#I hope you enjoy this part as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonshine-nightlight · 7 months

Text

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty-Four

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 34

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six][Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] Part Thirty-Four [Part Thirty-Five]

“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”

“I’m not certain,” you admit. Your mind’s been spinning with questions for weeks and yet now that Dale is availing himself to said questions, you find it blank. You grasp for anything to start. Nothing comes to mind besides the very beginning.

“You said earlier… that the original Dale was killed in his summoning attempt?”

“Yes,” the demon inhabiting his body replies. He sets down his cup of tea. “He attempted a summoning ritual, planning to bind a powerful, but unintelligent demonic spirit to him so he might use its strength and other inhuman abilities for his own gain.” That tracked with what you would have expected the original Dale to want. He seemed to have contempt for both demons and his grandparents’ rules, while craving more power for himself.

You’re not surprised it went wrong either as Dale is clearing an intelligent demon. Even while traveling abroad from Northridge, the human Dale likely needed to be covert about his studies and plans. Given the host of misinformation out in the world, well, that probably led to some bad information. His own arrogance likely blinded him to that fact or he overestimated his ability to filter such misinformation out resulting in, well… Summoning demons is very dangerous.

“Unfortunately, he miscalculated in a number of ways,” Dale immediately confirms for you. “Such as how deep he threw his lure down into the portal he opened being the gravest as it meant he underestimated the vitality of his offering. Or rather, if he’d only gone as deep as he planned, it perhaps might have been sufficient. However, since he tried to go too deep, the offering was used up and he’d not set the proper parameters on the summoning circle to prevent an overreach demand.”

Your confusion must show on your face. This is all so far over your head. All your research since discovering this situation with Dale had been regarding what to do with a demon that was present, not how to find or bind one. You’re trying to follow along though and you’re sort of managing, even if you’ve no idea about the mechanics of how to do any of what Dale is describing.

Dale elaborates, “It needed more fuel to the fire so to speak in order to reach as deep as he specified, which was in error. After the offering, the closest source of potential energy was him. Not his body, but his—” Dale made a sound, a hissing air filled noise that you’d never be able to replicate “—, er, his life’s energy? I’m not too sure of the mechanisms myself to be honest. Most of what I know is gleaned from memories of humans who I’ve possessed and that knowledge is incomplete.”

“From what I can tell,” you offer, uncomfortable with speaking on something you’ve not studied deeply, but wanting to contribute something—or at least reassure Dale that you’re no expert nor expecting him to be one. Most of the studies you’ve had covered the Depths as part of history, not science. “There seem to be waves or cycles with knowledge of the Depths. There will be a build up of knowledge in one civilization, an increase in daily interaction between the planes, and then some big shift—a nation-wide purge, a crater where a city once was—wipes out a lot of that gained insight. The topic becomes taboo again, until slowly interest and tolerance builds once more.”

“Fascinating,” Dale says, leaning forward with rapt attention. “I’d not noticed, but I think you’re correct—the sources of information my hosts recall do seem to be clustered in certain years. The cycle isn’t obvious in the Depths because of how time is distorted.”

“I’d imagine so,” you say, enjoying how animated Dale is on the topic. You hope your intrigue is not obvious as you surreptitiously study the two additional eyes which have opened up on his forehead. They’re identical to Dale’s human eyes, despite their placement.

Dale leans back, perhaps you were too obvious, but the eyes do stay. “Something to be explored at a later date,” Dale says sheepishly, seemingly to have recalled his original train of an explanation. “There are some things that are common knowledge among demons—passed on and around as information does even with the Depths’ fractured communities. If a human is drained of energy, there is a small window of opportunity where a demon can leap into their body. We can give it a kick to get it moving again—reignite the spark of life and animation with our own.”

You’d heard of both types of possession–shared and solitary, but you never knew why or how they happened. You’re only grateful that the demon didn’t have to fight the original Dale–you feel guilty, but you can’t help but be glad you’ve only this Dale now.

He waves dismissively. “Of course you can possess a human body with the human’s energy still intact—you’ve met Two—but it's a much more delicate proposition. Often such a prospect involves a fight or negotiation. That’s why so many of the older cults would purposely use a human as an offering. Then the demon they wish to summon won’t have any trouble finding or possessing a vessel.” He again seems to get nervous with such mentions—as if you’ll suddenly remember that you should be afraid of him—and hastens on, “Anyways, there are also ways to do the reverse—to limit a casting, so if the offering is used up, it stops. Dale did not do that properly. He didn’t set the lure right either, which is why he didn’t attract demons that are more akin to animals than humans.”

“I suspected he might attempt something like this,” you admit, remembering your trepidation as the original Dale’s inability to conceal his anticipation had grown. “He was not subtle in his studies around anyone besides his grandparents, but I’m still horrified to think he did so in the estate. If anything went wrong—as it did—who knows who could have been hurt? Is there a way to limit the number of demons that can, can follow or catch the lure?” Your mind is filled with visions of multiple demons, with no regard for the humans already here or even merely not in control of themselves as many animal-like demons often were. It would be like suddenly having a pack of wolves in your bed chamber.

“There is and he managed that much,” Dale confirms and even though the casting is over a month ago, you still feel some relief that you weren't quite so close to complete chaos. “Once I had the lure, I merely had to keep hold of it as these are set to pull in the demon once one suiting the parameters comes into contact with it. He’d made—not noise—but something similar enough that there were a number of interested parties in the area. Luck made me one of the closest once he cast down.”

“But you’d come to see if the noise was a way to the Surface on purpose,” you guess, reading between the lines. You think back to the mood Dale had been in when he’d ‘recovered’ and was showing up to more than a meal an evening. He’d been happy. He’d wanted to be there.

“Yes,” Dale nods. “I’d been looking for the opportunity for long enough. It was a great relief to win the race and fight for the chance. I wasn’t going to let such a lucky circumstance slip through my fingers.”

“How many times had you been to the Surface before?” you ask, caught up so much information. He clearly knew a lot about summoning from Dale’s memories, his personal experiences—but possibly even from other humans. To want to be here strongly enough to fight for the chance he must have known what he was getting himself into—or been in such a rough spot in the Depths anything seemed better. You hoped it was the former.

“A few times,” Dale confirms. He leans back in his chair, his pupils darker in a fascinating way. Not larger, but deeper. You have to watch yourself so you don’t lean forward to see better, like you might find understanding if you fell into his eyes long enough. You force your gaze away and take a sip of tea.

“The first time was by accident,” Dale confesses. “A very skilled summoner from Anjou pulled me and a couple others up. Bound us to her soldiers. It was enough to let me see and experience what it was like here. And to start my fascination.” He shrugs. “Sure, I’d heard of the Surface and humans before, but I’d never seen anything or anyone.”

“It’s not pure darkness in the Depths—I’ve no notion how such rumors began up here—but there’s nothing like the sun and sunlight and its warmth.” He closes his eyes and turns his face towards the window, even though the sun is almost done setting. “Everything feels freer here somehow, less weighed down. As if I’d been moving through water or smog my whole life, in more ways than one—not that that’s quite right either.” He frowns at his inability to describe the experience and opens his eyes to meet yours with perfect accuracy. “My apologies, I seem to lack the vocabulary to explain some of the differences as the effects, the experiences, are not ones that translate well.”

You don’t think he’s giving himself enough credit. “No, no—I think I understand as well as I’d be able without going there myself.”

“I’m not sure you’d like it,” he immediately cautions. Before you can begin to reply that wasn’t what you meant, he’s already hurrying to deter you. “Do not misunderstand me, there are many parts of living in the Depths that I liked. Having my own body and not having to use a vessel. There’s a certain beauty in landscapes and locations that cannot exist here. Comfort in the familiarity of it all. Not to mention the lack of constant deception. However, I’m not certain you would enjoy it.”

“That’s alright,” you reassure him. I have no plans to visit the Depths–you just want Dale to stay here.

“Good, good. It’s…” Dale’s at a loss of words as he tries to convey whatever he wants to. “Well, it’s very dangerous, more wild.” You shiver at the thought, having only lived in cities or large estates in your life–tamed in a manner that you can tell Dale means the opposite to.

Dale frowns, glancing at you and out the window at the nearly set sun before going over to start a fire. You don’t clarify his misinterpretation because the light will be helpful to you, as you know Dale has excellent night vision. Besides, it's early enough in summer that nights can still carry a chill.

Dale continues to talk as he arranges the logs, his voice clear despite his facing away and crouching down, “There are far more animals, for lack of a better word, than intelligent beings. And the intelligent demons are very territorial, in tight-knit clans that exclude outsiders, or in family groups, or solitary. None of these larger communities like humans, with their travel and attempts at civil interaction.”

“What sort are you from?” you can’t help but ask. He seems to enjoy being part of Northridge. He’d talked weeks ago of it as his ‘territory’ but you noticed he hasn’t mentioned anyone else. No one person was mentioned as an aspect of the Depths that he misses.

He straightens up from the fire, picking up his cup of tea for a drink. “That’s complicated.” He sets down the cup holds up his right hand as he explains, “One of my parents was pure shade, but they had been injured defending their territory. During that time they met an ambyani who’d left her family territory to make her own and had settled next to their territory.” He holds up his other hand to represent that parent, before frowning at your blank stare at the word.

You know there are many races of demons, far more varied than any humans are from one another. Some are more famous—infamous— than others. You’ve never heard that word before.

“Ambyani would remind you of humans in a broad sense—most intelligent demons have a form that’s similar enough to humans—but with features that would bring to mind salamanders and birds.” You nod, which you limit yourself to only because you can tell Dale has other things to say besides simply continuing to describe such a creature in greater detail as you wish he would. You wonder if he’s any talent for drawing that he might better illustrate what they would look like. “A courtship developed between them over the years. Eventually they became mates and began to have children.”

Does he mean his parents courted for years before marrying? Perhaps he is interested in such things, but merely expects a longer time frame. You can’t decide whether or not that makes you hopeful or dismayed, so you focus elsewhere. “So different races of demons can have children together?” you ask, even though you suppose he’d already told you as much. You’d grown up hearing about all sorts of demons—wild and strange in so many ways. They seemed too different to be able to have children together.

“Yes, although not always easily and often in adapted manners,” Dale replies. He fidgets, looking as if he’s going to start pacing again, before he sits instead. “The offspring tend to be a mix of parental traits, although the level of influence varies. For example, when a human has children with a possessed human, it is as though the child has three parents, with traits from all, but will end up primarily human because there is more influence from humans. Demons have overlap in their traits, even when different races, and those common traits show up more prominently in offspring.”

You try to absorb what he’s saying about demons, but your mind is a little stuck on the human part, since it's most applicable to you. Another problem for another time, you try to remind yourself. After all, it's not like that information is likely to be relevant to anything happening tonight. Forcibly, you remind yourself that Dale is attempting to explain his own parentage, which you do want to know about and which might help you learn more about him. You’re not sure if your mind can believe that having control over shadows is like hair color, but perhaps it was for demons.

“Shades spawn in swarms with or without partners,” Dale says, not having noticed your mind briefly get off on the wrong track, “while ambyani lay eggs.” You can’t help but notice neither of those methods is how humans reproduce. You try desperately not to picture what mating or sex would be like between such different demons if only because you want to keep listening to Dale. “It can be harder to reproduce between very different races, but my parents were able to raise a clutch with deliberate action, all of whom inherited from both parents.” You’re nodding until he says, “I was not one of them.”

“What do you mean?” Were those two not his parents after all?

“Myself and a handful of other siblings were formed on accident, with a greater portion of shade than ambyani,” Dale says, still not filling in many of the gaps to your mind. You didn’t want to interrupt him with more questions about how that happened in case he was talking around the exact circumstances on purpose. “As such, we grew up as shade do, wandering about in large swarms. We did combine and recombine with less frequency than usual due to our mother’s contribution.”

“But a swarm of bats or a flock of birds are still separate animals,” you can’t help but point out. “You’re saying that shade young are not fully separate?”

“Correct, usually a swarm solidifies into one shade after time passes, if they survive.” Dale sounds wistful as he explains, “However, rather than eventually dying off entirely, being subsumed by a larger swarm, or forming one shade being, we solidified into a group of siblings when younger than is typical for boundaries like that to form. Because we wandered as young shade do, we had strayed far from our parents' territory. We traveled throughout different demons’ territories, never able to stay long and always in danger from predators. Once old enough, we decided to find our parents. I was the only one to survive the journey home.”

Your heart goes out to Dale and you can see that he feels the loss of his siblings at such a young age. You can’t even imagine it. “I’m so sorry.”

Dale smiles sadly. “Thank you.” He fidgets in his chair before standing up. Waving his hand, he tries to downplay the loss, “It’s a blur, to be honest—little moments stick out but I was very young. Still, I missed them and being part of a family. I was quite eager to join my parents.” You’ve got a sinking feeling in your gut, given how Dale is and the sad tone this story has taken, that his eagerness may have been misplaced. “Unfortunately, by the time I returned, I had grown enough that my parent thought I was an unrelated shade, looking to steal their territory and family. I was able to communicate who I was eventually, but they never fully trusted me.”

You wrap your hand around the low footboard of the bed to resist the urge to comfort him with an embrace. He seems too full of nervous energy to appreciate it and this conversation, while relatable in some ways, is also throwing in your face how different you are. Perhaps he wouldn’t want a hug, even if you want to give him one. “Why not?”

Dale sighs, leaning against the vanity. He looks older, more tired. “Between growing away from them and how we—I—was formed, my mother felt there wasn’t enough ambyani in me. She barely believed I was hers. My parent saw me as too shade to be trusted—family means very little to them on its own. He could never truly be convinced I was not a rival to him. My other siblings were quite different from me and followed their lead.” All of Dale’s extra eyes have vanished and the shadows are very still around. His voice is clipped as he says, “After an incident, I realized it’d be best if I struck out on my own.”

You’re not sure what sort of incident he could mean, but given his parents distrust it could have been anything. People looking for a threat tend to find one, no matter how warranted. “Oh, Dale.” He shrugs and turns to stare into the fire, the light casting strangely deep shadows on his face. He barely looks like his namesake in this moment. He looks too far from human.

You want to shake him from this melancholy. It’s not the same, but you know what it's like to feel like a stranger, someone outside looking in, in your own home and with your own family. Your age difference would have been enough to do that to some extent, nevermind your illness. But your parents and siblings had always been around, had always known you were family. Now here Dale is once more outside of his ‘family’, a demon among humans. He had very little from his original identity he could reveal, even if you hope sharing with you will help. The thought occurs to you and you tentatively ask, “I suppose that reminds me of another question, do you wish for me to call you by another name?”

“Hm?” He half turns towards you, but continues to look so clearly inhuman. It's fascinating what light and shadow can do to change a person.

You’re not scared of him, but you are somewhat intimidated by the gap in your experiences. By how much you still don’t know of him as even this basic question demonstrates. “I only meant for when we’re alone, of course. But you must have a name besides ‘Dale’?” As soon as you clarify, you start to second guess yourself. What did you know of demons and their naming conventions? You’ve heard tell that names mean something to them. Or that they use them differently? But what was rumor or fact, you’ve no notion.

“Oh!” Dale turns fully away from the fire, looking startled, and it seems to shock him back to looking fairly human. His eyes, only the two at the moment and in the proper place, still must be the hardest to control. They still seem to have a glimmer of firelight in them. As he recovers from his surprise, he appears to give the question a brief few seconds of thought before shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind Dale.” You breathe out a sigh of relief that you hadn’t accidentally offended him. He continues, “We didn’t have names as such in the Depths, not permanent ones. Names, however someone was referring to you, were to reflect who you were in a context. In this context, I am Dale of Northridge.”

“If you’re happy with that,” you reassure him, even as he gets up to make himself a fresh cup of tea, “then I’m pleased to continue to call you ‘Dale’.” You hand him another packet of tea and he refills your own cup with fresh hot water. “I just want to make sure you’re aware you can share things with me, as yourself.”

“Thank you, sana.” His smile is small, full of sharp teeth, and quite sincere. “I believe I’m starting to get that through my mind,” Dale says as he salutes you with his fresh cup of tea. “It merely seems so novel. Humans are so fearful of the Depths and demons, which is not unwarranted.”

He frowns thoughtfully at you, pausing as he stirs his tea. He squints, a third eye mimicking the motion. “You’re quite smart, and compassionate, and—well, cautious isn’t quite right. Deliberate? Hm.” You wait with bated breath for whatever else he might say of your character. You’ve been wondering how he truly saw you for so long, what he made of such a silly human, and yet he seems far too complementary. “What I mean to say is that you are very sensible and that seems at odds with, well, this,” he motions between the two of you. “Your reaction to me when compared with others. I admit I still do not fully understand it.”

“I’m pleased you think I’m sensible,” you say before frowning because while you’re flattered, you also don’t want Dale to have a false image of you in his head. “But I don’t truly think I am. Sensible, that is. I mostly just see myself as a worrier, but it’s true that I worry a similar amount about what others might see as inconsequential or as monumental.” You shrug helplessly, trying to articulate what you mean. “I think I’m just better at pretending, or rather… I grew up oddly, because of my illness and isolation, in a manner such that the things others saw as mundane were far more to me. And now that I am healthier, I think sometimes because my mind has elevated the ordinary to extraordinary, I don’t find the strange so strange, or the risk as risky.” You wander back to the bed and sit down as you try to pull your thoughts into order.

“It’s true, marrying a demon is risky,” you’ve never actually said it out loud. The closest you came was with Steward Bilmont. It does sound incredibly foolish, even with Dale patiently waiting for you to keep talking, the picture of normalcy—baring the now three additional eyes. “But so is marrying anyone, to some extent. Certainly so is marrying an ambitious lordling who dabbles in forces he overestimates his abilities in. I knew what he was like when we entered into our betrothal, but considered it a price I’d pay, a risk I’d take. I wanted to attempt to run a fief and have a family of my own where my decisions held weight. My other options had not had such possibilities.”

You think back to when you figured out what was going on and what Dale was. What you wanted to do. “You were a new player to account for, but I already knew Dale wasn’t a prize himself. You could have been anything—for good or ill—and Dale was already part of the marriage to bear, not what I was looking forward to. Given the other alternatives, I thought seeing if you would at least be as tolerable as him would be worth the risk. If it did not work out well, I would deal with it then.” You shrug helplessly. “I think I’m just too stubborn by half and twice as foolhardy. A month ago, when this part of everything began, seems so long ago. But I’m very happy with where we are now and with you.”

“Is that so?” Dale can’t seem to help himself from asking.

“Yes.” Luckily telling him so gets easier every time.

He leans forward to peer at you, unblinking in his examination. Your breath catches in your chest as you wait him out.

“So strange, you really seem to mean it.” He looks away to stir his tea.

You find you’ve leaned towards him and are in danger of falling off the bed. You hurriedly hoist yourself back a sensible distance so you don’t look quite so eager. Hopefully by the time he looks back at you the heat in your cheeks can be blamed on the fire and tea.

“Some humans have used me as a tool, others a weapon. Some were civil about it, others were not—whether using bribery or punishment to attempt to deal with me. None dealt with me as an equal.” He says so casually enough it takes an additional second for the pang of sorrow for his sake to hit you.

He looks back up, that earnest light in his eyes. “Despite all that, I still wanted so badly to be here. After the first taste, I tried to learn everything I could of the Surface. I’d not managed to join a new clan or other group by then, so I started trying to mark out my own territory in the shallows. Where I might see more of the Surface. I even attempted to find a way to go it alone up here, but shades are just a bit too… delicate? We need an anchor—a vessel—or we fade.”

“So you focused on humans who cut holes into the Depths,” you surmise, even if you feel a pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him without Dale’s human body, on his own. You wonder if the brief glimpses you saw during his fight with Two were close to what he looked like naturally. Maybe you could still see some of what he was underneath.

“Precisely,” Dale replies. “I learned better how to spot the lures humans dropped, how to tell who they were aimed at and how powerful the one casting them was and so on. Not that I was always correct in my estimation and there are others—other demons—who want to go to the surface as well. Even ones who might be able to in their own forms tend to still prefer to travel up a line a human dropped to ascend. Competition was fierce.”

You try to think of what to ask, without making it obvious you want to know everything he could tell you. Hopefully he would, eventually, but what did you want to know tonight? “Were there any other journeys here that you thought might have been what you wanted?”

Dale frowns before he slowly nods. “One. Time moves differently between the planes and matters less in the Depths, passes differently too so I can’t say for certain how long ago it was. Decades on the Surface,” he settles on, “but less than one below.” He sighs and there’s a little whistle to it that makes it sound more like the wind than a human letting out some breath. The whistle is eerie and pretty at the same. You want to know what other sounds Dale can make. “It did not work out as I’d hoped, but it was the closest I’d come.”

This is the most wistful you think you’ve ever heard Dale and you are so eager to learn more. “What happened?”

“You truly wish to know?” Dale’s not arguing with you, but you can see he doesn’t understand your interest in this. You’d thought this is what he wanted to share, but maybe he was expecting questions more along the lines of the specifics of what he is or what his plans are. After this morning and the wedding, you’re not nearly as anxious about that as you were yesterday. You don’t need reassurances he’s not going to hurt you or leave. You merely want to know him better.

“It has no bearing on the current state of affairs. I promise I’ve no desire for another life,” Dale reiterates, looking earnestly at you. “As I said, this was the finest stroke of luck I’ve ever come across.”

You can’t help but smile because honestly, his arrival ended up being a pretty perfect stroke of good luck for you too. “I believe you,” you reply, hoping to soothe him. You’re not deterred. “But these events had an impact on you, did they not? A strong impact.”

“Yes,” he allows. “They did.”

“I only want to get to know you,” you say, hoping your unadorned words will help him understand you.

“Very well.”

You frown at his continued reluctance. “If you do not wish to tell the tale, I’ve no desire to force you.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, his hand brushing some of the hair that’s escaped his tie back from his face. “It might clarify some of my actions to you.” You still are not convinced he wants to speak to you of this. You can have patience. You open your mouth to say so, but Dale admits, anticipating your words, “And I’ve never had the opportunity to tell this story to anyone. So if you wish to listen, I will gladly tell of it.”

You are getting better at reading him after all, you realize, be cause you believe him. You relax back onto the bed. “Yes, please.”

“It was in Khinat, though the group was not entirely from there,” Dale says, setting the scene. The far off look is back in his eyes, the shadows’ movements more rhythmic than the typical chaos from a fire. “They were a band of thieves, who wanted to steal, well, a number of precious items from a palace.” He gives one slow blink, as if giving you a second to object to such criminal behavior. As if you weren’t aware most dabbling in demonology that weren’t scientists were mercenaries and the like. You doubt he had much choice in the matter and theft was always more palatable to you than harm caused unto others—not that they couldn’t overlap.

When you only wait patiently, Dale continues, “They wanted more than human advantages on their side. Their caster bound myself and two others to three of their fellows. My vessel, he did first. He’d not been sure of how much energy it would take to get the depths he wanted and so he had that human written in as a secondary sacrifice. Sure enough, he’d not provided enough energy and the human’s life energy was drained in the summoning process. It was the first time I’d been in a vessel with no mind to compete with beyond memories.”

“That caster had been a foul man, callous and arrogant,” Dale flexes one of his hands angrily at the memory before clenching it into a fist. “He bound me tight in that body. The other two demons he summoned were controlled by their humans with excessive strength. One human was able to handle it properly. The other was not and did survive to the end of the quest. The one who survived kept the demon bound to him as his reward while I was told that I could have the human body and my freedom if I cooperated. I saw this as a great opportunity, even if I disliked most of the other members of the group."

“I can understand why," you acknowledge. It was obviously more appealing for Dale to not have to share a body, even if it meant someone else died—at least it was not by his own actions. It certainly painted the humans involved in a negative light, cruel to sacrifice someone in such a test and then use their body after their death. And while you know demons can be violent too, this manner of binding stinks of slavery to you. "Even if they sound like a reprehensible crew."

“Yes. There was one who had been, not captured as the one who became my vessel had been, but coerced to a high degree,” Dale says. You sit up straighter at the gentler tone that has entered his voice. "She was the appraiser—the one who could tell the decoy artifacts from the genuine. Rather than wait until after the heist, the leader compelled her to join with a combination of bribery and threats. She needed the money, and wished to keep her life, and so complied."

Dale seems to be lost in his memory and so you only need to nod to prompt him to continue.

"I performed reconnaissance and scouting. She utilized that information to ensure we had the correct targets. We became close over the time spent together, preferring each other's company to the rest," Dale's voice gets even softer and you hate the insecurity it sparks through you because you can see where this is heading. You don't like discovering you're a jealous spouse—you hadn't been with the original Dale, but then again, you'd not truly wanted him, or wanted him to want you, the way you did with this Dale. "She knew the terms of my service, that I would get only my freedom and nothing more, so she invited me to return with her to her hometown and then beyond. She was taking this payment and leaving her life in the city behind. A fresh start for both of us, she said.”

You could see why such a prospect appealed to Dale, and possibly even to this woman, who sounded like she had found herself in far over her head. You’re waiting though, balanced on the edge of a cliff, because you know by virtue of Dale standing here with you, that this story will not end well.

"It was the longest I'd been on the surface for and had full control,” Dale says, lost in the memories. “I learned and enjoyed as much as I could, even under the circumstances.”

You can picture Dale, not having to hide his nature with the crew, and testing his limits with the same eager attitude he sometimes displayed.

“Not that the lessons learned from the rest of the group were useless,” Dale adds, coming back to the present somewhat. “I’ve been applying some of those skills recently to the investigation into the assassins.”

You blink, pulled out of Dale's story. "You have?”

"Yes," Dale says, as if still worried what you might think of this part of his past. Like he wants to show he's useful beyond his impersonation of Dale, which has never something you needed convincing on. "Of course, I’ve been trying to pull what useful information I can from Dale’s memories, his knowledge, of his network of informants, and so on, but I do know something on my own of information gathering, of meeting with unsavory characters and how they operate. Ensuring those I have contact with can and cannot tell I am Dale as appropriate."

"I'm glad you've had the experience because I don't know where I would have begun," you admit because you are and you want him to know that you value what responsibilities he’s taken on. "My family might help if I had asked, but they are busy with their own matters. I certainly have no network of contacts, especially not for figuring out who might have hired assassins."

"Yes, well, you would not have acted in a manner that would prompt someone to send assassins after you."

You smile at the affront you hear in Dale's voice. "I'm glad you think so. I don't think if you'd been Dale at the time that you would have either."

Dale gives you a lopsided smile. "I'm pleased you think so, but I'm not so certain. There's still much I'm learning and my experience, my loaned memories—they are not always the correct preparation. I'm grateful to your aid and Grandmother and Grandfather for their clear expectations. Besides, as you've pointed out—rightfully so—my control still needs fine-tuning. Within Northridge, that’s the greater concern.”

While you've worried over the same thing yourself these weeks, here in this room—with Dale, and honesty, and your marriage—you no longer feel like that’s a true looming threat. “Now that we can work together, I’m certain we can prevent that from happening.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” Dale says, pleased. “I’ve simply never been able to stay and so inherently find the prospect hard to trust in.”

“I’d imagine so,” you reply. “From your story, it seemed like a true possibility, but you weren’t able to stay, were you?”

“No,” Dale sighs. “It was a lovely month—my longest stay until now. We did succeed to the leader’s satisfaction and he paid us both as promised. Even the journey to her home was uneventful. At first. That’s when it all fell apart.”

Even knowing that something was going to go wrong, it still made your heart clench at the despair in Dale’s voice. That he was here now, meant that he couldn’t have stayed then, and you selfishly want to be the one—want this life to be the one—that makes him happy. You still hurt for the hope you can see he had and lost.

“While I thought she understood my situation,” Dale continues, “it turns out she had not.” You frown, what did he— “She thought I was like the other two, a human sharing a body with the demon, except that I hadn’t asked for it the way the other two had. She thought freedom meant the caster had rid me of the demon, not that I was the demon being given a body. She thought she’d been talking with a human the entire time.”

Oh, your first thought is once you’ve digested that, no wonder he hadn’t thought you knew. He’d deceived this other woman by accident. Perhaps that is even why he seemed so careless—why he’d called humans oblivious. He’d said before he’d been testing his limits of what he could do and she’d still not caught on. She must have been shocked, particularly if her experience with demons had been tainted by the other members of the group. “Oh, oh no.”

Dale nods, resigned sorrow in the lines of his face, aging him. “When I finally realized what was happening, I told her the truth.” His voice flattens, “She did not take it well. Refused to believe me at first. She was angry and unsettled and—but then,” the corners of his mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile, “she seemed to accept that I had been myself the entire time. That our relationship was genuine. She was a little more standoffish, more hesitant, than before but she was a good person. Forgiving. She still wanted me to come home with her. She didn’t abandon me.” You can hear a lot in that statement, thinking back on his family.

“I thought given time,” Dale continues softly, “she would be able to accept me. And so I followed her home, right into an exorcism.”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help but get to your feet. Carefully, you approach Dale. He watches you with wary eyes, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t ask you to stop. “She’d written home ahead of time,” he blurts out and you reach out your hand to entwine your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. You know he can appreciate this much at least. “Her mother, a sanctif, set everything up. She believed I’d deceived her purposely and was still attempting to use her to some nefarious end. I was shoved back down into the Depths within the day.”

“Dale…” You say, running your free hand down his arm in what you hoped was a comforting gesture, but you’ve no idea what else to say. No wonder he hadn’t believed you knew.

“I thought I was so clear with who I was!” Dale exclaims, looking frustrated and sad. The shadows flicker, and his teeth grow sharp, and his hair seems to have burst from its tie entirely. His fingers stay entangled with your own and his grip is so light. It’s primarily you holding on to him. “And she was so kind, so understanding. We’d known each other for weeks. She saw me—”

He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl. You feel the sound through the close air between you and through his body. You don’t know how to make him feel better. Had he said he’d never even spoken to anyone of this? It all must be so bottled up inside him. You hope talking about, telling you, is releasing some of the pressure. You want to pull him into an embrace so badly, but you don’t think he wants much more contact than this.

He inhales, a shiver that goes through his entire body before he stills. He pulls his inhuman influence back into himself that the room seems more static than before, like a painting of a room instead of a true one—Dale, a statue. He looks down at you with his glowing blue eyes, only two of them, and mostly looks forlorn. “And she was convinced that she did what had to be done, I could see it, once trapped. The righteousness in her. Looking back, I should have realized her concerns over what we were doing, how the demons were used by the other humans—she had been disgusted with the use of them, of me. I simply thought it was the binding, the control over another, she disagreed with. In the end, I think she was a purist, who thought none should cross the planes and all should stay in their own realm.”

It was a popular belief, one that waxed and waned throughout the centuries but never truly went away. You sigh and keep your hand on Dale’s arm, not his cheek. “I’ve heard of that school of thought. I’ve never studied much about the planes or demons, not enough to have a strong opinion. I know there is a lot of danger when realms mix, but I also think that those are the instances everyone hears about because if there are demons here or humans Below that are doing just fine, well, there’s nothing to say or hear about, is there?”

Dale relaxes at your every word, at the way you continue to hold his hand, stay close—not move an inch from his side. “Yes, that’s my stance as well.” He frowns, “Do not misunderstand me, there are plenty of dangerous individuals who are a perilous risk to all around them, regardless of where they are and what they are. Demons have done serious harm on the Surface, but humans have been to the Depths and done damage too.”

That’s not something you’d considered, though you’ve heard tales and speculation of those who ventured there. You know Dale knows this, but he must feel so defensive given the attitudes of so many, including that woman and his grandparents.

“In the end, I can only speak for myself. And I wish to live here.”

You take his other hand in yours and clasp them both. “You do live here now. We’ll work together to make sure it stays that way. I can help so much better now that we are on the same page, I promise.”

“Thank you, sana,” Dale replies warmly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “I now know you’ve already been doing more than I ever expected. I admit I didn’t entirely follow all of what you said about what aid you have provided over this past month—besides the holy water. I take it that now it was your intention to be the primary target?”

“Yes, I didn’t know Grandfather had holy water,” you admit with a shrug “but the gesture, the fall… It struck me as suspect so I reacted without thinking.”

“How else have you helped?” he asks, heartfelt gratitude in his voice. “I have done my best, but I’m still learning. Dale’s memories—my own from my other visits—are a great aid, but I can’t always understand why certain things are done or what human limits are. I estimate the correct action as well as I can and hope small slips do not arouse too much suspicion.” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“I imagine so, I would never be able to maintain any such deceit of my own person.” The very idea of spending the rest of your life pretending to be someone you’re not is exhausting, but somehow helping Dale do the same seems so much more manageable. “I’m happy to aid you.”

“When else have you, if you don’t mind my asking?” Dale insists. “If I’m far more oblivious than I’m beginning to suspect, you need not enumerate all such instances if you’d prefer to go to sleep at some point tonight.”

You smile at his self-deprecating joke, but you’re not one to boast of your own accomplishments and you’ve no desire to make Dale feel worse—your reaction this morning had been quite enough. “I…” You want to fidget but you don’t want to let go of Dale’s hands. “I tried to help where I could as an unfamiliar person to give you time to work through your memories. Then as you said, your control isn’t perfect. Most of what I did was merely misdirecting others from noticing additional eyes, strange shadows, hungry shadow tails with a penchant for cheese.” You give him a significant look at that one and he looks mischievously unrepentant.

“I get hungry!” he defends himself. “I need a lot of fuel to keep myself and this body running smoothly.”

“Clearly,” you reply dryly, although you note it for later. “Other than that, some of Grandfather’s attempts to prove I’d cursed you were aimed at me, but some were aimed at both of us or were in danger of affecting both of us. You managed the High Sanctif fine on your own, but I did ensure we were away from Dr. Louisa and Grandfather after you touched her detecting gloves.”

“Her what?” Dale asks, baffled and curious. An additional eye opens below one of the usual ones, already trained on you.

“She’d just given a demonstration before you and Grandfather joined us. Your hands were stained due to some substance she developed.”

“Oh.” All his eyes blink. “Now that you say so, I did notice a bit of a stain when I retired for the evening, but I thought that was from ink. No wonder I couldn’t recall when it had happened.”

“Quite.” You search your mind, for other instances, feeling strange laying them out after working so hard to conceal them. “I tried to help you gauge your strength with the games before the tournament so you did draw suspicion with the jousting itself. Not telling everyone what else I saw of you during the fight with the assassins wasn’t a challenge—especially since I didn’t see that much as it was. I did try to ensure I helped treat your injuries first, in case you needed the time to regain your control or were injured in some inexplicable manner.”

“I appreciate that, sana,” Dale says with a warm smile and an emphasis on your ‘healer’ nickname, “but I did make sure not to return until I was entirely human, knowing I might be under heightened scrutiny. In some ways it was easier that night since I was tired from having used so much of my demon attributes in the fight and chase. Too tired and I’ll get sloppy—that’s why I only was in public for short periods right after taking control of Dale’s body—but there’s a sweet spot, or so it seems.”

“I’m relieved you’ve managed as well as you have then,” you reply with a crooked smile, “even without exhausting yourself.”

“Still, obviously I have not been doing as well as I’d presumed.” Dale frowns, “My sense of what humans will notice is obviously skewed. I’d appreciate your help in—”

A crackle and pop from the fire as a log shifts and falls in the pile cuts Dale off. He lets out a strange noise, a growl but lower register and more of a continuous, less rough sound. Like a hiss. The shadows writhe around him. He lets go of your hands to put himself between you and the fire, one shadow in particular shoots out like another limb or a tail to wrap loosely around your shoulders, the end of it facing the danger.

Hearting beating wildly from the noise and Dale’s reaction, you try to calm your breathing. “Just the fire,” you say, then fear creeps down your spine. “Right?”

Dale looks at the fireplace for an extra second, before he deflates, pulling back in on himself. “Yes.” He looks at you cautiously, as if wondering if you’ll judge him for overreacting or for showing so much of himself when you were just discussing how he needed to do better at just that. “I apologize. My form is quite instinctive.”

“It’s alright.” You place your hand on Dale’s upper arm, turning him back towards you. “I think we’ve both been on edge these last few days.” You want to get back to where you were, sharing and together. You want him calm once more because he deserves to be after the journey to get here. “What do you mean by instinctive?” you ask, wanting to know more, wanting to figure out the right way to tell him that it was okay. You didn’t mind. His inhuman traits might still surprise you, but they never frighten you. He’s mesmerizing and thrilling and so much more than human. It's actually one of your favorite things about Dale.

He takes a measured breath, clearly wanting to follow you back to normality. Well, normality for you two. “While anchored to this body, my essence is still mine to command as well. It flexes and forms according to my desires and instincts as it did when I was only a shade. I try to keep that within or hidden, however...

You wait with baited breath, so interested in anything to help you understand the most obviously inhuman part of him.

“If I am curious, I create more eyes with which to observe. If I need more reach, I grow more limbs.” His lips quirk, as if remembering what you said earlier, “If I am hungry, more mouths.” You smile in recognition. Dale continues, a frown you recognize as one where he’s trying to translate what this means for him into meaning you can parse, “In many ways, trying to control such manifestations is anathema. Attempting to maintain a neutral facial expression when someone is trying to make you laugh.”

“I see.” It’s a helpful comparison. You remember the games you played in your dorm—including that one. Everything thinking of ridiculous or scandalous things to say in order to make the others break and laugh. It also makes his reaction of putting himself between you and potential danger all the sweeter. “Then perhaps I have not given you credit for the control you do have.”

“I’m sure you’ve given me precisely the credit I deserve,” Dale says wryly, some stress leaving him as he speaks. “It sounds like this is the aspect of my deception you’ve helped most with and I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful to be here, with you.”

“Me too.” You stare up at him, feeling the firm muscle of his arm under your hand, the tightly wound tension still present despite your attempts at reassurance and distraction. You want to truly take his mind away from everything, more than you want that for yourself. You want to relieve the stress you’ve both been under, enjoy what you now have. You want to make Dale not just grateful for not being betrayed, but truly happy—with you.

A clock strikes the hour, obvious as it breaks the silence between you. Dale steps back, picking up his forgotten cup of tea. “It’s getting late, I don’t mean to keep you awake after such an eventful day.”

“I’m not—” you start to protest before cutting yourself off. If Dale wanted a polite path out of tonight’s typical obligations, you should let him. You muster up a small smile, hoping what disappointment and frustration you feel reads as exhaustion. “Yes, I suppose it has certainly been a long day.”

You walk over to the tea table to put down your cup, gathering your leftover supplies. Telling yourself you’re not stalling in the hopes he changes his mind and wants you as a spouse and not simply a confidant, however much you’re enjoying being one to him.

As you move, you’re uncomfortably aware of your chemise. Despite being soft and well made as it is, you feel awkward in your nightclothes. A pretty, but slipshod attempt to make this night something Dale never wanted. He’s still in his waistcoat, for star’s sake.

The garter you’ve on around your thigh is the most uncomfortable and you try to remember if your maid had actually tied it with a purity knot. With a pang, you recall her checking it was still tight when she helped you out of your other clothes after arriving here. Surely, you could figure it out on your own despite its supposed notoriety for being unable to be done by a person who can’t see the knot itself. That’s why it was tradition to do up a betrothed’s garter with it.

But what if you couldn’t? What would be worse? To ask Dale for his help now so you might leave with some dignity after it was undone? Or to leave and have to return for his aid then? No, worst would be to do neither and have your maid be the one to untie it in the morning and know you weren’t enticing enough to tempt your husband into doing so himself.

Regretfully, you turn around, back to where you’d been sitting earlier. “Before I go to bed,” you start, lifting your foot to place it on the ottoman at the foot of his bed.

“What are you doing?” Dale cuts you off, his voice raising in alarm at the end of his sentence when you begin lifting the hem of your chemise.

You give him the driest look you can manage, hoping it hides your embarrassment. “It’s our wedding night, Dale. No one else knows we’re discussing your inhuman nature. They’ll assume we were occupied elsewise. And they’ll ask you about it.”

“Ask—,” Dale sounds personally offended, as if he’s forgotten how certain people will act—because they’re nosey or crude or lack tact. “Not in any sort of—,” he stops and starts again, staying rooted to where he stands instead of making himself useful. “You don’t need to—”

“The garter was tied with a purity knot,” you cut him off before he can continue to prove all your communication issues are not over by not taking a hint and damaging your ego at the same time. You try to remind yourself of all the compliments he’s paid you instead reading into the look of mild panic on his face now when confronted by the mere sight of your bare leg. “I need your help taking it off.”

“You do?” his voice sounds a bit weak, almost reluctant, and you swallow down another wave of disappointment and embarrassment.

“It was tied very tightly and specifically,” you say, grateful your voice, while a little strained, is otherwise close enough to how it typically sounds. “I can’t manage the knot, especially since it’s behind me. You should probably have it regardless.”

Dale blinks and some of his frozen posture thaws. He has that look you’ve seen multiple times, especially in the last few hours—he’s remembered some bit of human knowledge. Hopefully, he chalks this whole experience up to an oddity of humanity and nothing further. “Of course, yes. I don’t know how I forgot about this. One of my cousins tried to convince me to wear one as well this very morning—Grandfather didn’t leave me alone once I told him I would be getting married after all.”

You have to work hard to keep your facial expression from showing how pleasing you find the image of Dale with a matching yellow garter on his leg that you would have gotten to carefully untie, like a present on Midwinter.

He walks over to you, less nervous, but still cautious. You resume pulling your chemise up, hoping he doesn’t think this is some sort of deliberate seduction—caught between hoping you don’t look foolish and wishing he at least found you somewhat pleasing.

Carefully, you hold up the hem to just above the garter, the lace feeling even tighter to your skin. You have to suppress a shiver when you see Dale’s eyes on your bared skin. He reaches for you, a single finger twirling in the dark blue ribbon—which matches his own suit. His eyes dart up to your own for a split second, his pupils already noticeably dark and blown wider. You know they don’t react like humans do, and probably only mean he’s trying to see in better detail, but you feel goosebumps break out across your skin.

He finally grasps the garter itself and gives a little tug to turn it so the knot is towards the front. It’s tight enough that he moves your leg more than the garter. You murmur an apology, one hand on the low footboard of the bed to try to hold yourself steady.

He shakes his head, waving off your apology. “Why on the Surface is this so tight? My apologies for not helping you with it sooner.”

Your own dismissal of his apology is cut short when he wraps the fingers of his right hand around your upper calf, right below your knee and tries again to turn the garter. His grip is strong and unyielding, keeping you in place for him to work and making desire pulse through you at the obvious display of strength. He gives up when the garter’s only made a quarter turn. Since he’s at your side, that must be helpful enough.

You swallow down a bereft noise when he lets go of your calf to use both fingers on the laces. Carefully, he pulls out the ties’ ends from where they were woven back into the garter—another reason they’re hard to undo by oneself. Then he sets to work on the knot itself, his fingers continuously brushing your skin as he tugs and pulls.

He’s so close to you like this, practically looming over you, crowding you against this end of the bed. It would be so easy to fall and bring him with you, on top of you. A knot of a sort twists itself between your legs from his proximity and his touch. You desperately want him to untangle that one too.

He leans closer to see better and it's so unfair. Why has the universe let you get so close to what you want but left you unable to grasp it?

Dale’s noise of triumph causes you to look back down at him as he slides the garter down and, with even more room, off. “There we go,” Dale says, his voice low and soft, with a little bit of smug pride at having finished his task. Before you can lower your leg, he hisses in sympathy. You look down to see lines pressed into your skin, a stark reminder of where the garter had been.

You can feel blood flowing back into that area and it hurts more than it had before Dale had untied the garter. Dale reaches back out for you and rubs his fingers over the marks. “This must have hurt, my apologies once more.”

You shake your head as you fight to keep your eyes from fluttering in appreciation of Dale’s strong fingers massaging that part of your upper thigh back to life. “Thank yo—” you cut yourself off with a gasp when Dale’s fingers drift to the inside of your thigh, which is far more sensitive—not to mention how much closer it begins Dale to where your appreciation is making itself known, gathering at the apex of your thighs and threatening to drip down to where Dale can’t help but notice.

Another stroke of his thumb provokes a hum of pleasure from deep in your chest that you can’t contain. Dale breathes deeply before he finally looks away from your thigh to meet your eyes. You can’t even see any white left in his eyes: his irises are a vibrant blue, glowing with soft light, surrounding dark, wide pupils.

He’s not breathing at all anymore, which you only notice because you have to resist the urge to pant. Then he lets out a sigh, his voice like the wind as he breathes, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You, what?” your voice is high and breathless as he leans closer. “Truly?”

“Yes,” his reply is swift, barely having to think about it. “Of course.” At your continued look of wide eyed surprise, he elaborates, “I was nearly ready to retract my calling off the wedding, no matter my attempt at being better than my nature, when you came to see me simply from how you looked alone. The reminder of what I was giving up.”

His eyes slide up and down your form, before he leans so close your foreheads are nearly touching. His voice is low and almost distracted as he says, “Dressed up so pretty for me.” He moves one hand from your leg to tuck one of your curls behind your ear. “My healing ray of sunshine.”

Heat shoots through your veins at his half-lidded gaze, at his words, at his breath on your lips. “Dale…” Your voice is pleading to a degree that surprises even you. You don’t have time to feel self-conscious about how needy you sound when Dale groans in response, his lips covering yours the next instant.

Soft but insistent, he pushes everything away except for the feel of him pressed against you. The hand still on your thigh, gives a little squeeze, while his other hand cups your cheek, as he’d tried to this morning. He pulls away for a second and your hands wrap themselves in his waistcoat to keep him near. He seemingly needs no persuading as he goes in for another kiss.

His teeth, sharp as they are, tug only gently on your bottom lip, little pinpricks of sensation that send shivers down your spine. You push your hands up his chest and onto his shoulders as you open up to him with a sigh.

His tongue is hotter than the rest of him as it slides into your mouth and you melt in his grasp, wrapping your arms more fully around his neck to keep yourself some semblance of upright. Your pulse thrums with desire as he moves against you and it's all you can do to hold on tight. The flick of his tongue sets your blood simmering. His thorough kiss ignites a hunger in your bones. He pulls back eventually, remembering you both need to breathe, but you don’t care.

You’ve spent so much time at his side, unable to go after what you truly wanted, ask for what you truly want to, that you tighten your hold on him as best you can so he can’t drift away again. Without realizing it, the word “please” falls from your lips to linger in the shared air between you.

Dale’s head tilts back, which is the opposite of what you want, but it seems it’s only to better look you in the eye. “Yes?” He looks startled, despite how you’ve been acting, but eager.

“Yes.” You nod emphatically, past the point about appearing foolish as long as he understands.

“You’d taken this so well,” he says, that same bewildered hope that had sprung up when you said you wanted to marry him back in his eyes. He kisses your skin just below your ear while his hand slides up your side. “I didn’t want to press my luck.”

He captures your mouth in another deep kiss, seemingly unable to help himself

“Uh-uh,” you say once you have a moment to breathe and the wherewithal to speak. You feel drunk on his kisses, the rest of the world and its concerns lost in this heady haze. “This is my reward for getting us here.” Somewhere within, you find the courage to ask, “Haven’t we earned it?”

“More than twice over,” Dale breathes before he sits down on the bed and holds out a hand, “Come here.”

265 notes · View notes

multifandomfanfic · 11 months

Text

A Fernando Alonso x driver!reader Insta AU Series

A/N: As a disclaimer: I actually don’t mind Haas (Nico is the loml), so I don’t know why or when I decided to hate on them in this fic. I did not go into writing this thinking I would. It just kind of happened. Also, please excuse the bad “Competitors” graphic. It is 12:18 a.m. I am not doing too hot.

Anyways, please enjoy! This parts mostly to establish who Y/N is (besides you ofc), then we’ll get into the better stuff :). Let me know your comments/questions/concerns after you read it, or if you want to be added to the taglist for the series!

liked by mercedesamgf1, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 16,128,038 others

f1: BREAKING: Y/N Y/L/N has signed with the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team on a multi-year contract from 2023 onwards.

yourusername: So incredibly grateful for this opportunity and excited to hit the track this season!

mercedesamgf1: Very happy to have you, Y/N! Welcome to the team!

pierregasly: I see you’re also doing the ol’ switcheroo

yourusername: you copied me

pierregasly: preposterous

susie_wolff: We continue to be so proud of you! You’re an inspiration to so many women and girls!

yourusername: Thank you so much, Susie. You know how much that means to me! 💕💕

sebastianvettel: sorry I couldn’t race with you another year, but i’m so excited to see how you do and how much you achieve!

yourusername: thank you, seb! i appreciate it so much 🥺🫶

user202: FINALLY y/n is getting out of that shit team

fanaccount1: as much as i support her, i’m sorry to see her leave haas. they did everything they could for her and she just goes to another team once her contract expires.

user014: she’s under no obligation to stay with them. she proved her worth and she’s smart to go to another team that isn’t underfunded. she had the team’s first podium seven years

user837: just another woman ruining something men created 🙄

fanaccount2: excuse me?? obviously, you’re not very educated in this sport that “men created,” because if you were, you’d know that y/n is one of the best up and coming drivers since forever. last year, she got eighth in the drivers’ championship in a haas. a HAAS. and she won the f2 championship the year before that. once she gets into mercedes’ far superior car she’ll finally be able to receive the results she deserves.

user162: preach 👏👏👏

liked by logansargeant, vancityreynolds, alpinef1team, and 11,291,027 others

f1: And here’s your starting grid for the first GP of the season!

landonorris: ready for this 💪💪💪

alphataurif1: new season, new possibilities!!

user101: how did sargeant do better than de vries??

fanaccount3: nooooo pierreeeee 😭

user628: y/n outscoring lewis??? omg???

fanaccount4: we already KNOW this is going to be a good season

user552: as long as she takes at least one podium from max i’ll be ok :)

user012: jesus i wish people would stop shitting on max. he’s literally doing his job like the rest of them.

fanaccount5: OMG if we get some alonso/y/l/n competition this year i’ll be so happy

user268: i hope so like can you imagine??? two legends in their own rights fighting?? that would be so cool

liked by yourusername, olliebearman, mercedesamgf1, and 14,391,293 others

f1: your 1st, 3rd, and 2nd drivers of the day 🥳🏆

fanaccount6: admin decided the color scheme was prettier and put y/n in the middle

f1: yes 🥰

mercedesamgf1: First race and first podium of the season 😍

yourusername: So proud of the team!

comment liked by lewishamilton and mercedesamgf1

redbullracing: Incredible job!

user837: you say, as checo is probably being chewed out by horner rn

astonmartinf1: here’s to an exciting season 🥂🏆

fanaccount3: i haven’t seen that exciting of a race in forever! alonso and y/n legit started 5th and 6th and battled for the podium the entire time

user105: it was pretty awesome

fanaccount1: but did you see (when y/n was in 2nd in like lap 50) how close she got to max?? like there was a two second gap between them for a little while before she had to pit

user696: we stan 💖

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, zhouguanyu24, robmcelhenney, and 2,834,351 others

tagged: mercedesamgf1

yourusername: Never in my life would I have imagined winning P3 in my first race of a season, let alone my first race of a season with Mercedes. I feel so blessed for this opportunity, and I can assure you, I am not going to let it go to waste. We’ll push to continue this momentum to Saudi Arabia and beyond; we won’t let you down. ✌️😎

(on a less serious note --> jumpscare warning at the end)

vancityreynolds: super race, y/n! you’re the only reason blake watches f1 races with me.

yourusername: omg 🥹 thanks so much!

lewishamilton: I’ve got a good feeling about us this year 💪

yourusername: 💪❤️

susie_wolff: That picture was confidential. - Toto

yourusername: please don’t fire me

susie_wolff: Heavily considering it. - Toto

yourusername: 😔

user030: she ATE and left no crumbs

fanaccount3: LITERALLY

fanaccount6: y/n marry me please 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

user827: she’s already my wife actually

fanaccount6: 😭

user582: guenther steiner is rolling on the floor screaming crying rn

liked by pierregasly

fanaccount7: Everyone saying she’ll be champion when (1) Max is still on the grid and (2) she has drove literally one race for Mercedes. Nobody can predict how the season will play out yet; there simply hasn’t been enough time to see how comfortable all the drivers are in their cars and how they interact with each other.

user455: interact with each other? their jobs are to win. it’s given that everyone will be competitive, so i think it literally just comes down their car and the risks they take. the reason lewis, max, and even schumi were so dominant is that they happened to drive for the team with the most powerful car, and they were willing to go as close to the corners as possible/be super aggressive with other drivers.

but, in the end, i agree with you. i don’t think we can see what’s going to happen in the end yet. personally, though, i think y/n can place higher than she did last year if she keeps doing what she’s doing.

yourusername

liked by schecoperez, vancityreynolds, angelinajolie, and 2,142,934 others

tagged: landonorris, carlossainz55

yourusername: baku <3

olliebearman: Congrats on P2!

yourusername: thank you! congrats on your wins!

logansargeant: great race, y/n!

yourusername: 💕💕💕

landonorris: there were much better pictures of carlos that you could’ve chosen

carlossainz55: Rude.

yourusername: yeah, lando. any photo of carlos is a good photo.

landonorris: 🙄

fanaccount8: 👀👀👀

user914: We love a queen who posts as if she didn’t get P2 in a race yesterday

fanaccount4: although i do like pictures from the actual gp, it is nice to see some normal touristy photos from celebrities

comments liked by yourusername

user914: HOLY CRAP HI Y/N

user777: Another close race! Finally, someone who can challenge Max and gives fan an actually entertaining race!

user267: honestly i think the reason why y/n’s so good is because she knows her cars so well. like, some of the drivers (not all of them), don’t know jack shit about the cars themselves and just know how to drive them. y/n could actually sit down and teach the components of the car to you. i think that’s the difference between her and the others.

fanaccount9: Congratulations, Y/N!

user129: ahhhhhhhhh she’s so pretty 😍😍😍

yourusername added to their story

liked by mercedesamgf1, yourusername, dylanminnette, and 19,391,361 others

f1: how it started --> how it’s going

Congratulations to Y/N on her first ever podium, and on being the first ever woman to do so! 🎉😲

lewishamilton: 🤜🎤

femalesinmsport: You continue to be such an inspiration, Y/N! Congrats on everything.

yourusername: Thank you!

haasf1team: Congratulations on the amazing accomplishment, Y/N!

yourusername: Thank you so much! That means a lot. <3

user725: admin about to get firedddddddddd

fanaccount10: Can’t a team congratulate their former racer?

user725: not when their team principal blew up the way he did when she left

mercedesamgf1: yup, that’s our driver 😎

yourusername: 😎❤️

aussiegrit: Congratulations! Amazing job!

nicholaslatifi: congrats! miss racing with you.

yourusername: thanks, nick! you, too!

pierregasly: how.

yourusername: that’s my secret

dreamlover: I TOLD YOU GUYS. WE CAME BACK.

fanaccount11: OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

user236: i have been dreaming of this day for so long 😭

user273: “we”

dreamlover: stfu and be happy

fanaccount6: Y/N is the greatest driver of the 2020s and you can not tell me otherwise

user627: 2020s? how about ever?

user981: induction into the f1 hall of fame when??

fanaccount12: three world champions on the grid, and she manages to be better than two of them. lewis and alonso are quaking in their boots rn.

yourusername posted to their story

444 notes · View notes

doodleodds · 1 year

Text

Happy Valentines, Akira. Happy Valentines, Asshole.

If you can’t read what Akechi’s secondary inner-dialogue says cause I obscured it too much behind his regular dialogue, here’s a transcription in panel order: Hello, you fucking- Ah- Hello, Akira! Fuck off, why should I tell you- Just a soda- there’s a new flavor.

I don’t want your shitty gift. Oh- haha! You’re so sweet.

I hope I choke. They’re lovely, thank you.

Like hell. Likewise. There’s no way it’s just a coincidence. Still though, it’s a funny coincidence.

#p5 #akeshu #akechi goro #kurusu akira #wow- me?? posting a valentines comic... actually on?? valentines????? wack. absolutely wack #it's a short one! I purposefully tried to keep it short. it was a challenge and it still ended up being 3 pages. but i blame my canvas size #also in case u can't see what akira is holding out to akechi: theyre chocolate covered strawberries on sticks!#i saw them irl and was like oh god i want those. i am going to project that feeling on my favorite characters so help me god #and now! here we are! but my shitty-ass coloring & line quality make it hard to discern them so. sorry about that lmaooooo #ANYWAY i don't do enough post-maruki stuff so. i made this one a little bittersweet. :)#why did i put akechi's scarf in a bow? honestly i dont know! i think i saw some art a while ago that did that too and i thought it was cute #well. plus i guess there's the symbolism of 'akechi being alive and reciprocating your feelings (however involuntarily) IS a gift' part #hence that hes wrapped up in a bow. like a present. :)#also god. the first panel is supposed to be akechi's reflection in a vending machine window. I could NOT get it to look right #so for reference!!! just so you guys understand!!!!!! thats what that panel is supposed to be!!! he is NOT in fact a ghost. (sigh)#hope you enjoyed and had a lovely valentines!! for my part i have eaten nothing but sweets today and hoo boy will that have been a mistake #ALSO in terms of the audience-participation comic...hopefully coming soon. if i can ever gain the will to draw it.#but at least tumblr has polls now so i can do the audience-choose-y bit without needing to use a separate website! so thats good i guess #anyway anyway anway thanks for listening to me ramble if you made it this far! have a lovely rest of your day and hopefully see u again soon

710 notes · View notes

smoshidiot · 11 months

Text

a small masterpost of my fave old smosh pics:

#some of these are obv older than others #a lot of these are well known but some are scraped from like the 2006 smosh site #i hope you enjoy!#i might make a part 2 if i find more good ones #smosh #ian hecox #anthony padilla #ianthony #shut up.txt #not your girlfriend #beardier half

301 notes · View notes

cluescorner · 1 month

Text

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul wayne #batman #batfamily #for all of the issues that come with having Steph as your fave having too much wild shit happening at once is never one of them #btw I quite like The Boy Wonder Issue 1. wow shocker an artist and writer who I have liked everything they've ever done #has once again written something that I am enjoying with art that makes me want to be part of its world.#it's almost like Juni Ba is really freaking talented or something #like I have some problems with it but it seems like many of those are part of the point. Damian is learning that his siblings are more #three-dimensional than he realized and that is part of this 'coming of age' story merged with fairytale #so I can't be mad at the oversimplistic defining of Dick and Jason and Tim until the conclusion of the series. that might be the point.#I hope that the series will address Steph as a Robin but if not then frankly it's not an issue unique to this series.#I'll be annoyed and disappointed but ultimately roll with it like I am with Babsgirl being here. There's too much good stuff here to get #hung up on shit that seems to be almost an editorial mandate at this point. at least that's where I'm at.#I am also very sorry that Chip Zdarsky is massacring your boy. he has 'X (Tim for him) is the best Robin so everyone else must suck' diseas #where a writer really likes one specific Robin and in trying to uplift them demeans all of the other Robins. instead of like...just writing #for that one character only or alternatively not demeaning the other characters in order to make his blorbo look good #it's wild because I actually think his writing for Tim is pretty solid. but he's not writing a Tim series. he's writing a Batman series.#and if you are going to write a Batman series and include other Batfamily members you need to actually write them well.#instead of assigning them like 2 personality traits while Tim gets to be a whole character #I accept that behavior in fanfic where I have lesser standards because it's fucking free. not a comic run that wants me to pay #tens of dollars in order to understand what the fuck is going on. he's been going for a while now it's gotta be a lot of money.#I can buy Steelworks with that money. I can see John Henry and Natasha Irons in a trade. Fuck you Chip.#it's why it takes such a special person to write a good ensemble story/a good Batfamily story. you have to be good at writing a LOT #of different characters. which I don't think most people are. I sure as hell am not. I can write maybe 3 at a time confidently well.#and you also have to give all of them at least SOME love or else people will be upset that you aren't focusing on their fave #and also the writing as a whole will suffer. Chip Zdarsky is a pretty good Tim writer. I'd maybe read a Tim solo written by him.#I would not read a story focusing on multiple characters that I like written by Chip Zdarsky. because every character who isn't Tim #is at least a bit weak/inconsistent/out of character INCLUDING FUCKING BATMAN. THE NO. 1 GUY MOST ARE HERE FOR

65 notes · View notes

wasjustred · 1 year

Text

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you.

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings.

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen.

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you.

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew.

She’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore.

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down.

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

#i’ve been super stressed trying to live up to ‘easy does it’ tbh so i hope this is at least decent 😅#don’t think i’ll ever beat the sugar mommy fic lol #ah well!#i love exploring/constructing the parts of larissa we never saw (like her childhood) ﹠. i hope you guys do too!#my girl’s def a rider #i’ll stand by that till the day i die #accompanied by expensive purebred well-trained dogs throughout childhood #but is more of a cat person now – relaxed and easy #guilty pleasure romcom is ‘the proposal’#and not just bc that’s also MY guilty pleasure romcom 😇#n e ways hope you all enjoy :)#lmk your thoughts! 🫶🏼#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #wasjustred

734 notes · View notes

achilleslyre · 8 months

Text

@aquataines ohhh absolutely i am soo happy to talk about food as an amalgamation of the uchihas love and the way it haunts them after the massacre. i'm really passionate about this so you don’t even understand the can of beans you have opened. i am going to be talking about both canon and filler in this though, because there is lots of supporting canon however filler continues to support and fuel this thought.

growing up with his family, sasuke is very commonly shown at the dinner table with his family eating together, and it’s where a lot of conversations with his family take place. now to start this off, i’m going to point out the obvious that the uchiha canonically are a clan that holds too much love inside of them, which is what develops their sharingan. carrying so much love within you of course needs an outlet to come out. we don’t really see the uchiha showing much verbal affection towards each other but sasukes family very obviously loves each other. fugaku even tells itachi that he doesn’t wish for words of flattery, but nonetheless to show his thanks and return the love back to itachi for what he said fugaku immediately offers to get him his favourite snack, dango. so we would infer that they communicate their love to each other in a different way. food.

sasuke and his family really share their most intimate moments together when they are in the kitchen at the table. here is where sasuke asks fugaku why itachi doesn’t give him much attention while at the dinner table, and fugaku explains that itachi is just not very social, sasuke later admits to mikoto that he thinks he’s unfavoured between him and itachi by fugaku, to which mikoto explains the differences between him and itachi and reassures him that he’s not. it’s where they’re seen talking most commonly just in general as well, about the sharingan, about training, exciting moments, ect.. the dinner table is where their love is shown when they gather together and eat the food that mikoto has made with the love for her family. it’s where they feel most comfortable to show their love and be honest because in the kitchen is where their love grows.

why is the food their centre of love though? just in general making food for someone is something very special, intimate and ultimately caring. you are turning basic ingredients and foods into something for others to not only to take nutrients from, grow and gain strength from, but also to spend time with them and enjoy the taste of the food you made with care together. you pour the love you have into the food you make for the people you love because you want to see them be happy and healthy. for people like mikoto and itachi who’re shown to enjoy cooking, it’s something special that they put everything into because not only do they want to see their family eat to keep them alive, but they want to see them enjoy the taste and feel the care and love for them that they’ve stored within the food as they make it. they want to place their love inside their family and have them carry their love around wherever they go and what better way to store their love inside them other than to put it in the food your make for them? mikoto is obviously the main cook of the uchiha household and she makes sure that her family stores the love she puts into the meals she cooks inside of them. she is frequently seen ensuring that her kids are fed, making sure they’re filled up, making them lunches, giving them snacks and making sure they are eating good food.

itachi as well, in filler, spends the episode finally getting to be around sasuke and bond with him. the day was spent making sasuke happy and sharing the love that he does have for sasuke with his brother, and at the end of the day makes a huge feast for sasuke. he made him so much food to show sasuke that he cares about him and loves him, he wants to see him eat and he wants to see him eat well. he intends to pack him full of his love. not to get into the fact that clearly mikoto would have had to teach itachi how to cook, sharing the ‘secret’ of spreading love. now this isn’t canon however i personally would like to think (considering how young itachi is here and how much he can make already on his own) that mikoto also had started teaching sasuke how to cook a little as well. this will come back later, which is why i mention it.

the common theme within all of these meals— all of mikoto’s dinners, her bento boxes, fugaku and itachi’s dango, and his feast for sasuke— they are all good, yummy food. they’re something you want to eat and hold inside you and cherish. they’re all made and/or given with care, thought, intention and love.

sasuke grew up eating a variety of good tasting and well made food.

after the massacre, though, he changes. sasuke has lost the love from his family, he doesn’t have it anymore. sasuke grew up with food being the indicator of love, and grew up with the dinner table being the centre of family and bonding. as a reaction to the loss of his family he couldn’t bare to keep storing that love inside him, food as a love language died with them. his family was now gone, and the thought of storing love (read: well made food) inside him after his family was killed was not in the question. after the loss of their love, the only thing he needed to focus on was catching up to itachi to kill him.

here we can see what foods sasuke favours post massacre. “sasuke’s every move is designed to make him stronger, he approaches his diet with equal intensity.” his diet has changed drastically. from being fed a large variety of yummy, well made food filled with love and care for him to enjoy eating, he goes to eating raw and bland food, anything just to get stronger quicker. you could argue that he just didn’t know how to cook, which i can’t say he didn’t, but as i stated before it seems very likely that mikoto started teaching the boys to cook from a very young age, added to the fact that sasuke intentionally only starts eating food for its nutrients and health benefit, it’s fair enough to infer that he can cook at least some meals that he used to eat, he just can’t bare to anymore.

“he never selects his meals based on what he actually likes.” we look to his favourite foods to eat and they’re broken down into their health factors. this kid, reportedly, is known to be eating raw tomatoes simply because he wants to get stronger as fast as possible. he does not like the taste of what he is eating. he does not eat food with the intention of enjoying it’s creation. with the loss of his family he lost the will to store himself with love (this is not to say he does not still have love, he has been stored with love all his life, he is an uchiha, he will always be motivated by love), he couldn’t bare to continue consuming love filled food so he ate food solely to get stronger. food made with no care, thought, intention, or love. the love of his family haunts him. this is beside the point but i can’t even begin to express how heart breaking that is. the uchiha show their love with food and sasuke stops eating food created with love once he loses his family, all the love he had.

sasuke, isolated, left all alone in this village with no friends spent his time from 7 to 12 years old avoiding the love of food. but when he finally finds someone to create a bond with, what does he do?

he offers naruto food. despite what he says, this an olive branch to start forming a bond with naruto. this is him extending care with the intention of filling naruto so that he doesn’t go hungry. whether the food was made with love or care doesn’t matter because at that moment sasuke put the intention into the food. it’s how he creates bonds, it’s how he shows care and how he shows love because that was how he was raised, he was raised to bond over food, to show care and to love with food.

the uchiha’s love has always revolved around food and it’s woven so into the text that at this point it’s not even a head canon to me, but fact.

#and i know it's silly but not to even get into how the egg ova ties right into this as well.. needing the perfect egg to feed to his brother #ANWAYSSSS #all that to end it off with sns propaganda……….. LOLOL #i’m not joking with that last part tho.. it’s important and vital to the beginning of bonding #and it started with food #thank you for asking though and welcome to my twisted mind #there’s no way you were expecting (or likely even wanting lol) all this but….. the uchihas love thru food means so much to me #i'm *really* passionate about it and i don’t know how to express it in a concise way #i hope you at least enjoy reading this #the way that i wasn't even trying to write a lot but this literally became a meta #lmao #naruto #meta #jitter bugs u

92 notes · View notes

worstloki · 3 months

Text

Loki surveilling the skyline of New York from the top of Stark Tower and clocking that his favorite paired set of buildings are gone. sad

#everyone wants thor and loki to have visited earth a bunch of times and obviously they wouldn't be too invested in earth politics #but i think the concept of much time passing between visits should be taken advantage of #like what if one of them missed seeing the statue of liberty on their past 3 visits and now that's 'suddenly' a famous historic landmark #Loki like wow I sure hope that restaurant in the Soviet Union is still around!#and Natasha's head whips around so fast like you mean Russia or one of the surrounding countries that used to be part of the USSR #Loki: uhm. well. what's the difference #Natasha: here is a map of the countries does this help #Loki: it does not help but thank you for trying #Thor: what do you mean Rome is gone???? Rome was HUGE?????#Tony: well it's been a few centuries since then Europe is very different now #Thor: (visibly distressed) so the the sweet effeminate men enjoy the streets no more??#Tony: ...I don't keep track of foreign border laws about that #Thor shows up after 3 years and there's a new president and he's very confused through the entire meeting #brodinsons being so detached from the political scene but being so used to realm politics they come to correct conclusions about things #even though the timeline and how long things stay the same on midgard still messes with them #Loki: at least Egypt is still around #Thor: China also #Brodinsons visiting New Zealand(Aotearoa)/Australia/various British mandate islands before the British formally showed up #returning 2 centuries later and 'the gene pool has altered drastically' 'must've been a war'#well it's either that or since Asgard seems spared of colorism they treat all humans as the same and don't notice. which might be worse #on the colonisation and liberation side of things

24 notes · View notes

osamusriceballs · 5 months

Text

The Accident - Part XIV

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: Alcohol

Words: ~ 2.3 k

About: Meeting Atsumu- not in the way you planned though >.<

Part I II -> Next Part

"How would you feel about maybe going out tonight? Hinata and Kageyama will be there too. They would love to see you again, y/n!" You press the phone against your ear and listen to Yachi's cheerful voice while you get a glass of water. "I'd rather stay at home, if that's alright with you." Yachi breaths out deeply at your reply, and you embarrassedly scratch the back of your head.

"That's okay. Is it... because you're still thinking about him?" She carefully asks, and your heart skips a beat when your thoughts drift to him.

She's talking about Atsumu, who still hasn't tried to contact you after more than a month- and you still stalk his Instagram every day, kind of hoping that he'll notice you. A part of you finds yourself very pathetic for that, but you know that you'll let him go eventually. Or at least you hope that you'll be able to. You still feel a pang in your heart whenever you receive a letter addressed to "Mrs. Miya" or when you look at the diamond ring that you finally put aside in a box in your nightstand.

"A bit, yeah. But it's not because of him. I'm just a bit tired. I'll probably go to bed early today."

She hums and hesitates for a second. "If you need me, or if you need to talk about him again, you know that you can always reach out to me, 'kay?" You smile fondly at her words, her concern for you making you feel a bit more at ease, because you know she'll always be on your side. "Thank you. Have fun and say hello to Hinata and Kageyama!"

"I will!"

You both say goodbye, and then you end the call. A relaxing night with a good TV show and a facial mask sounds just perfect to you. And this also might help you to get Atsumu off your mind.

xxx

The shrill ringing sound of your phone wakes you in the middle of the night, and you're alert when you blindly reach out for the phone and see the contact's name.

Osamu Miya is calling

You remember when he had given you his card back then at Onigiri Miya's while Atsumu was using the restroom, just in case anything ever happens, and you had saved his contact without giving it much thought but never reached out to him. Why would he call you in the middle of the night?

You hesitate but finally take the call.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? It's Osamu. I know you probably don't wanna talk to me too, but can I ask for a favor?"

You're in shock when you hear his familiar voice, even more so when you hear his request. "Uhm... what favor?"

"It's about—ya know. Tsumu. He's... kinda unstable ever since ya ignored him. I wanted—" You frown at his words and can't help yourself but to interrupt him.

"Wait a second. What do you mean ignored him?"

You sit up straight in your bed, all your fatigue gone instantly. "The message he left last week? Listen, I get it, he is an idiot, and he is a little pain in the ass, I wouldn't listen to him either."

You blink confused, having no clue what he's talking about and he seems to interpret your silence as agreement.

"Forget it. Y/n, the favor. Can ya come over at Onigiri Miya's? He's drunk and dumb, and I can't do this anymore. I don't know what'll happen if he keeps up with that attitude."

You hold your breath while you listen to him, and your jaw drops at his words. "I- I don't know what to say. If you really need me, I'll come. I don't know if I can be much of a help though."

"Yes. Yes, we need ya here. Ya need a taxi? I can get ya one." He is quick to offer and you hear him sigh in relief.

"Uhm... yes, that would be good. Thanks." You hear a loud shout in the back and the sound of a shattering glass and flinch subconsciously. Osamu curses and yells something inaudible before you hear him clearly again.

"You're welcome. Thank ya for helpin' me out."

"Uhm... sure? I Shouldn't you call his girlfriend though?" Osamu yells another time and you nervously fidget with the blanket in your hands.

"His girlfriend? Wait. Ya actually met her? No wonder ya never tried to reach out. Forget that freak real quick, just come here. He can explain that whole thing to ya."

You stay silent and then nod. This might be the only way for you to find out what really happened back then. "Okay. He'll have a lot of explaining to do, though."

"Sure."

You nod and hang up the call to get off the bed, your whole body feeling electrified. You definitely wouldn't have thought that you'd meet him so soon- leave alone tonight. But thinking about how you've been feeling during these past few weeks, you know that you need this. You need to talk to Atsumu Miya, and you need to talk to him tonight.

xxx

You take a deep breath when you finally stand in front of Onigiri Miya. Not exactly how you expected your Saturday night to go, but here you are. At 2:10 am.

You hesitantly reach out for the door and pause. How will he react when he sees you? Has Osamu already told him that you'll come? How will you react when you see him? You push the door open with sweaty palms and you're met with a sight you did not expect.

Atsumu is sitting at the counter of the restaurant with Osamu standing right next to him, both of them yelling at each other and Osamu wildly gesticulating and throwing a towel. You spot two bottles of beer behind them on the counter and you're pretty sure that they are both from Atsumu. They both don't seem to notice you, still too absorbed into their fight.

The door loudly falls shut behind you and both suddenly stop yelling—not that you could even get a single word—but the sudden silence is almost awkward. They turn to you, and they both just look at you like you're a ghost, without saying anything. You wait for a few seconds, but can't stand any more awkwardness when the silence stretches longer.

"Uhm... hello?"

Atsumu suddenly gets on his feet and approaches you, and you stand there frozen when you see his red-rimmed eyes and the way he's almost stumbling while trying to reach you. Before he gets even close to you, he suddenly falls to the ground, his feet clumsily tangling with each other.

"Atsumu!" you quickly get closer and kneel next to him, concern evident in your voice, and he heavily gets on his arms and lifts his upper body just enough to look at you. You stare wide-eyed at him, your hands hesitantly reaching out for him but pausing mid-air while you look down at him.

"Y/n?" It sounds a bit slurred, and you nod with a frown.

"Yeah." You awkwardly stare at him while he clumsily takes a seat on his ass, his eyes now shining happily while he watches you. "I missed ya." You force a smile on your lips that you hope doesn't look too bitter. He pinches his eyes together, and one of his hands comes to your cheek—almost slapping you, and you flinch a bit when he leans a bit closer, the strong alcohol in his breath evident when he exhales deeply. "Ya don't look happy." He looks sad while he watches your face, and you suddenly feel tears in your eyes. "I'm... you hurt me, Atsumu." You know that he is intoxicated, and that he is in no state to give you a proper answer, but you still needed to get this off your chest.

"Hurt?" he echoes, his eyebrows furrowed while he's trying to understand your words. "Don't wanna hurt ya."

You nod and gently take his hand to remove it from your cheek and hold it. He looks kind of cute sitting there on his ass, and you simply stare at him, a part of you wanting to cry while another part wants to yell at him, but you just stay silent.

You hear someone clear his throat and look at Osamu standing behind him and watching you both attentively. "Don't wanna interrupt, but I wanna go home. I couldn't get him to leave tonight. It's gotten worse since last week. Since that message he left ya."

"What message?" You frown and direct your attention to Osamu. He raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Atsumu. "The one in which he pathetically asked ya to talk to him?"

You shake your head. "I didn't get a message from him."

"Oh." You look blankly at Osamu, and he looks blankly at you. Atsumu's hand suddenly tightens around you, and he whines cutely. "Y/n! Talk to me- yer here for me!" Osamu rolls his eyes and sighs deeply.

"I'm sorry. I was just so annoyed, couldn't stand him. It's fine if ya don't wanna give me a hand here."

"No, I can... I can help you out. What do you want me to do?" You try to ignore how your skin prickles where Atsumu starts to rub circles on the back of your hand, something that feels surprisingly way too intimate for you.

"Can ya help me get him home? I can get ya a taxi or- wait. Do you have a driver's license?"

You nod, and Osamu smiles happily. "Ya wanna drive his car then? Don't worry about the insurance, it's all good. You're officially married after all." He snorts at that and grabs Atsumu's bag to search for the keys. "It's only fair that ya get to drive his damn car then."

Your eyes go wide when you think about driving Atsumu's luxurious car, but you know that Atsumu does not live too far away, so you hesitantly nod, thinking about how nice Osamu has always been to you and how you want to help him out of this misery. And since you're already here, you can at least help him get Atsumu back.

You turn to Atsumu and try to smile as sweetly as you can. "Atsumu? Will you come with me then?" Atsumu seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him, but finally nods and grabs your hand tighter while he tries to get on his feet. Osamu is quick to come from behind and to pull on his shoulders until he's fully standing, and you raise your brows when you see Atsumu barely pulling himself together. "I'll help ya get him in the car. I need to close the store; will you manage on your own after that? You can call if you need me."

You nod wearily and watch him carry Atsumu basically to the front door, when Atsumu starts complaining. "Y/n, come with us—" he whines and grabs your hand tighter, and you actually smile a bit when he's pouting adorably. "I'm here. Don't worry."

It feels like an eternity to get Atsumu in the car when he calls for you every few seconds and wants to make sure you're still with him, but Osamu finally managed to get Atsumu on the passenger seat where he starts snoring after a few moments.

Osamu sighs and rubs his eyes. "If he's not waking up when yer at his place, ya can call me. I'll take care of him then."

You nod and take the car keys with a slight hint of nervousness. You're just glad that the streets are basically empty at this time, so it should be fine for just a few minutes of driving. And technically, you're still his wife, so this should be fine, even if you scratch it accidentally. Osamu looks at you and nods, and you grab the keys tighter. "Thank you." Osamu opens the car door for you, and you slowly get on the seat. "I really appreciate it. Yer gettin' a free meal when yer comin' to Onigiri Miya next." You softly laugh at his comment and nod. "I'll come back to that offer."

He grins and yawns tiredly. "Drive safely."

You turn on the engine, and you wave at him. "You too. See ya."

"See ya."

xxx

The ride went smoothly, and you couldn't be more thankful when you finally park the car in the spacious garage. Atsumu has simply been snoring next to you, just mumbling a few inaudible things every now and then and the streets were basically empty at this time. You exit the car and open the door on his side, softly shaking his shoulder. "Atsumu? Can you come with me? Atsumu?" You coo, trying to softly wake him up, and he finally opens his eyes, still groggy and sleepy. "Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me. Will you come with me?"

He seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him again, but he nods.

"Come here." You wrap Atsumu's arm around your shoulders and desperately pull him with you, and he finally gives in and lets you take him out of the car. "Y/n... missed ya. Yer gonna stay the night? Ya can have my bed. We can share. Share with my pretty- wife." He hiccups, and you take a deep breath to suppress your feelings. He sounds so genuine and cute, you almost want to believe his words. "Come on. We can talk about that later."

You have no idea how long it takes you to bring him to the elevator—more like drag him to the elevator—but you sigh in relief when you press the familiar number, even though the elevator has brought you so many painful memories by now. He mumbles some barely understandable words in your neck, his weight heavily resting on your body while you pull him with you as soon as the doors open.

"Come on, we're almost there."

"Hmm... coming." He lulls, following your direction, and you both finally make it around the corner—only to find someone already standing there. A familiar face that you hoped to never see again.

"You?"

68 notes · View notes

i-drop-level-one-loot · 9 months

Note

will you please do a part 2 of pet owner!!!! It was so good!!!

Working on part 2 for Kirtch and story boarding three stories from asks while also pretending to be a functioning adult ❤️

#i'm just so tired #working on part 2 #part two coming soon #yandere alien x reader #asks #writing requests #fr though #thank you for the support #i hope you enjoy my future stories as well #yandere alien

100 notes · View notes

roguecanoe · 10 months

Text

If he had hit the messed up hand-

#malevolent #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #the butcher #malevolent spoilers #malevolent part 34 #tw blood #tw body horror #tw torture #all jokes aside i actually did think he was going to crush arthurs hand #and if it was the messed up one he would not really react cause he can't feel it ya know #might react to john screaming tho cause well #john can feel it #anyway #hope you enjoyed #ye!

77 notes · View notes

pokimoko · 2 months

Note

Hello I'm Z, I actually have my birthday like a few weeks ago but nevermind that I wanted to ask for a drawing request if you do those still. So my request is a jellyfish holding a gay flag because I know you do those cool animals! I choose a jellyfish because they are my favorite animals specifically the immortal jellyfish because when if feels threaten it can go back it its baby form (polyp). You don't have to do this but I want say before I run out of words I love your art you amazingandcool

Happy belated birthday! Here are some jellyfish gifts just for you 🌈🪼

15 notes · View notes

theflyingfeeling · 6 months

Text

💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia.

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him.

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him.

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet.

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself.

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #ollixallu #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #<- that's the tag i'll be using for these btw #everyone stop and look at the banner!! 🥺💖#it's not QUITE like the original one ju made first but maybe one day you'll get to see that masterpiece as well 😏#but ooff the way i've gone from having 'a plan' to having 'a better plan' to having 'no plan whatsoever' with this? 😂#so yeah idk what kinda fics/posts there'll be in this series... stay tuned and see for yourself! 🤭#some of them might be in the same universe/plot. others may not. who knows? not i 😌#(...but as you can see from this fic the door for a multiple-part story is definitely open 👀)#some of the fics may not even be based on a prompt though if i'm not feeling like it. honestly i'm curious to see how this will turn out!#(and if this ends up being the only post i ever make that's alright too! i refuse to bully myself with a hobby i'm doing for free <3)#however: i'm not taking requests per say BUT feel free to snoop on the prompts for each day and send me your ideas or hopeful wishes 👀#there are certain ones i'm more drawn to but i haven't really set anything in stone #one could say i'm just going with the flow. fuck around and find out if you will ✨#also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3 #probably i'll just see how many fics i manage to actually finish and dump them all at once on ao3 on christmas day lol #anyway! enjoy & let me hear from you <3

23 notes · View notes