#didn’t get more than a couple in the last day or so

[formula-nyoom]

I'm Proud of You

Pairing: Platonic!Grid x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary: Being the youngest and newest driver to the grid is not an easy adjustment to make and it ends up taking a toll on you. Thankfully some of the other drivers on the grid are there to look out for you.

A/N: Was going to wait till Saturday to post this, but I had a shit day today so I decided to post it now. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

No one really knew what Mercedes was thinking when they announced that they were signing you, an F2 rookie who placed 6th in the Formula 2 Championship, as the one to take the 2nd Mercedes seat. Everyone expected you to be named a reserve driver, so that you could prepare for the jump to F1. Yet here you were, jumping straight into the deep end. Even after you heard the news that you would be racing in Formula One, you were left more with shock and confusion rather than excitement. 

Sure, you had done a couple of test drives for Mercedes and had participated in an F1 practice session or two, but you didn’t think that was enough to put you in contention for a Formula One seat. 

But the media thought otherwise, and so did Mercedes. 

Both your friends and family tried to reassure you that you were good enough to race in Formula One, and you had seen countless interviews of Toto Wolf saying that he had made the right decision in signing you.

But none of that could take away the fact that all eyes were now on you. 

The first female to race in Formula One, and now the youngest on the grid.

The season hadn’t even started and yet you felt like Atlas holding the world weight of pressure that was placed upon your shoulders. You now have something to prove. And everyone was waiting for you to either fly or fall.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t find the courage to cross the turnstile that led into the paddock during the first race weekend of the season. Crossing over would make everything real. And you would be doing it alone, as both your family and your manager weren't able to get to the track till later in the day. 

“Did you forget your badge on the first day?” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Charles and Pierre.

 “You can just jump over the gate. Yuki does it all the time.” Pierre said. 

 “No, I have my badge…I’m just nervous to enter the paddock.” You said, motioning with your head to the turnstiles.

 “What makes you so nervous?” Charles asked.

“There’s a lot of people. And cameras. And people with cameras. I feel like I’m gonna get swarmed as soon as my foot crosses the entrance.” You said.

 “You’re not wrong. The media doesn’t really know the definition of personal space.” Charles said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If you want, I can act as a buffer and draw the attention away while Pierre helps you get past.”

 “Would that work? I just want to get to the Mercedes hospitality.”

“Oh trust me, the media loves Charles. They’ll be too focused on getting pictures of him to see us walk by.” Pierre said. You looked back at the people past the entrance and there seemed to be more than when you last looked. 

 “Well…if you’re sure it will work then we might as well try.” You said. Charles smiled and gave you a nod. He then took the sunglasses that were hanging on his hat and put them on before entering the paddock. Immediately, the people that had cameras flocked to Charles and started to take his picture as he tried to walk through the paddock. You and Pierre waited a couple moments to build enough distance between you and Charles before the two of you entered the paddock. You clutched the straps of your bag tightly, expecting the nearby paparazzi to turn around and immediately start taking pictures of you and Pierre, but they were too focused on Charles.  

Pierre’s hand hovered over your shoulder as he tried to block you from most of the cameras while guiding you through the paddock. While the two of you managed to pass Charles without getting noticed, you couldn’t help but feel a bit claustrophobic, seeing Charles surrounded by so many people trying to take his picture. Eventually, you and Pierre managed to make it to the Mercedes hospitality building.

“Is it always going to be like this?” You asked Pierre.

 “Unfortunately, yes. Especially since you’re the newest on the grid. I recommend you invest in a good pair of sunglasses. But I’m proud of you for getting past your first swarm of paparazzi.” Pierre said, ruffling your hair. You laughed and swatted his hand away as Charles walked up to the two of you.

 “Whew! Thank god Lewis walked in. I felt like those reporters and paparazzi would never leave.” Charles said.

 “Sorry for making you go through that.” You said, feeling a bit guilty. 

“Pas de soucis. I’m used to it and know how to handle them. Though I will advise that you never enter the paddock by yourself. The reporters are like vultures.” Charles said. “Anyway, we will see you at the press conference, no?”

 “Yep. I’ll see you there.” You said. Charles patted your shoulder before him and Pierre headed to their own team's hospitality. 

~~~

You were beginning to hate the press conferences that you had to go to. Any question that was directed towards you involved your performance on track, or lack thereof as some reporters like to put it. You were getting tired of having to answer questions that made you feel like a failure.

“This question is for (Y/N). We’re now five races into the season and you’ve been continuously out qualified and out placed by your teammate, George? Is there a certain struggle that you’re having with the car that may be the cause of this?”

If you could walk away from this question, you would. But instead you stayed in your seat and picked up the microphone next to you. Damn Mercedes PR training.

 “There’s still some learning with the car. The engineers have said that the car isn’t up to the standards they want it to be, so I am struggling a bit on track.” You said, giving your best PR approved answer that you could manage.

“But would it be safe to say that you are under performing at Mercedes in comparison to your teammate?” The reporter asked. You tried to steal your expression and act like the comment didn’t bother you.

 “What kind of question is that?” It wasn’t you that asked it, but Lando, who was sitting to your right. You looked at him with some confusion. So did the reporter.

“Is there something you would like to add, Lando?”

“Yea. You can’t say she’s underperforming when she’s a rookie that has only completed five races.” Lando said, an upset expression clear on his face. The reporter cleared his throat.

 “I’m just saying, some have doubts that Mercedes were too hasty in signing an F2 rookie and I wanted to know if that was being reflected in (Y/N)’s driving.” The reporter said, trying to control the situation

 “I think we already know your opinion on Mercedes' decision based on the questions you ask.” Carlos said, who was sitting next to Lando. “I agree with Lando that it’s unfair to judge (Y/N) based on her first five races.”

 “I’d say she’s actually doing pretty good for a rookie, considering she’s been able to score points in two out of the 5 races she’s done so far.” Lando said.

 “Much more than you have ever done.” Carlos said to the reporter. You tried to hide the smile that was slowly forming on your face but inevitably failed as you picked your microphone back up.

“To my two fellow drivers points, I think you’re discounting me too early. I will admit that there is still a learning curve and with the continuous upgrades that Mercedes keeps bringing to the car, I am constantly having to adjust to all the new additions while also trying to get used to driving a Formula One car every other weekend.” You said, making direct eye contact with the reporter. “But I will eventually get used to the car. And when I do, I think I will be able to match George and possibly start out qualifying.”

That seemed to silence the reporter, as he sat back down. It also seemed to signify the end of the press conference as reporters started to pack their things and you and the other drivers sitting on the couch with you got up and left the room.

“Mate, I’m so proud of you and how you handled that reporter.” Lando said once you were out of the room. He placed his hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a side hug.

 “I was ready to walk out of the press conference when I heard that question. Why do these reporters always have to compare me to George?”

 “Because that's what they do. All of us get compared to our teammates because our teammates are seen as our biggest competition.” Carlos said. “You’re gonna get it more because you’re new.”

“Just remember that you can refuse to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable.” Lando said. 

 “Even the sexist ones?” You asked. Carlos and Lando nodded their heads.

“Especially the sexist ones.” Carlos said.

 “Better yet, I’ll answer them for you in the most ridiculous manner so that way they’ll stop asking you questions like that.” Lando said, making you laugh.

~~~

So many more races. Too many races. How does a Formula One driver get through all these races and have a chance to calm down? You were used to things going fast, but lately you just wanted a chance to slow down and breathe. 

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor in an empty VIP room, looking out the window at a mostly empty racetrack. Phone in hand. Staring at the clock that displayed the timezone back at home.

2:00AM. Your parents are definitely asleep right now. It’s not a good time to call them, no matter how much you want to. 

You were so focused on staring at your phone, you didn’t notice that Max had walked in.

“Sadly I don’t think drivers count as VIPs at the races they have to participate in.” Max said as he sat down next to you, a Redbull in his hand.

 “It’s the only place that I can find privacy and some peace and quiet.” You said still staring at your phone.

2:01AM.

You turned your phone off and let out a sigh, placing it down next to you.

 “Something the matter?” Max asked. You hesitated. You didn’t want to burden a 3-time World Champion with your upset thoughts, that was for your non-existent therapist. But then again, maybe talking to someone who has been in your position before may make you feel a bit better.

“I haven’t found a good time to call my parents since the start of the season.” You said. “They were able to make it to my first race, which was amazing. I was really glad they could come…but with so many races on the calendar, it’s hard for them to come to all of them, and all the changing time zones makes it hard to find a good time to call them.” You told him. “I miss talking to them.”

Max looked at you, took in how you were hugging your knees. Max sometimes forgets that you're now the youngest driver on the grid. On the track he sees you as competition, but now he sees you as the overwhelmed rookie that you looked like right now.

“I understand what you're feeling. It does get overwhelming a lot of times.” He said. You turned to him.

 “How do you deal with it?”

“No matter what country we are in, I try to find a day or time where I can get the farthest away from being a race car driver. A spot that’s farthest away from the track where I’m not “Max Verstappen, The Red Bull Driver”, but just “Max”.” He said.

 “Don’t you get recognized wherever you go?” You asked

“Absolutely. But being away from the track, even for an hour, makes me less overwhelmed. And in regards to wanting to talk to your parents, yes finding a time to communicate is hard, but sometimes you just have to throw timezones out the window and call your parents. Even if you can only talk to them for five minutes, it’s still five minutes that you get to talk to them.” Max explained. 

You thought about what Max said. It would make you feel a bit guilty, waking your parents up in the middle of the night just because you wanted to talk to them. But at the same time, sometimes they’re the only people that could make you feel better. You looked back down at your phone.

2:05 AM

You’d be ok with just five minutes.

 “I think I’m gonna call my parents.” You said to Max. He smiled and gave you a nod before standing up.

 “I’ll let you have your privacy. But my driver’s room is open if you want to talk about anything except racing.” Max said before leaving the room. You smiled at him before calling your parents.

~~~

Finally you had finished a race with what you thought was a good race result. P6 was your highest placement so far this season and it was something you should be proud of. But even if you thought it was a good result, you knew that people were going to comment that George had gotten P4, placing ahead of you again. To you, it felt like no matter how high you climbed up the grid, if George finished in front of you, your result wasn’t something to be proud of. 

You were knocked out of your thoughts by someone bumping your shoulder. It was Oscar walking alongside you. The fact that he was looking directly at you made you assume the bump was intentional to get your attention.

“Proud of you.” Oscar said. “This was just like that one season of Formula 2 we raced in together.”

You scoffed but smiled.

 “Yea, except I now have the knowledge not to shunt the car into the back of yours.” You said. You spent most of thid race chasing Oscar’s rear wing and were glad that you didn’t do what you had just said.

“That time was an accident. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Oscar said. The two of you stopped walking as you got closer to where the podium interviews were taking place. The two of you watched as Charles was getting interviewed about his winning result. 

“So am I gonna see you up on that podium this season?” Oscar asked. You didn’t want to shake your head, but your body acted on instinct. You have been shaking your head a lot these days.

 “That seems unlikely. I haven’t been able to match George’s pace at all and he keeps out qualifying me.” You said. Oscar looked at you confused.

 “What are you on about? You were only 2 seconds off George and that was only because I was in between the two of you.” He said. You sighed.

“Yea but it was still 2 seconds behind George. It doesn’t matter how much time is between the two of us, if I’m behind him that’s all the media is going to care about.” You said. “I’ll never have the pace to pass him.”

“Hey!” Oscar grabbed your shoulders so that you would face him. “You have the pace. You’ve been building it up this whole season. At the start you were what? 10 seconds behind him? Now you’re two. Soon there’s going to be no gap because you’ll be ahead of him at some point. It’s bound to happen.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline finally wearing down, or the fact that Oscar was saying something you had been wanting to hear from your race engineer, or your team princpal, or hell, even it’s something the media should be noticing: that you’re catching up and proving your pace. Oscar’s words were making you feel like you belonged on the grid.

 “You think so?” You asked, needing the confirmation. 

“I know so. Screw what everyone else says.” Oscar said. “Are you proud of your P6?”

 You looked back at your car, then at the car of your teammate’s before your eyes landed back at Charles. You’d be in his spot at some point this season, you just knew it.

 “Yea. I’m proud of myself.”

#formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader

[pit-and-the-pen]

But I Have You...

Just a treat for all the angst I've been posting lately! Thank you @daycourtofficial for such a cute idea!

Summary: Date night with Azriel. What could go wrong? Apparently everything...

Warnings: Making out, mentions of food/cooking, allusions to smut, modern-ish AU

Wc: 3.3k

Date night with Azriel was one of your favorite days of the entire week. Calling it date “night” was an understatement. You and Azriel were normally both so busy with your duties that you tried to make a whole day out of it, or as close as it could be. 

“Go bathe.” You pointed towards the door of the bathroom, brush still in your outstretched hand. 

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” He quirked an eyebrow at you, stalking closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest. 

“Yes. Now go. We’re going to be late for dinner.” You squeal when he begins to tickle your side, holding you against him as you try to squirm out of his hold.

“I yield. Please…Az” You manage to get out between your fit of laughter. He plants a wet kiss on your cheek before turning around and dramatically stomps to the bathroom, making a show of the small action. You laugh as he rolls his eyes as he closes the door, a large smile plastered to his face letting you know he wasn’t really mad or annoyed with you. 

Taking the opportunity to finally get dressed, you all but run to the closet. Edgar to pull out the new dress that you had picked out with MOr last week. It was the exact color of his siphons. You greedily ran your hand over the velvet fabric, already loving the way it felt under your hands. The fabric being one of the very few that didn’t irritate Azriel’s hands over a prolonged time. 

You quickly pull your lounge clothes over your head, kicking them off into some random corner of the room to deal with later. The bag holding the dress is discarded in a similar fashion after being torn open. It was just as beautiful as you remember it being and you can’t wait to get it on your body. Even more excited to see Azriel’s reaction. 

.You are practically skipping over to your underwear drawer, picking out a small lacy set that you bought to go with the dress. It slides over your skin like butter, clinging to your body like a second skin. It stops about mid-thigh. Just short enough to be sexy but not too short that you were scared to bend over, which you would definitely be doing if for nothing more than giving the shadowsinger a peak of what exactly was waiting for him underneath the dress.

Pulling the straps over your shoulders, you only need to zip the dress up. YOu managed to tug it up halfway before the zipper got stuck on the seam at your waist. A couple more tugs and the stupid thing still won’t budge. You know you could just ask Azriel. He would never object to zipping you up but you knew there would be no way you would make it to your reservation if you did so. So you tugged once more, twice more, and then. Riiiipppp. Your jaw goes slack as the zipper finally tugs the rest of the way up, taking the other half of the zipper with it. The thin fabric stuck under the teeth and tore a large hole in the brand-new dress. 

“Fuck!” You shout out once you survey the damage in the mirror. You would not have time to fix this before your reservations. 

“Darling, what’s-” You hear your mate's voice filter into the room before he cuts himself off. You turn to face him and he’s gawking at you, towel slung low around his hips. 

“It ripped. I just got this dress.” You whine. A chuckle leaves him and the sound has you pouting. “I just got this. It was going to be perfect for tonight.”

“You know that you could always…not wear anything.” His eyes are still trailing up and down your figure. 

“Az! I’m serious.” You softly shout at him

“So am I.” He doesn’t hesitate to respond. You blush at his words. “Can we just skip dinner?” 

“No sir. It took us months to get this reservation.”

“Rhys could get us in with a snap of his fingers.”

“But I want to go tonight. I already looked at the menu and picked out what I wanted.”

“Of course you did, lovely.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making him throw his head back in laughter. “Just go pick any of the other hundred dresses you have.” He teases and it’s your turn to stomp out of the room. Rolling your eyes at him, a smile so wide it makes your cheeks hurt. Your finger runs over dress after dress and none of them seem to be right. Already having your mind set on the perfect dress, it’s hard to find one to replace it. Your hands finally brush over one that you had forgotten about. A lighter shade than your previous dress, but it would do.

You pull it off the hanger with more force than necessary and peel the other one off, throwing it across the room with a huff. You pad over to Azriel when you have it pulled onto your shoulders, not willing to risk another zipper fiasco. You don’t even have to ask him before he takes the delicate zipper in his hands and pulls it up smoothly in one motion. He presses a kiss to the dip between your shoulder blades as he slides the zipper up into place. You notice his eyes dipping down in the mirror. You��re about to tease him for his wandering gaze when he clears his throat. 

“I think there might be…I don’t even know what that is. Wine?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” YOu shout, turning around trying to see your backside in the mirror and sure enough. There is a random stain right at the small of your back. And then you remember. You wore this dress the last time you went to Rita’s with Mor and you had bumped into someone, someone that was holding a nearly full drink that splashed onto your back. 

“Whatever. What-fucking-ever. We’re going to be late and this was the only dress I liked.” YOu take a deep breath through your nose. “Just stand behind me so no one sees it.” He nods before his eyes drift lower once again, this time pausing when you know he isn’t looking at the stain anymore. 

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” He grumbled to himself which has you spinning around to wrap your arms around his waist.

“What would I ever do without you, Azzy.”

“Walk around with a stain on your butt.”

“Prick. I was trying to be cute.” You feign insult. He only leans down and gives you a small peck on the lips. 

“Let's go then.” He gives your ass a soft slap for emphasis. You scramble to grab your purse from the edge of the bed and catch up with him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to the restaurant wasn’t bad at all. It was only a few blocks away from the apartment the two of you shared. A pleasant walk with even sidewalks that made it easy for your heeled feet to walk. 

The dull noise of the restaurant filled your ears the moment the door closed behind you. The decoration was very modern but still seemed very homey. Like it had been pulled directly from a cooking show set. Blue and white gingham tablecloths mixed with gold brushed metals. It was one of the newest, and if the wait you had for the reservation was any sign, most popular restaurants in the area. The hostess asks for your name and you give it to her. She scrolls through the tablet in front of her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She turns to a large book by her side and flips to a page, finger scanning down the lines of names. 

“Would it be under a different name?” She looks up and asks you. 

“It could be under Azriel.” You were one hundred percent you had made the reservation under your name but found yourself giving his name either way. The line in her eyebrow deepens and your heart sinks as she turns back to you.

“It looks like we don;t have anything under that name. And we’re fully booked tonight so we aren’t talking walk-ins.”

“No, I called last month. I know I made a reservation. It wouldn’t be anywhere else?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to let your disappointment make you yell at the poor girl at the host stand. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not in our system and like I said, we’re completely full tonight. Do you want me to make you a reservation for another night?” You shook your head. Too distraught to think about another night. 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Azriel said, noticing the way tears were starting to swim in your eyes. He took your hand lightly and pulled you out of the restaurant. He wrapped his arms around you and you buried your head into his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s silly to be getting upset over this but I’m just really…I don’t even know.”

“You’re allowed to be disappointed baby. You’ve been talking all week about this.” He pulled your face up with one of his fingers. “How about we go to that pizza place you really like?” You perked up a little at the thought making Azriel smile at your mood change. “There she is.” He kissed your cheek. “Lets go.” He started walking you in the direction of the small pizza shop. As upset as you might be, you did love this spot. One of the few places that didn’t make their sauce too acidic or too sweet. Perfect crust to pizza ratio. It was always your fall back place and it was a great suggestion from your boyfriend. 

You walked the few blocks to the shop and stood outside the door. One look at the sign made your heart sink all over again. Closed for repairs. Azriel gave your hand a squeeze. 

“Azzzzzz.” You whined, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a toddler. 

“It’s okay baby. We can do something else.” He pulled you into his arms again, once again calming you down. 

“Can we make pizza at home?”

“Of  course we can.” He smiled down at you. Then you remembered. 

“Shit. Elain used the rest of our flour for some cookies last week.” 

“Then we’ll go to the store.”

“Az we can’t go to the store dressed like this.” You gestured to your dress and his crisp black dress shirt and matching pants. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’ll look crazy.”

“Do you want pizza?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to go to the store. Come on.” He started pulling you in the direction of a small corner store at the other end of the square. 

You felt so silly, small shopping basket in hand, you in your tight dress and heels and Azriel in his dress clothes. But luckily, no one paid you any attention. Too focused on their own shopping to even notice you. Picking up the bag of flour, you also grabbed some cheese, and some fresh basil to put on top. Azriel led you over to the check out but not before grabbing a bottle of wine as you passed by the section. The cashier rang you out quickly and smiled at the two of you as you walked out of the store. Not once commenting or even raising an eyebrow at your attire, much to your pleasure. 

Your feet were screaming at you by the time you got to the door of your apartment.  Not expecting to walk as much as you did. Azriel, seeing the discomfort in your face, leaned down to undo the straps off your heels. He gave a small tap to your ankle to let you know that you could step out of them before he repeated the motion to your other foot. A sigh left your lips as your feet touched the ground, screaming in relief. Azriel gave you a small kiss on your knee before standing back up. 

“Thank you.” You told him as he grabbed the bag from your arms and walked into the kitchen.

“I should change if we’re going to be making dough.” You said as you followed him into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Or you could keep it on and let me peel you out of it later?” He suggested, furthering his words by kissing along your jaw. You fought the urge to melt against his hold. 

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll keep it on.”

“Good girl.” He spoke before giving your ass a light slap as he released you. You heated up from head to toe at his words. You shook your head as he started to unpack the groceries, trying to clear your head of the less than innocent thoughts rushing through you. So you started to pull out the other necessary ingredients and placed them on the counter next to Azriel. He opened the flour and started to pour it into the bowl you pulled out from the cabinet. He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead as he takes the olive oil from your hands and starts working on the dough. It was soe recipe he knew that made quick, non-proofing, dough. Something he learned from Rhys’ mother he had told you one time. In no time the dough was made and he started rolling it out. You peeked over his shoulder and had to bite back a laugh when you saw the speckling of flour on his cheek. He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve got something…” You reached out your hand to swipe the streak away. “Right there.” You giggled at his annoyed expression.

“You mean right,” He dipped his hand into some of the flour that had spilled onto the counter and flicked it towards your hair. “There?” You squealed as you realized what he was doing, moving just too late to avoid the flour from getting into your hair. 

“Az!” You said in between your laughing. “You got my hair dirty.” You gave him a dramatic pout, looking up at him which in turn made him start laughing. 

“Oh no, guess I’ll just have to wash it out later.” He nudged you with his shoulder which only made you roll your eyes, a smile plastered onto your face. 

“I guess….” 

“What do you want on your pizza?” He quickly changed the topic. 

“Just cheese please.” You smiled up at him and he nodded. He quickly spread some of the jarred sauce on with the back of a spoon and sprinkled on a handful, or three, of the shredded cheese you bought at the store. You smiled at the heap of cheese on your pizza, just the way you liked it. None of the sauce was visible under the coating and he smiled at you as you helped him slide in onto the pan. He quickly did the same to his own, adding a few slices of the tomato and a handful of basil on top. 

With the pizza’s in the oven it would only be a few minutes until they were ready, just enough to let the cheese melt. 

Azriel leaned against the counter, already holding two wine glasses in his hand. YOu walked over and grabbed them from his hand, placing a quick kiss to his lips and putting them down on the counter. He leaned down and grabbed your face between his hands, pulling your lips back to his. You let yourself sink into the kiss. The first real kiss you two shared all night. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip and you whined against him. He chuckled deeply, the sound reverberating through you and heating your blood instantly. You whined again and you felt Azriel backing you up into the counter across the kitchen. His hands snaked down to your waist and tapped, silently asking you to jump onto the countertop. You obliged and he helped hoist you up so your lips didn't leave his. Your hands snaked into his dark locks, pulling his face even closer to yours. His hands started wandering down your hips, grabbing at the fat of your hips, pulling you somehow closer to him. Your mouth parted in a moan at the tight grip and you used that as an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. You bit down lightly, pulling away from the kiss. Both of your were panting but he just trailed kisses down your neck, down to the neckline of your dress. He had just snuck a hand up to pull down the fabric when you noticed a burning smell in the air. Shit. You pushed him away, already hoping off the counter. He looked at you, confused at your sudden shift. Then his eyes widened as he remembered the pizza you had both seemingly forgotten about. You quickly grabbed one of the over mitts sitting on the counter and pulled the pizza’s out. If you could even call the nearly black circles on the pan you were pathetically holding out in front of you. 

You really couldn’t find it in yourself to be disappointed. Not when you could still feel Azriel’s lips ghosting along your skin. You pushed the contents of the pan into the garbage can and looked up at Azriel. Both of you immediately bursted out laughing. He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry baby.”

“I’m not.” You winked at him. 

“Well what are we going to do for dinner now.”

“There's ice cream in the freezer?”  You shrugged. Suddenly not in the mood for cooking at all. You bit your lip as you looked at him and he laughed in response. 

“Okay. Ice cream for dinner it is.” 

So the two of you, still in your clothes from the failed dinner reservations, curled up on the couch. Each holding a pint of ice cream and the now full wine glasses on the table in front of you. Azriel had thrown a blanket over the two of you and put on some cheesy movie that neither of you were paying attention to. 

“I’m sorry tonight was such a disaster” You said to him, mouth still half full of ice cream. He shook his head, leaning his face closer to yours until your foreheads were touching.

“I got to be with you, what more can I ask for?” 

The two of you nearly finished the bottle of wine, Azriel had already placed the nearly empty ice cream containers back into the freezer. When he returned to the couch he pulled you against his chest, hand swirling random patterns onto your back. You felt your eyes getting very heavy as you tried your best to focus on the movie in front of you but the wine was lulling you to sleep. It felt like your eyes had closed for only a second before Azriel was shaking you awake. 

“Hi sleepyhead.” He mumbled into your hair.

“I was not asleep for that long.”

“Long enough to drool on me.” You quickly shot up, hand going to wipe away any wetness that might have split from your mouth. Your hand was dry. You stuck your tongue out at him as he gave you a wicked smile. He pulled you back down to his chest, twisting you so you were now straddling him. 

“I think I can find a perfect way to wake you darling.” And that was all you needed to hear before you pressed your lips against his. Very much awake.

#acotar #acosf #acomaf #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #acowar #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x you #azriel fluff

[m-inluv]

KUROO TETSURO is a very busy man. being a sport promoter is a hard-working job in terms of schedule — having to find various endearing sport events and sponsors who will agree to take part and finance these social event — which consumes a lot of time and humain energy.

and while tetsuro is grateful for the way you support and understand that his work takes a lot of him he still feels guilty for leaving you alone most of the time — especially now that you’re six months pregnant with his son.

over the last couple of weeks your husband and his coworkers started working on a very special sporting event, the ‘FIVB Beach Volleyball World Championships’, the double-gender world championship of beach volleyball. despite this championship being in a bit more than a year it is by far the most important worldwide volleyball event happening in the following year.

which is why testuro has been working harder during the last few days, his schedule being filled with meetings to discuss with a bunch of different sponsors — on who gets to sponsor what.

so when tetsuro finds himself having a ten minutes break between two meeting he immediatly turns on his phone, checking for any texts or missed calls from you — to which he does find a few texts.

wifey ♡ babe babyyy testsuro !! pls reply as soon as you can :(

tetsu •ᴗ• sweetheart is everything okay  ? are you hurt ? fuck did you burn the house down ? wifey ♡ babyyyy yuh uh everything is fine !! and i only burnt homemade caramel once :( i just can’t write it over text… call me !!!

the raven-haired man stands up from his seat, excusing himself as he pushes the nearest door open with one hand, the fingers of his free hand swiftly tapping over his phone’s screen as he clicks on your contact id — dialing your number. he then places his phone over his ear, leaning his back against the wall behind him as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

as soon as tetsuro hears some shuffle from the other line of his phone he speaks up, not even letting you greet him properly. “sweetie, is there a problem ?” his tone is worried as he waits for your answer, hoping that everything is fine — that you’re alright.

“tetsu—” you start before letting out a laugh, which kinda helps your husband calm down for a bit. “i told you that everything is fine, you don’t have to worry”

on the other end of the phone you can’t help but smile at your husband’s worry for you, which doesn’t fail to make you remember how much he cares about — something that only increased as soon as the first symptoms of your pregnancy appeared. “what is it then ?” tetsuro’s booming voice immediatly brings you back to earth. “it’s just. . . i have a brilliant idea !” you joyfully tell him. the raven-haired man pauses at your exclamation, searching for any guesses of what that idea might be. . . until a grin appears on his face as he finally comes to realization. “is it another wild craving of yours, princess ?” he lets out a chuckle at your answer, laughing to himself as he hears you sigh from the other line of his phone. “my cravings aren’t weird !” you protest, the pout on your lips evident in your tone, which makes your husband’s grin even wider. “so, i’m craving nachos—” you say before the raven-haired man cuts your sentence mid-way. “oh, from which place do you want it babe ? i can get it delivered at home—”

“no ! i want sweet nachos.” you state, a huff leaving your lips.

your husband stands there, a dumbfounded expression written all over his face as he stares ahead of himself, his brain malfunctioning due to your words. any of his coworkers who would pass by would think that something is wrong with him, like he just heard one of the dumbest things on earth — which he kinda did. “sweet nachos— angel that’s not even a thing !”

“but it is a thing since i just invented it !" you exclaim, your voice full of confidence — as if you didn’t imagine the weirdest ‘dish’ in the whole word. "the base is made of chips — not any kind tho, only the original pringles — with a bunch of m&m’s, reese’s, chocolate syrup and whipped cream.” you say, taking the time to explain this whole snack of yours in details. "whipped cream as to be on top of the chips and in a small cup on the side, okay ?"

tetsuro licks his lips as he notes all of the needed ingredients in his minds, shrugging his shoulders before realizing that you can’t see him and speaking up. "yeah, sure. do i need to stop by the grocery store to get the ingredients or not ?" he asks, which you answer with a simple ‘yes’. He hangs up the phone a few seconds later — after kissing you goodbye through the phone of course — and steps back inside the building for his last meeting of the day.

when your husband finally exits his work building — by 8:45pm exactly — he walks to his car, a white Mercedes-Benz CLE 200 Cabriolet. he opens the front door for himself, dropping all of his papers on the passenger seat next to him. he turns on his car, pressing on a button — making the roof of the convertible disappear inside of the trunk.

after about twenty minutes — and a stop at the grocery store — tetsuro finally parks his car in front of your shared house. he steps out of the car, a brown paper bag in one hand and his stack of papers in the other, a sigh leaving his lips as he pushes onto the front door’s handle, entering your residence.

“i’m home, sweetheart !” your husband calls out to you, taking his shoes off and walking towards the living room.

he smiles as he sees you laying on the couch, your head propped on one of your arms as you watch ‘from up on poppy hill’. he chuckles softly at the sight in front of him, placing his papers on the coffee table and bending over to get a proper look at your face. you glance up at his face when you finally notice his presence. you immediatly lift you head off your arm, a smile making it’s way on your lips as you sit up on the couch, puckering your lips for the raven-haired man to kiss you, which he glady does.

“how was work, baby ?” you ask him, looking up at him while slightly tilting your head to the side. “there’s a some  oyakodon and rice in the kitchen that you can heat up in the microwave and the pan.”

“god, princess, i’m gonna wife you up again. . .” tetsuro mutters, resting his forehead against yours before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

he breaks up the kiss and stands up, affectionately flickering your forehead before walking back to the kitchen, turning the lights on. tetsuro notices the bowl of rice on the counter and grabs it, placing it next to the pan. he tears a bit of paper towel with his fingers, damping it with some water before placing it over the bowl. he turns on the microvage, putting the rice to reheat. your husband smiles when he sees the oyakodon heating in the pan on low heat before turning it higher.

he sighs, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt onto his biceps before turning to the paper bag with the groceries he did ealier. once all of your craving’s ingredients are — finally — placed in front of him, tetsuro can start preparing your snack.

he opens the tub of unflavored pringles before placing some chips onto a plate, some whipped cream on top along with chocolate syrup before scattering m&m’s and reese’s on top of everything. he grabs a small cup, pouring some whipped cream inside.

when the time alarm goes off your husband opens the microwage, carefully grabing the rice cowl — without burning himself — before taking the damp paper off the top of the bowl. He moves the pan off the heat, pouring the runny mixture on top of the white rice that he garnishes with green onion, sesame seeds and a bit of togarashi.

in a swift move tetsuro snatches a pair of chopsticks, placing them between his fingers before grabbing both his bowl and your plate, tuning the lights off before walking towards the living room.

“here you go, sweetheart.” he tells you, handing you your plate while you thank him, your bright smile making your eyes squint and your head tilt.

you slide off the couch, now sitting on the floor as you place a pillow under your ass and behind your back, putting your plate on the coffee table in front of you. tetsuro slips down on the floor next to you, slightly bending his upper-body above the table, gathering some of his food between his chopsticks and taking a bite out of it.

you squeal as you takes one of the chips between your fingers, shoving it inside of your mouth. you can’t help the sigh of contentement leaving your lips at the salty and sweet taste you’ve been craving all day. You take another one, doing a small dance of happiness.

“i gotta say, princess, your food taste was already strange, but now ?” tetsuro says, whistling, only for you to slap the back of his head, a huff leaving your lips as a pout tugs at your lips, only for it to be wiped away by your husband’s lips on yours, to which you gladly kiss him back.

#✎ — mai’s writes #my very first fic !! #٩( ᐛ )و #i hope it’s well written tho. . . #it’s supposed to be proofread as well !! #i’m shaking so bad (ó﹏ò｡) #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Husband!Steve Harrington x Reader | Inspired by this request

Road trip! You, Steve, and your two boys (with Eddie along for the ride) have made it to the lake you’ll be camping at for the next couple of days. Steve is having some major baby fever. He manages to work out a plan with Eddie that secures time alone for just the two of you, to work on making baby #3…

Includes breeding kink, oral (f receiving) squirting, soft dom!steve, fingering, cum play

For the first time since leaving Hawkins, you hear nothing. No arguing, no complaining, no children’s voices spouting ‘Jimmy just called me a mean name!’- or - ‘Mom! Dad! Dusty’s copying me!’ - or the classic ‘Are we there yet???’ - (which, to be fair, the last one was also asked by Eddie more than a few times…)

Regardless, your and Steve’s two delightfully mischievous boys were talking up a storm the whole way to Kentucky. Somehow, miraculously, Steve had managed to drive the five of you over the Kentucky border and to the lake (your destination) without losing his mind.

Once the boys were set loose from the confines of the cramped backseat, they were able to run around and burn off some energy while you, Eddie and Steve set up camp. Thankfully, the process went smoothly and quickly. You all changed into your swimsuits and had a refreshing dip in the lake to cool off after.

In spite of the challenges parenting entailed, Steve couldn’t help but admire the lives the two of you had created together. The ones that made you a family, so much more than just a couple. Being Jimmy and Dusty’s dad was the greatest honor Steve had ever had, along with being your husband. He hoped, just as you did, to one day expand your family even further. As he watched you playing in the water, yelling ‘Marco!’ as your boys called back ‘Polo!,’ Steve realized he didn’t want to wait another day to start expanding…

Convincing Eddie to take the boys into a nearby town for a movie and ice cream was easy enough. Movies and ice cream were two of Eddie’s favorite things already, and the wad of cash Steve stuffed into his hand was even more incentive to get the kids out of your hair for a few hours.

Now that you’re alone, the silence feels strange. Steve makes up for it by taking your hand and walking with you out to the edge of the lake, helping you relax. He’s got this dreamy, far-away look in his eyes as he gazes out over the water.

“Hey,” you nuzzle his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“I was just thinking,” Steve replies, his hands settling at the small of your back. “About how pretty you look every time I get you pregnant…” His comment catches you off guard, but not in a bad way. You’re…curious. Steve tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, a suggestive glint in his hazel eyes. “…This beautiful belly all swollen and round…”

Steve’s hands glide around your waist and over your stomach, traveling upward to linger on your breasts. “…These gorgeous tits, full and heavy with milk for our baby-.” He abruptly lowers his lips to your breast and tugs your nipple through your shirt. “-And me,” Steve grins up at you, a devilish smirk that has your clit throbbing. “I think I’d like to see you that way again,” he adds, and suddenly, the pieces begin to fall into place.

“You dirty boy,” you tease, a big smile on your face. “Is that why you asked Eddie to take the boys to a movie? So you could fuck me?”

Steve holds you by the wrist, pulling your hand to his crotch. Your fingers instinctively curve around the thick outline of his erection. “I’m not just going to fuck you, honey,” Steve murmurs, his other hand clutching the back of your hair. “I’m gonna get you pregnant tonight...”

Minutes later, you’re both stripped naked and on the floor of your tent. Steve’s hands are all over you, pawing at your body like he’s fucking you for the first time. Guiding a hand between your legs, Steve gropes your cunt roughly till it’s weeping against his palm. He pads his thumb against the puffy button between your slick thighs, making you tremble. Sinking his lips over your earlobe, Steve tugs gently at the soft, sensitive skin. His fingers glide between your swollen, slippery folds, your pussy throbbing under his skillful touch.

“Steve,” you breathe against his cheek, as his thumb rubs circles over your clit. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna come-.” He suddenly removes his hand; and as you’re reeling from the loss of stimulation, Steve’s crawling down your body and burying his face between your thighs, latching his lips over your clit and sucking the plump bud till you’re moaning his name at the top of your lungs. With a guttural shout, you come undone in Steve’s mouth, gushing between his lips, creating a slippery puddle on the floor of the tent.

Steve lifts his head from between your legs, his face glistening with your cum. He moves quickly up your body, eyes locked with yours as he enters you. A dull groan leaves Steve’s lips, his eyes now glazed with a rabid look of hunger. He pounds your cunt in sharp, determined thrusts, knowing he won’t be able to last long with the way you’re gripping his cock. Steve lurches his hips into yours at a pace that has you light-headed and stupid, reducing you to little more than a bitch to be bred.

Steve’s arms are locked around your upper body, clutching you to his chest. Growling like an animal into your shoulder, Steve pumps your cunt full of his seed, filling and overfilling you till he’s punching his own semen out of you with every thrust. He pulls out of you gently, looking between your bodies at your pussy, sloshing with his cum as you wriggle your hips. “Stay still, honey,” Steve sweetly scolds you. “Little pussy’s so tight, gonna push my cum right out if y’keep moving like that…”

You still your hips, grinning up at Steve’s face, and how serious he’s being. Your smile evaporates into a gasp as Steve’s fingers press inside you, working slick squelching sounds out of your cunt as he scoops and stuffs his oozing cum deeper inside you. “Mmm,” he coos down at you, rubbing his thumb along your inner thigh. “You look so good on your back like this, stuffed full of my cum…” He leans over your body and presses his lips to yours. “…Now keep those hips elevated, baby,” he instructs, glancing at his watch, the only article of clothing he has on. “Stay like this for the next twenty minutes or so, yeah? While I go chop some wood for the fire tonight.”

You nod obediently, deliriously in love with your husband, parting your lips to invite his tongue between them. You watch Steve pull his jeans back on and exit the tent, leaving you bred and contented inside. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fall asleep to the sound of Steve chopping wood outside the tent. While you dream, your womb accepts Steve’s seed as it has twice before…and you dream of him holding his first daughter in his arms…

#stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve x reader #joe keery #steve x you #steve x reader smut #husband!steve harrington #fluffy smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve x y/n #steve stranger things #soft dom!steve #soft dom!steve harrington #husband!steve #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fanfic

[thedisc0spider]

Could you write Spenser Agnew fluff? Could it possibly be Reader and Spenser have been hiding their relationship and basically pull a Shourtney??

Out of hiding

————————————————————————————————————

Summary: you and Spencer come out as a couple

Warnings: mentions of Covid, pre-established relationship, this is really short I’m sorry

Genre: fluff

Point of view: Second person

A/n: this is such a cute request I love it. By the way, I’ll be getting to my other requests really soon, just busy!

————————————————————————————————————

————————————————————————————————————

You and Spencer have been dating for almost 5 years. Your relationship had moved rather quickly, you started dating a few months before lockdown and you decided to move in together because you didn’t know how long Covid was going to last. This wasn’t that crazy because it had felt like you’d been dating longer than you had due to the fact that you worked together years prior and always secretly wanted more.

Since the beginning of your relationship you told each other that should you make it to your five year anniversary, you would tell the world then.

Time flew by and the next thing you know, you’re only a day away from the world knowing why you’ve been so happy this last half-a-decade.

As it was getting closer you guys started teasing it on your stories

First spencer posted this on his story, tagging you:

Then it was your turn, you posted this on your story, this time tagging him:

People were starting to speculate now.

You and Spencer are laying in bed, you’re still asleep as he watches the rise and fall of your steady breathing. You wake up to the feeling of a hand running up and down you side. You turn, humming softly, to see spencer intently watching your every move.

You chuckle, running your hand through his hair. “You look like you’re about to murder me.”

He smiles, “sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up… I just like the way you look while you sleep.”

You smile, turning back around so he’s now spooning you. “Okay, creeper.”

Spencer laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “You know what I mean, idiot.”

You lay in silence for a few seconds before Spencer speaks again. “Guess what?”

“Hm?”

He kisses behind your ear, “tomorrow we go public.”

You sigh, nodding.

“You know we don’t have to if you don’t want, I know we said 5 years but-“ you quickly turn around to face him, sitting up.

“No, no. Of course I want to. I’m just… you know, nervous.” You fidget with the end of his shirt.

He cups your face in his hand, sitting up with you. “I know, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared too… but after we do this we don’t have to hide at all anymore. Just imagine..” he kissed your forehead.

You have to admit, the thought of being able to talk about him, to have him to yourself publicly, for everyone to know he was yours. You’d be able to kiss him, flirt with him, you smiled just thinking about it.

You grab the wrist of the hand on your face, leaning into it. “Yeah, you’re right.” You leave a kiss on his palm, “I love you, S.”

“I love you too, baby.”

The next day, you posted:

Caption: chat, is this a hard launch? Happy 5 years!

#fanfiction #spencer agnew x fem!reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #smosh spencer #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh cast #smosh games #smosh x reader

[ninaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

Cold as ice.

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗟𝗲𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗿𝗰 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when two people are so afraid of losing each other, they might lose sight of the important things and focus on all of the ways they are slipping away from one another.

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿: 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗯𝘆 @clomo12345

enjoy !

——————

As cold as ice.

The wind blowing into my hair, the gin martini in my ring clad fingers and the look my boyfriend of a couple of years was giving me were all as cold as ice.

“I know you’re upset Charles, but could you just try to understand?” I earn a scoff as a reply. So i give up, I get up from the white leather couch and make my way to the kitchen inside of the yacht. I down the rest of the clear liquid in my glass, the taste burning at the back of my throat.

“Where the hell are you planning on going?”

His shouts are tormenting and make me regret pouring my drink into my mouth and not onto his face. “I’m sick of this Charles, I can’t bear it anymore.” The hot tears rolling down my cold, flushed cheeks form a contrast and makes me even more overwhelmed than I already was. “So you decide to fuck off to Cabo and not mention it at all ?” “Yes, I tried talking to you, explaining how i feel, but all you fucking care about is yourself !” He’s standing in front of me now, his tanned arms caging me, securing me in place and making me feel as little as possible. “Charles please, I don’t like this.” I whispered this time, my tears now dry and my voice monotone and dull.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty fucking head of yours Y/n, but i’m sure you’ll have enough time to figure it out.”

——————-

That’s the last thing I’ve heard from Charles in the last three days. I’ve tried calling and i’ve texted a million times.

The house was getting lonely and I missed him more than anything. It wasn’t like Charles to leave and not tell me, but I guess he was giving me a taste of my own medicine. I understood that he was upset, but eventually the void had to be filled and he had to either come back to me or let me go.

I met Charles through Max, as I have know him for years and have kept him as a close friend. We got together about two years ago when we were at a club in Ibiza, drunk off of our minds and in all honesty both a bit heartbroken. Since then, we’ve evolved as a couple and I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I had this gut-wrenching suspicion that Charles didn’t share that opinion. He wasn’t infatuated with me anymore, if anything I felt as though I was a chore. When asked about his future, he would only mention his racing career and how he plans to give his all into the sport. At first I admired his drive and determination, but as the years passed I began to feel more and more like a second option.

Questions of marriage had been shrugged off as though it was an unrealistic fantasy built off hopes and broken promises and kids weren’t even on the table.

Being shut down over and over does wonders to the human mind. You either become accustomed to it and learn to tolerate it or you despise it and in the long run, learn to despise your partner too.

That’s why I took myself out of the picture for a few days. I needed to set things straight. My priorities and my goals in life. I stayed at my beach house in Cabo, with a few of my friends, drinking the unbearable feeling of being an absolute burden away. I would check his socials every now and then, being met with pictures of pretty blondes and hundreds of comments about how good they look together. In all honesty, they didn’t. I could never picture Charles with another woman, I didn’t want to.

And that’s what got us into the fight we were having about 3 days ago.

——————

The three ice cubes in my wine glass rattles at the quick jitter my body makes. The front door causing the frightening noise that I reacted to. I place the glass down on the white marble table, making my way into the entry hallway of the penthouse. Disheveled and tired stands my boy with his suitcase by his side and a defeated look on his face. My head tilts slightly at the sight of him, my nerves not quite knowing how to react to this strange nature. The air felt cold, as cold as ice. A footstep too rough and lake would swallow you whole.

The air felt fragile.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” The icy barrier was now cracked, it was time to test the waters. His face responded to my question with a slight frown and a deep furrow between his eyebrows. I wait for his answer, although I knew this handbook like the back of my hand and I knew I was right.

“Probably with a few championships, if this year goes as planned.”

Full marks for me.

“Why do you ask.”

I smile at that, at his ignorance. His total obliviousness towards the fact that I need to start building my life and that I am prepared to do it with or without him.

Ignorance really was bliss.

“In five years I see myself married with one or two children.” His eyes shoot up from their focus on the floor, now looking into mine. “Your idea of a future doesn’t consider me at all, nor does it involve me at all, for that matter.”

He goes to speak, if it’s a plea or a protest, doesn’t really matter as I take a dive head first into the shark infested waters.

“That hurts Charles. It drove me up a wall. I started fights out of pure fucking boredom and I ran away for days just to try and get your attention.” tears are now rolling down my cheeks and my fore arms are sore from the clutch they have on my sweater. ”It is exhausting to continue drilling this safe and I’m starting to think all that’s in there is a bunch of burnt up hope.”

“Y/n I want a future with you.” He shakes his head, almost as if the accusation I made was absurd. “Then act like it! You leave me on my own, you neglect my needs and feelings. I don’t have a solution anymore.” I’m profusely sobbing by now, struggling to get a breath in.

We’ve made it to this point, the bottom of the lake. The murky and sandy waters making me nauseous and unsure if we’ll make it up to the surface.

As the tears cloud my eyes and my judgement I start making my way to Charles. Seeking for any form of comfort I could get in his cold, hollow embrace. My tired arms move away from my eyelids, giving up on shrugging my tears away. Now they rather try to find him.

The door shuts with a jitter to my spine once again. With shaken and exhausted limbs I sit down on the couch. With my wine glass and tear stained cheeks I look into the beautiful darkness of the Monaco sky, adorned with lights coming from warm and joyful rooms and boats. In that moment, with the whole of Monaco lit up around me, I sit in the dark with a feeling of utter loneliness in my heart.

——————

It’s been seven days since I downed that gin martini. Seven days since my relationship has gone to absolute shit. Life went on. Monaco stayed scattered with lights and love and the world never stopped spinning on its axes. My head never stopped either. Replaying the same situation over for the millionth time felt like watching your comfort movie, that you watch when you want to cry. I was done crying. I felt dry and raspy on the inside, the constant flow of salt from my eyes never easing the uncomfortable feeling.

The feeling was almost as uncomfortable as the man sitting in front of me. His hands intertwined in his lap and his face full of uncertainty and pain.

The view was beautiful. The sunset making the water glisten and the people of Monaco glow with radiance. Charles has always been radiant. His smile and utter kind hearted nature when it came to other people making him shine through others. Right now he wasn’t radiant, he was rather dull and lifeless.

“I’m so deeply sorry.”

It was finalized I think. This was it, in the Monaco waters with no way to civilization I deemed this as me and Charles’ end. No one to help us get back to shore. All I could do is apologize. I didn’t quite know why, but the guilt I have been carrying weighed me down and really gave me no shot of getting to the land. I carried this guilt of being a burden greater than I carried my own name. Greater than I will ever dream of carrying his name.

Our name.

“For fucks sake.” his head was in his sweaty palms now, his veins pulsating and indicating just how frustrated he really is.

I stand up, a gin martini once again in my hand as I walk towards the tip of the yacht. Looking out into the night turning sky I feel contempt in the moment. My heart breaks along with each wave that crashes down and my knuckles clutch the railing of the boat.

It’s cold as ice.

“Marry me.”

I feel nauseous, the glass in my hand dropping as another jitter makes its way throughout my whole body, this time ending at my heart and making all of my nerves tingle. I turn around with a shaky exhale of breath. He’s not on his knees, nor does he have a ring. Yet he stands in front of me with tears in his eyes and asks the most important question I have ever been exposed to.

“I love you Y/n, I am willing to do anything to prove that to you. I will build you that house with the balcony, I will give you 2 or 7 or how many fucking kids you want and I will be the best partner to you. I am not willing to do that for you I want to do that for you. And I will, every single fucking thing on your ‘what will make Y/n happy ’ list until you are grey and wrinkly from all the smile lines. If that means quitting racing, I will do that. Please allow me to spend every second of my life doing that. Planning a future not only in consideration of you, but revolved around you.”

———————

I woke up the next morning with a heavy heart, full of love.

As I started to move around in Charles’ arms I realized I woke up with a heavy hand too. Lifting my left arm above my head, my future glistens in the Monaco sunlight.

The diamond on my ring finger is as cold as ice.

#arthur leclerc #formula 1 #lando norris #charles leclerc #max verstappen #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #y/n #yacht girl #angst #angst with a happy ending #love #marriage #smut #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #book recommendations

[sh4wty18]

request for johnnie

pre-established relationship

reader is a content creator, is close friends with tara, carrington, jake and johnnie, and lives at the guys place with johnnie

reader slept in past their alarm, sleeping in johnnies bed

johnnie and carrington are doing an early morning stream while the reader comes down all groggy and johnnies just being sweet n making sure they slept well

“theres my sweet girl”

and carrington is just being carrington and making everyone on stream fawn and laugh over johnnie and the reader

sleepy.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: based on the request.

cw: fluff, mentions of slut-shaming

word count: 976 + edited

---

For the past year, you have been busier than ever. Your career had fully taken off over two years ago– you’re a popular youtuber and streamer. But ever since you and Johnnie had made your relationship public early last year, you were rising to a level of stardom you could barely comprehend. With your new relationship also came new friendships, and collaborating with Johnnie, Jake, Tara, and Carrington fairly often had no doubt helped in boosting your online presence. 

These past few months specifically, ever since you moved in with the guys, have been some of the most stressful yet rewarding months of your life. You were going viral, becoming one of the internet’s biggest “It Girls” along with Tara, but this new lifestyle came at a cost. Constant partying, filming, and promoting content is extremely exhausting. 

Thankfully, your boyfriend has been nothing but supportive. He’s always there to offer words of encouragement, physical affection, flowers… anything you want, really. Your relationship is stronger than ever, and you can’t imagine a better person to experience this life with. Whereas you were relatively new to the whole “internet fame” thing, Johnnie has been in this game for a decade, and knows better than most people how it feels to constantly be scrutinized online. He has been supporting you through every high– and low– of your drastic increase in fame, offering his praises when you were excited and a shoulder to cry on when you were sad. You loved him more than anyone, and you know the feeling couldn’t be more mutual. 

Last night had been a particularly rough night. You were streaming super late with Johnnie in your bedroom, and at one point, someone sent a message slut-shaming you for the outfits you wore, and calling you pretty much every name in the book. Stupid, ugly, unfunny, untalented… They covered all the bases. Usually you were pretty good at letting hate comments roll off your back, but that night you had already been feeling insecure, it was the reason you wanted to go live in the first place– to get some positive attention from your fans. So unsurprisingly, this hate comment was the thing to ruin your night.

You promptly ended the stream, and spent the next hour crying in Johnnie’s arms. He held you, gently stroking your hair, cradling your body against his, whispering affirmations, words of reassurance, and “i love you” into your ears until you finally fell asleep. 

He knew you needed to rest, which was why he didn’t wake you when you slept through your alarm this morning, he simply turned it off, and got up for the day.

You woke up a couple hours later, around noon, and noticed that Johnnie was no longer curled up next to you. You checked the time on your phone, and were shocked at how late you slept. Usually you were awake by ten, and got up to make breakfast for you and Johnnie (he usually sleeps later than you). But today, you were the one sleeping in. You slowly stretched and got out of bed. You heard Johnnie and Carrington laughing down the hall, surely streaming together in Carrington’s room, and you made your way there to say good morning.

You pushed Carrington’s door halfway open and popped your head in. Johnnie sat in Carrington’s gaming chair, laughing at something Carrington said from where he sat on the floor at Johnnie’s feet. 

You wave at Johnnie and groggily say “Morning, guys.”

Johnnie’s face lights up when he sees you, and he reaches his arms out toward you, indicating for you to come sit on his lap.

 “There’s my sweet girl,” he coos in his softest voice as you make your way across the room. Carrington is entertaining his viewers as you sit on Johnnie’s lap, resting on one of his legs and leaning back against his chest. He wraps both arms around your waist, perching his head on your shoulder and turning to face you, “How did you sleep, love?” he asks before kissing your shoulder.

“Really well,” you respond, still a little groggy. “Did you turn my alarm off this morning?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I thought you deserved a chance to sleep in. My beautiful girl needs her rest.” He smiles, and you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

“Don’t apologize baby, I was just wondering,” You say.

“I’m happy you slept good, baby. You know you’re the prettiest girl in the world? Even when you’re still sleepy.” He presses his forehead against yours and smiles before kissing you again.

Carrington turns the camera toward you two, “Awwww look at these lovebirds!! They are just adorable!! Guys comment down below if Johnnie and y/n are your favorite celebrity couple! I know they’re my fave celeb couple, right guys?!” He leans closer to you both and angles the camera so all three of you are in frame. You and Johnnie blush and laugh, while Carrington continues teasing. 

You stay on Johnnie’s lap for the rest of the stream, adding sarcastic comments wherever you see fit, which always elicit a laugh from Johnnie. Carrington is in his own little world, never noticing that Johnnie can’t take his eyes off you. He keeps planting little kisses all along your shoulder and nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He wasn’t usually one to be so PDA on a live stream, but he knew you had had a bad night, and he wanted to make sure your morning was so good you forgot all about the nasty comment from last night. 

You turn your head toward him, kissing his cheek and then his mouth before you smile softly at each other. You love and appreciate him so much, but you know you don’t need to say it. He understands. He always will.

---

the first of many of the johnnie request i've received! i'm so excited to write more johnnie fics, all your requests are so good :)

#sh4wty18 #original one shot #original fiction #one shot #fluff #fluffy one shot #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert fanfic #johnnie guilbert one shot #johnnie guilbert x you

[lnlightning81]

So Sorry [LS2]

Part two to Reunited

Summary: Logan and Oscar accidentally spill the secret. Logan thinks into your future together.

Pairring/s: Logan Sargeant x reader, Logan Sargreant x Oscar Piastri (platonic), Alex Albon x reader (platonic), Lily Muni He x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Logan Sargeant Masterlist

Coming Soon

Tag List

Having followed Logan around the world for a little while, Logan was feeling more comfortable travelling because you and Aurora were with him. He was performing better than expected with the equipment that he had been given.

Logan was sitting in his drivers room on the floor with Aurora sitting in front of him as he played with her on her little play mat. This was the last race before the summer break where Logan was going to go back to London but start looking for a family house so you could all stay there. 

Auroras little giggles filled his driver's room as there was a knock on the door, and Oscar walked in with a smile 

“There’s my girl” He smiled, sitting on the floor next to Logan. Rolling your eyes while taking a picture of them. Logan still hadn’t told the world about you or Aurora, not that you minded because you got to keep your privacy and Aurora's, although you knew it would come soon enough. 

However, you hadn’t expected some camera’s to overhear him and Oscar during the press conference you were currently sitting watching. 

“What are you planning on getting Y/N?” Oscar asked both with the microphones on their laps as they spoke to each other 

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t know what she wants either” He shrugged, and Oscar groaned 

“What am I meant to buy her then? Maybe like a canvas of you, her and Aurora?” He asked, and Logan nodded 

“I guess that’s an option. I was thinking of a little family holiday” Logan answered

“Ohh that’s a good idea. Maybe I could get her a puppy?” Oscar joked, and Logan laughed 

“She wants one, but with Aurora still not being that old, it makes it hard. Especially because she’s not at uni anymore, and she’s following me around the world” He chuckled, and Oscar joined in. The interviewer called on Logan to answer a question about the car

Back in Logan’s driving room you were attempting to get Aurora to have a nap although she had grown into the habit of getting fed from you and cuddling Logan until she fell asleep so she got the best of both parents. Gently bouncing around Logan’s drivers room as you hoped that his interview was almost over 

“Come on baby girl please go to sleep” You whispered with a sigh as her cries picked up attempting to think about the next best thing to Logan you opened his driver room door and took the two steps across the corridor knocking on Alex’s door. 

Alex pulled the door open with a smile. Lily sat on his couch, smiling over 

“Y/N is everything okay?” Alex asked as you shook your head

“Aurora’s got in the habit of Logan holding her until she gets to sleep, and he’s doing the interviews. So is Oscar. You’re the next best thing. Will you hold her?” You asked, biting your lip, hoping that he’d be okay with the request

“Baby cuddles? Who’d ever say no to that?” He asked carefully, taking her from your arms.

“How does Logan normally hold her?” He asked, and you gently moved her within his arms so she was now being held in the normal sleeping position. 

“Come take a seat lovely” Lily smiled, tapping the space next to her on Alex’s couch. You looked to Alex to ensure it was okay. Alex nodded with a smile. You didn’t want to intrude on his personal space when you’d already asked him to hold your child. 

Sitting down next to Lily as she took pictures of Alex 

“I want one” She whined, and you laughed 

“Feel free to take mine for a couple of days. You’ll change your mind instantly” You chuckled 

“Oh but she’s so cute. She could never do any wrong” You smiled 

“She looks so much like Logan as a baby, which makes me a little sad because Logan used to be exactly like her then coming into F1. It changed him. This team has changed him and everytime I see James I want to punch him because I miss the old Logan and deep down I know he’s still there but the way James is treating him makes the old him hide” You sighed and both Lily and Alex nodded 

“I agree, and even if I bring it up in meetings, then I get shot down. I don’t understand why they’re treating him like this. If they didn’t want him for the season, then they shouldn’t have signed him again” Alex sighed as you watched Aurora’s eyes flutter shut in Alex’s arms. Lily wrapped her arm around your shoulder, gently rubbing your arm to comfort you. 

“He’ll find his team Y/N. He’s still got years ahead of him, and maybe this break is what you need as a family” She smiled, and you nodded. There was a knock on the door as Logan peaked his head around the door 

“Alex. You seen” He paused mid sentence as he spotted you 

“Found you” He smiled, walking into the room. 

“Hey. Aurora wouldn’t sleep because you or Oscar weren’t there, so I came to the next best place” Logan leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips with a smile you looked up at him 

“So we’re trending on twitter” You pressed your lips together as his eyes widened 

“What? How?” He asked 

“Your microphones picked up  your conversation with Oscar. I would very much like a family holiday thanks” You hummed as he stood back up 

“Shit babe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise the microphones were that sensitive even that far away. Shit. I’m so sorry, babe. What can I do to make it up to you? I’m so sorry” He rambled, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair. Standing up, you walked over to him. 

His arms pulled you into his chest as he sighed, still repeating that he was sorry as he whispered into your ear. 

“How can you make it up to me?” You teased pretending to think about it 

“Apart from that holiday you mentioned. Maybe a dog?” You teased, and he shook his head 

“We’re not getting a dog. I’m sorry. I know you want one, but we don’t have the time or space” He sighed, and you nodded 

“I know. I’m just teasing you, love. I don’t mind. I’m kinda glad no one knows everything, but it’s still out in the world” You shrugged, and he nodded 

“Yeah that makes sense” He smiled, taking Aurora from Alex. 

“I’m gonna take my girls back to my room” You smiled, thanking Alex before walking back to Logan’s room with him. Sitting on the couch, you pulled your legs up to your chest, watching Logan with a wide smile 

“So obviously we’re getting married during this break. However, I was thinking about our future. Like very far into the future” You nodded, listening to him

“I want another child. Maybe within the next year or so. Aurora will be one very soon. We’ll be married, and at least if I don’t continue in F1, then I’ve got a family there. My second dream that’s kinda more real at the moment”  He explained, and you nodded 

“I think having another baby is a brilliant idea, although maybe two years? I’m still kinda recovering from having Aurora” You hummed, and he nodded 

“That sounds good to me” He smiled, pressing your lips together.

Tag List

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@f1kenzzz

@evie-119

@ahgase99

@velocesainz

@talksoprettyjjx

@kat-s2

@yllomhej

@scarletwidow3000

@jasons-little-princess

@tellybearryyyy

@zabwlky1999

@xxx-betty

@callsignwidow

#logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargent x reader #logan seargent #logan sergeant x reader #ls2 fluff #ls2 fic #ls2 imagine #ls2 x reader #ls2 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula one x you #oscar piastri x logan sargeant #alex albon x you #alexander albon x reader #alex albon x reader #alexander albon #alex albon #aa23 x y/n #aa23 x you #aa23 x reader

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Dibs

Summary- Eddie meets someone quite interesting on restock day at their favorite music shop

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23 @wheels-of-despair @goatsmcgee @flawiette

(my tag list is always open, please let me know if you’d like to be added 🫶)

Word Count- 1.7k

“Restock day.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open as his hand gripped the phone, nearly pulling the cord straight out of the receiver as he shot out of bed.

All he needed to hear was those two words and he was given the adrenaline needed to get himself out of bed and get ready all within the span of five short minutes.

He had finally finished pulling his shirt over his head before reaching back for the forgotten phone laying on his mattress,

“Ready in five!” He shouted to Grant on the other end, not knowing wether he had hung up or not.

His hair was still a mess, and he was certain the jeans he grabbed from the pile of clothes on his floor definitely still had dirt stains all over them, but he didn’t care. It was restock day at the local record store. That’s all he cared about.

Once a month he and the rest of the guys would wake up early and head over to be the first ones in line before the store opened. They’d be up and ready to go with their lists in hand of what to look out for, knowing that if they didn’t leave with at least one then there’d be hell to pay.

Eddie sat on his stoop, ready to go for whenever he spotted Grants car pull through the park entrance. He wasn’t out there for more than a few moments before hearing the gravel crunching under the wheels of a car that was definitely going too fast for those types of roads. They’d get a few dirty looks from a couple of older residents as they left the park, but it was a price they were willing to pay for being able to still get there on time.

Eddie ran up as soon as he could see the rusted bumper on the front, hopping into the back seat next to Jeff.

“Still on time?” Eddie asked as he fixed himself in his seat.

“Still on time.” Grant said back as he looked to Eddie in the rear view mirror.

“I think if we gun it on the back roads we’ll get there earlier than planned.” Gareth said as he turned from the passenger seat.

“We already go at least 70 on these,” Jeff argued, “let’s not try and kill ourselves like last time.”

“Last time wasn’t my fault!” Eddie laughed, “I was being a good samaritan and letting those ducks pass the road.”

“You slammed on the breaks so hard i almost flew through the window.” Jeff said, earning a laugh from the boys up front.

“I think i still have a rug burn scar from the seatbelt.” Grant laughed.

After a quick drive and debrief of the records they were looking for, Grant quickly pulled into the parking lot. Each let out a sigh of relief as they saw that there were only three other cars in the lot, a few people gathered outside the door. They got into their spot and jogged to join in the small group waiting to get inside, thankful that they got there before the swarm of cars and a few kids on bicycles entered the lot. Within five minutes the parking lot was filled and there was a line that reached almost out to the street.

They paid no attention to the crowd behind them, doing their best to patiently wait for those final agonizing minutes before 10 am. When the doors were finally unlocked it was like some of the people behind them had never been in public before.

They were shoving past to get to the newest pop releases, and the boys paid them no mind as they headed over to the much less crowded rock section to scan through the full bins of the owners newest finds.

The boys scattered, each of them looking through the various bins and crates, moving onto the next as soon as they finished flipping through them. Eddie was in the zone as he flipped through a few older records he’d seen time and time again, not even noticing someone flipping through the same bin on the opposite side. His fingers moved quickly and stopped as soon as he saw it.

Alice Coopers new album was finally out, and he knew it had to be his the moment he heard ‘Prince of Darkness’ playing in that John Carpenter movie. He grasped the top of it and turned to show the guys, but he was pulled back as he felt it being tugged in the opposite direction. Eddie turned back to see who was trying to get this record from out of his hands, and he stopped for a moment when his eyes met yours.

He didn’t know what came over him.

A girl, a really pretty girl, was stood at the other side of the crate of records, holding the top of the record on the opposite side. And you weren’t letting go.

The boys glanced over, Eddie already having grabbed their attention before only made them stare. He was just standing there. Standing and staring.

Your eyes were locked onto his. This same scenario has happened to you countless amounts of times. You’d spot a record or a tape in a shop the same time as someone else and waited to see who would give in first. And it was never you.

But this one seemed different to you.

He wasn’t like the other guys that had gotten into this situation with you. He wasn’t moving his eyes over your body or trying to get a peek at the logo on your shirt to see if you were even a fan of this kind of music. He was just looking at you, with those deep brown eyes that you couldn’t help but look into.

All you could do was look at one another, waiting for the other to take their hand off the record to finally get it into their hands. And there’s no way in hell you were going to give in.

The rest of the guys watched the interaction from their spots at the crates, their eyes widening as they watched Eddie slowly take his hand away from the record.

He smiled to you as he let his hand drop.

“All yours.” He nodded.

You looked down at the record in your hands and looked back up to him,

“What’s your name?” You asked him.

His eyes widened for a moment, taking a quick glance around to see if he was the one you were asking, earning a giggle from you.

“Eddie.” He said, pursing his lips, knowing that the guys were no doubt going to rag on him for not only letting go of this record, but letting go of it just because the girl on the other end was pretty.

He knew they’d do the same, he was just the first to do it.

“Thanks Eddie.” You smiled and looked him over before walking over around the crate up to the line forming at the counter.

Eddie watched as you walked away, smiling to himself as he went back to sorting through the records before him. The guys finished looking through their crates and slowly made their way over to Eddie, their records in hand, ready to head up to the register while Eddie still had nothing.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asked as he stood next to Eddie.

“What? I’m sorry, should i have just ripped that out of that hot girls’ hand and said ‘dibs’?”

“No, i’m just saying you gave that up so easily,” Gareth glanced back over at you in line, “all for a girl?”

“A HOT girl. And who am i to deny a hot girl the right to listen to good music?” Eddie laughed to himself.

“Well good luck trying to find that record again,” Jeff said as he handed Eddie the Anthrax album he asked them to keep an eye out for, “a bunch of these have multiples but i don’t think i saw any more of that Alice Cooper record.”

“I’ll find it again. And if i don’t, it wasn’t meant to be.” Eddie shrugged as he got to the last record, pulling it out as soon as he recognized the Tesla logo on the front. He held it in his hands and took the Anthrax record from Jeff as they went to meet Grant in line.

Eddie glanced around and saw you at the front of the line, scribbling down something on a little piece of paper in front of you.

“How’d the search go?” Grant asked the guys as they huddled around him in line.

“Fine, except for the fact that Eddie gave up one of the only albums he was looking for to some girl.” Gareth groaned.

“What’s so wrong about that?” Eddie pleaded.

“She still here?” Grant asked Eddie, with Eddie quickly pointing you out as you finished up at the register, “Damn… Good call on that.”

“Thank you! Finally someone gets why i did it.” Eddie exclaimed, not noticing you approaching him until he felt one of the guys nudge his arm.

You smiled as you stood before Eddie, holding out a little piece of paper to him,

“Here.” You smiled as he opened it, watching his eyes widen a bit, “Just in case you ever wanted to borrow it.”

Eddie and the guys stayed quiet as they all looked at the slip of paper in his hands.

It was the written out receipt for the record you just bought, your name and phone number scribbled onto the front. Eddie quickly looked up to say his goodbyes, but by the time he was pulled from his trance you were nowhere to be seen.

They hadn’t even noticed the line moving in front of them until they heard a shout from someone behind them. They shuffled forward, Eddie neatly folding up the receipt in his hand and placing it onto his pocket with a smug grin on his face as he looked back to Gareth and Jeff,

“Which one of you was complaining about me giving up that record?”

The two of them were silent, Eddie laughing to himself as he turned to move with the line.

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, quickly putting it into his pocket to keep it safe as they stepped forward with the line.

There was nothing he loved more than restock day.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

[nhasablogg]

If I'm to let it in, it might just stay forever

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Derek/Spencer

Summary: Derek and Spencer go to the tickle club.

Anonymous said: So in the For Love to Replace your Shame fic the last line basically says that after a couple weeks they walk back into the club hand in hand. I was wondering if you could write a small fic where Derek and Spencer are in the club together? I just wanna see Spencer actually be able to enjoy it :)) -M

Words: 1.4k

Read it on AO3.

Referenced fic here.

Spencer looked good under the flashing lights. Not necessarily as though he belonged, because he was visibly nervous, his grip on Derek’s hand tight enough to be uncomfortable, but he looked good because he seemed giddy. A spark in his eyes which Derek hadn’t really seen before, especially not in regards to this, something that still made him shut down before he realized he wasn’t being judged.

The Feather was jam-packed. A Saturday, which had been absolutely freezing and miserable, prompting desperate people to seek fun after dark, and boy did they sound like they were having fun. Now that Derek was here off the clock he felt much more relaxed, and so he was taking it all in differently. Not seeking, simply watching, though he was mostly watching Spencer. While Spencer was obviously still a bit on edge it wasn’t as bad as their first couple of visits. He wasn’t alone with his feelings anymore, his shoulders lighter. His eyes were everywhere, head going back and forth, his cheeks pinkening as the ticklish laughter surrounded them.

Derek leaned closer to him to be heard over the music. “We can stay as long as you want, which also means we can leave whenever, okay?”

Spencer nodded. “Okay.”

“I mean it, pretty boy. The minute you want to leave, we leave.”

Spencer squeezed his hand. “I hear you.”

“Good.” Derek squeezed back, wondering if the visit would include him tickling Spencer at all or if they would be saving it until later, behind the four walls of a bedroom. He’d just started doing it, tickling Spencer until he was a giggly mess, without it ending with Derek having to reassure him that he loved that this was something he wanted him to do. Not that he minded it, but he was glad it was becoming easier now. He quite enjoyed himself doing it.

They’d decided to come back to The Feather because Derek found it unfair that Spencer had had his eye on this club for ages before he’d been forced to visit it due to a case, but what Derek hadn’t told him was that he was equally as curious to return. Curious about it all, curious about what would catch Spencer’s eye, about how he would react. Spencer could probably feel his gaze on him, and while he might’ve felt self conscious about it he seemed entirely too preoccupied to say anything about it.

“Oh, look, I did that to you last night.” Derek didn’t mean for it to sound as any form of teasing - he genuinely felt a surge of excitement as he caught sight of a woman trying to twist out of the grip of another woman who was targeting her hips - but Spencer covered his face in embarrassment anyway. Maybe Derek wasn’t too mad about it.

“I think this might end me,” he said, peeking out when Derek nudged him.

Spencer didn’t know this, but Derek hadn’t been able to stop thinking of this, this moment, the things Spencer had told him, for the past few days. He’d imagined them entering. Imagined Spencer being grabbed left and right by unknown, eager hands. He’d imagined being jealous, but there had been something appealing about the sight, too. Sensual, almost. Of course that didn’t end up happening, because these people valued consent more than anything. And besides, Spencer didn’t want to come here to get tickled by others. He’d told him that countless times.

“I want to experience it normally,” he’d said. “Remove the case from it.”

And Derek, who had thought of the case nearly every single day since it had happened, had understood what he meant.

They hadn’t talked about what they expected out of this experience. Spencer had seemed too anxious and excited and shy all at the same time for Derek to want to ask. He couldn’t imagine he wanted strangers to touch him anyway, besides his protests, but if he did, in the midst of drunken giddiness to finally be able to be himself, non-judged, Derek needed to quickly decide how he felt about it, because who was he to deny Spencer this if he wanted it?

But who was he kidding. He didn’t like the idea of that at all.

“Quick question,” he said as they elbowed their way deeper into the room, aiming to take a lap before ordering drinks. “I know you said you don’t want to, but if someone grabs for you, am I supposed to protect you?”

“If someone- grabs for me?”

“You know. Pulls you into a tickle fight.”

“Oh. Well, I doubt anyone would.”

“Right, but if.”

“Sure, yeah, protect me. I don’t think I’d like that.”

“I don’t think I’d like that either.”

Spencer grinned, the last bit of anxiety falling off his face. “You’d be jealous.”

“I so wouldn’t.”

“Uh huh.”

Derek liked the fact that Spencer was smiling too much to get all in his feelings about this, and so he merely pulled him closer with the pretense of pulling him with him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Spencer believed that that was his intention, but it made him feel better to pretend. They’d not reached the stage where honesty overpowered anything else yet. They still had walls, although they’d broken down several of them pre-relationship, if that was what they had. They’d not talked about it.

Derek was absolutely terrified to talk about it, truth be told.

“You think we can just- go in?” he asked as they stopped in front of a door labeled “bondage room”.

Spencer shook his head. “We shouldn’t either way. I wouldn’t want to have people see that.”

“That’s fair.” Memories of the case flashed before him. The idea of Spencer tied up, helpless. The thing he desired being used against him.

A hand on his wrist, squeezing it. “I’m okay, Derek.”

Derek knew he wasn’t, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he slipped his hand into Spencer’s, squeezing it back. “Let’s get something to drink, okay?”

Spencer nodded and they made their way through the crowd hand in hand, something Derek still wasn’t used to.

“Do you want a Tickle Me Drink or a Blushy Lee Bourbon?” Derek asked him as they sat down by the bar, reading off the menu on the wall. When he turned back to him Spencer was blushing, although he didn’t avert his gaze, and Derek suddenly felt as if he would explode.

“Not a fan of bourbon,” was all he said, glancing down up the drinks list. “How about a Pick Your Spot Pina Colada?”

“You got it, pretty boy.”

Derek wanted to tease him about picking a drink without a name which he would have a hard time saying out loud, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned over toward the bartender - not the bastard from the case - and ordered for them both. Derek picked the Cosmotickleton, grinning when Spencer squirmed beside him.

“So,” he said as the bartender went away to start on their drinks. “How are you feeling so far?”

Spencer shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in after everything.” Derek leaned closer, a finger on Spencer’s arm. “How ‘bout you tell me what you’re liking?”

Spencer shivered, subtly, but Derek could feel it. “About the club?”

“Uh huh.”

“I like how accepting it is.” His answer came quickly and easily. “It’s loud and overstimulating, but- well, I’ve never felt safe in a club before, you know?”

Derek wanted to ask more. Wanted to hear him talk about the particular tickle scenarios that were happening all around him, but realized Spencer wasn’t here for that. Realized there was more to it than the exposure to the tickling itself. Maybe one day Derek would understand. He was happy to wait, happy to explore, happy to solve parts of the puzzle himself until that day.

They got their drinks, clinked their glasses together and watched the dance floor. Watched people kiss and grind and tickle and jump. And later, they danced - Spencer was a hip swinger much to Derek’s delight - and as they pressed close, and with Spencer’s permission, he pressed his fingers into his sides, making him swing in a different way. And even later, when they stumbled into Derek’s apartment because it was closer, Derek kissed him for several minutes before he went for his ribs, but only because Spencer had grown impatient.

#tickling #tickle fic #ticklish!spencer reid #criminal minds fic #If I'm to let it in it might just stay forever #n writes

[libraryknight]

One of my sideblogs is gaining a very large number of new followers today…

and I can’t figure out why.

Best guess is that someone with a large platform reblogged something I’d commented on, but it’s far enough down the reblog chain that I didn’t get a notification.

#to be fair #makeitdewey #does get new followers every so often #but not normally over 30 before I first check Tumblr on a random Saturday #and even more since then #it’s not the “follow these blogs” post since my other side blog #wearelibrarian #didn’t get more than a couple in the last day or so #huh #hopefully the new folks aren’t disappointed that side blog only does twice a week scheduled posts #and I’m checking for bots to block once I get to my laptop

[shirtlessradfahrer]

.

#well i had the worst week of my year so far and it’s only january #i think i cried more in the last few days than i have in the last couple of years #so uh that’s something #new manager has completely ignored my availability and just scheduled me fucking whenever #had a regular who’s usually very nice yell at me over something he KNOWS is completely out of my control #he sort of apologized the next day but what the fuck #i was supposed to get a call sometime this week from the doctor’s office i’ve been referred to #for what should be a very basic procedure #which i was hoping would get done before i leave for Kä summer camp in June #ofc they didn’t call and now i have to bother my regular doctor again #and it probably won’t happen in time because healthcare in this province is a fucking joke #i slipped on black ice riding my bike to work and bashed my shin so hard i can only partially kneel down #and after specifically asking my mom to please not do A Thing for x number of reasons #she ofc went and did The Thing #because god forbid i have some fucking boundaries #also several other things but it’s too much to get into #i just need to vent

[arthur-r]

guess who gets to have chipotle today

#it’s me!!!! the last time i had it was my birthday in april #and i keep asking if we could have it and the answer is always no and then. a couple weeks ago when i was at work #my dad and sister had chipotle without me. and that made me real sad #but today i get to have chipotle!!!! im so excited #chipotle and red robin are my two favorite restaurants not counting [redacted pizza restaurant] where i work #and i have a secret kids menu hack that gets me super cheap food at red robin but it’s expensive for the rest of my family #so we don’t go there often. chipotle on the other hand is still a special treat but it’s a more equal special treat #where everyone can feel like they’re getting their moneys worth and im always in the mood for it #and so im really glad we’re doing it today. i love chipotle so much #we’re just gonna go order takeout and then eat it at home but that’s better than sitting in the restaurant with lights and loud people #so this is the most ideal meal possible. my dad went a couple weeks not really feeding us anything but this is the second day this week #that we’re getting food as a family. i guess he’s doing that cause my mom and little sister are almost home so he’s making the most of the #last week. other things he’s taking advantage of being able to do: smoke weed cause he thinks i don’t know the smell so i won’t know #i do know i just don’t want to be confrontational about it. we’ve almost made it through this entire time with no fights and im really proud #so im not gonna mess it up calling him out on something like that. for vague context i live in a state where it is a crime. but i don’t #really care from that standpoint it’s just. idk i just wish that when he’s supposed to be a responsible adult he would keep his wits up #like. my mom told me once that when i was growing up she would smoke weed before she hung out with me and my sister so that she would be #in the right headspace. she would smoke weed so that she’d be more childish and fun to play with #which i guess i appreciate the goddamned effort but it didn’t work because as long as you still have power over somebody #any superficial idea of equality isn’t going to do anything. three year old me did not cry less when my mom got mad at me if she had been #high when she was taking care of me earlier. that is not how that works. so anyway i guess it’s a sore spot #he’s only smoked once the past couple weeks and now he is again today i could smell it when i went to the basement to do my laundry #and it’s just not a great vibe. hang on i heard the dryer song from far away im gonna go move my laundry #anyway this is actually a happy post because i get chipotle so um. sorry for all the weed talk i got distracted #drug cw #ok i’ll see you guys later i have to move my laundry and then im getting dinner!!!! very excited #me. my post. mine. #delete later

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

[shroomierambles]

Not to jump the gun but I think I’ve unlocked the secret to my executive function ohmygod

I realized the roots of my procrastination/executive function issues & after processing it, it’s like that wall that’s stopped me from doing anything has come down (or at least shrunk down to an easily jump-over-able height)

#it’s only been 2 days of Being Able To Do Tasks so we’ll see if I can keep it up #but I was thinking about shit & was like “yeah I use avoidance as a coping mechanism’’ #and like we been knew but I started thinking about back in school when I was highly avoidant of things I needed to do #and it was because there was more shit to do than I physically had the energy for and ability to actually do #when I had VERY poor mental health and no one helping me & my parents didn’t follow through when I said I needed help #so I was in all this shit alone & literally couldn’t do a lot of the things I was meant to #so instead of doing what I could (because it was never enough & I’d always be a million miles behind) #I just shut down & did nothing #and it was also a lot about lack of control #being forced into a structure that wasn’t working for me & where I always felt l was failing & had no control #so avoidance became what felt like the only way I could get through #so then once I realized all that I could flag it as an unhealthy coping mechanism that I’m no longer in the position to need #and in the last couple of years I’ve been making lots of progress on prioritizing my mental health #so nowadays once I see something as unhealthy behavior I’m able to recognize it when it happens & move to healthier behavior instead #so now it would seem: avoidance flagged as unhealthy & detrimental to my mental health. solution: checklists & confronting tasks on my list! #AND I think it’s getting way easier to tell the difference between my avoidance & my need for a rest or my lack of spoons! #ok I’m gonna go watch an adventure time episode cause I did several of my tasks so imma take a solid 15 or 20 break then keep at it! :)

[too-deviant]

strategic manoeuvre.

— WITH…ART DONALDSON!

contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios

You had never been interested in tennis before Art. 

You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else. 

But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway. 

You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire. 

Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis. 

It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks. 

You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa. 

“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for. 

Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning. 

(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).

It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits. 

“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”

We she’d said. As in her and Art. 

You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel. 

From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation. 

The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in. 

It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out. 

You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready. 

You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together. 

He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her. 

But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left. 

But.

But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back. 

You were evil. Truly. The guy was married. 

But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave. 

The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.

(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).

But tonight was different. In more ways than one. 

In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned. 

You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night. 

Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”

He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”

“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble. 

He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”

You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”

“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.” 

Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.  

The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out. 

Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing. 

“Lily likes you.”

You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.” 

“Tashi likes you.” 

You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths. 

“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”

“What?”

“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?” 

“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.” 

“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.” 

“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.” 

He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. 

The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car. 

But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal. 

“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”

Out of all the things… 

“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards. 

“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”

“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now. 

He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face. 

“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”

“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth. 

He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you. 

You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes. 

“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning. 

Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”

He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far. 

You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own. 

His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair. 

When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches. 

You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it. 

Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared. 

You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up. 

Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours. 

“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.” 

(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).

divider by @cafekitsune !!

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art challengers #art donaldson smut #babysitter!reader #challengers #challengers movie #@lia’s works #tashi duncan