kick to his knee, causing him to buckle, but he was relentless. He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her jaw.

Evelyn staggered but didn't falter. She wiped the trickle of blood from her lip and glared at the unsub with fierce determination. With a swift move, she stepped inside his reach, delivered a powerful uppercut that snapped his head back, and followed with a knee to his midsection that doubled him over.

As he gasped for air, Evelyn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his arm, twisted behind his back, and pushed him down to the ground. "FBI! You're under arrest," she declared, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The scene was a rush of motion as the team manifested in an instant. Reid's face was a canvas of raw concern, his eyes searching for signs of distress. Hotch allowed a rare glimpse of worry to surface as he took in her appearance--the bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on her cheek. Evelyn's hair, though slightly disheveled from the altercation, framed her face.

The team's anxiety was palpable, a collective breath held until they were certain she was unharmed. It was her first case, and the stakes had never felt more personal. Yet, as Evelyn stood there, her bright smile breaking through the tension, her spirit undimmed by the encounter.

"I got him!" she declared; her smile unwavering as she met the eyes of her team.

Evelyn perched precariously on the cold metal edge of the ambulance, the harsh glare of its lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The EMT, with gentle hands, tended to the gash on her lip--a stark red against her skin. Each touch of the disinfectant was a sharp reminder of the day's chaos, a stinging sensation that seemed to echo her inner turmoil.

Despite the pain, Evelyn found solace in the rhythm of conversation, her words weaving between the EMT's methodical treatment. She spoke of trivial things at first, the weather, the relentless pace of the city, anything to keep the silence at bay. Yet, even as her voice trembled slightly, revealing cracks in her usually unflappable demeanor, she smiled--a smile, wistful curve of the lips.

Spencer's approach was hesitant, his hands buried deep in the refuge of his pockets, betraying a casual facade that his furrowed brow contradicted. As he drew nearer, the dim light fell upon Evelyn's features, illuminating the stark contrast of bruised skin against the sterile white of the ambulance's interior. His eyes, a mirror of his internal struggle, winced at the sight, a silent testament to the empathy that swelled within him.

"How you holding up?" he inquired, his voice a soft undercurrent amidst the wail of distant sirens. The concern in his tone was evident, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Evelyn, her face a canvas of the day's trails, bore the marks of the ordeal with an unsettling grace. The cut on her lip, now cleaned, was a vivid line drawn across her otherwise smooth complexion. Flecks of dried blood were still visible.

Evelyn's smile, though small and tinged with irony, was a testament to her unyielding optimism. "I've had better nights," she quipped, the humor in her voice a gentle balm against the sting of the EMT's ministrations. As a fresh bandage adhered to her cheek--she winced.

"I know it's part of the job, but... I'm sorry you had to go through that," Spencer said, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.

Evelyn's shrug was a delicate dance of nonchalance, her shoulders lifting in a gesture that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Comes with the territory, right?" she said, her voice a mix of jest and earnest. "Besides, we got him, and that's what counts." Her words were a shield, a deflection of the concern she saw mirrored in Spencer's eyes.

Spencer's response was a nod, subtle yet laden with the weight of unspoken words. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a silent accolade for her courage. "You did good, Evelyn. Really good." His affirmation was simple, but it carried the depth of his respect for her, for the strength she wielded so effortlessly.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, her gratitude genuine, a softening in the steel of her eyes. "For checking on me." It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her armor that allowed gratitude to seep through.

"It's what teammates do." Spencer said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the quiet of the night. His gaze held hers, a momentary tether, it lingered a beat longer than necessary.

As the silence stretched between them, a figure approached, his footsteps measured and purposeful. It was Hotch, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He carried with him a blanket. Spencer, ever perceptive, felt the shift in the air and excused himself with a nod, stepping away to give them space. Hotch's eyes met Evelyn's, a wordless exchange passing between them before he spoke.

"You should keep warm," Hotch said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. He unfolded the blanket with practiced ease and draped it over her shoulders, the soft material enveloping in a gentle embrace. His eyes inadvertently lingered on the wound upon her lip, the starkness of the injury drawing his focus. It was a fleeting moment, but in it, there was an intensity. The EMT, giving them a brief nod, finished up and moved aside, leaving them in a quiet bubble of privacy.

Evelyn pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric against the night's chill. Hotch's proximity was a force itself, the air charged with an energy that seemed to pulse with each of his measured breaths. She was acutely aware of his gaze, the way it rested upon her with an intensity that was both unsettling and reassuring.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lifting the meet Hotch's steady one.

Hotch's stance was as resolute as his reputation, his figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the flickering lights of the emergency vehicles. "Evelyn," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of authority softened by a trace of concern. His eyes, usually a guarded fortress, held a glimmer of uncharacteristic turmoil as they fixed upon her.

Evelyn, still cocooned in the blanket, looked up to meet his gaze. The ambient light played across her features, highlighting the youthful resolve etched into her bruised face.

In that moment, as he saw her standing her ground, something within Hotch shifted. The sight of her in the fray, fiercely fighting for her life, had ignited a surge of panic unlike anything he'd experienced with other team members. It was a visceral reaction, one that puzzled him with the intensity. Was it the paternal instinct to protest the progeny of his old friend and mentor, Gideon? Or was it something else?

Whatever the cause, it was a jarring sentiment that Hotch quickly compartmentalized, returning to the matter at hand with his usual stoic clarity. "You know the risks of going off alone, even for a moment," he reiterated, his stern gaze lingering on the cut of her lip--a silent reproof of her impulse.

Evelyn absorbed the words, her own eyes reflecting a complex mix or appreciation and a newfound understanding of the weight of her actions.

Hotch's gaze softened as he concluded, "Despite that, you handled yourself well out there. It's clear you're Gideon's daughter, and that's not just a responsibility--it's a strength. I have no doubt you'll become an invaluable part of this team. You're going to be okay, Evelyn."

#spencer reid x original character #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner x reader x spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fandom #reid #dr reid #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader x aaron hotchner #Spotify

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dearharriet · 8 months ago

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ooh and for steve, maybe something where it's reader's first day at the job where steve works and he's helping them out or maybe just a meet cute before they land the job

ty babe! fem!r (wc: 553)

No one is up front when you step into Family Video, so you pretend to look at the tape display to feel less awkward. It’s right beside the counter, so whenever someone emerges from the back (if they do at all), they’ll see you right away.

You’re not entirely certain what the theme of the display is supposed to be. It has The Sound of Music and Xanadu, so you guess musicals, but then Ghostbusters throws that all the way out.

You’re so concentrated on the puzzle that you don’t notice that an employee comes out until he clears his throat.

When you look up, a flock of nerves lights up in your stomach. The man at the counter is the kind of handsome that you’re never prepared to see for the first time, effortless and confident.

“Hi,” he says, and it’s more flirt than greeting. He leans on the counter, fluffing up his hair and smiling, and you’re hooked.

“Hi.”

You drift hesitantly toward the counter, shifting your bag over your shoulder. Eyes flicking down, you catch sight of his name tag, Steve-o stickered onto the plain black rectangle.

“How can I help you?”

Returning your attention to his face, you purse your lips shyly.

“I, um—I was wondering if there was someone I could talk to about working here?”

The boy’s eyes widen a little bit, and he seems to put himself back together, in a way. He’s not professional, by any means, but he’s all business.

“Oh, yeah.” His brows pull together in faux seriousness. “Are you kidding? You’ll fit right in.”

You laugh. “I can’t tell if you really mean that or not.”

Steve’s smile warms. “I do. Sorry.”

Suddenly, you really hope you get the job here.

“Okay,” you nod. “So, um…”

You look around, to the door leading to the back room. Steve perks up.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Forearms on the counter, he leans toward you, a good gossip-length away. “He’s not here, actually. But I can put in a good word for you, and tell him you’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Oh, sure,” you agree, a little breathless from his big eyes and sweet voice. “I’ll, um—I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You step back, and Steve almost looks like he’d crawl over the counter to follow you.

“Well hey—uh. Keith is gonna ask about your favorite movies, probably. He’s—” Steve glances around like he’s checking for eavesdroppers. “He’s kinda pretentious, yknow. Picky.”

You nod slowly.

“Is this his display? Cause I mean, these ones aren’t half bad.”

Grinning, Steve shakes his head.

“Nah, that’s mine, actually. Killer Soundtracks.”

“Ohh.”

With another pass through his hair, Steve pops over to the cart behind the counter, a picking through the tapes there for something. He returns to you with a stack of three.

“Keith’s a nerd, so, uh. Sci-fi is the way to go. These three don’t have to be your favorite, but he’s gonna bring ‘em up.” He slides them over to you. “On me. Just give ‘em back tomorrow, kay?”

Blinking, you take the stack between nimble fingers.

“Oh, are you sure?”

A girl appears from the back then, making a slow and obviously nosey gander back to the counter. Steve ignores her, still folded over the bench.

“‘Course, babe.” He winks a long-lashed eye. “Pretty privilege.”

thank u for reading! xx

masterlist

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #request

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the-bullet-in-soaps-head · 4 months ago

Text

#01 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊

── ౨ৎ ‧˚ ft. valeria garza/fem!reader

You move to Las Almas, and Valeria makes a friend.

Alternative summary: Valeria watches her future wife move into the yellow house next door.

series, wlw/glg, googled mexican spanish, filipino!reader, poc!reader, no use of y/n, 2nd pov, childhood friends, next-door neighbours, fluff, eventual angst, VERY SLOW UPDATES, happy ending

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST | VALERIA G. MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You were sitting atop one of your parents' suitcases, watching them unload the trunk of the old taxi. The summer sun of 1992 beat down on the yellow house you and your family had just moved into in Las Almas. Everything felt unfamiliar, and you were both excited and anxious about what was to come from this.

As you looked around, a clacking sound caught your attention. You saw a small, colorful toy roll and bump against your suitcase. Curious, you lifted your leg to inspect it. It looked somewhat like a toy you had brought from home, though it was less vibrant than this one as yours was painted plain red.

Just then, a girl from the house next door appeared. She had dark hair tied back in a simple braid and a curious look on her face. She crouched down and picked up the toy, then looked at you with wide eyes.

She looks pretty.

“That's my toy!” You yelped, feeling your cheeks tingle at the sudden outburst.

The girl looked at you confused. She muttered something in Spanish that you didn’t quite understand and held the toy up, examining it closely. Noticing your puzzled expression, she said slowly, “Me llamo Valeria.”

You blinked. Realizing a few seconds later that she'd told you her name, you introduced yourself in return, giving her a friendly smile as you did.

Valeria’s face softened, and she looked around, clearly sensing that you were new in Las Almas and struggling with the language barrier—anotber sign that you weren't from anywhere around Mexico either. “¿Quieres jugar con esto?” she asked as she held up the toy.

You looked back at her, still unsure about what she was saying. “Sorry, I don’t understand,” you said, feeling a bit awkward.

Valeria’s expression softened, and she gave you a sympathetic smile. “Ay, disculpa, do you want to play with this?” she said, this time in english, holding the toy up again and offering it to you.

You pointed at your parents, who were still busy unloading their luggage, and looked back at Valeria. "I want to, but I need to help my parents," you reply dejectedly.

She glanced over to where you were pointing and nodded in understanding. Valeria gave you a smile, then ran back toward her house. You watched as she disappeared behind the door, her small figure fading into the distance.

Later that afternoon, as you and your parents finished unpacking and started to settle into your new home, you noticed a group of strangers—Valeria's visiting relatives—talking to your parents. Valeria's grandmother, who had been living with her since her parents passed away, was offering help and support—assuring them she’d be happy to assist with anything they needed and warmly welcoming them to the neighborhood.

You spotted Valeria across the street, playing with the toy from earlier. Unable to resist, you called out to her. As she looked up and saw you, your grin widened at the sight of her beaming face.

“¡Hola!” Valeria called out with excitement. “Do you remember me?”

You giggled and nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “Of course! I remember you.”

Just then, Valeria’s grandmother approached with a warm smile, your parents following closely behind her.

You cringe for letting the word slip so your mother intervenes, "it's just something we say back home. We put it at the end of some sentences or in the middle of them to show respect to people in authority."

“This is mi abuelita—my grandmother,” Valeria said proudly, introducing the older woman. "Hello po," you wave shyly as you greet her.

"Po? What's that?" Valeria asked, looking at you with a puzzled expression as she repeated the word.

A laugh echoed above you both, causing you to look up. "It's something we say back home to show respect," your mother explained. "We also do 'pagmamano,' or 'bless' in English, but it's not a common custom here."

Valeria looked at you, still puzzled. "Then where are you from?"

Her grandmother answered, "They come from the U.S., but the Philippines is their homeland."

"Well, you're here in Las Almas. Welcome!" Taking your hands in hers, Valeria placed the same colorful toy she'd been playing with into your palms and repeated the question from this morning, "do you want to play with this?"

You glanced at your parents, your eyes doing the talking for you. Valeria's grandmother and your parents, who wanted to continue chatting, encouraged you with a nod to join Valeria.

Looking back at the girl, you finally agreed. Valeria's face lit up with excitement, and the two of you spent the rest of the day playing together.

You were adjusting. Again.

If you were older, you'd probably be more affected than you are now. The first time was when your father got a job that made him a permanent U.S. resident. Soon after, he wasted no time whisking you and your mother off on a plane to California. You were four then.

Adjusting to the new time zone, weather, people, and food took time. You expected foreign food to be as delicious as what you had back home. Not that it was bad! It's just... It wasn’t quite the same. You missed the taste of Jollibee chicken and having rice at every meal. The adobo your lola would make, or your lolo's specialty tinola—the smell, the cooking, everything.

But school? That was a bright spot. You had just started preschool a year before the big move, so you’d be attending another year of it in California. And honestly? You loved it! Kindergarten was a blast too. You actually liked going to school. Your mother thanks God for the lack of bullies and your added enthusiasm. It makes her worry less. You may be young, but you’re not so blind as to miss how she fussed over you every time you came back.

Winter, on the other hand… While seeing and feeling snow had been a dream come true ever since you discovered American Christmas movies and storybooks—everything you imagined—it also turned out not to be. As beautiful as winter was, it ultimately sucked for you. You’d get sick every year. How you’d pray for the season to pass quickly, just so you could get out of bed instead of feeling icky and ill. In short, you didn’t like winter as much as you thought you might.

The second time of adjustment would be now—your move to Las Almas. It’s somewhere in Mexico, you think. You aren’t entirely sure yet, but you think it is. Places still confuse you.

Which leads to now: your enrollment into first grade at a school just a short walk from your house. You’re sitting at a small desk while your mother was talking to someone at the front of the room when suddenly, the door swings open, and two familiar faces walk in.

"Valeria!" you shout, jumping up from your seat. You run over to her, your excitement bubbling over.

Valeria looks just as surprised but smiles as you grab her hands. “Are you coming to this school too?” you ask, barely able to stay still.

When she nods, you can’t help but squeal with joy. “Yay!” you say, hugging her tightly. Your first friend here would be attending the same school as you!

Which leads to now: your enrollment into first grade at a school just a short walk from your house. You’re sitting at a small desk while your mother talks to someone at the front of the room when suddenly, the door swings open, and two familiar faces walk in.

“Valeria!” you shout, jumping up from your seat. You run over to her, your excitement bubbling over.

Valeria looks just as surprised but smiles as you grab her hands. “Are you coming to this school too?” you ask, barely able to stay still.

When she nods, you can’t help but squeal with joy. “Yay!” you say, hugging her tightly. Your first friend here would be attending the same school as you!

Pulling away from the hug, you move to greet her grandmother. "Good afternoon po!"

Her grandmother smiles warmly and pats your head. "You and Valeria are going to have so much fun together, mija," she says, her voice gentle and affectionate.

"And that you take care of each other," your mother chimes in. "You'll be classmates since there's only one section per grade. I expect you to be on your best behavior," she chides jokingly.

Valeria’s grandmother chuckles at your mother’s comment and gives a nod of agreement.

“We’ll be good, promise!” Valeria says, looking at you with a grin. You both exchange excited glances, eager about starting at the same school.

The two older women exchange a few more words about school supplies and the upcoming first day as the enrollment process continues. Meanwhile, Valeria and you explore the classroom, checking out all the colorful decorations and new supplies.

You both excitedly point out the things you like and imagine the fun you’ll have as soon as the school year begins.

Afterward, with the enrollment over, you leave the school, walking home together with Valeria while the adults follow behind, chatting and watching as you do the same.

The unfamiliar streets become more familiar the longer you walk, and a comforting feeling blooms in your chest with Valeria by your side.

When you reach the front of your houses, you both pause and hug tightly. “See you soon!” you say, smiling.

“See you soon!” Valeria replies, returning your hug with a grin.

With a final wave, you both head inside, feeling a little more at ease knowing you’ll be starting the school year together. From then on, a new life starts, and it’s one you'll share together. For many years to come.

A/N: I haven't written anything in so long and my English needs some improvement. Hope you guys liked it🧎‍♀️

#cod mw2 #valeria garza #cod fanfic #cod x reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x you #gl series

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