#I never know if I’m making literally any sense but I feel like this show is doing something.. different that’s all

[taeyongdoyoung]

good for you

summary: your boyfriend is literally perfect and treats you like a princess but you want him to completely lose control 😇 pairing: mingyu x reader genre: smut, tooth-rotting fluff warnings: established relationship, home intruder roleplay, consensual somnophilia, safeword exists but isn't used, rough sex, no lube, no protection, neck biting, size kink (no one is surprised), titty slapping, sir kink, spanking, praise+degradation, slight dumbification, subspace, pet names, shy dom gyu, crying, mentions of pee (non-sexual context), aftercare!!! word count: 1.7k

You and Mingyu have not been together for long but from what you know so far he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever dated. He treats you like a princess, brings you flowers or chocolates with or without occasion, drives you around everywhere, gets stuff from the top shelf for you and is basically the kindest soul to ever step on this Earth. You are, of course, beyond grateful for that, and do your best to show him how much you appreciate him every chance you get.

However, a little demon inside your brain kind of wants him to not treat you as if you are made of glass all the time. While the sex is great and Mingyu makes sure that you reach an orgasm, you can’t help but fantasize about him going rough on you. Even when his friends tease (bully) him, he almost never uses his height and strength to his advantage, instead accepting everything with a good-natured smile.

But you would be lying if you said that the idea of him just snapping doesn’t excite you. Nevertheless, you are not sure how to bring this up to him. You don’t want to sound ungrateful or for him to feel insecure about his abilities because he’s perfect the way he is. It’s your filthy brain that needs fixing. Still, you decide that honesty is the key to a healthy relationship and you gather all your courage to approach him about this.

“Hey, Mingyu, can we talk about something?” you ask one evening after you two have finished having dinner.

His eyes are immediately filled with worry. Judging by the tone of your voice, this is something serious. So far, your relationship has been lighthearted and devoid of any problems. Mingyu thinks that it’s going great but apparently he’s been fooling himself.

“What’s wrong?” he wants to know. “You’re not breaking up with me, right?”

“What?! Of course not! Do you want to break up with me?” you panic.

“No, no, please,” Mingyu shakes his head fervently.

“Good, good,” you exhale in relief.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

“Um, it’s kinda embarrassing but I don’t want to keep any secrets from you.”

“Secrets?” Mingyu blinks in curiosity.

“Yeah…You know how you’re always super gentle with me, both outside and inside the bedroom?”

“Uh, sure? What about it?”

“Can you consider…not doing that all the time?”

“In what sense?” Mingyu raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“In the sense that…can you fuck me harder without holding yourself back? You’re not gonna break me, I promise.”

“Oh…” he finally realizes what you’re getting at. Because he doesn’t say anything rightaway, you hurry to explain.

“Not that I don’t like how sweet and patient you are with me! It’s more than amazing, I just thought that…maybe it’d be fun to try something new. If it’s not your thing, forget I mentioned it, I’m so-“

“It’s not that it doesn’t sound appealing. But I’m afraid that if I’m not holding myself back, I’ll end up hurting you,” Mingyu confesses, surprising you.

You reach your hand out across the table to hold his comfortingly.

“You won’t. I know how caring you are, Mingyu. Which is why I would trust you with something like this. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nods. “Did you have a particular scenario in mind or do you want me to surprise you?”

“Surprise me.”

Mingyu smirks sinisterly. Oh God. What kind of demon have you unleashed?

🎀🎀🎀

A few days later, you receive a text from Mingyu while you’re walking home.

Mingyu: Busy tonight?

You: All yours

Mingyu: Unlock your door at exactly 10pm and wait for me in your bed. If I’m not there by 10:30, lock it again, alright?

You: Yes, sir 🛐

Mingyu: That’s my good girl.

Fucking hell. Your heart flutters upon reading these words. He’s called you that before but in this context, it thrills you even more than usual.

Mingyu: Safeword is butterfly. Use it if something is too much, if you’re in pain or for any other reason that brings you discomfort, okay?

You: I’m gonna need a safeword?!?!

Mingyu: I hope it doesn’t come to that but just in case. See you in a couple of hours, baby.

You’re too excited for tonight. You take a long shower. You wear your prettiest lingerie and make your room as cozy as possible. Not that it matters. You spray perfume over your neck and wrists. You put on some lipbalm and mascara. You want to look good for him. But the truth is, you had an exhausting week and already feel sleepy. You unlock the door at 10pm, climb into your bed and…

Somehow you fall asleep. You feel disoriented as your consciousness is slowly returning to you. You feel too hot, too weak and too full. Fuck. What’s going on? You don’t dare to open your eyes for fear of ruining the sweeter than sleep reality.

“Dumb baby couldn’t wait for me and fell asleep all by herself?” Mingyu’s deep voice coos in your ear.

In your half-awake state you feel your boyfriend’s cock thrusting deep inside of you, taking you rougher than ever before. Well, you asked for it.

“So cute and helpless, leaving the door unlocked for anyone to enter and use you like a whore,” Mingyu murmurs.

He rubs your clit vigorously while still fucking into you, making you wetter than ever before.

“Nnghh,” you whimper drowsily.

“Shhh, baby, go back to sleep,” Mingyu whispers. “I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to think about anything.”

He squeezes your boobs, leaning down to bite your neck like a hungry wolf. And here, you thought your boyfriend was just a cute puppy.

“S-so big,” you cry out pitifully.

“You can take it, slut,” Mingyu says confidently.

You don’t offer a verbal response but your body speaks for itself. Mingyu is almost splitting you in two but your pussy is swallowing him up greedily.

“H-harder, p-please,” your mouth seems to have a mind of its own because it speaks against any common sense.

Mingyu slaps your tits, a little hesitant at first.

It stings but it’s such a sweet hurt you’re already addicted to it.

“Like this?” he asks, making sure it’s okay.

“M-more,” you beg, forgetting all inhibitions. “Use me.”

He does it a couple of more times, while still fucking you roughly. His dick is so enormous that you’re certain you’ll be sore tomorrow but it will be more than worth it. You lose count of how many times you’ve come around his cock. Sliding out and flipping you on your belly, he takes you from behind, too, spanking your ass and gripping your hair.

“Such a good girl, just for me, right? No one else gets to see you like this, yeah?” Mingyu’s words come out rushed, almost in trance.

“All yours, sir,” you promise.

Mingyu seems satisfied with your answer because he spills his seed inside of you seconds after. You follow his lead and eventually, your knees give out, your mind goes blank and you collapse on the bed.

“Baby?” Mingyu checks up on you worriedly.

You are not capable of responding, brain barely functioning anymore. He moves you gently to see your face. Your eyes are open but unblinking, which scares the shit out of him.

“Come back to me, my sweetheart, please,” Mingyu cries out, hugging you tightly.

A couple of moments later, you still don’t remember your own name but something more important to you leaves your lips:

“Mingyu?” you whisper cautiously.

“Oh, angel,” Mingyu sighs. “I’m right here.”

Then, you suddenly burst into tears. Overwhelmed by how good he made you feel and how much he cares about you, your fully emotions take over.

“What’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?” Mingyu positions you so that you are sitting on his knee and rocks you gently back and forth.

“N-no,” you shake your head. “I’m s-so happy.”

“You poor thing,” Mingyu chuckles softly. “Can’t believe you worked so hard to doll yourself up and make the room smell nice. You knew I was gonna ruin your lingerie anyway, didn’t you?”

“I just wanted to look good for you,” you admit with a pout.

“You always do. My best girl,” Mingyu kisses you sweetly and wraps you in his warm embrace, lulling you back to sleep.

🎀🎀🎀

The next morning, you wake up to the feeling of wanting to pee so badly. You manage to climb out of bed but barely make one step and trip on the ground. Uh oh. You got fucked so good you literally can’t walk.

Awakened by the loud thud, Mingyu is by your side in no time.

“What happened?”

“You happened,” you reply truthfully, but you don’t blame him because you brought this upon yourself.

“Oh…” Mingyu understands what you mean. “Did you want to use the toilet?”

“Uh, yeah. Gosh, this is so mortifying.”

You cover your face with your hands.

“I was literally deep inside of you a few hours ago, get over yourself,” Mingyu laughs and lifts you up effortlessly, carrying you to the bathroom.

“Are you gonna stare at me?!” you ask in embarrassment.

“Might as well,” he laughs but gives you some privacy, even though there is no need to be shy after all the things you’ve done together.

After that, he insists on doing everything for you. You tell him you are perfectly capable of brushing your own teeth but nope, Mingyu wants to do that, as well. And honestly? It feels too good to reject.

He even makes breakfast and brings it to bed so you can share it together. As you take the first bite and drink the first sip of coffee for the morning, the feelings come crashing once again. And you start crying even harder than last night.

“Oh, baby, what is it?” Mingyu wants to know, as he brushes your hair behind your ear and wipes your tears.

“N-nothing, you’re just so amazing and kind I feel extremely touched.”

“You do realize this is literally the bare minimum, right?” Mingyu seems shocked. He just made pancakes. It’s not some heroic act, in his humble opinion.

“It’s so rare to find a lovely guy like you, though,” you admit.

“Well, my good girl deserves only the best,” he smiles shyly and kisses your cheek.

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning wider than ever before.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll want to be good for you forever.”

“I’m counting on it.”

The End

#seventeen #mingyu #svt scenarios #seventeen smut #mingyu smut #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #kim mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #svt hard hours #seventeen hard hours #seventeen x reader #writing

[nervoushottee]

More | John Price x Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re stressed out of your mind and John knows exactly what you need to relax

Warnings: Explicit 18+, just sex, just porn little plot, you’re getting fucked from the back babes

Notes: Y’all this is literally a pattern. I’m ovulating… I’ve been reading a lot of 141 fanfiction and I just needed to write about my big man Price. Enjoy hottees

*this is unedited and probably doesn’t make any sense. Sorry not sorry*

————————————————————————

“Fuck John-” you mutter out. You can hardly hear yourself with how loud and filthy he’s fucking into you. Your brain fuzzy, all the contents of worry and stress slowly easing out of you with each thrust.

Your cheek pressed against the soft sheets of his bed, your hands placed on each side of you as your fingers softly curl into the linen. You back arched as your ass hits against his lower stomach and pelvis. His thick cock making your insides clench when he hits that certain spot. You don’t even notice the small amount of drool slipping out of your mouth onto the mattress.

“This is all you needed isn’t it? Just need me to fuck the stress out of that pretty head of yours. My sweet girl, fucking look at you.” John explains. You whine at his words, clenching at the way he calls you his sweet girl. You were, you were his good girl. His. His. His.

Hours before, you were stressed out of your mind with everything that had been happening. You couldn’t even imagine how John manages to handle everything with being Captain. The small amount of work compared to his big load made you feel like shit for complaining, stressing and crying over it to your lover. But you should’ve know better, because John Price would never think your stressors were lesser than his.

You were his world, his everything. If you asked him to jump, he would ask how high. If you need ice cream that was only made in Italy, he would be on the next flight out. If you need comfort from your stressors, he is going to give it to you. And he thought the best way to give it to you this time to fuck your brain dumb.

“It’s been a while since I’ve fucked you like this love.” The sound of his voice grounding you from your haze. His hands sliding against your ass, gripping softly before releasing. He wasn’t wrong. Usually, your sexual rendezvous were soft, intimate and saccharine. An intense love shared between you two after a long day on base. Slow and pleasurable that you loved all the same. But when the was time for this, you loved every minute of it.

“More.” you whine into the sheets. Your words were muffled, but you knew John heard you all the same. You feel his dick slow down inside of you, causing you to whimper, feeling the weight of John’s chest against your back. “You sure love?” he whispers against your ear. You push your ass against him, ushering him to move. Wiggling and making an effort to show him you wanted more. You hear him groan against your ear, peppering kisses down your neck.

“Yes sir. Please.”

The last bit of contact you got from him was a soft kiss against your shoulder before he got back into his position and started to ram into you. This time at a deafening pace than before.

You gasp at the sudden change of pace and cry out loudly. Fuck this feels so good. The way he pushes his thickness in and out of you so quickly. Making you feel winded, numb and so fucking blissful.

“Fucking love when you talk to me like that. My good fucking girl. You’re so good to me, letting me fuck you like this.” You feel your lips turn up into a small smile as you grip the sheets tightly into your hands. You knew your words would put him over the edge like this. He’s always calm and collected, always catering to your needs and wants. But sometimes, most times, you wanted him to let loose. To go all the way with you, and lose himself. He didn’t always need to be this perfect captain he tries so hard to be. He was perfect in every way to you. But you wanted him to make you his, to unwrap his fantasies on to you and let you take care of him.

His hands gripping your ass firmly, moving you so you can match his thrusts. He wasn’t stopping his rhythm. If anything he was going even faster, chasing his own pleasure as you simply take what he gives you. “Thank you sir- thank you, please don’t stop- please.”you cry out. You hear him chuckle at your words.

“Oh love, I’m just getting started.”

#captain john price x reader #john price imagine #john price x reader #john price cod #john price smut #captain price smut #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod fic #cod price #price smut #price mw2 #price x reader #john price #captain jo

[juniperhillpatient]

thinking about how yellowjackets portrays sex & sexual situations gender & the… not unique but certainly rare way this show focuses on men versus women & I know we’re all tired of phrases like “male gaze” & “female gaze” but I think the show almost like… purposefully repurposes the male gaze from the perspective of its female characters.

jackie’s introduction pretty much is a sexual situation but it’s not a fun hot scene. it’s uncomfortable & awkward because it’s very clear jackie isn’t being pleasured. jeff just kind of looks like a tool. then later we get the sex scene between jeff & shauna & it’s different because both characters are into it but also it’s all about shauna, & the focus is mainly on her making jeff tell her that he loves her. it sort of reminds me of the scene in buffy the vampire slayer when buffy is feeling down because she just saw her most annoying ex living his best life so she demands spike tell her he loves her. it’s not a healthy situation. it’s… concerning & toxic. and even a bit manipulative & predatory to use someone that way.

and the other thing we know due to the focused shots of shauna looking at jackie is that this is not about jeff at all. he’s just the guy who happened to be between these two girls. when I first watched the show I disliked him but more & more I’m realizing… this is all about shauna & jackie. this entire relationship between shauna & jeff that turns into a marriage never has much to do with jeff himself at all. jeff is the epitome of literally just Some Guy.

anyway. I’m getting off track. I wanted to discuss jackie’s introduction versus her death. jackie being left to die because she had sex, on the surface seems like misogynistic writing. typical “female character is punished for sex” (not to harp on buffy again but..) trope. especially because the other girls are angry when they see the blood stain from her lost virginity.

but… the other girls aren’t angry at jackie because of sex. it’s because she’s “taken what didn’t belong to her.” & it’s interesting how none of the other girls care about or are invested in natalie & travis’ romance until this point. because it’s not about that. they objectify travis to the point of seeing him as literal food.

the framing of the jackie/travis sex scene is fascinating, the way it’s shot back & forth with the girls in the forest going feral. and the way in the end, travis is disoriented & confused & immediately following this the other girls begin sexual assaulting him & hunting him like an animal. like everything about travis & his arc, it’s such a subversion of the way female characters are so often treated in media.

and that brings me to travis & natalie & how they subvert gender roles. travis starts off seeming a bit sexist but the more we learn the more it’s clear he’s just an inexperienced teenager. he’s a virgin scared for his first time & he’s falling for the experienced bad girl who’s kinda scary. we literally always see that set up but with the shy inexperienced girl falling for the bad boy. even the way travis haunts the narrative & serves as part of natalie’s pain arc is reminiscent of the dead girlfriend trope. he is to natalie as jess from supernatural is to sam winchester. he’s fridged but the boy version. & that’s why he’s a babygirl to me <3

and like… we could talk all day about the pine cone in travis’ mouth & the sexual assault blood orgy scenes but let’s move on to the most functional couple of the entire show with some of the only sex scenes that actually seem like a fun sexy time where it’s just two people in love having sex

taissa & van! their conflict develops throughout the season as van is almost eaten by wolves because taissa is busy being possessed by the wood spirit & taissa’s frustration with van’s belief in something supernatural grows but… beyond that? they’re actually just super into each other. they are constantly talking about how gorgeous the other is, being all over each other, skinny dipping & doing more typically fun & romantic activities than all the other characters. & it’s 2 women

from shauna having sex with adam who ends up dead to whatever the fuck misty has going on with ben (not to mention adult! misty’s introductory scene where she manipulates a man into coming home with her by faking insecurities - or perhaps playing them up & using them, it’s unclear) it’s just totally fascinating to me the way this show subverts expectations with gender & sex

#I never know if I’m making literally any sense but I feel like this show is doing something.. different that’s all #it’s interesting #yellowjackets meta #yellowjackets

[aerticent]

my love for Maven has evolved into something and no matter how hard i try i cannot put it into words and it’s driving me crazy

#i have a post talking about how his body is decaying from the inside out due to his soul rejecting his mother and that’s the closest i’ve #gotten so far at explaining my feelings for him rn #i’ve also stopped seeing him as this sad pitiful creature and am more so leaning towards he was a rage and resentment fillled creature and #his main ways of showing love went hand in hand with him putting Cal and Mare through the worst pains/horrors imaginable #he also is absolutely batshit like #bro is on the brink of madness the whole time it’s a wonder he never fully falls through #bet u money if he had been successful in killing Mare or Cal he would’ve fully lost it #cause like now what #this whole war and the two ppl he hates/loves the most r dead and it’s his fault #idk what i’m talking about #he got me feeling like #[CAR CRASH] [GLASS SHATTERING] GOOD LORD! [GENERAL COMMOTION] [BABY CRYING] WAAAAH WAAAAH [YELLING] [POLICE SIRENS] WEEWOO WEEWOO #he still is sad and pitiful but he’s also a rage filled monster who was given too much power without enough guidance #just running on hatred and whatever fucked up version of love he knows of #the closest he got to truly not gaf about literally anyone or anything was his reaction to Elara’s death #did all that running on nothing but anger and hatred almost killed Cal he was so enraged #does this make any sense? #he’s still baby girl sunshine loml 🔛🔝 tuck him into bed and read him bed time stories little angel

[padfootastic]

so way back, when FoD was just in the beginning stages, the idea was this: harry & sirius bonding, post gof/ootp. getting to know each other, making new, fun memories. taking in the world together. but ultimately very low stakes, slice of life. the entire focus was supposed to be on the godfather-godson relationship. hence, dog days. a pun. a summer fic where they do nothing except laze around and eat ice cream and frolic.

also, coincidentally, i just looked it up and google tell me this: the hottest period of the year (reckoned in antiquity from the heliacal rising of Sirius, the Dog Star)

cut to now when we’re at chapter 4 and sirius is nowhere to be seen even lol by my estimation, it would take atleast another 10k words for him to come in. there’s so many OCs and plot and tangents i’m keeping track of 💀 it’s become more than just the usual s&h fics i write; it’s about harry coming into himself, becoming independent, fighting back. it’s almost an ode to all the smart/powerful/ooc harry fics i used to love reading lol

so instead you have Foundations of Decay. it’s an mcr song title bc im extremely basic like that but i just—really love it? the idea of harry realising his life is in a state of unending ruin, only getting worse, and that he can either fight fruitlessly, symptomatically, as he has been so far or start anew. enter the system and use it to change things. he’s working off a decaying foundation and he’ll build something lasting (sirius) on it.

idk. might not make sense outside my head but i rly liked it lol

#why is discord showing dates in american ew #makes no sense #anyway #the rising of sirius thing is SO coincidental #i literally just got to know #i think i might’ve still called it that if i’d actually checked my notes before posting lol #but i’m also not u happy w this title lbr #it does feel v edgy tho #but yeah #i’m sentiposting a lot these days huh #don’t mind me lol #titles & summaries are always the hardest part of any work for me #i can never get it down #it always feels like a hopeless ask #task* but ask works #so to see this title evolution is also just. nice. #fic: foundations of decay

[bread-of-death]

God am I lucky that my mom is so goddamn oblivious

#she likes to show me videos that she disagrees with #it ranges from articles about shootings to people literally just saying what their pronouns are #and it’s never a pleasant conversation #so I naturally get very sick of it #and I’ve actually shown enough displeasure and gotten away with it to be comfortable enough to state my full displeasure at it #so she said her usual ‘I want to show you something and you tell me what you think of it’ #which pretty much just means ‘I disagree with this and want you to validate my feelings so I know I’m not a bad human being’ #and so the video seemed like a conference of some sort- a woman started off by stating her pronouns and describing what she looked like and- #-what she was wearing. then another woman did the same and so on and so forth #i will say some of the descriptions were kinda odd & specific? one woman said she was wearing a vintage dress and another said she had a- #-clear mask and red lipstick on #i don’t know exactly why they were stating appearances as the video didn’t have any context- but regardless it was just a little strange- #-literally all it did was make me a little confused but who knows maybe someone needed that description- so why would I have a problem with #-that #but my mom apparently thought it was completely and entirely ridiculous #not in the sense that it was pointless to her but in the sense that she *disliked that they were making an effort to be inclusive* #like ????? #how does that affect you at all? sure it takes up a bit of time but it harms literally no one and might help some people #so where is the harm in that. #i pointed out that I didn’t have a problem with it and she says that she doesn’t either??? when she *very* clearly does? #i said something to the effect of ‘well clearly you do! i just don’t care either way’ and she said she doesn’t either and then goes on to- #-list why she actually *does* have a problem with it #i point out to her that she *clearly* does care if she’s making this big of a deal out of something so small. i said I don’t care at all- #-it doesn’t hurt me so why would I be angry at it?’ #i think she realized that I wasn’t gonna fully take her said and finished the conversation off with something to the effect of ‘well I just- #-think it’s stupid’ #god. #i wonder what kind of fuse she would blow if she found out that not only am I bi- but poly and genderfluid as well #I think she’d hate me being genderfluid the most #but then again I thought she was relatively accepting and here we are

[irndad]

here I lay me down - s.r.

a/n: ex!spencer gets shot, and you show up at the hospital to see if he's okay. spencer is still desperately in love with you. based on this post wc: 2.3k (she is LONG)

Spencer wakes to a cacophony of sounds, others breathing and various beeps and hums from a variety of medical machines. He hates the noise of the hospital, as he knows what always follows. It’s pain, and ever since he kicked dilaudid, he doesn’t get the relief that people are always pushing on him here. 

The last thing Spencer remembers, he was in front of Morgan, who was about to get shot- it was a piercing memory, one that even the anesthetic wearing off slowly couldn’t numb. He’d jumped in front of it, and the pieces of Morgan pacing around his room and the whole being in a hospital thing click into place. 

When he blinks his eyes open, he sees Hotch speaking to the doctor with his endearingly concerned eyebrow scrunch and it’s then that he notices a familiar scent in the air. 

It’s perfume- he knows because he’d bought it- a mixture of jasmine and lilies, and the memory of the night he gave it to her bursts into technicolor when he closes his eyes. It had been her birthday, and he’d gone with Penelope and Emily to pick out a gift for her. 

He remembers how she’d lit up, her warm doe eyes brightening with fondness that he’d earned, and the way his heart had flipped in his chest- the memory is in crisp detail. He remembers the way she’d kissed him, equal measure in thanks and in adoration, and it’s comforting to remember right now. He tries to think of her often, especially when waves of pain crash over him like an unruly ocean that threatens to drown him. There was someone who loved him at one point, he tries to remember. 

He wants to compliment the nurse wearing it, but even as limited as his social skills are in this state, he knows that telling the nurse you like her perfume because your ex wore it is probably inappropriate. 

A roar of desire presents itself in his chest- he has no desire to want her here, but Spencer can’t help but fantasize about her presence. Her nimble fingers running through his hair, her soft voice cooing at his injuries. It was always nice to come home to her after a rough day- her disposition warm and kind and good. It’s his fault he doesn’t have it- his fault that she doesn’t love him anymore. 

It’s as if he conjured her, when she walks in the door. 

He literally cannot believe that she is here, in his hospital room- he drinks in the sight of her like a man starved. She’s beautiful- he’d never forget this but it’s been so long since he’s seen her. The curve of her cheek, her cupid’s bow, the slope of her neck- the details he spent the best year of his life memorizing under careful touch. 

Her body language is protective, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other at her mouth, her delicate fingers holding a tissue. Had she been crying?

Before he can think of what to say to her, she speaks to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

He’d forgotten just how her voice sounded. Or rather, how it sounded when she was concerned for him. It’s addicting, hedonistic in the ways of wine and drugs and everything else you should have in moderation but had to give up. It’s just so comforting, her lovely doe eyes looking at him with warmth and concern. 

“Hey,” he replies, not answering her question. He might be imagining her. They might have given him drugs. There’s no way she came and see him of her own volition. 

She pauses for a moment, biting her lip in an incredibly endearing way (and god, he’d missed looking at her) before she makes the decision to walk over to the side of his bed. He tries to crane his neck to look at her and she scolds him, and this doesn’t make any sense. 

“You got shot,” she says, voice warm and concerned, and if he squinted he could hear love in her voice. 

“I’m okay,” he tries to reply. 

“You got shot,” she says, eyes flaring with emotion. She always hated that he minimized his pain. 

“You came,” he says, after a beat of silence. Her fingers are running through his hair and he tries to commit this to memory. It doesn’t mean she loves him. She’s the kind of person who stops on the street to give someone the last dollar in her wallet, of course she would visit her ex-boyfriend in the hospital after he got shot.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“Of course I came, Spence,” she says, intentionality in her tone, “You got hurt.”

It’s selfish to lean into her touch, but she smells like home and he doesn’t know if he will ever be held like this again by her. And he doesn’t care to be held by anyone else. 

Hotch comes in, and if he’s surprised to see the two of them together, it doesn’t show on his face. He tells Spencer that the. Bullet had been clean through, and that he’d been lucky. He’d avoided internal bleeding and would need to stay at home for a week. 

When Hotch leaves to ‘give him some space to process’, the silence lingers.

“Thank you for coming.”

It’s kind of worse, actually. The reality where she’s still his girlfriend is superimposed on top of this one, and he can feel the ghost of the kisses she’d pepper his cheeks with. If she still loved him, then she’d hug him and tell him that she loves him, tell him how angry she is for jumping in front of a stray bullet. 

It’s my fault, he thinks to himself, eyes raking over her. She’d definitely been crying, he realizes. Her makeup had run and he think she might have slept here. How had he ever gotten someone like her to fall in love with him? 

It’s his fault she doesn’t love him anymore.

When the doctor tells him that he needs someone to stay with him for the next few days, and she volunteers, he agrees.

It’s a nice kind of pain, he thinks. Any piece of her is more than he wants of anything else.

_______________________________________

It turns out that she is a wonderful caregiver. 

Penelope had been incredibly supportive of this idea, somehow convinced that the proximity would bring them back together. This is a hope that Spencer does not engage in, but still- it’s nice to have her around. 

She knows her way around his apartment- knows how he organizes her things. Half her things used to be there too. 

Memory is a funny thing. The worst part by far of eidetic memory is the lack of forgetting, and up until now, this was best seen in the horrors of his work. Now, it’s all her.

Taking care of him when he got shot is not the same thing as loving him. 

When she makes them dinner (which is so kind of her- he offered to buy takeout and she’d insisted on recreating his mother’s soup recipe. She’d kept a copy of it in her phone. Spencer had almost died of flattery), she sits next to him on his couch

It’s funny how the best memories of his life are so colored now- their trip to Europe, their first kiss, the first time he’d cooked her dinner and she’d watched Doctor Who with him. Ghosts of memory linger through the place, and it hurts to see her sit next to him on the couch with a foot between them. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a beat of silence. She looks beautiful, and he always thinks this. She’s wearing his t-shirt which is just an awfully tempting view. 

It’s his fault he can’t have what he wants. 

“I told you I still wanted us to be friends,” she says, looking down at her bowl, “You’re my friend. I’m happy to do this.”

He can tell she means it as an olive branch but it cuts like a knife. Because he never wanted to be her friend. She was the first thing he even wanted enough to ask for it. He still remembers when he’d asked her out the first time, the stuttering and the way she’d looked, how impossible her liking him back had felt. 

And then he’d managed to make her fall in love with him. It didn’t even take much- he just had to be himself, the way she says it, and he’d give anything to have that back. 

“You’re a good friend,” he replies, instead of everything he’s thinking. 

“Hotch thinks so,” she muses, not looking at him, “He was surprised I’d come here after you broke up with me.”

It’s a slight lash out, and it’s fair. It’s not fair that she’s here, wearing his fucking t-shirt, her collarbones exposed under the fabric. He know what her skin feels like under his lips, and now she make veiled comment on his couch. 

“Why did you?”

He can’t figure it out. They’d broken up two months ago. He’d done it to protect her- after the anthrax case he’d been fucking fixated on her getting hurt. Because this is the stuff he can’t protect her from. Can’t help if biomedical hazards end up on his clothes,  and if he comes home shot. 

He got shot. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t get forever with the woman he loves, because he can’t keep her safe. Even if he quit just then- enough people have made an enemy of him. She’d never be safe.

So he made a choice to cut his ties and let her go, and yes, every fucking night since he’s had at least one nightmare about what she looks like crying and asking him to stay. He never, ever wanted to see her like that, but he also never ever wanted her to be a widow. 

She’d find someone else. She’s so easy to love- he doesn’t like to think about someone else loving her, but he’s sure she won’t be alone. 

His voice catches in his throat.

“It is nice of you,” Spencer chokes out, “I never wanted you to have to do that.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she says, getting up to get him another serving, and he grabs her wrist.

“Ba- Hey, please. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she says at him, but she doesn’t pull her wrist back. 

“I just-“ he stammers, but it’s heavy and something he can’t give up, the combination of her gaze under his and her soft skin in his grasp, “I can’t have you here and hate me. I just can’t take you hating me. I know- I know what I did. I know it’s not fair to ask and I know that we’re not together and I know it’s my fault but god, you can’t hate me. I can’t take it.”

“You think I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You think I came to the hospital in the middle of the night, slept in a waiting room, cooked you soup and slept on your couch because I hate you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. How could she still love him? 

“It’s you,” he replies. “You’d always do that for me.”

She’s closer now, moving into his space more and more and he can smell his own body soap on her because she showered here, and he’s overcome with a desire to hold her. 

“Why do you think that is?”

She’s almost in his lap now, and there’s a greed to this now, the way he pulls her a little bit closer. She tips her head back in a bitter, tinny laugh that he doesn’t like the sound of. 

“I mean, Spencer- I love you so much that I don’t even care if you love me back.”

“You still love me?”

“I’m working on it,” she says, a bitter smile on her face, “You’re hard to get over.”

“Don’t get over me.”

It’s not the smoothest thing he could’ve sid, and he kind of regrets the implication on her face, sees her gorgeous features crumple. 

“That’s mean, Spence.” 

“No! No. Don’t. Don’t-don’t do that. Don’t move on with your life and find someone else because this is the lightest I’ve felt in fucking weeks.”

Her eyes widen into saucers, and her grip tightens on his hands, and Spencer feels like he could fly. 

“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have made you go and I should’ve let you be the person who picks me up at the hospital and I know, I know how lucky I am that you’re still here, that you cared enough. Please, please don’t get over me. I know it’s not far to ask.”

She blinks a few times at him before opening her arms for a hug, of which he flies into at breakneck speed. His ribs hurt but he’d forgotten what it was like to hold her. And yes, maybe wanting this makes himself selfish, but he wants this. Maybe this can the one thing he lets himself have. 

“I do love you. ” he speaks into her collarbone, and she shushes him. 

“No, no,” he says, looking up at her, her gorgeous doe eyes shaky with uncertainty he knows is his fault, “If you’ll still have me, I’d like to-I’d like to try again. And I know that you probably can’t trust me and I have so much to make up for and-“

“Spencer,” she says warmly, twining their fingers, “I’d like to kiss you now. Okay?”

He nods a bit fervently, shaking as he does, but when she kisses him-

It’s just as he remembers. She leans into him, her delicate fingers cupping his jaw and he wraps his spindles arms around the curve of her waist, pinning her to him like she might float away if untethered. 

When Spencer gets back to the office, he it’s not just his wounds that have healed. 

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

[cinnamon-girl-writes]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman . . .

gentlemanly things the jjk men do ! feat. gojo, nanami, geto, choso, higuruma, yuuji, megumi

fluff, headcanons, dubious grammar

by @cinnamon-girl-writes

gojo

Im’ma be real, it was hard af to come up with something serious for this man

but I’m gonna go with: he always opens doors for you and never lets you open them yourself

whether it be your car door or a restaurant, he’s always there just a step ahead of you to make sure his princes doesn’t have to do any work <3

*coughs* he also does it to stare at your ass from behind *coughs*

nanami

opposite of gojo, i couldn’t stop thinking of gentlemanly things this man *wouldn’t* do— anyways

nanami is the man who compliments you on more than just your appearance <3

of course, he tells you how beautiful you are all the time

but the best thing about this man is when he tells you how smart you are, or how he loves that your jokes always make him laugh

he’ll compliment your dtermined attitude or your loving nature

if you’ve been working really hard lately, he takes notice and tells you that you’re doing great

overall just. 10/10

geto

soooo geto has a history (in canon) of feeling unneeded/underappreciated

SO wwhat i think he’d always do for his partner is make a deliberate effort to tell them that

every day he finds a way to tell you: you matter to me and i need you in my life <3

sometimes it’s random, like when you’re laying and the couch and he tells you

or sometimes it’s more of a show, like him taking you out to dinner just to show you he appreciates you

choso

while romantic relationships are a little new to him, he treats his relationship with you very seriously

that being said, he notices whenever you’re stressed out about something

so to help you with this, he takes on whatever tasks are burdening you: your kids are driving you crazy? he’s great with kids. the dishes on your counter have been sitting there for two weeks? don’t worry, he’s got it

overall probably one of the best on this list

higuruma

this man- *ovulates*

anyways . . .  like nanami he’s another epitome of gentlemanliness, however higuruma doesn’t have that much free time to spend with you because of his job as a lawyer

so when he is with you, he deliberatly asks you about how your day was. he’ll listen to every word you say and ask questions, wanting to get every detail out of you (and also, maybe he just likes the sound of your voice :))

but regardless, hearing about your day is very important to him

oh, you’ve got gossip about people he doesn’t even know?? he’s SAT

he listens to every detail, stopping you to ask questions and make sure he’s following the story

the KING of giving advice

yuuji

yuuji doesn’t necessasrily stick to formalities, but one thing he always pays attention to is the SIDEWALK RULE <3

like you swear this guy has a sixth sense or something because you literally never find yourself walking on the outside of the sidewalk

if you ever ask him about it, he just says he doesn’t do it on purpose but just always puts your safety first

megumi

poor megs didn’t really have a great example of being a gentleman growing up :( so this stuff is kind of hard for him

i would say in general he just has a pretty hard time with giving/recieving affection

but that being said, megumi puts a lot of thought into everything in your relationship

dates that he plans out are always extremely well thought out according to your interests and likes

his gifts are usually hand made, but if he does pick something out it’s very personal, usually something that you’ve been mentioning a lot lately

a/n: no i did not inclde toji because as much as i love his broke ass, for the life of me i could not think of one single gentlemanly thing about him

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #gojo #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #geto x reader #Geto Suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru x reader #geto x you #choso x reader #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso fluff #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #nanami x you

[straykeedz]

Can I request a chan smut where you’re dating and he’s a virgin and has never done anything sexual before so you guys take it slow. You start off with giving him a handjob from the back and kissing his neck as well sometimes even light choking to see if he likes it and he becomes a sub and he cums hard. -🦋

thank you so much for your request, hope you like this! 🦋, i added you to the anon list!

part 2, kinda 🤓

cw: chan’s kind of insecure ; talking about virginity ; virgin!bang chan ; kinda sub!bang chan ; soft-dom!reader ; corruption kink (reader) if you reeaaaally squint ; a soft handjob ; cum eating ; ♡

“Are you sure you don’t mind me wearing your pajamas?” Chan stands there, in the middle of your bedroom, with your pink, fluffy pajama bottoms and an oversized white t-shirt in his hands. 

It’s two a.m. - the two of you fell asleep on your couch while watching a movie together, with your legs entangled under the blanket and Chan’s head on your shoulder. When you eventually woke up, you absolutely refused to let him drive back home this late - he was still pretty sleepy, and it wouldn’t be safe for him to drive in such conditions, so it only made sense he stayed the night at your place. 

The problem is - it’s the first time he sleeps over, and of course he doesn’t have any spare clothes he could possibly wear to sleep. The only option available therefore are - your pink, fluffy pajamas. 

“Of course I don’t mind,” you giggle, kissing the tip of his nose. “You can change here, I’ll just grab my pajamas and go change in the bathroom,” you tell him, and then disappear out of the room. 

You still haven’t slept together - in that way. 

Mainly because with college and work you really don’t have that much free time to spend together, sadly; but also because, well, Chan’s a virgin. You were beyond shocked when he confessed it to you because he’s hot - like, really hot. You couldn’t believe it honestly, how is it possible? You’ve wanted to jump his bones since he asked you out! Not that there’s something wrong with being a virgin, of course, you just found it surprising since he’s attractive and really fucking hot.  

So, to sum it up, you’ve been taking it real slow. The furthest you’ve gone so far is dry humping, and you’ve touched each other over the clothes, but that’s it. You still haven’t seen him naked and neither has he. Chan knows he shouldn’t, but he feels extremely self-conscious about his virginity because he really wants to have sex with you and touch you and experience all of his firsts with you, but what if he’s just… bad at it? What if his lack of experience won’t make it pleasurable or even enjoyable for you? What if his dick is not enough for you - what if it’s too short? Or not thick enough? What if he won’t find your g-spot or your clit? What if, what if, what if… 

Chan shakes his head, beginning to pull his jeans down his legs. Why is he even thinking about this? It’s not like you’re gonna have sex tonight, there’s no point for him to worry about all of this stuff right now. You’re just going to sleep together - like, innocently sleeping, lying next-to-each-other-with-your-eyes-closed sleeping. He chuckles to himself as he puts the pajamas on, feeling kind of silly. 

A knock on your door. Then, your sweet voice. 

“Are you dressed? Can I come in?”

He puts the t-shirt on in a literal second. “Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m decent. You can come in,” he mumbles, cheeks turning pink as he looks at himself in the mirror, dressed in your clothes. 

When you come back inside the room, his breath hitches because how can someone be so beautiful? You’re not wearing any make-up, your hair is not styled and you’re wearing nothing but your oversized pajamas and fluffy socks, but Chan has never felt more in love with you than right now. The thought of you being so comfortable around him to show yourself like this makes his heart swell up in his chest. 

“Wow, they look good on you,” you giggle, looking at him, pointing at the pajama bottoms. “Actually, they look better on you. You should keep ‘em.”

“I, uh… they’re… they’re pretty comfy. And fluffy too.” 

“You’re so cute,” you peck his cheek, “come on, let’s go to bed.”

It’s an innocent thing to say, you intended for it to be innocent, so why is Chan’s heart beating so fast inside his chest as he slips under the covers next to you. It’s the furthest he’s ever been with a woman - with anyone, actually. It’s soft, it’s intimate, it’s… domestic. He kinda wants to do it again and again and again. It feels nice, you laying next to him with your head on his chest, fingers intertwined with his. 

“I’m happy you’re staying the night,” you murmur quietly, circling his waist with your arm. 

He chuckles. “’T’s not like you gave me any choice.”

You giggle as well. “Oops, my bad,” you lift your head to peck his lips. Chan kisses you back, pecking your lips two, three, four, five times until he eventually runs his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss. He cups your cheek with his hand, brushing it using his thumb as you practically suck each other’s faces off until you pull away, leaving him kinda confused. “Let’s… let’s sleep now. Want to cuddle?”

Chan blinks, lips still puffy and swollen from the intense make-out session. “Oh, uhm… yeah, sure. Sure,” he stutters a bit, still kind of overwhelmed by the way your lips felt on his. 

Chan panics as soon as he realizes he’s the big spoon because, well, he has a problem, let’s call it that. 

As soon as you snuggle closer to his body and your ass brushes his cock, you feel it. Chan’s cock. Rock hard. His whole body freezes and his breath hitches - you can clearly hear his heartbeat, so loud in his chest. He’s so fucking embarrassed, he feels mortified. It’s the first time he sleeps at your place and his fucking dick isn’t cooperating. Why isn’t it cooperating? 

Think of something ugly, Chan thinks to himself, hoping to get his cock to soften. It doesn’t. 

It just sits there - perfectly hard, balls kind of tightening from time to time as he swallows the lump in his throat. Maybe you’re already asleep. It’s highly unlikely, he knows it, but hey, you never know. But you’re not, because he feels you fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt. Peachy. You’re gonna think he’s a complete loser and won’t want to sleep with him, like, ever. At the speed of light, he tosses and turns on his other side, thinking it’d be less embarrassing this way, but clearly - he’s not the best at thinking under pressure, let’s face it. 

But then you turn on your side as well, and you’re now the big spoon. “Why’d you move? I was so comfy,” you whisper in the still of the night, and Chan shivers when you place a kiss on his nape, your nose brushes his hair softly. And then you hug him, circling his waist with your arm, and he tenses under your touch, breath hitching. 

“Was… was it because of… this?” With the tip of your fingers, you brush the outline of his clothed cock over the fabric of his pajamas. He’s… very hard. 

Chan nearly chokes. “Oh, God,” he mumbles, burying his face in the pillow out of embarrassment. “‘M sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Channie,” you place a kiss on his shoulder, over his t-shirt. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. God, you’re so cute,” you bite your lip, feeling him twitch under your touch. 

“I, uh… it’s because we, uh, kissed. And also because you were… pressed against me,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Don’t be,” you nuzzle his shirt, breathing in his the scent of his skin. “I mean, I could… help, if you want.” 

When you palm and squeeze his erection over his clothes, Chan feels like he could cum from that only. Your touch is delicate and foreign, and it makes him twitch in anticipation. “Yeah, I… I mean, uh, only… only if you want to.”

And of course you want to. 

Leaving soft pecks on Chan’s shoulders and arms, you slowly allow your hand to slip past the waistband of Chan’s pajamas, deciding to tease him over his boxers for a bit before touching him properly. His cock is hard under your touch, and even though you can’t see it, you’re sure it’s a nice cock - at least, it feels nice. It’s not super long - above average, you’d say, but it’s thick and heavy. You really can’t believe you’re having the privilege of being the first person who’s about to wrap their hand around it - besides Chan, naturally. 

“Does it feel nice?” you ask him, cupping his balls, and Chris whimpers, shutting his eyes. 

“Mh, yeah, it… it does,” he whines, breathing faster. “Feels really good.”

You’re touching him over his boxers and he’s squirming already, thinking it can’t possibly get better than this - until it does, until your hand finally slips inside his boxers too and you touch him, wrapping your fingers around his length. His cock is hot and heavy, and it’s twitching, yearning to be stimulated more. 

“Is this better?” You tease, already knowing the answer. 

Chan muffles an embarrassing sound in your pillow when you swipe your thumb over his sensitive tip. “S-So much better. Your hand feels so good. God, ‘m not… ‘m not gonna last long,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He feels as if his whole body was on fire, and he’s pretty sure he’s red in the face, blushing like crazy until it reaches the tips of his ears. 

“Don’t worry about that,” you kiss his bicep, “tonight’s about you. Just relax, baby.”

You entangle your legs together under the covers, starting to move your hand up and down his length slowly, listening carefully to every single sound that escapes his mouth. It’s heavy breaths at first, which then turn into soft, almost inaudible whimpers when you focus on the tip, gripping the pillow tighter as he clenches his teeth. 

You want to make this first experience even more pleasurable for him, though, since it’s his first time receiving a handjob. Chan whines when you remove your hand from his boxers, already missing the warm feeling of your hand on his cock, he’s addicted already. And then, he feels your fingers tap on his mouth. “Spit, baby. Make my fingers wet,” you whisper in his ear, and he shivers. He nods, not fully understanding what’s going on, but he still does what you asked him to do, and before you know it, his saliva is coating your fingers and palm. “Good boy,” you praise him, and Chan blushes even more. 

When you touch him again, it feels entirely different. It’s much wetter, and your hand slides up and down his length effortlessly, which causes Chan to turn into a whimpering mess under your touch. “Oh, God,” he whines with his eyes squeezed shut. With a trembling hand, he hooks his finger in the waistband of his underwear, and pulls it down the curve of his ass, freeing his cock and balls.

“Mhh, much better now, yeah?” You bite on his earlobe, then lick the sensitive spot behind his ear, the one that has his toe curling. “Shh, listen,” you say, allowing him to fully focus on the slick sound your hand is making each time it pumps his hard cock. It’s dirty, it’s obscene, and Chan absolutely loves it. 

“Ba-Baby,” Chan whimpers, his fingernails digging in your mattress as he feels suddenly much closer to finding his release. 

“Been wanting to touch you for so long, Channie,” you confess, kissing his neck from behind. He gets goosebumps. “Was always scared to overstep your boundaries, though. Scared to pressure you into something.”

Chan shakes his head as a no. “You’re not. I want this, I’ve wanted this, too. Was embarrassed, tho,” he admits.

“Why?” 

It’s pretty funny, how you’re having this heartfelt conversation while you’re jerking him off. 

“‘Cause I’m inexperienced. Thought it’d… dunno, turn you off?” 

A mixture of his own spit and pre-cum is dribbling onto his whole shaft, coating his pubic hair and balls as well. It’s incredibly hot, you wish you could lick him clean. Maybe later. 

“Oh, Channie. I’m with you because I like you. I don’t care if you’re inexperienced, my sweet baby.”

“Yeah?” Chan asks, sounding pained. He’s close, so close. 

You nod against his skin. “Yeah, I… I think I might love you, actually.”

“Oh, fuck. Baby, baby… I’m so- close, fuck,” he pants, abdomen clenching, whole body shaking, ready to orgasm. “I might love you, too, baby. Wanna- wanna experience everything with you, baby. Wan’… wan’ you to take my virginity, wan’ you to be my first.” 

“Channie-“ you clench your thighs together. 

“‘M about to fucking cum, baby. ‘M-“

He quickly flips to rest on his back, so that he wouldn’t stain your sheets with his release. Always so thoughtful, your Chan. He even lifts his t-shirt, exposing his abs and torso, and this time watches carefully the movements of your hand on his cock as you pump him faster. 

“Cum for me, Channie.”

With a high-pitched sound, he spills his seed all over himself, hiding his face in his hands as you milk him dry, making sure he gives you everything. He cums so intensely that his body just won’t stop shaking, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. You let go of his limp cock, not wanting to overstimulate him. 

“You were so good to me, Channie,” you murmur, kissing his temple tenderly. “Did you like it?”

Chan takes a deep breath, and then he finally removes his hands from his face and looks at you. “Like it? My soul just left my body, I think,” he chuckles, but he’s still embarrassed. “’t was so good, really.”

“‘M happy you enjoyed it. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

With a towel or some tissues, Chan thinks, and he’s about to turn the light on to grab some from your nightstand when he feels you shift under the covers. Then, your hot tongue on his skin, starting to lick him clean. 

“Oh. Oh.”

#bang chan smut #bangchan smut #bang chan hard thoughts #bang chan hard hours #bangchan hard thoughts #bangchan hard hours #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #bang chan drabbles #📨: 🦋 anon

[ecoterrorist-katara]

Zutara, romance novels, and the female gaze

Okay so I’ve been thinking about the female gaze a LOT so I checked out a subreddit about romance novels, despite never having read one. I came across this meme (which was initially a Tumblr post and then got posted to Instagram and then to Reddit and I’m now bringing back to Tumblr — Internet telephone, pls never change):

And…what is The Southern Raiders, if not a platonic grovel? Katara’s pain is central to the episode. It’s central to Zuko. Zuko asks Katara what he can do to make up for his betrayal; she demands the impossible. He reads between the lines, cockblocks her brother to get the necessary information, and then waits outside her door overnight (which he also did for Iroh, the one person we know for sure he loves). He basically makes himself a receptacle for her rage, and he holds space for her by coming with her on her revenge quest and carrying their bags and not saying a damn thing about what she should and should not do beyond like…asking her to rest. And obviously the grovel works! She forgives him and then they’re thick as thieves, bantering and fighting and saving each other’s lives, etc.

On a different note, I’ve been told that enemies to lovers is one of the biggest tropes in romance novels, similar to YA lit and fanfic. Here’s something else I found in the romance novel discourse:

And…yeah. In TSR, Katara really does show Zuko her worst self, because she doesn’t feel the need to perform for him. She doesn’t feel the need to perform moral perfection OR cold blooded vengeance. She bloodbends in front of him and he just goes with it. She doesn’t kill Yon Rha and he just goes with it. He doesn’t treat her any differently afterwards. Maybe they talk about it off screen, but I kind of like the idea that they don’t, because Katara doesn’t need to explain anything. And it’s so interesting, because some people in the ATLA fandom have a totally different read on TSR. They think Zuko was encouraging Katara to get revenge (by what, keeping his mouth shut?), and that Aang is the one who acts as her moral compass. I believe that either Bryan or Mike said in the DVD commentary that Aang is the angel on her shoulder the entire time. And this interpretation does make sense if you see it from the male gaze, where Katara as an object of affection is acting in an angry, irrational, threatening way. But if you see it from the female gaze, you recognize that actually it’s probably the most emotionally taxing experience Katara has to go through, and she doesn’t owe it to be nice or perfect to anybody. Katara’s formative trauma literally comes to a head, and she has to make a decision — no, a discovery — about who she is in relation to the tragedy that defines her life and even her identity (as a waterbender, as a parentified child who becomes the mom friend, as a genocide victim), and she’s accompanied by someone who trusts her judgement and validates her feelings.

I’m not saying TSR is explicitly romantically coded, but when it conforms so well to romance novel tropes…is it any wonder that so many people thought “yes this is her man?” And then he takes lightning in the heart for her and reaches for her when he’s literally dying, I will never be normal about that either

#Zutara #Katara #Zuko #the southern raiders #Pro zutara #anti Bryke #I guess #I swear I’m not a Bryke anti but I feel like they just don’t get #The female gaze #and the fact that Zutara is so female gaze is kind of an accident and I find that fascinating #atla fandom critical #The southern raiders turned me into a Zutara shipper #one ep away from the finale #Zutara meta #My meta

[patrophthia]

hii! I really loved your stories! can you write something about theo×hufflepuff again? I don't have any preferences, whathever comes to you mind (well maybee some enemies/don't like each other at the begging haha) thank u))

wanted to do rivals to lovers but i failed, like really badly so here’s just fluff with theo envying reader a teensy bit

make it make sense | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: fluff, meet cute, established relationships, tasm reference (just cuz)

part of my 1k celebration event !

You and Theodore makes no sense. Not to your friends, not to his friends, not to anyone —Merlin, not even yourselves. 

How the two of you got today is and will always be a story Theodore could never wrap his head around. 

At first glance, the two of you are direct opposites. A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin made absolutely no sense at first sight. And it’s exactly what he thought when his feelings towards you —which were, at first, resentment and envy (you were doing better in classes than he was and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him) turns to fascination, and maybe even adoration. 

Not in a weird way, of course. Not in a way where he’d stare at you from across the room where you’re sitting, chatting with your friends with a pretty on your face before accidentally meeting his eyes and making him avert his gaze kind of way. Or well —maybe it was. You were beautiful, can you blame him?

Not only were you beautiful, you were also kind. So incredibly kind, hardworking, and your sense of justice is so strong you knocked him off his feet. Literally. 

The first time he talked to you —really talked to you— was when you body slammed him to the ground whilst chasing someone who’d had picked on your friend. It sounds cliche and sometimes, when he feels an overwhelming urge to kiss you; he deflects it by joking about how you ‘fell’ for him. 

You were quick to pick yourself up off of him, eyes wide as you helped him back to his feet with repetitive apologies. “I’m sorry, I really should’ve looked where I was going but I was so worried that he’d get away (and he did) that I bumped into you.

Are you okay though? Should I bring you to the infirmary? What’s your name? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Theodore fixes his attention on you. “I’m fine, let’s not bother Madam Pomfrey about this,” he says first, then he glances between you and your fingers, eyes glinting with ridicule, “Zero.” 

He’s messing with you. That’s . . . A relief. Unless he actually couldn’t tell that you’re holding up fo—

“Four,” he tells you anyways, he then adds. “Nott.” 

“What?” 

“My names Nott.” He tells you. 

And you smile at him. You’re kind enough to smile at him even when he’s coming off as a bit of an arse to you, you still smile at him. “Oh I know,” you say, “just wanted to make sure you knew it too.” 

He blinks at you. Slowly. So slow that it almost resembles a cat’s blinking. “Well, I do.” 

“Good.” He’s still looking at you. And you’re still looking at him. Neither of you wanting to go back to your separate lives just yet. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

Theodore wills himself to not show any real reaction to your words, only keeping stoic as he answers. “I’m not,” he says, “are you asking to make sure I knew it too?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I just wanted to know.” 

And you leave. So suddenly that Theodore has to stare at your leaving figure for a good three minutes before finally pulling himself back together. 

So maybe the two of you made no sense being with one another, but it’s been like that from the start —how you left him standing there will forever be a core memory for him— and he’s more than just content to be in love with you now. And if he’s being honest, does things making sense matter when you’re in love? 

Not in his books. 

#oh yeah cuties Peter and Theodore i love me my losers #theodore nott x you #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #🧳: my writing #🍰: 1k with patro!

[danveration]

I have a Alastor × fem!reader request. Imma be real with you, I own an Alastor stuffie and for the longest time I wondered, 'What if it morphed into the actual Alastor while I cuddled it?". I know, odd but I think it could possibly be a cute idea? (in the verse Hazbin is still a show, this fic takes place irl)

OH MT GOSH I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCHHH!!! i’ve got to get me an Alastor stuffie too.. If only this would happen irl 💔❤️❤️ i hope this is what you wanted/had in mind :’)

Parings: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: You have a Alastor stuffie and you cuddle it. And it…. turns into the real Alastor?!?!

You have a favourite character from the show Hazbin Hotel, by favourite, you mean FAVOURITE. His name is Alastor, the radio demon. You’ve had a stuffie of him for the longest time, it’s always brought you comfort and it felt good to have a sort of physical version of him. Plus, it’s so cute:)

You’re currently sitting in bed, when you grab your Alastor stuffed animal and hug it. Shockingly, you feel it sort of vibrating. You look down at it and see that there’s shadowy smoke coming from it. You gasp and let go of it.

You’re wondering what on earth is going on, when something that you would’ve NEVER thought to happen, it morphed into THE Alastor from the show.

You think you’re dreaming so you do what everyone does, pinch yourself.

“Shit.” You mumble. Definitely not sleeping, that hurt like a bitch.

You look to your side and you see him laying there, looking confused, but smiling.

He looks around and his eyes land on you.

You’re sitting there in shock, unable to say anything.

Alastor hasn’t ever had this happen to him before, where he unwillingly got teleported. He usually just teleports using his shadow magic. He’s very puzzled on what happened.

As he looks to see you, you’re most obviously alive, and human. He doesn’t know anyone in hell that looks like you, and he knows almost everyone. Is he.. back on earth?

You two are just staring at each other in equal confusion.

He looks over you and sees a “Hazbin Hotel” poster on the wall and raises his brow in confusion even more.

“Who might you be?” He asks.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you manage to stumble out you name. “I-I’m Y/n.”

“I see.. now do you have any idea what I’m doing here?” He asks you.

“No, I don’t.” You shake your head. “I was just cuddling my stuffie of y-“ You stop yourself and refrain from telling him exactly who the stuffie was resembling.

“..Of something. And you just.. appeared!” You say.

“Hm. Now that’s quite the mystery then, isn’t it?” He says. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you then, Y/n. Though the circumstances are quite outlandish. The name is-“

“Alastor.” You whisper out, still in a state of:“wowmyfavoritecharacterfromatvshowjustappearedinmybed.”

Alastor tilts his head and says with confusion in his voice, “Precisely..”

He moves to get up off your bed and stand up, looking around your room. He notices a picture of him on your dresser and he looks back at you with a raised brow.

“Um.. I can explain-“ You start. “You’re not.. real. Well, you’re real because you’re here right now but- You.. You’re not real in this world. Um.. You-“ You ramble on and he stops you.

“I understand.” He says with a smile.

“You.. understand?”

“Ah, yes! I am the radio demon after all. I must be aware that other universes exist. It seems something happened and I was quite literally spawned here.” He explains. “Usually I’ve only heard this happening if it was a vessel of the person, like.. let’s say.. a statue. But it seems there’s no statue of myself in this room?” He laughs.

This makes some sense now. The stuffie must apply to these rules.

“Oh um. I think I know what happened..” You say.

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Well?”

“So um.. I have a stuffied animal of you.” You say in a low tone, your cheeks reddening.

“What was that, dear?” He asks.

“I have a stuffie of you..” You say.

“A..” He starts. “A stuffie? Of me? Now why would you have that?” He laughs.

“I.. for comfort?” You answer, hoping he isn’t too weirded out.

“Comfort? Well that’s a delightful!” He says in amused tone.

“Yeah um.. you’re basically a fictional character in this world.” You say.

“A fictional character?” He asks.

“Mhm.” You answer.

“I see..” He looks as if he’s trying to piece together everything. “Well, my dear! I’m not quite sure on what exactly is going on. But I assume it’s only momentary. Maybe a glitch in the system or something.” He laughs.

“Y-you..” It’s finally setting in that Alastor is in your room.

“I?” He asks with a smile.

“I LOVE YOU.” You blurt out suddenly without thinking.

Alastor jumps a bit at that and steps backwards, his eyes wide.

“S-sorry. I just.. I cant believe you’re here.” You say. “How did this even… THE Alastor is in my room.. He.. Oh my god..” You mumble on to yourself.

Alastor is a clever man, he knows that you must be a “fan” of his. He notices that he obviously doesn’t exist in your world. Though he finds your reaction quite adorable. Especially that you have a stuffie of him? You’re idolizing him? Out of all people? He’s charmed.

“Dear.. You alright there?” He asks you.

You look back up at him and smile.

“Very very alright, yes.” You answer.

———————————————————————

Suddenly, you bolt awake. It was just a dream..?

You sigh and shift on your side, still holding your Alastor stuffie. If only dreams were real.

As you fall asleep, you don’t notice but the stuffie begins to vibrate…

#anon <3 #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor altruist #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor x reader hazbin #hazbin hotel imagine #my works #the radio demon x reader #requests

[b00kdiary]

I love your series with the Bat Boys and the Plus Size reader. Could I request a story where the plus-size Reader is feeling low and unpretty especially compared to the Archeron Sisters and distances herself so she doesn't burden the IC with her issues but Cassian won't let her and shows her how beautiful she is on the inside and out. And maybe they find out they are mates in the process (I hope I made sense lol and sorry for the long winded request)

Mirror, Mirror | Cassian

Cassian (ACOTAR) x Plus size reader

Y/N flees a party where it seems Cassian and Nesta can’t stay away from each other, but when Cassian comes rushing after her, more than one declaration is made and more than one secret is discovered.

A/N: I made a few adjustments to this (wherever my imagination took me) and this might be the best one I've written yet, I was literally so happy re-reading this :)

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and Cass being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady (Hint: mirror-play)

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

Nesta laughed, a wonderful, breathtaking sound and something ugly twisted in me as Cassian’s face lit up, stars twinkling in his eyes as he beheld her.

I sunk back further against the wall, into the shadows, willing them to hide me, to hide the hurt and jealousy that ate and ate and ate at me the longer I watched them.

His hand on the small of her exposed, flawless back.

The sensual curve of her pink lips as she stared up at him.

The shadows that darkened his gaze as he trailed his eyes down her perfect body, over that blood-red dress that clung to every delicate curve and lean expanse of flesh, every inch of her tan and smooth and gorgeous.

A sharp pain stabbed at my chest, directly at my heart, at the sight of them together- they looked perfect. She was everything he deserved: tall, slender body curved like sin in all the best places, and the kind of fierceness that could bring the General to his knees.

And Cassian wanted her, it was obvious, the way he looked at her, the way he laughed with her, the tension between them, it was never like that with me, he was never like that with me.

“Y/N.”

The sound of my name startles me, but I swallow my surprised gasp at the touch of shadows that dance around me, clinging to my shoulder and waist, a soft and sweet greeting and I manage the barest smile as Azriel walks over to me.

“Hey, Az,” My voice is hoarse, strained, and Azriel’s lovely face deepens into a frown at the sight of it, never one to miss any details, no matter how small, “Enjoying the party?”

“I thought I was having the least fun here, until I saw you,” Azriel’s face is contemplative, sad, and I glance down when his eyes move to Cassian and Nesta, inching closer together, “You should go talk to him, you know he wants to see you.”

“He seems perfectly content with Nesta,” I sigh, and I hate how ugly my words sound, how hollow and bitter I sound, “There’s no way I can compete.”

“There’s nothing to compete with,” Azriel furrows his brows, his shadows erratic over his shoulder and I scoff at his words, at the kindness in them, “Truly Y/N, you look lovely tonight, Cassian’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

I feel heat behind my eyes, a sharp pricking sting of emotion that makes it hard to see or even swallow. I tuck my hair behind an arched ear, clearing my throat, and hating the pity in Azriel’s gaze, hating that he felt he had to compliment me just to make me feel better.

“Thanks, Az, but I think the only idiot here tonight is me,” I manage a strained laugh, and Azriel sees right through it, he sees right through me. “I’m not particularly in the partying mood tonight, I’m going to just go back to my room, and have an early night.”

“Let me escort you,” Az steps forward, his scarred hand reaching for my waist, but I stop him, smiling appreciatively, but shaking my head, those treacherous tears rushing to the surface.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” I whisper, and his face turns hard, unforgiving at the sight of my tears, those hazel eyes sharpening as he turns his head back to Cassian and Nesta. “Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

I barely hear his farewell, already stepping away and this room and the people and the music and laughter and joy all dwindle into nothing as I leave, as the tears begin to leak down my face, as my bleeding heart erupts in pain, as I slip out into the silence.

Alone.

***

“Stupid, so stupid,” I mutter roughly to myself as I slam my door shut behind me, the door clicking shut with a resounding thud, strong enough it rattled through my bones and straight to my heart.

I sniff furiously, a mixture of anger and sorrow filling me as I stumble through my room, the distant sound of music and people echoing in through the open balcony, a far cry from the still and deathly silence I was surrounded by.

I kick off my heels, flinging them messily to the side and I sigh at the feeling of the cold floor against my sore soles, at the relief from the pressure on those two thin heels, that burned with every step I took.

Stupid, so stupid to think I could put on a pair of too-high heels and be as tall and intimidating as Nesta Archeron. Stupid to think I could slip on an expensive gown and look as beautiful as she did as if it would hide the fact that my body looked nothing like hers.

I was an idiot to think that the hair and the makeup and the jewellery, that any of it would be enough to make Cassian see me, to make him want me.

“So fucking stupid,” I choke out into the silence, and this time I don’t hold back the pain, I let one tear fall and then another and another, until I can’t make them stop. I gasp on my sobs as I collapse onto my bed, my arms wrapping around me for comfort.

Alone. Utterly alone.

That thought, the reality made me cry harder until I couldn’t see or breathe, until every single atom in me shook with the sobs, until my voice bounced off the walls, ringing through the air as if mocking me.

My hands quivered as I unclasped the tear-drop diamonds from my ears, discarding them easily to the bed beside me and my lip broke as I reached behind my long hair, unhooking the diamond necklace, the stones heavily dropping to my hands.

A gift from Rhysand.

‘Cassian won’t be able to take his eyes off you, especially if you show up to his room wearing only this’  Rhysand had teased me, and like the idiot I was I giggled- giggled, and blushed like I was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

Stupid.

“Y/N?” Three swift knocks against my door and I froze, “Y/N? Are you there?”

Cassian.

“Y/N,” His voice turns worried, frantic and his knocking doesn’t persist, “Are you okay, open the door for me please.”

I groan quietly, gnawing on my lip as I rise from the comfort of my bed, discarding that necklace beside the earrings, something scorched and bitter filling me at the sight of them- and when Cassian calls my name again, that feeling spreads.

I wipe the tears from my face, harsher than needed, my footsteps pattering against the flooring as I march over to the door and somehow the sadness in me has vanished, evaporated into something cold and cruel and angry.

My fingers curl around the handle and I yank the door open, my heart so loud I can hear it thundering in my ears and my face is blanketed, like a sheet of ice as I half-shield myself behind the door, unable to meet his gaze.

“Y/N,” Cassian sighs, and I hear the relief in his voice. I avoid his gaze, a pregnant pause sounding through the room as he stands there, and I see his body go stiff, “You left the party, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I clear my throat, my hair shifting forward to hide my tears and I feel Cassian’s eyes piercing down at me, unyielding and confused, “I was just tired, I’m going to go to bed.”

“Wait, Y/N-“ His voice becomes quiet, and I pinch my eyes shut at the feeling of his eyes on me, at the worry that lingers in the air, “Have you been crying? What- what happened, are you alright-“

“I’m fine, Cassian,” I try and push the door closed, trying to force him out before I crumble again but his large hand comes to the door, halting it in place and I don’t have the energy or strength to fight him. “Please, just go, go back to the party, go back to Nesta-“

“Nesta?” He interrupts, and all amusement and joy has left his voice left his face and when I lift my eyes to him, I see them narrow, hurt flashing through them, “What does Nesta have to do with this, can I please come inside-“

“No, I don’t want you here, Cassian!” I hiss, my words sharp and lethal and honed to hurt him- and they do, I see his face fall, his breath catching at the anger on my face, the anger in my words, directed toward him, “Just go back to her, I wouldn’t want to ruin your night ahead.”

His face falls, and I see the moment realisation flashes through his eyes, and the look on his face, the pity, makes me want to die.

“Y/N, that’s not-“

“Please, Cassian, spare me,” I scoff, and I force myself to be cruel, force myself to be cold and unfeeling because otherwise the reality would consume me and I would not humiliate myself further, not in front of him. “I don’t care who you fuck, just leave me alone, I’m tired.”

I release my hold on the door, my throat unbearably tight as I turn on my heel, ripping my gaze from him, unable to take the hurt in his face, unable to see him looking at me like that- he was my friend, long before I loved him, he was my friend, and I was being so horrible to him right now.

Silence stretches on as I walk away from the door, my footsteps heavy as I move to my bed, my fingers curling around the wooden pillar, needing it for strength, needing it to keep me up.

I sighed when my door clicked shut after a moment, that light dying out and I was utterly alone again. He was gone and I was alone.

I bite my lip hard enough to pierce the flesh as fresh tears brim in my eyes and I curl into myself as they fall, my head falling against the wooden beam, and I clutch it tighter as small cries break through my lips.

“Azriel said you saw Nesta and me together at the party, saw us laughing.”

I flinch at the sound of Cassian’s voice, echoing through the room and running over my skin like a phantom touch, and I gnaw on my lip harder, pinching my eyes shut and keeping my back to him as his feet step closer to me.

“I wasn’t flirting with her, I’m not interested in her, Y/N,” Cassian’s voice was tender, and calm and it made me feel sick, “Nor does she feel that way about me.”

“I don’t care,” I grit out, tasting the saltiness of my tears seeping into my mouth, “You can do whatever you want Cassian, you don’t owe me an explanation, just-just leave me alone.”

“I was with Nesta because I was nervous, I was nervous to see you,” His words turn low, and my entire body stills at the lament, his footsteps getting closer still, “I always get nervous around you, and Nesta knew that she was teasing me about it, about how I felt-“

“Right, I’m sure with Nesta Archeron standing next to you, I’m the one who made you nervous,” I drawl sarcastically, the words tasting like poison on my tongue and again, more tears fall, “Spare me the bullshit Cassian, I don’t need your pity.”

He sighs- no, it’s more like a frustrated growl, irate and furious and a sound I’d never heard Cassian make toward me. I sniff as his footsteps bound closer and my mouth parts in a silent gasp when his hand curls around my wrist and he rips me around to face him.

“Look at me, Y/N,” His canines flash, sharp and deadly, a mirror to the darkness in his eyes as he stares down at me, his wings splaying and that handsome face turning vicious, “Just fucking look at me.”

“I don’t want your gods-forsaken pity,” I tear my wrist from his hold, and I immediately miss the warmth, miss his touch, miss him- but still, I curl my lip and I scowl up at him, “I told you I’m fine, so what do you fucking want from me?!”

“You!” He bellows and the walls shake, the syphons at his shoulder blaring bright red with power and the lament, the strength behind that single word. He shakes his head, his jaw locked and eyes blazing, “I want you- I don’t pity you, I love you.”

My face drops, the blood rushing from my cheeks and I think, no, I know that my heart has stopped dead in my chest.

“What?” I breathe and all the anger and hurt and degradation has turned to ash in my mouth, as I stare up at him, at the lovely face, soft and sincere and real. “Cassian, I don’t understand-“

“What’s there to not understand? I love you; I want you, I have for so long, Y/N,” Cassian sighs, his throat bobbing with the movement, and I inhale a sharp breath when his hand comes to my face, cupping my wet cheek, “How can you not see that?”

“B-but Nesta,” My lip trembles and Cassian’s face falls at the sight, his grip tightening and when he draws me closer to his body, to the warmth and strength of him, I don’t fight it. “You could have her o-or any other female you want- why would you want me? I’m not enough-“

“Stop, don’t say another fucking word, I won’t hear it,” Cassian growls, his eyes tapering and my eyes flutter as he runs his thumbs over my cheek, soothing, wiping away the tears that can’t seem to stop, “You’re enough, you are everything and more- you’re intelligent and fierce and elegant, you’re funny and sarcastic and kind, you are the best female I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“But I’m not beautiful, Cassian,” I mutter and the way his eyes shatter, the way his whole face shatters at my words, it’s like I broke something in him. “I’m not beautiful like the females you’re surrounded by- I’m not tall or thin, I’m not delicate or petite, I don’t look like them.”

“Oh baby, I don’t want them, I want you,” His voice cracks as he draws himself down to me, his face inching toward mine and full of so much feeling it made me breathless, “I want all of you.”

I gasped at the feeling of his lips crashing against mine and I didn’t fight it, can’t fight it when his hands curve around to the small of my back, dragging me flush against his body.

Cassian’s lips move against mine with hunger, devouring me and tasting me in a way that has my whole body reacting, all the way down to my toes. I arch my back into him, my fingers curling into his dress shirt, nails cutting through the fabric for leverage as he slips his tongue against mine.

I taste the bittersweetness of wine in his mouth and a whimper escapes me as he laps his tongue against me, firm and sure, as if memorising the feel of me, memorising the taste of me, of every sound that slips past my lips.

“Cass-“ I huff in a harsh breath when his hands, large and ringed and rough, slip down the rolls at my back, his fingers digging in perfectly as he curls them under the curve of my ass and lifts me up into his arms. “Cass!”

My protests die out on my lips, Cassian dismissing my worried cry by pulling me into another all-consuming kiss and I can do nothing but moan, my legs wrapping around to latch onto his waist and my hands slipping around his neck.

My core burns, sensitive and aching as Cassian begins to walk, every step brushing his hard, toned stomach against me and eliciting the filthiest moan from my lips. Cassian grins, gnawing at my bottom lip, his fingers kneading against my ass with reverence as he moves us.

But not toward the bed.

I flutter my eyes open as Cassian comes to a stop and the look in his eyes, the feral delight makes my body shiver. He helps me slip down from his hold and I raise a curious brow at him as he places his hands on my waist and then spins me around.

To look in the mirror.

“Cassian,” I frown, catching my own eyes in the reflection before immediately looking away, a pit of dread opening in my stomach as I latch my eyes higher, to where he stood towering behind me. “What-“

“Do you trust me?” Cassian whispered the question, his hands running soothingly up and down my arms, the touch so bare that I craved more. “I need you to trust me, Y/N.”

“I- I do,” I swallow, my voice shaking but I steel my spine and push away any fear at the kindness in his eyes, at the male I’d known for years and trusted with my life. “Of course, I trust you.”

“Good,” He nods, and my body tightens, prickling with fear and anticipation as his fingers begin to tug at the straps on either shoulder, his eyes darkening with something filthy and heady as he stares at me through the looking glass. “Because I’m going to show you how much I love you, every inch of you.”

My breathing turns shallow and burdensome as Cassian gently tugs down each strap, his movements deliberate and slow and making every second feel as long as an hour. I don’t take my eyes off his as he runs his palms down my back, moving to the zip there.

His body is thrumming with energy as he watches me, piercing and unblinking as he tugs down the zip at the back, inch by inch, the sound of it unzipping the loudest noise in the room.

He releases a desperate whoosh of air and I catch the look in his eyes, the carnal lust in them as he slowly drags the front of my dress down. I clamp my eyes shut the second the material falls, revealing my bare aching breasts and the flesh of my stomach.

“Cauldron fucking spare me,” Cassian hisses and I don’t need to see his face to know how he’s watching me, can hear the appreciation and need in every word.

I still don’t open my eyes, can’t open my eyes as his hard body shifts behind me, his touch turning rough as he begins to yank the material down my wide hips, over my love handles and down my thick thighs until it hits the floor.

My underwear tugged down with it.

My body shakes with every inhale and exhale I take, my heart pounding as Cassian trails his fingers across my thighs, hips, and waist, over the sides of my breasts and down the length of my spine.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” His voice is at my ear, soft, coaxing, and my back arches when his rough, calloused hands curve around me, cupping my breasts and kneading them tenderly, “Open your eyes and see how fucking perfect you look right now.”

I suck in a steadying breath, the feeling of his fingers twisting and tugging on my taut nipples distracting me and eliciting waves of sparks and embers through my body. I brace myself and before I overthink it, I open my eyes.

I come face to face with myself- utterly naked, every flaw and imperfection, every roll and stretch mark, cellulite, and bump on display. And yet Cassian was looking at me like I was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As if in his five hundred years of existence this was the closest, he had ever gotten to heaven.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” His voice quivers, emotion clogging the words and tears prick my eyes when he presses soft, loving kisses against my neck and jaw, adoring me, “I wish you knew how much I crave you.”

“Cass,” I moan, feeling his hard length pressing into my back and this time, when my eyes meet his in the mirror, I let him see how much I needed him, how much I wanted him, “Show me, Cassian.”

“Y/N,” He groans, a primitive, male sound as I rub my ass against his cock, his entire body shivering at the touch and his eyes growing heavy as I press my bareness against him, “Are you sure-“

“I’m sure,” I whisper, and Cassian’s eyes turn wholly black as I lean forward, bracing my palms against the mirror before me and spreading my legs as I press my ass back into him. I glance back up, to the feral need on his face and I smile, “Take me, Cass.”

A low, terrifying grumble reverberates from him, from somewhere dark and unsatiated inside him and my core throbs when he cements himself to my back, turning my head to capture my lips in his and he tastes me like he’s addicted.

I pant as he plants one of his hands beside mine on the mirror, our fingers interweaving and the sound of him unlacing his breeches, his fingers tugging and yanking and ripping at the material makes me clench with anticipation.

“Are you ready- I don’t want to hurt you,” His face buries into my neck, biting and suckling on the flesh but I hear the concern in his voice. I grab his free hand from behind me, bringing it down between my thighs and he moans as I drag his fingers through my wetness, messy and leaking.

“I’m so ready, Cass,” I plead, my nails digging into his arm as he pulls his cock free from his trousers my eyes meet his through the mirror and he smiles at the desperate pout I wear, “Please, please-“

His head runs up and down my folds, collecting the wetness and when he stills at my entrance, teasing my hole, I go weak at the size of him.

“How could I ever deny you, baby?” He hisses in my ear, his fingers curling around mine against the mirror and a roguish smile stretching across his face- one that promised to ruin me.

“Cassian!”

He shoved his cock into me, hard and fast and unforgiving and the shriek that escapes me echoes through the whole building as he sheaths himself all the way, forcing me to take it.

I choke on my cries as Cassian moves his hand to my hips, his fingers holding onto the flesh for leverage as he drags his thick, pulsing length out of me, the stretch so far and wide that it hurt more than I ever knew it could.

But then he snapped his hips forward, stuffing it all back in and I moaned, my body wrecking with the intensity of it, with the intensity of him.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby,” Cassian gritted out, nudging my thighs apart with his knee and pressing a hand down onto my lower back so that I was leaning forward, my face inches from the mirror and his cock slipping in so deep. “So fucking tight.”

“Cassian, oh- Cauldron-“

My tits bounced and my thighs shook as he fucked into me, his pace brutal and merciless, pounding me hard and deep, my pussy sucking him in and clenching, my eyes rolling at the mixture of pleasure and pain that throbbed through my core.

He didn’t give me any time to adjust, didn’t give me time to get used to the size of him- and I fucking loved it.

“Does that feel good?” He muttered, fingers curling into my hair and yanking my head back so that my eyes met his in the mirror and I whimpered at the pressure on my scalp, at the sound of my wetness and his skin slapping mine as he slammed his hips to meet my ass again and again.

“S-so good,” I blubbered, my words slugging together as I watched his face tighten, watching him sweating and panting and grunting, those dark eyes sliding between our bodies, watching his dick slide in and out, coated in my juices. “Don’t stop, don’t stop- please, please-”

He snarls, the sound animalistic and the electricity in my core intensifies when Cassian’s hand releases my hair, his hand slipping around to grip my throat and the angle shifts as he brings me back to his chest, our sweating bodies melting together, his fingers around my neck tight as he keeps me there.

“Look at yourself, baby,” He croons, his voice like sin as he nibbles against my cheek and I cry out when he drives into my pussy faster, his eyes watching every reaction, every movement through the mirror and it drives him on. “See how fucking perfect you look, taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“Cass, Cass,” His name is a prayer on my lips, the head of his cock slamming against a point in me, deep and untouched, a point that has every nerve ending setting alight and he laughs, like claws running down my spine, delighted at how close I was.

“So beautiful,” His fingers tighten around my throat and my eyes flutter open, latching onto the sight of us in the mirror, his body against mine, the sweat coating my skin and the absolute adoration in his eyes, “See how beautiful you look? Say it baby, say you’re beautiful.”

A command, a raw and final command.

“I’m-oh,” My head tilts back against his shoulder, my back arching as Cassian’s hand slips between my thighs and he begins rubbing brashly at my clit, fast and messy and forceful, and my knees start to quake. “Cassian, I can’t I’m- I’m-“

“No, no- You can’t come until you say it,” He growls, and I mewl when his fingers circle harder, his hips driving into me so perfectly that I can feel how red and bruised my ass is getting. “Say you’re- shit- say you're beautiful, say it, baby-“  

Every word is emphasised with a snap of his hips, again and again, and the sound of him panting and moaning in my ears, his fingers ruining my clit it’s too much.

“I’m beautiful,” I moan, tears trickling down my cheeks at the tautness of my body, that bubble in my core starting to expand and expand and it hurts so good, “I’m beautiful, fuck-fuck-“

“Come, baby, come,” Cassian chuckles, dark and sinful and when my body gives out, his arm wraps around me, keeping me up and fucking me so good, sliding against my walls and ripping apart any control I had, “Make a mess of my cock for me.”

“Cass- Cass- Cassian!”

He hits that spot again and again and again, not stopping, not giving me even a second to breathe and that bubble bursts, explodes, and all I can do is chant his name over and over as releases rocks through me.

“Shit, Y/N,” Cassian curses, and my stomach clenches and unclenches, moans falling endlessly from my lips as I come, wrapping around Cassian painfully tight, and I know he’s close, know he’s barely hanging on.

I pant, damn near hyperventilating as my orgasm shatters me and my body starts to ache and burn as Cassian chases his high, his hips stuttering and his body hard against mine, curses falling from his lips as I clamp down around him, again and again.

“Shit, baby,” Cassian groans, eyes clamping shut and I watch through the mirror, enchanted as his fingers curl into my hips, his head falling to the crook of my neck as his body goes utterly still and he releases inside me.

The sound he makes, that devastating rumble of power that emits from him, is muffled into my neck and I whimper as his hips come to a jagged halt, the feeling of his warm come spreading through me making my head spin.

I can’t look away from him, not as he clutches onto me like a lifeline, canines scraping against my neck and his wings arching up high and spread wide, trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Cassian pants, the both of us sagging forward with exhaustion, and as he slowly slips out of me, he groans at the sight of his seed leaking out from me and down my soft thighs. “Fuck Y/N.”

I suck in greedy gulps of air as I lift my head, my heart pounding in my chest and a sense of clarity wrecking through me, waves of release fading into oblivion and the silence settling around us. Cassian smiles, tenderly, as I meet his gaze in the mirror.

But then something happens.

I freeze, my body jolting the second my eyes meet his, the second I see those hazel orbs and melt into their serenity, into their comfort.

Something clicks into place.

“Y/N?” Cassian’s worried voice greets me, pushing through the haze and fog and disorientation and I feel his hands pushing back my hair, trying to gain my attention, “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?”

Tears burn my eyes, strong and overwhelming and maddening and when my eyes lift, when I see Cassian through the looking glass, his face pales in worry.

“What’s wrong-“

“You’re my mate.”

He stills, his entire body stills, and I release a shaking, astounded sob. Cassian doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe as I turn on my weak legs, finally face to face with him.

“You’re my mate, Cassian,” I choke out, half-laughing, half-sobbing and my hands shake as I bring them up to his beautiful face, watching him melt into my embrace, “My mate.”

“It only took you fifty years to realise,” Cassian muttered, tears brimming in his eyes and my mouth went slack at his words, at the broken teasing in them, “Made me wait long enough I think.”

“You-you knew?” I gasp and Cassian’s hands fall to my waist, drawing me closer and the feel of his hands, his touch, ignites something raw and dangerous in me. “How-“

“I knew the very day we met,” He whispers, voice hoarse and lip trembling and more tears leak down my cheeks at the sight, at his words, “I knew you were my mate from the second I saw you, and I have loved you in silence every day since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I croak out, my fingers curling around his cheek- I wasn’t angry but it hurt, my heart hurt for him, for the years he spent knowing and being able to do nothing.

“I wanted you to realise on your own,” Cassian says, and something breaks in my chest at the tear that streaks down his face, sinking into my hand, “I wanted you to be ready for me, for us.”

“Cassian, I love you, I have loved you from the first moment you smiled at me, from the first moment you spoke to me, from the first moment you looked at me,” I smile, rising onto my tiptoes and pressing the softest kiss to his lips.

Sparks. Utter sparks.

“I have always loved you,” I laugh as his hands cascade down my back, curling around my ass and this time, when he lifts me with ease, I wrap my arms around him, hooking my legs and bringing his face close to mine. “My Mate.”

“I’ve prayed to hear you say those words,” He muttered against my lips, his eyes fluttering at the tender touch, and I sighed as we pressed our foreheads together. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Cassian.”

____________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

Comment to be added to the tag-list >3

#acotar #acotar smut #cassian acotar #cassian smut #cassian x reader #cassian x plus size reader #rhysand acotar #azriel acotar #sarah j maas #sjmaas #acotar fanfiction #plus size reader #plus size smut #plus size y/n #smut #acotar x reader

[atlabeth]

price of dreaming

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: luke's spiral and the part you play in it.

a/n: this is so sad i'm sorry. like it's just a couple thousand words of luke being sad with a cute little flashback and a percy mention to make it all more sad. i don't know what's wrong with me why did i start writing this series

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): pretty severe angst bc this takes place after hurricane's death and goes up to mid tlt. death ideation, minor descriptions of injuries, luke isn't the best person, just a whole lot of sadness.

Luke returns to camp two weeks after your death, nothing more than a shell of himself.                      

Half of his time was spent sitting in an interrogation room in a Boston police station, mumbling his way through questions he doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not every day that a teenage girl is found nearly ripped apart in the middle of a city with her boyfriend completely broken next to her. Two EMTs had to literally drag him away from you—at least, that’s what they tell Luke. Everything after your heartbeat stopped is a blur for him. He doesn’t really even know how he got to the station.

And that’s how it is for a while. He talks to detectives who don’t believe him, he stares at the wall and wishes you were here, he goes home with your mom. She’s being asked just as many questions, and she refuses to leave him out on the street or take him back to camp. She doesn’t understand that Luke’s done it all before. 

Eventually, the officers settle on a freak animal attack. It didn’t make sense for an animal capable of doing that to be in the city, but mortals see what they want to see. Luke is just thankful to be out of it. 

But he doesn’t know what to do next. There’s a huge gaping hole in his chest and in his life without you, and he doesn’t know how to live without you. Every time Luke closes his eyes he sees your face, and he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night since it happened. He only really manages to stay out when his body practically shuts down from exhaustion. 

Your mom treats Luke like a second son while he’s living with her, and it pains him more than anything. She asks him if he wants to stay with her, try and finish out the semester. He was surprised she still wanted anything to do with him. 

Luke declined. He loved your mom, but being in that apartment without you—walking past your room and knowing you would never be there again, seeing a space you carved out for yourself knowing the most integral part was missing—was just too much for him. The full reality of you being gone still hadn’t sunk in yet. 

He’s soured on the city of Boston as a whole. He’s felt your blood on his hands since the moment it stained his fingers, and for as long as Luke lives he will never forget the look on your mother’s face when she showed up at the police station. 

Your mom offers to drive him back to camp, and though he wants to say no to that as well, he doesn’t. Luke can tell that she needs a distraction, and he doesn’t really know how else he’s gonna get back to camp. They don’t talk very much on the way there, but neither of them burst into tears, so he considers it a victory. 

She parks at the bottom of the hill and hugs him so tightly he can’t breathe, but he welcomes any kind of feeling. 

“Stay safe, Luke,” she says, her hands on his shoulders. “And if you ever need a place to stay—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “And I’ll try.”

She nods a few times, and she blinks back tears as she looks up at him. “Thank you for everything you did for my daughter. For all those years that you kept her safe.”

It clearly wasn’t enough, Luke wants to say. If it was, he wouldn’t have lost you back then, and he wouldn’t have lost you now. But that wouldn’t help anyone, so he nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his throat still dry as a desert. 

“Always.”  

“I know how much you meant to each other,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, Luke.” 

He holds back his emotions. “So am I.” 

Your mom nods again and they say their goodbyes once more, hugging one last time. When Luke reaches the top of the hill, he looks back to see her still standing there. He wishes he could do something to ease the pain, but he doesn’t even know how to deal with his own. 

Luke stops at Thalia’s tree, and he already feels that lump in his throat. 

“I hope you’re together in Elysium,” he murmurs. “I always thought you would like each other.” 

The beginnings of tears prick the back of his eyes and he clears his throat, shaking his head like it’ll help silence the millions of thoughts scattered around his brain. If Thalia lives on like this, he hopes your spirit is still around somewhere.

“I love you,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I failed both of you.”

Nobody at camp knows. How could they? 

Luke wasn’t expected back until the summer, though, so his presence at the top of the hill is telling in of itself. Especially alone. 

He ignores everyone that tries to talk to him and gets to the Big House to break the news to Chiron. Thankfully, when he dissolves into tears, it’s behind closed doors. Chiron takes it in a saddened stride, and Luke wonders how many heroes have died in his lifetime. 

You have no siblings to make a burial shroud, so the Athena cabin takes up the responsibility. Annabeth invites him to take part, but he can hardly stomach the thought. 

It’s beautiful. They emulate the ocean through embroidery and Annabeth even gets a little Red Sox patch in. They let Luke burn it, and he’s amazed he even makes it through the ceremony. But the entire camp shows up, and there isn’t a single dry eye. He hopes you at least know how many people care about you. 

Chris takes over as counselor for the indefinite future, which is probably a good thing when Luke can barely muster the strength to get out of bed most days. He picks at his food when he’s able to make it to meals, and his prayers to Hermes have never felt emptier. He used to do one for Poseidon every so often, especially when you were at school, but the thought makes him sick. His eyes never stop trailing over to Cabin Three’s table. 

The Poseidon cabin is empty again. 

Luke doesn’t fully realize the path he’s taken until he’s standing in the doorway and the scent of salty air hits him. He’s so used to hanging out with you after dinner that he just went there automatically. 

It feels unfinished. It is unfinished. You had a whole box of things back in Boston that you wanted to bring back to camp to decorate. 

Your posters still hang on the walls—Blondie, Pearl Jam, Alanis Morisette. Fairy lights are falling down in the corner, and they’re unplugged. Luke had to remind you to unplug them before you left for the school year. 

You should be standing next to him, smiling and laughing and dragging him in behind you as you rant about capture the flag or the canoe race you definitely didn’t cheat in. He blinks away the tears building in his eyes and he takes a step back. 

You should be here. You’re not. 

(How many more times is he going to end up here chasing ghosts?) 

There are some things a person just can’t get over. 

And that’s how his days go. He barely manages to get out of bed, picks at meals that taste like sand, musters what little strength he has to lead sword lessons, endures pitiful looks and sympathetic speeches. 

Luke gets lost in the past more than he should, oftentimes sitting on the beach talking to you as he watches the waves roll in or sneaking out to the dock in the middle of the night to be in the company of the only person he can stand. 

By the time summer comes back around, Luke is sure of three things. 

He isn’t ever going to be the same again. 

You should still be alive. 

He won’t rest until he’s torn Olympus down brick by brick. 

-

“It’s quiet here,” Luke said.

“That’s what happens when you don’t have any siblings,” you murmured. 

His eyes trailed over to the door and you nudged him with your shoulder. “What do you keep looking over there for? Scared someone’s gonna catch us?” 

He shrugged. “We’re technically not allowed to be in here together.” 

“They can’t say anything,” you said. “We’re both counselors. And no one’s in this place anyways. Besides,” you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, “we’ve earned all the time in the world.” 

Luke smiled and snaked an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “You think so?” 

“We lost two years together,” you said, laying your head on his chest. “Far as I’m concerned, no one can say a damn thing to us.” 

“It always feels like we talk about the past,” he said. “What about the future?” 

“All I know is I want you in it,” you mused. You always loved resting on his chest because you could hear his heartbeat, could feel the slight rise and fall from his breathing. It meant he was alive, and after what you’d been through, that was more valuable than anything. 

“Obviously,” Luke said coyly. “I want you in mine too. But what about the details?” 

“We gotta finish high school first,” you said. “Have you thought about what I said?” 

“...Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just been a while since I’ve left camp. Going back to school seems rough for someone who hasn’t been in classes since elementary school.” 

You shook your head. “Which is exactly why my school would be perfect for you. We left at the same age, remember?” You took his hand and began to trace the lines of his palm. “It took some getting used to, but I made it. If I can, so can you—and I’ll help you every step of the way.” 

Luke chuckled softly. “I’m a little worried about leaving Annabeth.” 

“Annabeth of all people would support you going for your education,” you said. “And it’s not like she’ll be on her own—everyone likes her here.” 

“...Talk me through it,” Luke decided. “Say we both go back for the school year. What does a sophomore year for the two of us back in Boston look like?” 

“Well, we’d be living together. We have an extra room in our apartment, and I’m sure I can convince my mom to let you take it.” You let out a sigh as you shifted, moving closer into Luke’s side. “We’d take the T together to school, but you don’t have to worry because I can show you around everywhere.” 

He chuckled. "I could use a refresher on Boston. Don't have the fondest memories there."

"We'll just make some new ones," you promised. “I’m on the soccer team, too. I was JV this year, but I’m gonna make varsity next fall—mark my words.” 

Luke rubbed your shoulder as he hummed. “And I’d come to every game.” 

“You better.” You glanced up at him with a smile. “You could try out for something too. I think you’d make a killing in basketball.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you not remember all those pick-up games we played when we were younger and bored? I was gods-awful.” 

“This’ll be different,” you insisted. “You’ll actually be sleeping on a bed every night, and eating consistently. I think that makes you a better athlete. Plus, you’re not three feet tall anymore.” 

Luke laughed as he intertwined your fingers together. “The star soccer player and the mediocre basketball player. We make quite a couple.” 

“You’d be better than mediocre,” you said. “Anyways—we’d play our sports and kill it, I’d introduce you to all the friends I made last year, I’d show you all around Boston, and I’d get you hooked on the Red Sox.” 

He leaned back against the headboard with a chuckle. “You’re really never gonna let this go, are you?” 

“It’s my sovereign duty to put you onto the Red Sox,” you said, “especially surrounded by all these Yankees. I’m gonna get you to a game one of these days. And after we kill sophomore year, we’ll kill junior and senior year.” You tapped on his chest for each year with your free hand, and his smile grew. “Then we’ll graduate high school together. With honors, and monster-free.” 

“You have such high standards,” Luke said wryly. “I’ve always thought I’d be lucky to pass with C’s.” 

“You haven’t always had me,” you mused. “And when we’re together, we can’t lose.” 

Luke smiled as he looked at your intertwined hands. “Y’know, I think your plan sounds pretty good. I’m pretty sure I could put up with school if it meant more time with you.” 

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Luke moved his hand to keep you there, and when you pulled away, a delicate blush painted his cheeks and pure love danced in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. 

You were the luckiest girl in the world. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Luke offered a sideways grin. “For what?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

“Thank you, then,” he said. 

“For what?” 

“For sticking with me,” Luke said. “Through everything.” 

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” you murmured. 

-

The second year isn’t any easier. 

Luke is back to being year-round. There’s no point in going home—not when Connecticut hasn’t welcomed him in years. Not when he would just be another problem for your mother in the midst of her grief. 

So he stays at camp. Endures the pitiful looks from everyone, lies his way through attempted therapy with Chiron, trains more than ever before. No one seems to know how to treat him, because he goes from completely alone to swarmed with sympathy to completely alone again. It takes two months before his friends are acting like he’s a normal person again, and even then it still feels like they’re walking on glass. 

Luke can’t find enough inside of him to care. 

He practices with his sword until he feels like his arms might fall off, only narrowly avoiding the harpies each night. His siblings ask how he does it, why he does it, and he just says he wants to get better. 

But Luke refuses to let it happen again—not when his surrogate sister is all he has left. Not when he sees you every time he closes his eyes. 

His birthday comes and goes, but seventeen is empty without you. He replays your past conversations in his head, about traveling together and graduating together and maybe even going to college together. Demigods aren’t meant to think about the future, but he dared to dream with you. 

And the worst part was that you were right. You made varsity. You were in the middle of killing sophomore year, despite Luke struggling his way through with C’s and the occasional D—you had always been smarter than him. You got him out to a Red Sox game, and gods forbid, he actually enjoyed it. 

You were living the life you deserved, a life of happiness and success and with Luke, and you didn’t even make it past sophomore year. You were meant for so much more, and every day he questions why it was taken from you. Every day, he questions why you’re gone and he’s not. 

The year chugs on in all its misery, and for the first time since he all but rejected him as his son, Hermes appears to Luke. 

His father gives him a quest, and he takes it despite the inherent insult of it. Maybe some part of him hopes he’ll die out there and finally get to see you again. 

(Another part wonders if he’s even worth Elysium. Luke lost you once, then he lost Thalia, and now he’s lost you again. Some kind of hero he is.) 

He goes it alone. It takes him back to the first couple of months before he met you, and when the thought hits him, it almost overwhelms him. Everything makes Luke think of you, but it makes sense. He’s only living half a life—he’s missing the other half of his soul. 

Luke fails his quest. He manages to get a claw and he manages to nearly lose an eye. There’s no glory in a repeated quest, but there might be even less glory in this. 

And once more, Luke staggers back to camp as a victim rather than a hero. Someone only worthy of pity, someone so weak that Chiron bans quests unless they’re absolutely necessary. It takes weeks for the scars on his body to heal, and the mark on his face even longer. He becomes well-acquainted with the cycle of Apollo kids that take shifts in the infirmary.  

He feels nothing but disgust every time he looks in the mirror. After all, the claw marks ripping their way through his body match yours. Sometimes he wishes Ladon finished the job. 

It doesn’t make sense why, after everything, he’s still here. 

Luke can hardly stand to be at camp, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He gets better at hiding his emotions, better at acting like he’s gotten through it. New demigods show up and he’s not the bereaved counselor anymore—he’s not introduced with his grief. He hides it away.  

No one wants to deal with all the problems he’s racked up. His mom, his dad, Thalia, you.    He’s a demigod. Demigods are resilient. So he plays the part—he’s been through a lot, but he’s past it. He promises he’s not a burden anymore. He’s just a normal kid. 

And for a while, Luke is almost able to believe it himself. He’s never going to be over you, but he starts feeling like a person again rather than a ghost of one. He’s fully taken over the mantle of counselor again, and he’s actually present during sword-fighting lessons. He even manages to get a six-month-long capture the flag winning streak going on. 

And then Kronos appears in his dreams. 

Luke knows Greek mythology. It’s hard not to pick up a couple things when you’re fighting stuff from the history books, but they teach some lessons at camp. It’s nice to know what you’re up against before you die a brutal death. 

Kronos killed his father. He ate his children. Every wicked deed was done for power, and power is what he offers Luke. 

And maybe there’s something wrong with him, because it’s the first time he’s felt hope since he left Boston. 

Luke finally has an answer to something. He’s been silently cursing the gods for years, trying to figure out a way to tear everything down without getting himself immediately killed, and he’s got one. 

Kronos speaks to him most nights. He remembers the dreams you shared with him in your final year, all the restless hours spent sitting together on the fire escape as he soothed you. You thought Kronos was the reason for it, but he couldn’t have been. His dreams were nothing like yours. 

But still, Luke wonders every day what you would say if you were here, if you knew the treacherous path he’d embarked on. Kronos promised power, freedom, an end to Olympus and the reign of the gods. 

He doesn’t care about power. He just wants to hold you again. He wants to hear your laugh again. He wants to see your smile in more than pictures. 

But he can’t. And he wants to destroy everyone responsible for it. 

So he does everything the Titan Lord asks of him. He hones his skills even further, he lays low, and when the time is right, he steals Zeus’s bolt and Hades’ helm. Luke even nearly beats Ares when he’s caught, but Kronos doesn’t lead him astray—he speaks of divine war, and he gets out of it. 

He continues to see you. Kronos doesn’t lead him astray, but he punishes him for such a close call. Luke wakes in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving with labored breaths, and he feels your blood on his hands all over again. He sees you die over and over again and he can do nothing to stop it.  

You always told each other about your nightmares. 

That’s the hardest part of it all. You’ve always been so closely intertwined with Luke’s life since the moment he saved you in that aquarium years ago, and he can’t see any way to let go of you. He can’t—even though you’re gone, you’re still a part of him. His first instinct in any situation is to tell you, and it kills him that he can’t. 

And maybe things would have turned out different for Luke if you were still around. He’s never going to forgive himself for your death, and he’s certainly never going to forgive the gods. Thalia pushed him to the edge, but you were the breaking point. Luke is only nineteen and he’s loved and lost more than most.

Maybe things would be different if you were here. But you’re not, and they aren’t. So when a new demigod shows up, covered in monster dust and nearly dead on camp’s doorstep with Grover in tow, Luke doesn’t hesitate. 

He killed the Minotaur, and his mom is dead. Skilled enough to take on a quest, desperate enough to ignore a couple warning signs. Percy Jackson is the boy Kronos told him about. 

So Luke takes him under his wing. Shows him around camp, welcomes him to the Hermes cabin, trains with him one-on-one. 

Something about his spirit reminds him of you. It’s the grit, he thinks. The determination. The refusal to back down even when it’s the smartest option. When he asks about you that night in the Hermes cabin, Luke’s heart stutters. The kid is too sharp for his liking. 

It doesn’t take long before Luke manages to cement himself as one of his friends, maybe only third to Annabeth and Grover. He’s a lost kid that’s been thrust into a world he doesn’t understand, and Luke is the closest thing to a rock most campers have got. 

It’s supposed to just be a guise, but sometimes, he forgets himself. He likes Percy too much—he just feels too much like a younger brother, and that’s not really good for the already growing guilt in his chest. 

Maybe it’s because Luke sees himself in Percy. Someone playing a part he’s not aware of, an unfortunate pawn with no choice in the matter. Luke tries to push it away. Kronos wouldn’t lead him astray—this was the path he had to take if he wanted anything to change. 

But it’s not like that makes it easier. Because gods, Percy has never looked more like a kid than when he’s suited up in armor for capture the flag. It almost makes Luke regret the plan he has to enact. 

Almost. 

Annabeth has a plan as usual, and thankfully Percy plays the part of bait. Luke tunes out of everything else and lets his battle senses take over—things have already been set into play, and now all Luke can do is hide in plain sight. Soon enough he’s got the red team’s flag past the boundary line, and he’s hoisted up onto his teammates shoulders. Luke is almost able to forget what he’s done. 

…Almost. 

A howl rips through the forest, and the hellhound Luke summoned after the start of the game launches itself at Percy. He’s on the ground before he knows it, the flag forgotten in his hand as he rushes over with the rest of the campers. 

For some ungodly reason, Annabeth tries to step in front of him, but she’s thankfully too slow. The monster swipes at Percy and its claws shred through his armor. For a split second, Luke is back in Boston and his chest stills.

Chiron solves the problem with a cluster of arrows, but the camp is in immediate disarray. Clarisse instantly accuses Percy, Annabeth is trying to make sure Percy doesn’t die, and Luke just hopes his shock is believable enough to hide his annoyance. He’s just a scrawny kid—how the hell is he still alive? But then the unthinkable happens.

Annabeth tells Percy to step back in the lake. The instant he’s in the water, what should have been a fatal wound starts to heal. 

And then a glowing blue trident appears above Percy Jackson’s head. 

Luke feels sick as he lowers himself to one knee with the rest of camp. As the hellhound he summoned melts into the shadows, as he stares at the sacrificial lamb of a demigod meant to unknowingly enact his plan. 

“Poseidon,” Chiron says. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

Your brother. 

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon #sadie writes

[holllandtrash]

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 12)

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 12 and final part to the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

it's the first race you attend with Lando, the first time tensions are high before the race can even start, the first time your fears turn into reality because of course, it can never be easy. or can it?

word count: 6.5k tags/warning: mention of the 2022 hungarian grand prix, a lot of anxiety, alluding to driver!injury i think thats it

The end of July brought you to Budapest for the Hungarian Grand Prix. 

It was also the first time you attended a race weekend with the intention of showing up in the paddock with a driver other than Charles. 

You spent most of Friday and Saturday in the McLaren motorhome, but now it was the race. You weren’t going to hide behind the safety of the black and orange walls. You were going to be there, in the garage, to show your support for Lando. 

But you were not prepared for how extremely out of place you would feel.

You had never spent any time in any other team’s pit except for Pierre’s one time and even then it was because you lost a bet and had to wear Alpha Tauri merch for an entire weekend. You didn’t choose to be there.

You chose to show your support for Lando this weekend. 

He wanted you there, of course, but you also wanted to be there. 

You were standing in the booth at the rear of the garage when Lando approached you from the side, hand finding your back to give you a comforting touch before he reached for his balaclava. 

There were still a few minutes before the cars had to be wheeled out to their starting positions. Lando wasn’t in any hurry to get into the cockpit, nor did he like putting himself in a position where he felt rushed or uneasy.

You, on the other hand, felt uneasy. 

That wasn’t even the right word for it. You were stressed, anxious, paranoid, on edge, literally every single thing you shouldn’t be feeling before a race. 

Lando sensed it. Maybe it was the way you didn’t lean into his touch like you normally would. Or maybe he caught the way your smile was forced on his behalf, to make it seem like you were okay. Whatever it was, Lando knew you. In a very short period of time, he knew how to recognise what you were feeling.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly, discarding the white mask on top of the booth as he rested his arms on the surface. He clasped his hands together after dragging his fingers through his hair, but his worried eyes met yours. “You’re more scared about the race than I am.”

You were careful to keep your voice down. SkySports was standing just outside the garage with a camera and for some reason those mic’s picked up absolutely everything. 

“Scared’s not the word I would use,” you spoke through a heavy inhale. You wished Lando’s loving gaze was enough to calm your nerves, but he wasn’t the only driver on the grid who had an affect on your emotions.

Lando nodded, “Feels a bit odd not standing in the Ferrari garage, yeah?”

“It just feels wrong,” you admitted. And then your hand went to cover his, eyes going wide when you realised the strength of your words, “I do want to be here, really. It’s just weird, is all. Like I should be there to talk to Charles before he puts his helmet on and tell him good luck- not saying that it’s a pre race ritual but in a way, it sort of is?” You huffed out an exasperated breath, hoping that what you were saying was making sense. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. It’s just weird that I’m at a race and I’ve said two words to Charles. Hi and bye.”

Lando turned his hands over to connect them with yours, giving your fingers a squeeze. He glanced down at his balaclava and then up at the screen where F1TV was playing. When the image changed from a close up on Lewis to one of Charles standing in the back of the garage, in a nearly identical spot to where you stood in McLaren, you both noticed the way Charles’ normally calm demeanour was replaced with one that, again, was nearly identical to yours.

“You know, I never really thought you two looked alike,” Lando muttered, but in this moment you could have been twins. 

The agitation was clear on both of your faces. Eyes glossed over with guilt and uncertainty as neither of you knew what to say to the other but both finding your lack of presence in the garage to be way too noticeable and foreign for your own good.

Lando looked at you, nodding his head in the direction of the pit lane, “You should go there.”

“I want to be here,” you told him. You were certain about that. 

“You don’t need to stay there,” Lando reminded you. He took a quick look at the screen. “There’s still a few minutes before either of us have to get in the cars. I’m sure he’d appreciate you telling him good luck.”

That thought had crossed your mind, just stopping by and returning back to McLaren. But if you did that, how would Charles take it? Would he see it as a pity pop-in? Would he think that would be your version of an apology? Even though you had absolutely nothing to apologise for. You didn’t know what would go through his head, but you could count on him somehow turning it around and blaming your quick hello as the catalyst if he were to have a poor race.

Lando sensed your hesitation and instead of trying to convince you further to go and say something to your brother, he gave you the opportunity to look at it from a different perspective. 

“You know, maybe Charles is thinking the same thing?” He told you. “It’s probably just as weird for him knowing that you’re at the race but haven’t said anything. I’m not saying you have to apologise, you shouldn’t apologise, but-” he licked his lips, eyes darting up to the screen again. “If you’re the one who’s saying he shouldn’t bring his personal problems onto the track, don’t you think you should do the same?”

That thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

A sliver of a smile teased the corner of his lips. “You can be a supportive sister and still be mad at him. Just like you can be my girlfriend and his biggest fan. You’re not trapped in a box. None of us are.”

Your eyebrows raised, “Girlfriend? Did I miss-” you pointed at him and then around the general area. “-did I miss something? Did a grand gesture happen?”

Lando rolled his eyes, leaning forward to bump his elbow against your arm before he nodded towards the pit lane once more, “Go wish your brother good luck.”

You eventually gave in and nodded. Lando took the bright orange headset that rested around your neck and placed it on the booth, making sure to brush his thumb across your cheek as he did so. You agreed, no annoying acts of PDA in the paddock, but he couldn’t help but find any reason to touch you. 

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him and you grazed your hand across his back, another small but simple gesture to show that you also couldn’t keep your hands off him, before you used the rear doors to sneak out of the McLaren garage. 

There were anxious butterflies in your stomach when you pulled on the door handle to Ferrari. The same last-minute chaos was present in the garage like usual, but it didn’t take long for you to find Charles, standing next to his car, chatting with Xavi. 

Strangely enough, when he spotted you, it felt similarly wrong to be standing in that garage. Like you didn’t belong, and you had just experienced that same dilemma in McLaren. You hated that feeling, as though you didn’t belong anywhere. 

But Charles didn’t ignore you. He didn’t turn back to you and leave you with that sinking feeling in your chest. He excused himself from Xavi and walked towards you, fiddling with the racing gloves in his hands. 

“I just wanted to say good luck,” you blurted out, like ripping off a bandaid. You said it, now you could leave. And you started to, you stepped backwards, ready to head towards McLaren again. 

Charles stopped you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, smiling a little. “You’re ah- you’re at McLaren?”

It was your turn to nod, “Yeah it’s less chaotic over there, believe it or not. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” When the end of your sentence flowed into soft laughter, Charles joined in, rubbing his lips to possibly try and hide that he found your words humorous.

You hated this, the awkward small talk with your own brother. 

His demeanour shifted, his shoulders tensed as he inhaled a sharp breath. Whatever was on his mind, whatever he wanted to say, he had been sitting on it for a while. Maybe since you left dinner so abruptly. 

And yes, you wanted to clear the air with your brother, but now was not the time to do it. Not when he was minutes away from climbing into the car. You both learned your lesson last time. 

“I’ll see you after the race,” You told him, preventing him from opening the door to a new conversation. This was the moment when you had to separate your brother from the driver and right now, he was a driver. 

Charles nodded as someone handed him his racing helmet. You wished him good luck once more and shared a smile before you made your way back to the McLaren garage, feeling much lighter now.

Lando noticed it, he noticed the lack of tension in your features as he reached for his helmet that was left on the booth. He gave you a thumbs up from across the garage and you reciprocated it before cupping your hand around your mouth and calling out a quick ‘good luck’ to him as well.

You were certainly feeling better going into the race, but it didn’t take long for the nerves to return.

As you watched the first few laps, you suddenly remembered why you gave yourself the no dating drivers rule. You were anxious enough as it was with your, somewhat, strained relationship with Charles, but as his sister, you still hoped for his success.

And now you were watching with caution every time Lando made a move as well. Everytime he locked up into a corner, every time he went in too deep, everytime his race was at risk. 

You didn’t like the constant back and forth, wanting to keep up with what both Lando and Charles were doing at the same time, holding your breath for each of them, feeling twice the amount of stress build up to the point where you thought you needed to vomit.

It didn’t help when at lap six, there had already been a yellow flag brought out due to a minor incident involving Yuki, but now you were watching the lap 12 replay of Nyck de Vries spinning out into the barrier. At first, you thought he’d be able to reverse and get himself to the pits but when the red flags were called due to the damage to the front portion of his car and all the drivers started to return to the pits, you felt even more anxious.

There would have to be a restart. 

Turn 1 at the Hungaroring stressed you out enough. You remembered the 2021 grand prix here when nearly six cars had to retire from an accident that took place at that first corner on the first lap. You thought that the drivers were all safe this time when no big moves were made and everyone made it through that corner without any damage.

Now they had to do it all over again. Elbows were going to be up this time, the drivers’ were undoubtedly going to make some risky, or dumb, moves. 

The red flag brought all of the drivers out of their respective cars. Lando sent you a thumbs up from across the garage, but that was about all he could give you at this given time. His attention went towards the mini impromptu briefing in regards to how to go about the last three quarters of this race.

You tried to tell yourself that, as horrible as Nyck’s red flag was, maybe it was the one incident this race would have. How likely was it that something else would occur? 

The twisting knot in your stomach told you not to get your hopes up.

You were watching the broadcast for a bit, trying to pass the time and not think about what could go wrong when you felt a hand on your waist. 

“Be careful,” you said, eyes filled with worry as you turned towards Lando. 

“Be careful?” he repeated with a chuckle, “It’s just a restart, everything’s fine. Car’s fine, I’m good, I just want to race.”

But you couldn’t explain it. Deep in your gut you just knew there was room for mistakes, that something was going to go wrong on this restart. These drivers were eager to get back in their cars and keep fighting and that’s when their margin of error grew. 

“Just be careful,” you repeated, pressing your palm to the side of his face, thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek. Lando knew better than to make a joke at this moment, seeing how paranoid you were and he just nodded before he was ultimately called away. 

That horrible gut feeling only grew when the drivers got back in their cars. You watched, holding your breath as they lined up in the starting positions, ready for the safety car to take them on a formulation lap.

When they were finally back on the grid, your heart was racing. Lando was starting from seventh. Charles in fourth. The red lights lit up one by one and then they were off. 

Max got off beautifully, even you could admit that, but that was maybe the only positive thing to take away from this restart. 

George nicked the back of Carlos’ car and sent him spinning. Lewis’ reaction time was fast and he avoided the Ferrari but he couldn’t avoid Checo who had locked up ahead of him right before turn one. Somehow, in this chaos, Lando managed to swerve to the side and narrowly miss the collisions. 

The same couldn’t be said for Charles. 

There wasn’t much he could do when the unfortunate series of events caused Checo to spin and block Charles’ Ferrari, colliding into the red side pod and sending car number 16 into the air before ultimately flipping upside down onto the gravel.

You watched with that painful, sinking feeling as Charles slid into the barriers. Very reminiscent of Zhou’s crash in Silverstone the previous year, but now it was your brother who found himself in this situation. Upside down in the cockpit.

And you had no idea if he was okay. 

It wasn’t like you were wearing one of the Ferrari headsets and could listen to Xavi’s radio message, asking Charles to confirm he was okay. You were standing in the McLaren garage, hand over your mouth and had to wait like everyone else. 

This was the moment you were referring to that night in Montreal. The moment when your world stopped.

You had to grip onto the booth, feeling your legs start to weaken beneath you. You just needed to know he was okay. For the love of god why hadn’t they broadcasted anything yet? Why hadn’t they announced he was fine? Why haven’t the marshals pulled him out of the car? Why wasn’t Charles climbing out of the seat?

These were the slowest seconds of your life. 

Your lungs were failing you. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Your eyes were glued to the screen and all you wanted was to scream for someone to tell you that he was fucking fine. 

As you watched the broadcast, a close up on your face appeared in a square on the side of the screen. You had no idea you were crying, or that there was even a camera on you until Jolyon Palmer’s fucking voice pointed it out.

“...Leclerc’s sister watches on like the rest of us from the McLaren garage- oh and it appears one of the McLarens is also in the gravel, is that Lando’s car? I believe it is, but he’s not- he avoided the collision, didn’t he-”

Alex Jacques interjected, “He’s getting out of the car! Lando Norris is sprinting across the gravel towards the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc-”

His voice became background noise as you watched the scene unfold. Lando, who got away relatively fine with very little or possibly no damage, could have continued the race but he had gotten out of his McLaren and was now bent down next to the open cockpit of Charles’ car. 

Lando lifted his head, waving the marshals over who had taken way too long to show up, in your opinion. Or maybe you just felt as though they were moving slowly because everything else was. 

You saw Lando reach in and pull the steering wheel from the car and then finally, the black glove belonging to Charles grabbed onto Lando’s hand, needing his assistance to be pulled out from behind the halo. 

There was a collective sigh of relief from the entire McLaren garage, probably from the entire paddock honestly. Even as the marshals showed up, Lando refused to step aside. Even when Charles stood up, Lando kept his hand on the Ferrari driver's back and used his other hand to point to the safety car that was pulling up. 

Charles pulled his helmet off, even though he was most definitely advised to keep it on for the time being. As the camera focused on his features, it was impossible to miss how shaken up he was from that crash. He wasn’t angry that everything out of his control caused him to retire from the race, he was scared. 

His life flashed before his eyes, you couldn’t blame him.

He said something to Lando, nodding his head slightly and the tension lines in his forehead seemed to reside, just for a moment. 

Lando patted his shoulder, happy to see that a fellow driver was walking away from this incident with minor injuries. He’d have to retire, they both would. The second that Lando made the decision to get out of the car, he forfeited his race. It was one of the rules brought on by the FIA, one that didn’t even cross his mind. 

All he cared about was making sure Charles was okay.

Lando didn’t need to join Charles in the safety car, but he did and Charles was probably thankful for it, that a familiar face would be with him as he was being transported to the medical centre. 

You ditched the orange headset and sprinted out of the garage. The medical centre was just on the other side of the garages and you were certain you looked a little insane as you ran as though you were competing in a marathon, but you didn’t care. 

There was security outside the medical centre, of course there was. The drivers needed their privacy as they were being checked over, but you didn’t expect to be denied entry. Charles was your brother. 

“Oh come on,” you scoffed, sounding a bit frantic as you gestured to the doors. “He’s my brother! I need to make sure he’s okay, that he’s-”

And then the door opened from the inside and a very dishevelled Lando, still in his drivers suit, was standing there. He had heard you, it was impossible to not hear you with the way you were making a scene. He told the guard you were fine to come in and reluctantly, he stepped aside.

As thankful as you were that Lando was there to vouch for you, your attention was solely on Charles. You didn’t take a second to thank Lando for getting out of the car, you barely even acknowledged him as you ran down the hall to the examining room.

Before you could open the door you took a peek through the small window and saw him sitting on the edge of the examining bed. He was given the chance to change out of his drivers suit and opted for a baggy Puma shirt and sweats. He sat still as the doctor checked him over, answering the questions with head nods or quiet ‘no’s’.

You told yourself you had to be patient. The last thing he or the doctor needed was you barging in. 

You leaned against the wall and forced yourself to slow down, to really process what hell just happened in such a short amount of time. Raising your hand to your cheeks, you finally wiped away the last bit of tears that had been stuck in the corner of your eyes.

“He’s okay.”

Looking down the hall you saw Lando making his way towards you. His intention was to give you a few minutes alone with Charles before joining you, but when you didn’t go inside the room and instead slumped yourself against the wall, Lando couldn’t just leave you.

Lando reached for your hand and gently tugged you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

It was comforting and it was what you needed right now.

“He’s okay,” Lando repeated, hand moving to stroke your hair. “Everyone’s okay, he’s a little shaken up but he’ll be fine.”

Lando pulled back slightly and took hold of your jaw, titling your face up. He brushed his thumbs under your puffy eyes, forcing himself to smile in assurance despite knowing how traumatising this was, not just for Charles but for your entire family. 

Speaking of family, Arthur was the next Leclerc to run into the medical centre. Having been here this weekend as well for F2, he had seen it all as well. Not from the garage, he wasn’t there during the actual race, but he was still in the paddock and experienced the exact same feelings you had. 

Lando stepped aside, letting you embrace your brother, both of you taking comfort in knowing that Charles was going to be fine. 

“As-tu parlé à maman? Enzo?” Have you spoken to mom? Enzo? You asked, slowly feeling your trembling body start to settle itself. Enzo was somewhere in the paddock as well, usually he watched from the Ferrari garage but he was nowhere to be found now. 

Arthur glanced at Lando and then at you, “Enzo’s on the phone with maman. When he knew Charles was safe, he called her.”

“Good,” you nodded. Enzo was probably the best option to calm your mother down and assure her everything was fine. You were still struggling to come to your senses and Arthur seemed to be about as loss for words as you were. 

When the doctor stepped out of the room, she wasn’t at all surprised to see a whole family affair happening outside the doors. She simply told you he was all clear but needed to stay in the bed for the remainder of the afternoon just to monitor his symptoms.

All you needed was the go-ahead to see him and once you were given a thumbs up, you pushed past the doctor to tackle Charles back onto the hospital bed he was trying to sit up in. Arthur joined as well, arms going around both of your bodies as Charles patted you both, or at least tried to with his restricted movements. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Charles told you through a chuckle, “Je le promets, je vais bien.” I promise, I’m fine. 

“It was terrifying, mate,” Arthur said on your behalf when you both stepped back to give Charles some space to breathe. “Upside down across the gravel-” he shook his head, “You’re lucky, is what you are.”

Charles nodded, there was no denying how grateful he should be, being able to walk away with very minor injuries. 

“My radio disconnected, I tried letting Xavi know I was okay but nothing was going through.”

God maybe it was better you didn’t have a Ferrari headset on. If you had to listen to Xavi calling to Charles asking for a response and not getting anything back, you probably would have ran out to the track yourself. 

“Did the race start again? Who's still in?” Charles asked, of course he was concerned about the race. 

Neither you nor Arthur had an answer though.

“All I know is George somehow caused five drivers to retire, including himself,” Arthur said, and then he counted on his fingers. “You, him, Carlos, Lewis and Checo.”

“And Lando,” Charles added without missing a beat. His eyes went directly to you. You hadn’t said a word since you entered the room, but what was there to say? 

This was your biggest fear and it could have gone so much worse. You were too dumbfounded to hear that Charles was going to be walking away after this to even think about anything else.

And that included Lando. 

“Lando’s car is fine,” Arthur pointed out.

“FIA rules,” you said with a swallow. “If you get out of the car-"

"-you abandon your race," Charles finished, a sliver of guilt crossed his face. He didn’t ask for Lando to help him, nor was Lando even slightly involved. He took it upon himself to check on the Monegasque driver. 

“Is he out there?” Charles asked, glancing at the door.

Truthfully, you didn’t know if Lando had stayed. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he went back to the McLaren garage. But when you opened the door and saw him sitting out in the hall, foot tapping against the floor, you put your hand on his shoulder and encouraged him with a nod to follow you into Charles’ room.

Lando kept his hand connected with yours, or maybe you refused to release the grip you had on his fingers, but his attention went to Charles.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Lando said what everyone else had been thinking this whole time.

Charles could have nodded in response. He could have said ‘same’ or ‘thanks’ anything, really. One word would have sufficed. 

But Charles looked at Lando and asked, “Why’d you get out of your car?”

The question wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t by any means upset that Lando did what he did. It was more personal curiosity, why would another driver sacrifice his own race? Why would Lando, someone who could have continued on and had a pretty successful race following the multiple retirements, stop his car and climb out?

“I think the better question is, why didn’t anyone else?” Lando answered, squeezing your hand. “Yes, we’re drivers but at the end of the day we’re just people. If I had crashed like that and no one came to check on me, I’d question the integrity of the grid.” 

Lando looked at you and then looked between the Leclerc brothers. All of you were wondering the same thing.

Would Charles have stopped for Lando if the situation was reversed? 

You prayed they would never find themselves in that situation again, but it was a question you would all be thinking about. Charles, especially. 

Lando didn’t stop for your sake. Sure, you were most definitely on his mind when he saw the way Charles’ flipped onto the gravel, but his thought process was not ‘I need to check on him because I’m dating his sister.’ Lando, in the goodness of his own heart, knew what needed to be done. He knew how terrifying it would be for Charles to hang upside in the cockpit, alone, probably anticipating impact from another car. 

Lando didn’t care about the race. He cared about Charles. Just like he cared about you and Oscar and Carlos and every single person he ever interacted with, had even the briefest relationship with. Lando was a good guy. 

He didn’t need to prove that to anyone, but he did. 

And Charles finally saw that. He could separate the driver from his friend. He could see Lando as a rival on the track and at the end of the day, still respect him as the person you chose to go home to.

“I really am glad you’re okay,” Lando said, a smile curling up on his lips. “I should get back to McLaren though- let me know if you need anything? I’m sure we both have to fill out incident reports or some shit.”

They exchanged a laugh and Lando leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before retreating out of the room. All of you waited until he was definitely out of earshot before Arthur was the one to break the silence, letting out the most exasperating breath ever as he gestured towards where Lando just stood.

“Are you still on your high horse or do you finally give them your blessing?” Arthur asked, earning a smile from you in response. 

Charles licked his lips, rolling his eyes in a very similar fashion to how you would, “They don’t need my blessing. They would have dated regardless.”

You nodded, agreeing with everything he had just said. Charles would not have been the one to separate you two. 

But it would certainly be nice to know he approved. It would be easier to breathe the next time you thought about inviting Lando to a family dinner. You didn’t want to have to fight with yourself when it came to choosing what garage to stand in during a race. You didn’t want there to be sides anymore.

As you stood there, waiting for Charles to say something that hinted towards him not having a problem with your relationship, it hit you that Charles was more stubborn than you gave him credit for. He would probably never give a verbal approval.

But his stare told a different story. The way he glanced at the door behind you. The realisation in his eyes when he thought about the way you leaned into Lando’s touch before he left the room. The look Charles gave you told you that he could see how happy that McLaren driver made you, that he knew there was no point in fighting it.

So he didn’t have to say anything, you knew. 

You stayed in that room for the rest of the afternoon, even though Arthur did tell you that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you went and found Lando. Charles didn’t even tense up when he suggested it. 

But you stayed seated next to Charles’ bed, Arthur on his other side as you watched the race restart for the third time. Enzo joined you not long after and he sat down next to you, nudging your side and asking where Lando was, as if it was odd that he wasn’t there.

“I’ll find him later,” you said, but later would turn out to be way after the race when you finally made it back to the hotel. 

Lando had texted you just before the race ending, asking if you were getting a ride back to the hotel with your brother. He also checked in on Charles, making sure he was still, in his words, ‘alive and nowhere closer to the drivers championship’. Charles rolled his eyes when he read that text over your shoulder.

Lando knew how important family was to you, even during the uncertain times. That’s why he wasn’t upset in the slightest that you spent the rest of the race with your brothers. He could separate you, the girl he was waiting to call his girlfriend, from the girl whose brother was a Formula 1 driver.

He knew what he was getting into when he looked at you differently all those weeks ago, he knew he’d have to share you, that this would only make all three of your lives a little more chaotic, but he still looked at you.

And god was he glad he did. 

You returned to the hotel and told Charles to call you if you needed anything before heading up the elevator to the room you and Lando were sharing for the weekend. As you looked into your purse to find your room key, something on the carpeted hotel floor caught your eye.

A white flower petal. Just one. 

And then another just a few feet ahead.

And then a dozen more that you didn’t pick them up, but you followed the wavy line of them all the way to the door to your suite, which had been propped open by a deadbolt lock preventing the door from shutting all the way.

You pushed it open only to see full daisies attached to their stems on the floor this time, also in a line that you followed down the hall and around the corner. You were starting to imagine what was waiting for you behind the bedroom door, but never in your wildest dreams would you have pictured this.

Lando standing at the edge of a bed, not in one of his own Quadrant t-shirts for a change but a form fitting black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and just enough of his chest showing that you had to remind yourself there was more to look at. 

On top of the bed was a box of pizza, but it was flipped open and it was mouthwatering. It wasn’t some random box he picked up at a shop on the way back to the hotel, this gourmet pizza looked like it cost a pretty penny. 

On the side table were two glasses, wine glasses of course, but next to an unopened bottle of Perrier because Lando didn’t drink wine but you both had no complaints about sparkling water. 

Most importantly, in his hand was a bouquet of daisies, beautifully wrapped in brown paper. 

And it finally clicked.

“I thought I’d redo our first date,” Lando said quietly as you walked towards him.

The pizza, the flowers, the sparkling water. Everything that was in attendance that first night he came to your place, unannounced and unwelcome but somehow it ended up being the most beautiful start of these whirlwind couple of months. 

“That wasn’t a date,” you teased as Lando handed you the bouquet. 

“Agree to disagree,” same words too. 

Lando snaked his arm around your back, hand spread across the thin fabric of your shirt as he pulled you against his chest. You draped an arm over his shoulders, careful not to drop the flowers as two very similar smirks grew on both of your faces. 

Lando stopped himself from kissing you, instead letting his lips hover over yours as he quieted his voice, “Do I really have to ask?”

“Yes.”

He squinted, something he did when his smile grew. You loved the lines around his eyes, the creases in his forehead when he was undeniably happy. It meant so much more knowing you were the reason for his bright features.

Lando took a breath before your first and last name passed through his lips. His hand moved further up your back and even though you knew what was happening, your heart was still racing, in the way you wanted it to this time. 

“Will you-” he paused, rolling his eyes at how naive this all sounded, but he carried on because he knew it was what you wanted. “Will you, please, be my girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows twitched, “Oh, you’re begging?”

Lando turned his head, “Okay, you know what, I take it back-”

Before he could finish the rest of that sentence you cupped the side of his face and pulled his lips to yours. Lando’s grip on your back pulled you tighter against his body as the daisies slipped from your hand and onto the edge of the bed. 

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend,” you muttered against his lips, kissing him quickly once more. 

Lando was blushing at your response, but his grin shifted into yet another smirk. One with an ulterior motive, one that had you slightly cautious.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I only checked on Charles because I knew it would move me up your driver ranking?”

You pulled back and stared up at him, jaw slack as he held his hand over his stomach and laughed at his own words.

“I’m kidding!” He assured you, blurting that out before you could really question his motives. “I promise, I’m kidding. I really did want to make sure he was okay."

“Well now I don’t believe you,” you scoffed, but you only said it to get under his skin in response. 

You could tell when Lando was being honest and you could tell when he was simply making a joke. Granted, maybe now was not an ideal time to make a joke, but him being able to make you smile, even a little bit, after witnessing something as traumatic as Charles’ crash, was what you needed. 

Lando being there to support you, to be the shoulder you needed, to be someone who only had your well being, and apparently your brothers’ wellbeing, in mind, was all you ever needed. 

“I don’t think you’ll ever surpass my own brother on the ranking,” you admitted with a sly grin as he twisted a strand of your hair around your finger, tilting your face upwards again as he listened to your final ranking. There was some truth to it. Charles would always be up there, but there were never any rules against ties. “But you can share the number on spot with him.”

Lando licked his lips, “What about number one in your heart?”

Your head dipped forehead against his chest as you laughed at his words, more specifically how quick he was to get them out, like he was waiting for a reason to use that line.

“That was so cheesy,” you said, still laughing. “Like, horribly cheesy. I-should-walk-out-of-this-room kind of cheesy.”

And you pretended to, taking a step towards the door, careful of the daisies at your feet. But Lando didn’t let you go anywhere. His grip on your hand tightened and he pulled you back to him, where you both knew you belonged.

“You loved it,” he teased, his smile only growing at your eye roll. 

“I did,” you admitted quietly with a reluctant sight. “I loved it.” You took a breath, looking at the set up he had created in your absence. “I love this, I love-” and then your eyes darted up to meet his again. 

Lando Norris. The driver turned friend turned something more. In such a short period of time, he became one of the most important people in your life. His teasing, his jokes, his stupid driver ranking plan. 

He was someone, that from day one, you should have known you were going to fall in love with. Since the day he decided to make it his mission to move up your list of favourite drivers.

But it was okay that you weren’t there yet, that you looked up at him and choked on that endearing phrase, shutting your mouth instead. Saying those three words took time, trust, effort. This was still so new.

Besides, after working his way up from sixth to, a tied, first, Lando needed a new mission now anyway. 

And getting you to fall in love with him seemed like the perfect one.

-----

six months later

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, ynleclerc and 576,102 others

tagged: ynleclerc

landnorris happy 6 months to the girl who once said i was her sixth favourite driver

view all 16, 530 comments

ynleclerc i love u

charles_leclerc don't get too cocky mate you can easily drop back down the ranking

carlossainz55 remember when i was her second favourite?

pierregasly why is this the first i'm hearing about a driver ranking

ynleclerc because you were booted to last place landonorris just like the driver standings pierregasly 🖕🏼🖕🏼

danielricciardo i approve of this relationship

the end :')

thank u everyone for the support while this intended 6 part series turned in 12 parts ♡ i hope u all fell a little bit in love w lando norris bc i sure did - also make sure to check out my other work here (ps i cant wait to start a new fic hehe)

taglist: @moneymasnn@thotd-f1@masonspulisic @mcmuppet@f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @themisric @happydazzz123 @moonxblossom @norrisleclercf1@scarlettisconfused@sbgal@e-lisa-bettan@harrysdimple05@ophcelia@alesainz@fandomxs1@majx00@sbgal@mehrmonga@themockingjayreader@f1mockingjay@topguncultleader@lclrnelliluvs@moonxblossom@dr3lover@andrewgarfields-girlfriend@tsarinablogs@noescapricho-essentimiento@f1mockingjay@xqueenslytherinxif i missed someone im so sorry

#lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

[steddieas-shegoes]

“Steve! We have to go!”

“I’m coming!” He yelled back to Robin, still searching through his closet for the pants he planned for their night out. “Where the hell are they?”

He was throwing things out of the way, not caring where they landed.

That was a problem for future Steve.

Current Steve needed to look as hot as possible.

His dry spell would be over tonight. He wasn’t leaving the bar until it was.

“Steve!”

“Robin! Where are the jeans?”

“What jeans?”

“The jeans! The ones that you told me to wear!”

“Didn’t you wear them yesterday?”

“No! I saved them!”

But Steve looked over at his laundry basket where his shirt was hanging over and the pair of jeans he was looking for peeked through.

He did wear them yesterday.

Fuck.

Okay, back up options.

The dark jeans that actually probably belonged to someone else and didn’t fit his thighs right? No, he needed to show off his thighs.

The light jeans he hadn’t worn in at least a year because there was a questionable stain that wouldn’t come out? Well, it would be dark in the bar, but no. He’d know about it.

The jeans he wore earlier that weren’t special but also weren’t bad? How would that help him get laid? No.

So he looked back the jeans in his hamper, ignoring Robin’s angry yelling from outside his door.

“Found them! Two minutes!”

He put on the jeans, hoping they didn’t smell or have any stains on them.

He ignored Robin as he threw on his coat that was hanging on the back of the couch and ignored the dull headache blossoming across his temples.

He opened the door and started to leave.

“You coming?” He asked over his shoulder, laughing when Robin smacked his arm as she passed by him.

“Don’t act like you’re waiting on me. I’ve been waiting on you for 30 minutes!”

They barely spoke on the way to the bar, Robin already sensing his headache and probably hoping the silence would make it better before the night got started.

She was amazing.

Steve couldn’t live without her.

But hopefully, they’d both find someone tonight. They needed it.

— — — —

Steve wasn’t having any luck. In fact, he’d never had worse luck.

His head was pounding at this point, music much louder than usual, more people crowded around his usual spot. The three men and one woman he’d danced with so far were fun, but not really his type. He’d been a little upset about seemingly wasting his time, but swallowed down the bitter feeling when he saw Robin dancing with the same girl for three songs, huge smile on her face.

At least one of them was getting something from tonight.

He stood at the far corner of the bar, trying to be out of the way as best he could. He needed to have some water, but he knew the bartender wouldn’t be pleased about getting pulled away from actual paying customers. He would wait for a lull and then get his attention.

It was a new guy, or at least one who didn’t normally work the shifts Steve was here. He was pretty.

There was no other way to describe him; long, curly hair, tattoos everywhere, wide Bambi eyes, tall and thin frame that still held hidden muscle. Steve’s dream, really.

Too bad his vision was getting blurry from the headache.

He had to reevaluate his plan and get water now before he went into full migraine territory. He couldn’t pull Robin away from her night just because he had to get home safely with a debilitating migraine.

He started trying to wave to the bartender anytime he looked over towards Steve’s end of the bar, but it didn’t work.

He tried yelling over the crowd and music, but it ended up making his head throb worse.

He finally managed to throw a napkin at him when he was standing a few feet away.

Not his finest moment, but he’d apologize when he had water.

The bartender looked over at him with raised brows.

“Need something?”

Steve couldn’t help the shame he felt about literally everything happening at that moment.

“Water please?”

The bartender nodded once and grabbed a cup to fill with ice and water. Steve felt some of his muscles relax knowing that he was going to be able to hydrate a little.

When he placed it in front of Steve, he slid a small cup of lemons with it.

“Squeeze a little in there. Helps with headaches.”

Steve knew he was looking at Eddie like the sun shone out of his ass. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so dreadfully miserable from the almost-migraine.

“Thanks.” Then he realized how shitty he must look if the bartender knew what was going on from just looking at him. “Wait. How’d you know?”

“My uncle gets them bad. He always gets pale and his eyes get bloodshot when one’s coming. You looked in the mirror lately?”

Steve shook his head, then winced at the way it made his head pound.

“You here with someone?”

“Yeah. She’s dancing.”

“Need me to have an announcement made for her?”

“No, let me drink this first.”

The bartender nodded, but Steve noticed he kept checking on him between serving other drinks to people.

Steve used more lemon than he probably should have, but he had a whole cup of it, and it couldn’t hurt to use more.

He rested his head against the wall next to him, wincing at the excessive vibrations from the music.

Normally, he loved that their hole in the wall bar got loud and fun once a week. Tonight, he wished he could be surrounded by silence.

He knew he was getting worse, but he didn’t want to bother Robin, who was still dancing with the same girl. She’d probably go home with her as long as Steve didn’t interrupt.

He felt a hand on his forehead, slowly brushing sweaty hair away. He tried opening his eyes, but even the small amount of light seeping through his eyelids was too much.

“Hey, I’m Eddie. I’m the bartender. My relief just walked in so I’m gonna help you to the back, okay?”

Steve could barely nod, the pain in his head throbbing down his jaw and neck. He reached his hand towards the voice and managed to make contact with Eddie. Hopefully, Eddie understood he was not gonna be able to do anything helpful at this point.

He felt an arm around his waist, guiding him away from the bar, but Steve still didn’t want to try opening his eyes. He had to trust Eddie.

He should’ve stayed home. He knew the dull pain he felt earlier would turn into worse, but he was so stuck on getting in bed with someone, he came anyway.

Eddie was walking slowly, keeping a firm grip on Steve so he wouldn’t jostle him around too much. Maybe if Steve weren’t getting his brain attacked by hammers and knives, he’d be trying to get Eddie in bed.

That thought came and went though as he realized how pitiful it was that a grown man couldn’t even walk himself home because he had a migraine.

Eddie would probably tell this incredibly embarrassing story to everyone here and laugh about it for weeks.

Steve was in and out of it for the next few minutes, unable to really focus on anything around him besides the warm hand on his hip. Despite being sweaty enough to wring water from his shirt, he still felt cold, shivers occasionally wracking his body.

This was a really bad one.

He was so stupid for being stuck in a bar for this.

His brain registered a door closing, then a fan turning on. It wasn’t completely silent, but the outside noise was a small echo in his brain compared to the banging it had been previously.

“Gonna set you on the couch in the corner and get some ice.”

Steve didn’t acknowledge him, but he let out the most ridiculous whimper when Eddie set him down on the couch, slowly laying him back so his whole body was flat. He heard the door open and close, but was so focused on how nice the air from the fan felt, he didn’t hear the door open and close when Eddie came back in.

“Alright, gonna put this on your head. Where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

Eddie sighed, but placed the bag of ice on his forehead to start.

“Get these often?”

Steve appreciated his very low voice, knowing that anything at a regular volume would probably be too much in this quiet room.

“Mhm.”

“I grabbed you more water too. Think you can have a sip?”

“Mm. No.”

He heard Eddie laughing quietly, but he couldn’t smile back at him.

“You live close?”

“Mhm. Mile.”

“I live closer.”

“Hm?”

“Welcome to my humble abode. I own the bar, work at the bar, and live at the bar. Technically this is the staff office, but upstairs is my bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. If you think you can handle the stairs, you can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch. I’ll let your friend know you’re here too if you give me a name.”

“Steve.”

“Your friend’s name is Steve?”

“No. Mine.”

“Okay, what’s your friend’s name, Steve?”

“Robin.”

He tried opening his eyes so he could see his surroundings, but they were so heavy. Leave it to Steve to end up suffering with the worst migraine he’s had all year at a bar with a hot bartender taking care of him and he can’t even open his eyes to fully appreciate it.

He distantly heard the door again, but must’ve fallen asleep for a bit because the next thing he knew, he felt hands on his face.

“You’re sure he can stay here?”

“Robs?”

“Steve. You idiot. You should’ve told me it was getting worse.”

She was whispering, but she was angry with him and he knew she would be yelling if she was a worse friend.

“Sorry.”

“Eddie’s gonna handle it. I’m gonna take Chrissy home. You call me as soon as you’re up, got it? I’ll send the cops here to break down the doors if I don’t hear by lunch time tomorrow.”

“Got it.”

He was gonna forget, but hopefully Eddie would remind him.

When he had bad migraines, he pretty much forget everything he did or said. None of the doctors could explain it. He’d had scans done, and there were no signs of memory diseases, so it was just a part of the trauma from multiple concussions.

He could hear Robin telling Eddie the same thing. If he could make his face work, he’d probably smile.

He drifted again, but he could hear Robin still talking to Eddie as he did.

The next time he was fully aware, he was in a bed. The bed was huge, and there were so many pillows around him, it felt like a fort.

Two blankets were on top of him, one so soft he couldn’t help rubbing his cheek against it. He was surrounded by a cozy, light cologne smell.

He was also fully clothed.

His jeans were itchy, and he suddenly felt claustrophobic as he realized the sun was up and he was alone in a stranger’s bed.

He sat up and looked around.

The room itself wasn’t that big, the bed taking up most of the space. The door was closed, but he could hear someone moving around outside of it. He looked to the right to see a door that must lead to a bathroom.

He quickly got out of the bed, shoving his shoes on and grabbing his wallet off the table. He opened the door and saw the back of a man with long, curly hair.

The bartender.

Eddie.

Eddie had taken care of him during his migraine. His migraine that he should’ve known was coming and stayed the hell home.

He was an idiot.

When Eddie turned around, he felt his heart stop.

God, he was pretty.

Like, Steve might have to change up the nights he comes to the bar just to get a glimpse of this beautiful man.

“Hey. Feeling better? Must be since you’re standing without support.”

Steve blushed. He’d never been in this position before, and he had no idea what the proper etiquette is for thanking someone for taking care of you when you’re unable to even move or talk.

“Uh. Yeah, much better. Um.” Steve awkwardly stood by the counter while Eddie continued mixing coffee in a mug. “Thanks for. All that.”

Eddie was laughing. In another circumstance, Steve may have found it cute, maybe been proud of himself for making a hot guy laugh.

But he was dealing with a migraine hangover, which usually left him grumpy.

Eddie must’ve noticed because he stopped laughing abruptly.

His head tilted to the side as he looked Steve up and down.

“You know, Robin called four times already this morning to check on you. You should probably call her and let her know I didn’t murder you and hide the body already.”

“Okay. Yeah. I.” He felt around in his pockets and couldn’t feel his phone. Shit.

“Over there. Charging.” Eddie said as he pointed towards the table by his front door.

“Thanks.”

Steve walked over to his phone to see 33 missed calls from Robin.

He called her back immediately, not wanting her to actually show up with a SWAT team.

“Thank god! Steve, I told you to call by lunch. I was just about to call Hop.”

“You’re the one who left me here.”

“Yes, assuming you’d wake up early enough that I wouldn’t assume you’ve been murdered!”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 3:00, Steve!”

“Fuck. Okay. I’m leaving now.”

Eddie cleared his throat and nodded at the counter, which now had a plate of fried eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage on it.

“Okay I’m eating, then I’m leaving.”

“You better text me. I’ll show up with Hop!”

“Robin. Jesus.” Steve felt a bit lightheaded. “I am literally at the bar. You know where I am and who I’m with. Chill.”

“You were incapacitated.”

“And now I’m not. I can escape if I have to.”

“You’re not as strong as you think you are!”

He hung up before she kept going. She would stay on the phone for hours if he let her, and he wasn’t in the mood.

He made his way to the counter and sat down, smiling at the steaming food.

“You didn’t have to cook all this. Especially this late in the afternoon. You probably have to head down to the bar.”

“Nah. I own the place. I just work there to keep myself busy. I’m all yours until you’re good to go home.”

Steve didn’t have much of a response for that, his brain still firing on the bare minimum. Migraine hangovers were worse than actual hangovers.

He ate a few bites silently, then looked up to see Eddie setting a cup of tea in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“Technically, sleepy time tea. But it works really well for headaches.”

“Oh. Thanks. It won’t like, make me fall asleep?”

Eddie laughed and Steve decided he was happy to hear it now.

“No. It has relaxing properties to it, but it doesn’t actually make you drowsy.”

Steve took a few small sips and smiled.

“It’s good.”

“My uncle says I make the best.” Eddie leaned over the counter with a smile. “So, you thought going to a bar was a good idea with a headache? On our DJ night?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left. Thought I’d be okay.”

“Mhm. So you get these a lot?”

“Well. I mean I do get migraines a lot. But that one was one of the worst I’ve had in a while. I can usually still talk and walk enough to get to my own bed.”

“Do you remember everything?”

Steve knew he had a lot of blank spots in his memory from last night. If Eddie wasn’t such a nice guy, he’d probably be more worried about it.

“No. I have memory problems when I get them.”

“Ah. Well that’s okay. I got you into bed pretty easily. You only woke up twice. Once to use the bathroom, which you managed to do alone. The second time you were crying about having to sleep alone? I couldn’t understand all of it, but that seemed to be the gist.”

“Oh.” Steve sighed. “That’s super embarrassing. Guess I’ll never come back here. Maybe never leave my house again.”

Eddie smirked. “I dunno. I think maybe I could fix the sleeping alone thing. You know, when you’re not incapacitated from a migraine.”

“You’re serious?”

Eddie nodded.

“You saw me like that and would actually want to be around me again?”

“I was hoping for more than around you. Maybe on you? In you? Next to you? All of those sound good.”

Steve choked on his next bite.

“Uh.”

He took a sip of the tea to help clear his throat, ignoring the way Eddie was moving around the counter.

“You know, Robin kept me on the phone for about an hour earlier, telling me all about how you’re the best guy she’s ever known and she’s a lesbian for a reason so that means a lot. Said you guys come here once a week because it’s the best place to find decent people, not just anyone. Said you’ve both had a bit of a dry spell.”

“She’s exaggerating.”

“Oh, so it hasn’t been eight months since you’ve taken someone home?”

“No.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“It’s been ten.”

“My bar hasn’t been good to you, I guess.”

“Up until last night, I guess not. But I still prefer it over the clubs.”

“Until last night?”

“Yeah. The guy who owns the place kind of rescued me and let me sleep in his really comfy bed. He probably deserves something for that.”

“Oh? What does he deserve?”

“Well, I’d offer a blowjob, but I’m out of practice and might disappoint.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“But maybe he’d be okay with a real date?”

“When would this date be?”

“Maybe tonight?”

“Hm. He has to check the bar schedule, make sure no one needs coverage.”

“He can text me later to confirm.”

“I sure hope you’re giving me your number to do that.”

Steve laughed and held his hand out. Eddie placed his phone in his hand and waited for him to type his name and number in his contacts.

When Steve handed it back, their hands grazed each other. Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, squeezing for a moment.

“Dinner here? Maybe 8?”

“I thought you had to check the schedule.”

“Nah, just needed your number. I make the schedule, I know it like the back of my hand.”

Steve shook his head.

“Can’t start a relationship on lies.”

“Oh, a relationship? You move quick don’t you.”

Steve did. He knew he did. It’s why he’d never been able to keep anyone around. He moved like he was ready for marriage on the first date, and usually people didn’t like that.

He looked down at his lap, already prepared to lose Eddie’s interest.

But he felt a hand on his cheek, slowly guiding him to look up.

“Dinner here at 8?”

“Uh. Yeah. Please.”

Eddie smirked at him before he placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Just be yourself, Steve. I like you just fine. And I’ve already seen you at your worst and your crazy best friend. It’s all uphill from here.” Eddie pulled away and moved back to start cleaning dishes from his cooking. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll end up married by the end of the year.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“Am I?”

Eddie looked over his shoulder, serious look on his face.

“Are you?”

“No. Stranger things have happened.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #tumblr drabbles #migraine Steve is important to me because I have one right now #which is why this is not great #but also why I had to do it anyways #robin buckley #the friend we all deserve