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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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hummingbirds

Steve’s crying on the porch of his parents' house, with a duffel bag and baseball bat, when Eddie pulls into the driveway.

“Jesus, Steve, what happened?” Eddie crouches down to get eye level with Steve. Despite being dark out, the sun set long ago, and the outdoor lights weren’t on. Steve turns to look at his parents' car in the driveway and thinks back to when the lock had distinctly turned shut on the front door. They were around to switch the lights on; they just didn’t care anymore to do so.

Steve is grateful for the moonlight, as he can see the pretty lines on Eddie’s face. Even if they currently curve into a frown.

“Hey Eds.” Steve’s voice cracks.

“Stevie…what happened?” Eddie asks again, this time it’s gently. It cradles Steve and holds him softly. He wishes Eddie’s hands would do the same.

“Did you know hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward?” Steve sniffles.

Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion, “What? Birds? You lost me.”

Steve pushes past Eddie’s confused face. “They are the only birds to fly backward. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dustin to teach me that out of the munchkins. It was actually El. She’s apparently going through a bird phase. And I don’t think the others are very interested. So I try to pay attention when she talks about it. And she taught me about hummingbirds.”

Eddie settles on his knees, “That’s great, man and those little shits should listen to her more, but I’m not sure what that has to do with what’s wrong. You called me to come pick you up and hung up before I could even answer.”

Steve bites his lip, “Sorry, my dad clicked the phone off.” Eddie’s face shows surprise, but Steve keeps talking before he can interrupt. “And well, I guess hummingbirds have nothing to do with anything. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, no. It’s not stupid. Tell me about the birds, Stevie.” Eddie’s hand finally reaches out to Steve. He brushes the fallen hair out of his face, and something in Steve just sets him off.

“You see, they can fly backward. And well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, my cousin Tucker is here to visit. And let me tell you, he is the worst. Like Eddie, you would hate him. Conservative, capitalist enthusiast, real bootlicker kind of guy.”

“Sounds like the worst. Especially if he made you use the big words.” Eddie’s hand falls away, and Steve mourns the loss. Normally, when people make jokes about his intelligence, it stings. It makes him feel small. But when Eddie does it, it isn’t mean or a poke at how stupid Steve is. With Eddie, it’s almost like he’s reminding Steve that he is smart. That maybe Steve is the one making himself small.

He is.

“Anyway, he’s visiting, right? So my parents come home. And I haven’t seen them in months, since before spring break. It’s nearly October, and I haven’t seen them, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or dreading their arrival. It’s always a fight when they are around, how I’m not good enough, how I should be more. Their visits always end up being cut short, and me feeling like shit. But this stupid, stupid part of me was hoping it would be different this time. They haven’t seen me since the “earthquakes.” Surely they’ll be happy to see I’m okay, right?”

Eddie stays silent, his face revealing nothing.

“Of course, it’s not. They only came home because my cousin Tucker was in town. All the way from Indy cause it’s so far. And my mom ‘made’ dinner, as in she ordered it and pretended she made it. It wasn’t even that good, but we all pretended it was the best thing ever made. Cause that’s what they do, pretend. And the dinner is fine, boring. Most of it is just me staying silent while my dad and Tucker talk about the business. Tucker runs the Indy office while my dad is in New York. Ya see, Tucker has been gunning to take over for my dad when he retires, which is another word for dies—“ Steve let’s put a bitter laugh; he wonders if his parents are listening. He doubts it.

“—and they are going on for the whole meal, and I’m almost through the home stretch when my dad brings up me, coming to work for him.”

Eddie reacts finally, “You’re going to New York?” His voice is strained, like he is trying very hard not to yell, not at Steve, but at anyone who will listen. Steve is quick to correct.

“No, no, I’m not. This was news to me to Eds. I have no interest in my dad's business, and as far as I was concerned, he didn’t want me a part of it either. Guess that has changed. Has? Had? I don’t know…” Steve trails off.

“Harrington.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me think you’re mad at me. Besides, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Steve bites.

“Sorry, Steve. I’m not mad. I promise. Just, what do you mean?” Eddie’s head tilts to the side, his curls cascading down his shoulder. It reminds Steve of a river, dark water rippling in the moonlight.

“I was so shocked, Eds. When he said that. That I was quiet, I should have corrected him, maybe. Maybe I could have fixed it. But Tucker was so quick to act. He was pissed. He knows my working for my dad means me being set up to take over. And Tucker, he’s worked too hard to make sure he does get the business. But instead of yelling, he just gets this concerned look on his face. And he…”

“He what?”

Steve wrenches his eyes shut as he recalls the rest. As he recalls the way Tucker’s face faked worry as he struck. Like he has been waiting for the right moment to ruin Steve. He manages to open his eyes eventually, only to see Eddie’s face once again. The honest look on his face is enough to push Steve on.

“In the summer, Robin was feeling sad. This was before you guys knew about each other, and I was the only one who knew about her. And she was sad cause nothing had happened with Vicky and she felt so alone. And I hated seeing her like that. And so, so I took her to Indy. And, and—“ Steve starts to hyperventilate.

Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, Steve. Come on, baby, match my breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Steve matches Eddie’s breath. Ignores how the word baby calms him down instantly. “Tucker told my dad that he saw me in Indy. That he saw me come out of a gay club, Eddie. And he went on about how they should focus more on getting me help, than putting me in a power position, again Eds, which I don’t even want! And how I would be a bad look for the company. How would it look if a company whose whole image is family values, only successor, turned out to be gay.”

Eddie flinches a bit, but doesn’t let go of him. Steve feels instant regret. “That isn’t what I meant, Eddie.”

Eddie shushes him, “I know, sweetheart. You’re just upset. I know. Did you tell him that you weren’t there for you? Or maybe that Rick was mistaken; it was a regular club?”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, “And what? Tell him that my two best friends in the entire world are gay? So that I can be shipped off to New York and never see them again? Yeah right. I’d rather face the bats again than be removed from you two. And I’m not going to out you guys like that.”

Something warm crosses Eddie’s face, “So, you lied then?”

“Before I could say anything my dad reacted.”

Eddie freezes, a darkness swims in his eyes. “He put his hands on you?”

“No, no!” Steve panics, and he purposely leaves out the ‘not this time.’ Eddie isn’t necessarily a violent person. But he does have a protective streak. As admirable as it is, Steve doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Eddie relaxes but only slightly.

“He was actually pretty calm, which is even more terrifying. I expected him to yell, throw things. But instead he just turns and says, ‘Is this true, Steven?’. And what gets me is they didn’t even question why my cousin was anywhere near that club in the first place. Why did he see me there? Instead, he just asks me if it’s true. And it’s the first time in a long time, if ever, that my dad asks me this. He always just assumes I’ve fucked up. And this time, he really asked me about the truth. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to. So I didn’t. I just told him, ‘Yes. It’s true.’”

“Stevie…”

Steve throws out a bitter laugh, “And you know what? He still doesn’t freak out. He just tells me I have five minutes to get my shit and get out. That I needed to call a ride because the car was under the name Steve Harrington, and I was no longer a Harrington. And he was so calm. And my mom just sat there, and I just listened. I didn’t fight. I am so tired of fighting.”

“Steve, why not just tell them the truth? Tell them you were there for a friend?” Eddie’s tone isn’t scolding, only curious.

“See, that’s because I started thinking about hummingbirds, Eddie. I started thinking about how they fly forwards and backward and how they are the only ones that can do that. Isn’t that fascinating? These small birds are so strong and interesting, and can do something no one else can do. But no other birds understand; the rest of them just fly forwards Eds. And I—I feel like that sometimes. That I’m not flying in one direction, ya know?”

Steve feels like he isn’t making much sense, but then Eddie nods and looks at Steve. Like really looks at Steve, and sees him. And Steve feels raw, stripped of his skin, exposed, and it should hurt, but it feels so fucking good. And Eddie stares deep into Steve’s eyes and says, “Yea, I know.”

“I didn’t want to lie. Because even though Tucker was wrong, he was also right. I wasn’t there for me, but I think I needed to be there. To get it. And I think that I’m flying backward, Eds. And I’m worried it’s wrong of me, that it shouldn’t be allowed. And that there is no purpose to me flying backward if I can just go forwards. If I can just fly with the rest of them. But I don’t think, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken flight before. Not before I understood I could also go backward.”

It’s in this moment, where Steve is covered in tears and snot that Eddie finally takes his hands and cradles Steve’s face. Steve’s never felt safer.

“Listen to me, sweetheart; there is nothing wrong with you. Okay? Nothing wrong with you. Just because you can fly forwards doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes you’re going to have to fly backward; you’re not going to have a choice. It’s just the direction you’re fast, huge, hummingbird heart takes you. And it might take you a bit to learn that. To understand that, but I will make sure that you do. Because you, Steve Harrington, are fucking fearless and fucking beautiful, and I am so goddamn proud of you.”

Steve finally reaches his breaking point and collapses in Eddie’s arms. Full body, ugly sobs wreck Steve. He is sure that he is soaking Eddie’s favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt to the bone, but he can’t find it himself to care. His fingers dig into Eddie’s back as he clutches tighter as his breathing picks up.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. Remember that. I got you. I got you.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve picks his head up when he finally calms down, and looks at Eddie. “You.”

“What’s that?” Eddie says softly, rubbing circles through Steve’s polo.

“I called you. Because, I think—no, I know, that I’ve been flying backward, to you. For a while now. And I knew that, even if you weren’t too, you’d still show up. And I just—just need you to know that. I am so grateful you showed up.”

Steve knows he should feel nervous telling Eddie all this, but he isn’t. He strangely feels like his dad at this moment, calm and unmoving. Steve doesn’t understand many things in this world, but he understands that even if Eddie doesn’t love him like that, Eddie still loves Steve in plenty of other ways.

It’s still nice, though, when Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes and releases a breath.

Eddie slides his head down slightly so their foreheads are pushed together affectionately. “Stevie, I’ll always fly backward to you.”

Although it’s awful how they got here, Steve can’t help but feel happy at this moment. He also can’t help the silly giggle that comes out of him, “I think we have just lost all meaning to this metaphor at this point.”

Eddie snorts, “Oh, have we? And here I thought we were having a nice moment, a poetic one at that, telling each other ‘I love you.’”

Steve blinks at him, “You love me?”

Eddie frown lines finally turn upwards, “Yea baby, I love you.”

“I—“

Eddie cuts Steve off. “Tell me in the morning. When your tears have dried, and I’ve woken up with you in my arms. I want to hear it in the daylight. Okay? Let’s go home.” Eddie stands, offering a hand to Steve.

“Home?”

“Yea home, got to fly back to our nest.”

Steve can’t help the snort he releases, “Dork.”

Eddie just smiles, “Thought I told you to save the ‘I love you’ til the morning.”

Steve smiles back as he takes Eddie’s hand, “I didn’t…”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers, “Yea, ya did.”

****

I’m back, not dead, and in my feelings. Thinking about expanding on this one. I hope you guys like it. 🧡🧡

#steddie #stranger things #Steve eventually gets a hummingbird tattoo #everything I write is soft #they deserve to be soft #bisexual steve harrington #gay eddie munson #cw: implied homophobia #cw: internalized homophobia #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #robin buckley #steve x eddie #soft boys #post s4 #bisexuality awareness

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mo0nfairy · 1 year

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

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love-belle · 8 months

Text

i want sweet revenge and i want him again !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their post break-up era is them ignoring their feelings and making the worst decisions.

for when they will always be your summer love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // pierre gasly x fem!reader

sequel - you were my summer love ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - posting this at 3am bc i have midterms from monday and it's very unlikely i'll post again this month 💔💔💔💔 i love u all so much thank u for reading <3

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yourusername "get him back!" is finally out!!!! i wrote this song in my car after breaking down over the consequences of my own actions and getting yelled at by my twitter girlies <3 summer was fun i had fun we all had fun but the aftermath is not pretty so fuck them boys u all stay happy and thriving hydrated!!!! get ur sweet revenge and get him back!!!!! but fr pls tell his mom her son sucks ❤️

8,628 comments

username there's too much going on idk what to decipher first

username the caption omg 💀💀💀

username her captions never fail to blow me away like girl 90% of these things do not belong here 😭😭😭😭😭

username not her telling us to get our man back but also tell his mom that her son sucks

-> username top tier advice idc

username THE SONG'S A FUCKING BOP OMG

username those lyrics are so her and him coded like 💔💔💔💔💔

charles_leclerc don't call me weird

-> yourusername this is so unprovoked get out

-> username nah what the fuck is charles doing here 😭😭😭😭

-> username CHARLES????

username "bc everyone knew the guy was missing a screw" BABE LET HIM GO!!!!!!!!

username THE TEXT OH MY GOD

username i miss her and that dude ngl

-> username no bc they were so cute together 💔💔💔

-> username why do men ruin everything 😐😐😐😐😐

username "i can fix him" GIRL YOU ARE WORSE THAN HIM

-> yourusername UNCALLED FOR

username i fucking love her and her fans so much like the way we're all js best friends with her and she's sooooo in touch with her fans ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

-> yourusername not true u all js bully me

-> username bc u make stupid decisions

-> yourusername ://

username y/n having beef with 80% of her fans will never not be funny to me like wdym ur FANS bully u

-> yourusername i have proof and im not afraid to use it

-> username "proof" and it's literally just her being a dumbass and us having NORMAL reactions to it

-> yourusername FURTHER PROOF UR HONOUR

username so MUCH for summer LOVE and saying US cause u weren't mine to LOSEEEE

username this is sooo 2000s romcom coded idc

landonorris WEIRD??? ME???

-> yourusername GET OUT OF MY COMMENTS SECTION THIS ISN'T ABT Y'ALL

-> username what the fuck is doing on

-> username im so out of loop wtfff

username "i want sweet revenge and i want him again" unhinged behaviour fr

username every time we think she's healing she comes back and writes a song that's basically a BIG cry for help like girl pls we're getting tired 💔

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paddock.club rumours have been swirling around pierre gasly and his anonymous girlfriend, who's affectionately called 'augustine' by his fans, and their alleged break-up for weeks now. the said rumours were confirmed as gasly was seen out in monaco and he certainly wasn't alone — or with just one consistent company. "this may confuse some people but they were very different from each other," sources close to the couple claimed. "after summer break ended, it felt like so did whatever they had going on." this comes as a shock as despite knowing almost nothing about augustine, fans adored her and they're devasted about the end of their summer love. click on the link in our bio for everything that we know about their relationship.

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pierregasly you're trippin'

9,638 comments

username NAH THE AUDACITY OF M*N SOMETIMES

username BROTHER IM STILL RECOVERING FROM THE AUGUSTINE REVEAL SLOW DOWN

username HELLO???????? HE'S SEEING SOMEONE???????

-> username "he said i was the only girl but that js wasn't the truth"

username the fact that he used HER lyrics for his caption like..........im SICK rn

username when 😭 i 😭 told 😭 him 😭 how 😭 he 😭 hurt 😭 me 😭 he 😭 told 😭 me 😭 i 😭 was 😭 trippin 😭

username im actually in shock rn like my jaw is on the FLOOR

landonorris caption 😬

username no bc im here thinking like she called his friends weird 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 that's why charles and lando were so offended in the comments 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username boy she's over there listening to summer love by one direction WHAT R U DOING

username that's not y/n in the last slide and im throwing up rn i need them BACK

username need this all to be a nightmare bc i cannot fucking do this anymore 💔💔💔💔

username it's on SIGHT when i see u on streets

username im so 💔💔💔💔💔

username y'all i feel bad for bullying y/n bc if i were her i too wouldn't move on from this man

-> username fr like we gave her sm shit for being in love with him and im like "girlypop same omg"

-> username real like i see what she saw

charles_leclerc nice choice for caption 👍 very strong words 👍

username here for charles and lando calling him out for the caption like yasss kings ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ do ur work ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username y/n needs to be more cunty rn bc this is so wtf

username L caption 🤣🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵🫵

username im gonna miss their summer love era so much like we were FED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username "and when he said something wrong he'd just fly me to france" WOW OKAYYYY

username something about his last post before this being all about augustine and their summer and now this one is basically shading her like 💔💔💔💔💔

username everyday we stray further away from good

username ripping my hair out why cant bitches be happy ffs

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #pierre gasly blurb #pierre gasly au #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly instagram au #pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly x ex!reader

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pricelessemotion · 11 months

Text

Never really over | S.H.

summary: [4.2k] you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: so much angst, best friends to exes to lovers, language, gratuitous taylor swift references

a/n: exes to lovers is one of my fave tropes so i hope i did it justice! reader is vaguely asian-coded by accident (though there shouldn’t be any direct references to r's appearance!) lmao happy AAPI heritage month to all my fellow asians

masterlist

The day after your breakup, Steve shows up at your house with a bag of takeout and a six-pack. He kicks off his shoes at the front door while you’re in the kitchen, already grabbing napkins and chopsticks. The light on the floral rice cooker on the counter just turned from cooking to keep warm. Steve is nothing, if not right on time.

To most people, the situation would seem peculiar. But you and Steve were best friends before your break up and you had promised that you would stay best friends after it.

You settle in on opposite sides of the worn-down loveseat, a rerun of Golden Girls playing on the television. You’re just about to ask him if he remembered to get extra sauce for the chow mein when Steve, seemingly anticipating your question, silently hands you a small cylindrical container.

The night goes on as it usually would, with Steve lamenting Keith’s tyranny and Dustin’s antics. He helps you clean up when you’re done, scooping the leftover rice into a Tupperware container saying I gotta get myself one of these, it’s so convenient! He even does the dishes, washing while you dry, never commenting on the fact that you have a perfectly good dishwasher that you never use.

Once he’s standing in the entryway, shoes back on and keys in hand, he instinctively leans in for a chaste kiss goodbye.

You flinch, turning your cheek at the last second. The moment becomes a sobering reminder as to why you decided to break up in the first place. Instinct over time starts to feel like routine. Routine over time starts to feel like a chore. Another thing that you have to cross off your to-do list.

For a while, it was grounding. It felt good to be normal. Normal felt like warmth, like coming in out of the freezing cold and cozying up next to a blazing fire. But you knew from experience that the cold always comes back. As the days drew darker, the once roaring hearth settled into a pile of ashes. Being grounded can feel like being tied down. It’s only natural to want to break free.

You didn’t realize freedom would feel like this.

“Right.” Steve huffs out awkwardly, swinging his car keys around his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shuffles out the door while you offer a weak goodbye. You know you’re letting the cold in by watching him as he gets into his car. You do it anyway.

–

Steve and Dustin have taken to visiting you while you’re on shift at the coffee shop. You’re not sure why. The arcade next door seems much more fitted to their shared interests, but they still come and visit you all the same. Usually, when you come upon them, they’re standing on the other side of the till having a whispered conversation that dies the moment they notice you’re there.

“A latte for me, and hot cocoa for the kid.” Steve says, ruffling the younger boy's hair.

“I’m fourteen!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Maturity. Did you want a coffee? I’m sure our girl over here has some great recommendations.”

Dustin only grumbles in response, muttering insults under his breath. Steve refuses your offer to comp their drinks, paying and dropping his change in the tip jar.

You set both drinks down on the counter when they’re done. One is a simple steaming cup. The other is piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles, decorated with a tiny plastic snowman left over from the holidays.

“Thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “Y’know, you’re my most favorite barista in the whole world.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only barista you know, but you’re welcome.”

“So, would you be interested in movie night tomorrow?”

“Wow, let me think.” You feign contemplation, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a meeting with some venture capitalists but I might be able to squeeze you in.”

“It’s a date.”

“So… you guys are back together?” Dustin darts a confused glance between the both of you, his irises going back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match.

“No!” You and Steve both blurt out at the same time. Then you both take a moment to look at each other as if to say, I know why I said no but why are you saying no?

Is it really over?

Dustin, as observant and tactless as ever, gives off a little shrug. You mutter something about needing to go to the back to do inventory. As you’re walking away, you hear Steve say something that sounds a lot like Nice going, doofus!

–

Dustin answers the door when you ring the bell. Steve’s house has the usual suspects for movie night. Max and El are cuddled up together on the floor, practically laying on top of each other. Robin and Nancy are on the loveseat to the left, so wrapped up in each other that they barely even register your arrival. You presume that the sounds coming from the kitchen are Mike, Will, and Lucas, no doubt making one too many bowls of popcorn in the microwave.

Steve is sitting, his arm draped over the back of the couch. Before, there would’ve been no questions as to where you would sit. The empty couch cushion practically had your name on it. You would’ve already bounded across the room and snuggled up to the boy that felt like home.

You search the room for another option, but come up empty. Unless you want to pointedly avoid sitting next to him by crashing on the floor with the kids, which would undoubtedly draw attention to the very thing you want to ignore.

Taking a seat next to Steve, you toe the line between platonic distance and romantic distance.

“What’s on tonight?” You ask no one in particular.

“The Princess Bride.” Lucas replies, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh popcorn.

He barely gets a chance to put it down before the three other boys tumble onto the floor and begin shoveling the savory snack into their mouths. Max and El whine about their lack of civility, yelling at them for having spilled popcorn on the floor before the movie has even started.

“Ah, that’s my favorite!”

“I know.” Steve finally speaks up beside you.

“We’ve only seen it like a million times.” Max says, rolling her eyes and resting her head on El’s shoulder.

“Hey! Little shits who eat my food and use me as a taxi service don’t get to complain about my movie choices.”

“Whatever, Steve.” The redhead remarks, with an unmistakable fondness in her voice.

You settle into your seat. The January cold has seeped into the house and, despite the heating being on full blast, you’re freezing. Steve notices, tugging the comforter in his lap over your frame, enveloping you in a warmth you didn’t realize you missed so much. You murmur a quiet thank you that you’re almost sure goes unheard until he turns, giving you a small smile before returning his attention to the screen.

In order to properly share the blanket, you have to scoot in even closer. You tell yourself that it’s a perfectly reasonable platonic distance, that you used to do this all the time before you were dating. If Steve is experiencing even a fraction of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking ahead, paying far too much attention to the film. The palm that would usually come to rest upon your shoulder stays gripping the back of the couch.

Sometime after Buttercup and Wesley enter the forbidden forest, you fall asleep.

It’s hard to make out anything through the dense fog. The trees around you loom large, foliage so lush and thick that it blocks out the sky, making it unclear if it’s day or night. The only light source comes from an oil lamp.

The lamp casts a shadow over the face of the person holding it, emphasizing his strong brow and straight nose. You go to move toward Steve, but you can’t. You’re stuck. Ankle deep in sand, coarse and with the consistency of molasses, that slowly creeps up higher and higher. It takes you a moment to realize; the sand isn’t getting higher, you’re getting lower.

You’re sinking.

Desperately, you begin grasping at anything and everything that might get you out. It’s futile. The more you move, the further you fall. You’re waist-deep now. Steve is still standing there, stone-faced, oil lamp flickering. He turns, walking into the fog and taking the light with him.

You open your mouth, wanting to scream. Needing to scream. But only one word echoes throughout. It does nothing to stop Steve’s retreating figure.

Stay.

“Hey,” Steve is tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. “Wake up.”

The fog dissipates. Feeling slowly returns to your limbs. The first thing you realize is that you fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The second thing you realize is that, due to your impromptu nap, the distance between the two of you is practically nonexistent. You recoil, sliding yourself as far away from him as you can. Steve flinches at the sudden movement.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and comforting, like a childhood blanket that you can’t sleep without. “It seemed like you were having a bad dream.”

You blink your eyes furiously, trying to shake the sinking feeling that has settled deep into your stomach.

“Where is everyone?” You ask, avoiding his question. The once lively living room is now empty. Remnants of movie night surround you in the form of stray pieces of popcorn and a nearly empty tub of Red Vines.

“They all went home about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed so comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake you.” He shrugs, saying the next words gently. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Before, you would tell him yes. You always talked to Steve about your nightmares. Most of the time he was there to witness them firsthand, waking up to your shouting and thrashing. Some nights, he would be able to coax you back to sleep with soothing words and tender touches. Other nights, he would stay up with you for hours, talking about nothing. The next day, the deep bags etched under his eyes would serve as another reminder of just how tiring you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wipe the corner of your mouth, cringing at the slight dampness you find there. Great. Not only did you fall asleep on Steve but you also drooled on him. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Leaping from the couch, you get to the foyer in record time. Your shoes are already halfway on before Steve appears, standing in between you and the door.

“You don’t have to. You know the guest room is always made up for you if you want it.” He bargains.

“I— I have to go. I’m sorry. Goodnight Steve.”

“Please, you’re tired. At least let me drive you.” He’s practically pleading, already moving to grab his car keys.

“Just let me go, Steve!” Your outburst echoes throughout the empty house.

Steve takes a step back away from you. “I’m sorry.”

Regret washes over you like a tidal wave. You can feel yourself being ripped under the current. You curse yourself, not for drowning, but for dragging Steve down with you.

“No, don’t apologize. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—”

“Have to go?” He supplies.

He sounds dejected like this is another battle with you that he’s already resigned himself to losing. You fumble through another apology, another goodbye.

You don’t dare to look behind you as you make your way to your car. It isn’t until you’re halfway down your street that you spare a glance at your rear-view mirror. Steve is still standing there, the door wide open.

You don’t know why you keep having dreams where you ask Steve to stay.

You’re the one who is always leaving.

—

“She was totally flirting with you!” You scream whisper, keeping in mind that the diner is mostly empty aside from the loyal patrons that come in every weekday for a hearty serving of beef and potatoes.

Steve showed up to the coffee shop today, sans Dustin, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat after your shift. You obliged, hoping to make up for your outburst from the other night. He still hasn’t mentioned it. For your sake, you hope that he won’t.

“No, she wasn’t.” You thought Steve’s obliviousness when it came to romance only extended to you. Apparently, you were wrong because he was completely ignoring the way that the waitress was batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes, she was!” You take a fry from the basket and Steve pushes his strawberry milkshake toward you, already knowing that you were going to subject him to the gross combination and he might as well get it over with. “Y’know, if you wanted to ask her out you could. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back. Anyways, isn’t it weird, having your ex-girlfriend be your wingman?”

“I’m still your best friend. Besides, you totally helped me out with Brandon so I just thought I’d return the favor.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, causing you to furrow your brow at him. Despite having loved him for a long time and having known him for even longer, his inability to read a room knows no bounds.

“Last week at Family Video?” You utter the words with slow precision, but recognition fails to make its way across Steve’s face. “Brandon Clayborn asked you for horror movie recommendations and you sent him to me.”

“And he asked you out?” Steve gapes at you from over the rim of his milkshake. The idea of grabbing the glass and slogging the pink confection at him crosses your mind, but instead, you clench your fists at your side.

“Is that so unbelievable?” At your response, Steve’s brows pinch together. He toys with the wrapping paper of his straw, folding it over and over again.

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.” Steve finally stops fiddling with the piece of paper. It’s shredded to pieces in a pile in front of him. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the bulging leather wallet. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, Steve slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter. The giggles of the waitress can be heard throughout the diner. You turn toward the window so that you don’t have to see her scrawl her number on the receipt, and you catch your muddled reflection. You don’t know if you look like you’ve seen a ghost or if you’ve become one.

–

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your second date with Brandon had to be rescheduled. A literal rain check. He’d sputtered out numerous apologies over the crackling phone line, saying how the picnic he had planned didn’t account for a torrential downpour. You promised him that it was fine, that you didn’t even wanna leave the house in this weather. You didn’t think anyone would want to leave the house in this weather, which is why you grew shocked at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Then you promptly remember that this is Hawkins and that anyone or anything could be behind that door. Grabbing the old wooden bat you keep under the couch for emergencies, you inch toward the door. The frantic ringing of the bell matches the beat of your heart. Peering through the peephole, you sigh in both relief and frustration before flinging the door open.

“Are you insane?!” You practically scream at the soaking wet boy. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Steve stands in the threshold, shaking his head like a dog would to get all the water out. You flinch as the droplets inevitably fall on you. The fine mist and wind that he’s brought in with him chill you to the bone.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“How did you even manage to get this wet in the twenty feet from the street to the porch?” You ask, peering behind him to look for the familiar maroon vehicle. It isn’t there.

“I walked here.”

You balk at him. Sure, Steve has been known to act recklessly from time to time, but never without reason. Instead of taking the time to berate him for being so stupid, you take one look at the soggy shivering boy and shut the door, turning on your heel towards your bedroom. You don’t need to look behind you to know that he’s following you.

“C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

You rummage through your drawers, managing to find a t-shirt and sweatpants that you had stolen from him long ago. Now is as good a time as any to give it back, right? Stuffing the items in your arm, you thrust them into Steve’s hands and direct him to the bathroom. He doesn’t need direction. He knows the floorplan of your house just like he knows you–all too well.

While Steve is in the bathroom, you go to shut the drawers that you had left open in the rush to find him something to wear. The bottom drawer has always had a problem, getting stuck at the most inopportune moments. Lifting it just a little, you slam the drawer back into place which causes the contents on top of your dresser to shake with the force. The silver picture frame falls on its face and you go to place it right side up.

It’s a photograph of the two of you from last summer. Robin had pointed the camera at you and at the very last second Steve grabbed you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal in delight. The memory stings. You almost want to put it face down again so that you don’t have to be reminded of what once was. Instead, you’re interrupted by the sound of a lock turning and quiet footfalls on carpeted floors.

The moment Steve steps into your bedroom, you’re drenched in nostalgia. It’s been months since you’ve seen him like this–standing in his pajamas in your bedroom. It’s moments like this that are the hardest. The ones where you can feel how everything and nothing has changed. It feels like relief and restriction.

You realize you’re still standing in front of the dresser and go to sit on your bed. You need to put space between you and Steve. He has this insane gravitational pull and you know that if you stay around him like this for too long, you’ll end up back in his orbit.

He steps cautiously around the room like he’s afraid of stepping on a landmine. One wrong move and everything could blow up. Standing in front of the dresser, he takes the dreaded picture frame into his hands. He’s still using a towel to dry his hair when he finally speaks.

“It’s a good picture.” He says, simply. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the layer of dust that coats your sunbleached faces.

“It is.” You manage to choke out. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He places the picture frame back down on the dresser. It’s perfectly angled towards you. The ghost of your smiling face taunting you in your own bedroom.

“It’s funny, y’know?” Steve lets out a mirthless laugh.

“What is?”

“We broke up and the only person I wanna talk about it with is you.”

All of the air has been sucked out of the room. Steve has always been good at taking your breath away.

“I mean, I get it. I get why we broke up. I do.” He lets out a deep breath before continuing on, not giving you a chance to interrupt. “Except, I don’t. I can’t wrap my head around how one day we were fine and the next day we weren’t. I know that I’m not good enough for you–I’ve always known that. I guess I just wanna know when you finally figured it out.”

His words make you ache. A tightness blooms in your chest and spreads all the way down your arms to your trembling fingertips. You want so badly to reach out to him. He’s on the other side of the room but he might as well be on the other side of the world. You don’t know how to bridge the ravine that you’ve put between the two of you. You know for him you’d make the leap, uncaring of the abyss below. The thought scares you so much that your fists tangle in your bedsheets, hoping for something to keep you from falling back in.

“The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you weren’t good enough for me. You’ve always been good enough, Steve.”

You can tell from the shake of his head that he doesn’t believe you.

“I thought that maybe you just needed a little space, a little time. Then I have to watch you go on dates and move on like it’s easy. Like the fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t eat you up inside.”

“It’s not easy! It’s killing me!” Tears collect in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy with you. I want to be happy with you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Steve begs, his question punctuated by a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning.

You found solace in the eye of the storm. Once the storm passed, you didn’t know what to do with the wreckage. Calm didn’t provide comfort. Instead, it only reminded you that there was likely another storm to come. Steve has always been better at picking up the pieces and patching things up. You didn’t want to become just another thing he had to fix. So, you pushed him away.

He still came back.

This time he brought the storm with him.

“I’m afraid that the minute I actually enjoy everything, it’ll all get taken away from me.” You confess, roughly wiping away your tears.

Steve crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His hair is still slightly damp, a stray strand hanging in front of his forehead. You brush it out of the way and he catches your wrist, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. He says it like a promise. You wish the words were tangible, that you could close your fist around them and hold them close. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”

The words simultaneously endear and exasperate you. Here is this boy who loves you, sitting in front of you telling you to let him love you. Here you are, about to tell him that he can’t.

“What if you can’t fix it, Steve? What if I’m unfixable?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Then I’ll still love you anyway.”

Steve looks up and the clouds part. You’ve been so caught up in your doom and gloom, that you’d forgotten what it felt like to see the light of day. You lean down, closing your eyes, pressing your forehead to his.

“Why?” The question comes out watery and wanting.

“I can’t help it.” He breathes out.

You understand the feeling.

You bridge the gap, uncaring of the abyss that lies below. You’d fall through eternity if it meant you got to do it with him. His lips feel exactly like you remember them–like home. He kisses soft and slow, hands anchored at your hips as if to prevent you from floating away. When you break apart, both of you gasping for air, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. It fades away as soon as you lean back on the bed, pulling at his sleeves and dragging him with you.

The night is composed of soft apologies and even softer sighs, accompanied by the din of rain against the roof. It isn’t until far into the night that the storm finally subsides, leaving the pavement to glow in the morning sun.

Waking up next to Steve is a revelation. You don’t know how you ever survived without it. He’s all sleepy smiles and tired eyes, drowsily pulling you closer to him. Resting your head on his chest, you’re soothed by the rhythmic thump of his beating heart.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to walk in the rain just to say that you wanna get back together. You’re so dramatic.” You joke, hoping that it isn’t too soon to start poking fun.

His chest rumbles with laughter, the reverberations quelling your fears.

“In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I started walking.” He says, voice still thick with sleep. “Besides, you love it.”

You smile contentedly to yourself, not offering up a response besides a hum of agreement. He’s right. You do love him. Rain or shine.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #mimi wrote ✍️#steve harrington fic #stranger things

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woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

Text

Training

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Zećira Mušović x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You train with Zećira

You put your foot up on Momma's knee so she can lace up your new boots. You're very excited and can't stop wiggling around. You've already got your gloves on. You've been wearing them since you got up this morning and snuck into the Big Bed to worm your way between Momma and Morsa.

Morsa's pacing in front of you, muttering under her breath and waving her hands around. Every time she calms down, she looks at you and it all starts up again.

"Momma," You say," Why is Morsa being weird?"

Momma laughs as she taps your leg to get you to drop it. "Morsa's just a bit jealous," She says.

"But why?"

"Because your wearing Zećira's Chelsea shirt."

You look down and tug at the hem. It's true. You are wearing Zećira's black Not-Wolfsburg shirt but you've paired it with your Wolfsburg green shorts so it balances out. "I don't have Zećira's Rosengård shirt."

Momma laughs again as Morsa moves to open the door. She helps you stand up and puts your training backpack on your back.

"Looking good, y/n," Zećira says, hand out for a high five as you run to greet her.

You spin on your heel. "It's your shirt!"

"I can see that! Are you ready to go and do some training today?"

You nod quickly, head bobbing up and down before you reach to take her hand.

Morsa clears her throat. "What's going on? You wear Zećira's shirt and suddenly you're too cool to say goodbye to us?"

You drop Zećira's hand to hug Morsa and then Momma. It's barely a hug though. It's more of a quick squeeze before you're running to hold Zećira's hand again.

"I want her back in a few hours," Morsa says in her captain voice which means Zećira has to listen or else. She tried to use that voice on you once but you just giggled and gave her a little kiss.

"Yes, captain," Zećira laughs before taking your hand more firmly and leading you out the door.

Her car is parked out the front of the house but you don't get in. Instead, you cross the street and walk down it to get to the park.

There aren't many people out because it's a Wednesday and normal people are at work so it's just you and Zećira at the goalposts and a few people walking their dogs.

"Okay." Zećira dumps hers and your bags by one of the posts. "Do you remember what the most important thing to do is before we train?"

"Warm up!"

"That's right. So, we're going to jog from this goal to the ones over there. Ready?"

"Ready!"

Zećira runs with you. It's a lot easier for her because she's got longer legs but you make sure to keep up even though you have to take more strides than her.

She makes you do it twice - there and back before showing you how to stretch properly and then how tight to do up your gloves. By the end of it, your face is all sweaty and your flyaways stick to your forehead as you pant.

Zećira lets you take a water break so you guzzle down enough water to feel full before arriving at her side again.

She sits in front of you, legs spread with a ball between them. "Okay, so today, we're going to go very slow. One step at a time."

"Okay!" You sit in front of her, legs spread like hers.

"So, I want you to stand in goal and then I'm either going to roll or throw the ball at you. I want you to get it in your hands and lay down on top of it, okay?"

"Okay!"

You hurry to go stand in goal, bouncing on your feet because Zećira once told you at Not-Wolfsburg training that keepers need to be light on their feet.

She rolls the ball to you. It's kind of slow but you grab it in your hands before tucking it into your chest and moving to lay down on the ground.

"Very good!" Zećira praises," Now we're going to try a high one."

She throws it underarm at you and you reach out to grab it before lying on your stomach again.

"Well done! Do you know why we do it like this?"

You shake your head as you kick the ball back to her and she repeats the exercise.

"Well, if we just catch the ball, there's always a chance that we drop it so if we cover it with our whole body then the other team can't kick it in while we're distracted. It's a surefire way to keep the ball while you recover a bit. Sometimes if you catch a shot then it can wind you and you need a little moment to breathe properly again."

You nod along as you make another little save.

As time goes on, Zećira stops rolling the ball and starts kicking at you. They're not her proper goalkicks that she does at matches but they're still kicks and a few of them catch you off guard.

Your face falls as it happens again and Zećira pats you softly on the shoulder as she collects the ball.

"It doesn't matter if you miss a few," She says to you softly, brushing some hair out of your face," All that matters is if you try, okay? Always try your very best. It doesn't matter if it goes in, just as long as you try.

You nod.

"Ready to go again?"

"Ready!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #zecira musovic x reader #zecira musovic #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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mypoisonedvine · 8 months

Note

can I request a dark!(any of cillian murphy’s characters) who’s basically this spoiled entitled rich guy and he meets a waitress who puts him in his place for disrespecting her? so he decides to teach her a lesson

THE WAY THIS IS PERFECT FOR DARK!ROBERT FISCHER??? OH MY GOD??

warnings: DARK NONCON SMUT!! 18+ only, misogyny and classism, pretty extreme degradation, semi-public sex, hair pulling

You weren't sure why that one interaction stuck in your head, it wasn't like you hadn't dealt with rude customers before: they're plentiful in a fancy place like this, only people wealthy enough to be used to getting whatever they wanted could afford to eat here.

Maybe it was just because you'd already noticed him from the first moment you came to the table, and not just because he looked a little out of place surrounded by the other businessmen... you thought he was gorgeous, obviously. Which made it even more disappointing when he was a huge tool, correcting your pronunciation of some of the menu items and then trying to summon you to the table with a few impatient snaps of his fingers. Not to mention calling you 'sweetheart' instead of your name-- classic sexist bullshit.

Or maybe you remembered him because of the rage when you stood up to him-- just for a second, you saw it in his eyes, before he let out a nervous and condescending laugh to try to break the tension. But even just that flash of anger in his stare made you regret speaking up. Normally, you didn't take shit from anyone and you didn't apologize for the feelings you hurt along the way... but that, his look right then, was everything people had been warning you about. It's one thing to stand up to someone, it's another to antagonize them.

It was enough to make you feel a little nervous when your shift ended that night. You'd watched the flock of stuffy suits leave after their meal, obviously not giving you a tip because of course they wouldn't, and yet you had this lingering feeling like you were being watched-- like you hadn't seen the last of that infuriated glare.

But, feeling like you were definitely overreacting, you resisted the urge to ask your manager to walk you to your car. It was late, of course, and you shivered a bit as the chilly night air made your thin cardigan feel pretty much useless.

Just as you unlocked your car, opening the backseat door to toss in your bag, you felt a hand cover your mouth as someone grabbed you. Your instinctive scream was muffled as you heard a harsh 'shh' by your ear, a heavy form pressing into yours.

You were pushed into the car, tossed roughly down over the backseats as the man's weight kept you pinned down, and you tried to struggle but found yourself quickly incapacitated by his strength.

"How fucking dare you," he spat right against your ear; and you recognized the voice, of course you did, it was burned into your mind already. "You rude little bitch..."

"Get off me," you growled, "you fucking asshole!"

"No, no," he purred, pinning your arms down when you tried to push him back, "not until you've learned your lesson. The way you spoke to me at dinner, I just can't let you get away with that."

"I-I'm sorry, okay?" you breathed, distressed by how easily he held your arms in place by his tight grip on your wrists; you felt him smile against your ear, a dark little chuckle making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "I'm sorry-- I wasn't trying to be rude."

"Yes, you were, sweetheart," he disagreed, throwing the condescending name right at you again. "You were trying to, what, emasculate me? How's that working out for you?"

Honestly, you had been-- you always figured customers like that had it coming, and you'd relished in the chance to make him look like an idiot in front of presumably some very important people. "I'm sorry," you said again. "I was wrong. Please... please just get out and we can forget this ever happened."

You shuddered when his hand moved down to your skirt, rubbing your leg with a hum and slowly pushing up the fabric. "You were hoping for a big tip tonight, weren't you?" he chuckled. "I think I can still give you one."

"P-please," you choked out again, "Mr. Fischer, right? I'm sorry... just please don't--"

He covered your mouth again, grinning at you as he pulled the skirt up roughly and yanked your panties down, giving your ass a hard smack as you yelped behind the strong grip of his fingers. "Don't worry," he offered as he started to hastily open his fly with one hand, "I'm just going to remind you of your place. A whore like you will probably like it."

You shut your eyes tight, hearing him grunt as he adjusted himself to be right at your opening, teasing your hole with his head for just a moment before suddenly and forcefully shoving in. You screamed behind his hand, dropping your head defeatedly, and he groaned happily as he started to fuck you.

"That's it," he praised darkly, "just take it, honey."

Shuddering, you went limp under him, out of other options; you winced as his cock forced its way deep inside you, so deep that your back tried to arch up to avoid some of the intense pressure.

"Shh," he soothed, putting a hand on your back to keep it down, "that's better-- fuck, you little slut..."

He was speeding up already, and you still hadn't adjusted to his size. Clearly his shitty attitude wasn't compensating for anything, like you'd implied before-- and you choked on your moans of discomfort as he finally let go of your mouth. Only broken sighs came out, unfortunately, and in the corner of your eye you could see him staring down at you with a sneer.

"This is exactly what you deserve," he panted, "getting fucked like a cheap whore in this filthy car. I don't think I've ever been inside one of these things-- my god, is that a cassette player?! How old is this piece of shit?"

You groaned, amazed that he had the energy or focus to insult your car in a time like this-- you were just panting and holding tightly onto the beige fabric seats under you, hoping that someone, anyone, would see what was happening and stop him. God, if someone saw, they'd probably think this was a consensual thing, a kinky little public hookup-- but you couldn't just scream for help or something, you felt very confident that he would find a way to keep you silent.

He sighed as he buried his face in your neck, his hips moving faster-- needier, really. He was even moaning, squeezing your wrists again, acting oddly passionate as if this was something very different than what it was. "You could be pretty, you know," he mumbled to you, "if you smiled more-- and if you didn't do your makeup like a cheap whore. Well... I guess you can't help the cheap part."

"You could be pretty if you weren't a psychopath," you snapped back, making him chuckle proudly.

"Still got that fucking attitude," he noticed, "guess I haven't fucked it out of you yet. How about when you're dripping with my come? Then will you understand how you need to speak to your superiors?"

"Don't," you begged in a gasp, "please-- please don't--"

But he just growled and fucked you harder, making the whole car move with the force of his thrusts. "You fucking wanted me," he accused through his teeth, "didn't you? You wanted this. I could see it on your face, the second you looked at me-- you were imagining how well I'd wreck this little cunt."

You tried to shake your head, but he grabbed you by your hair and yanked your head back until you yelped out a sob.

"I'm close," he breathed, "gonna fucking fill you-- 'cause it's all your good for, sweetheart. Being a waitress isn't that fucking complicated, and you're still shit at that-- so how about you just embrace your natural talents, huh? How about you just take my fucking cock and say 'thank you'?"

"F-fuck you," you barely managed to rasp out, and he made sure to punish you for that by absolutely pounding into you for the last of it.

"Stupid fucking whore," he snarled between deep grunts, "f-fuck, you bitch--"

He moaned suddenly as he came, letting go of your hair and dropping you down onto the backseat again as he gave a few shallow, shaky thrusts; his grip was on your hips instead, keeping you still so he could go as deep as possible.

"Fuck," he sighed, panting to catch his breath; you blinked a haziness out of your eyes, hissing as he pulled out of you-- you were going to feel that sting tomorrow, if not longer.

He put his cock back in his trousers and zipped them up, getting out of the car and taking out his wallet.

"Here's a tip," he offered as he tossed a few bills at you, laughing as you widened your eyes at the realization that they were hundreds. "Start saving up for a new car. Or at least get this one cleaned... you're leaking my come all over the seats."

#dark!robert fischer x reader #robert fischer dark smut #WOW THIS IS WEIRD LMAO

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fob4ever · 5 months

Text

i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

#yayyyyyy #article

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cameronslilypad · 10 days

Text

find me through my dealer - part three

summary: you and rafe have been in the same friend group for a while now, so you could be considered close, when he finds out you have a dealer who isn't him he demands you cut them off and use him instead. you both work out an arrangement you get 'discounts' and in return do him 'favours' (but are they really favours if the both of you enjoy it a little too much?) because that's what friends are for right? friends?

part one part two

the next day consisted of you alternating between sleeping, watching tv in your bed and overthinking about last night. you hadn’t had any contact with rafe since he left your house last night, that wasn’t that out of the ordinary but for some reason you’re stomach was feeling unsettled, if things were now awkward it was your fault. you came onto him. and just to make it worse, there’s another party tonight, everyone's throwing them as its summer, but you’re not going to let what happened stop you from getting a little bit fucked up. as you finish strapping your heels on your phone starts ringing. the contact name beccss stares back at you.

“get you’re ass out here, we’re waiting outside for you” she shouts over the speaker of the car.

“calm down i’m coming out now” you tell her hanging up and picking your bag up from your bed before making your way out the door.

it’s rafes car. you swing the door open and try to numb any awkward thoughts. you’re met with the music being turned down and everyone, that is apart from rafe. so in the end i did fucking embarrass myself. great. you just try to think about getting blackout to distract yourself while topper, kelce and becca converse. rafe pulls up to the house this party is being held at, before he can put his car in park you open the door and get out, dragging becca with you.

“woahhh what was that about” she asks in pure shock as you drag her towards the house.

“i just really want a drink” you force a little laugh, you couldn’t tell her. especially not now. it would make the whole group unnecessarily awkward.

you’ve been at this party for a few hours, you’re quite fucked but in your opinion not fucked enough yet. the night so far had been sitting with the group and a few other mutual people, and you and becca dragging each other to go and dance. now the five of you were in the kitchen, right by the drinks. and he hadn’t even looked at you once. when you got your first drink in you, you thought he could be acting normal and it’s because you were feeling anxious that you thought he was acting off. but now that you’re sat on the kitchen counter, looking next to you at all the alcohol you know you were right in the very beginning, he was acting different. and only towards you.

fuck it. you pick up a bottle of vodka ,only around 1/5 full, you put it straight to your lips and start gulping the liquid. you know that you’re going to regret it later but in the moment you didn’t care as you let the bitter liquid slide down you throat.

“oh shit! go on down it!” topper shouts, he must’ve been the first to notice what you were doing, you knew the reason he sounded so excited was because it’s usually him that’s too drunk.

you finish the bottle and put it back next to you, the alcohol making your lips tingle and your insides warm. topper puts his hand out for a high five and cheers about how you actually downed it as you returned the gesture. to your surprise, out of the corner of your eye you can feel rafe staring at the side of your head. you quickly turn your head so you’re eyes meet, making sure you weren’t imagining his first acknowledgement of your existent from tonight. however, as your eyes meet his all your met with is him softly shaking his head with his eyebrows furrowed before turning away, breaking the eye contact. you shake your own head, fuck this, and take your cup outside. there’s not many people out there, which you’re glad about so you pull up an outdoor chair and sit down.

you’d been outside for around 20 minutes now, enjoying the muffled music and your drink. you hear a chair scraping against the floor, you turn your head to see rafe pulling up a chair next to yours. you turn your head away from him but his eyes are sill staring at the side of your head.

“we getting out of here or what?” he stretches his arm to the back of your chair, leaning his body closer to yours. it takes you a few seconds to look at him, but when you you’re met with his slightly glossy eyes and a cheeky smirk on his face. at that point you already knew your answer.

“hmm i guess, if you want” you shrug, trying to joke with him.

“i wouldn't have asked if i didn’t want, but do you want?” he asked emphasizing the ‘you’ in the sentence. you just stayed silent again teasing him.

“oh so now all of a sudden you don’t want this?” he backs up away from you, raising his voice. you follow suit and back away from him.

“i was just teasing you” you mutter looking at him in shock and a bit of offence that he was getting angry with you about this.

“teasing? ooh i’ll show you teasing” he chuckled and took your arm leading you out to his car. he gets in the drivers seat and drags you on top of him so you’re straddling his lap. he lifts your dress straight up to your hips and trails his fingers down your stomach straight into your underwear. he runs his two fingers up your slit, collecting some of your wetness using it to trace light circles on your clit. this goes on for what feels like hours and all you can do is throw your head back and let out a few moans. you grab onto his wrist as you feel the coil in your stomach ready to snap, and then he pulls his hand away.

“not this shit again” you groan pouting, to which he chuckles.

“i told you m’ gonna show you what teasing is” he says resting his hand on your ass for a few moments until he brings it back down into your underwear. slipping two fingers straight into you and pumping them in and out of you at a quickened pace, it doesn’t take long for your walls to start squeezing his fingers deeper in to you, but before you can let your pleasure override all of your senses he denies your orgasm for a second time.

before you even had a chance to complain he was undoing his belt and tugging his jeans down just enough for his dick to spring out of his boxers. he pulls your panties to the side.

“c’mon then, get on top” he tells you, using his hands on your hips to help you lift and guide yourself. you sink slowly down, shuddering at the contact, and barely have a second to process and get comfortable before rafe is lifting your hips up and slamming them back down onto his lap. once you’d adjusted to him being inside you, you started to bounce yourself on his dick at the same pace his hands were lifting you up and slamming you back down. his response to this was taking his hands off of you completely and letting you do all the work.

“just like that, fuck yourself on my cock” he groans putting his hands behind and looking you up and down. you carry on with this for a few moments, the only sounds being your skin slapping together and heavy breaths coming out of the both of you, before you can feel your orgasm approaching for the third time tonight making your rhythm falter a bit. rafe notices this ,wraps a hand around your throat and the other gripping your ass as he starts to thrust up into you. his pace fast and rough.

the only thing leaving your mouth are little “ugh” noises at the impact of his thrusts, as you clench around his dick you feel his thrusts losing their pace and being more reckless. he finally lets you cum before cumming himself and fucking it back up into you. he quickly lifts you off of his dick and shoves you into the passenger seat before putting his dick back in his pants.

“buckle up” he tells you turning the engine on. you slowly sit up, pull your dress down and do your seatbelt up. he starts driving, you don’t know how much he’s had to drink but it must've been little to none, you couldn’t care less you could feel your bed calling for you. before you know it rafes in your driveway. he nods towards the door to you.

“bye” you mumble getting out the car and going into your house, straight upstairs to your room as you collapse on your bed.

#obx x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #obx fic #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

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chrisevansleftpeck · 1 year

Text

Chlorine Kisses

Word Count: 1.3k

Content Warnings: da team enjoying some drinkies, emily prentiss and derek morgans thirsty comments, and kisses ofc

the saga of spencer reid kissing women in pools continues

You didn’t really swim a whole lot. You never swam, actually, but Rossi and Krystall had just gotten a big pool installed in their backyard and Rossi wanted to throw a little party to “break in” the pool.

You were nervous for two reasons. For one, social gatherings in general weren’t your thing. Secondly, you’d be in a bathing suit, exposed for all to see. Every scar, bump, and bruise you’d gotten from a case or your childhood would be on display. The thought of anyone seeing your body that clearly made you nauseous.

You actually didn’t own a bathing suit and had to stop by Prentiss’ apartment before the party to grab one from her. You crossed your fingers it wouldn’t be a bikini. But of course it was.

With a shameful twirl, you exited Prentiss’ bathroom with the bikini on. It was white with cherries on it- no doubt a tribute to Emily’s raging lesbianism- but it fit you nicely and was actually quite flattering. Still though, uncomfortable.

“You know I would never lie to you, y/n. Your tits look great in that.” You laughed shyly at Emily’s comment, pulling your cover-up t-shirt and shorts back over the bikini.

“Thanks for letting me borrow. I know it’s last minute.” You said, grabbing your phone and car keys from off of Emily’s kitchen counter.

“Of course, thanks for driving me.” Prentiss said, walking the two of you to your car. You got in the driver’s seat as Emily slid into your passenger seat. You fired up your car, then reversed it, pulling out of the apartment complex’s garage and driving to Rossi’s.

It was daunting, seeing that people were already in the pool. You thought- hoped- that maybe there’d be a window of time where everyone would hang out around the mini bar first or something. But no, everyone just carried their drink over to the pool. Almost everyone- but not Spencer.

Prentiss was quick to lose her cover-up, joining everyone in the pool, but you decided to buy yourself some time by talking to Spencer. He was stretched out on one of the poolside lounging chairs with a book in his hands. He always used one finger to trace what words he was reading through so quickly. He looked cute so focused. He also looked really great in swim trunks, however his shirt still remained.

It didn’t take him long to notice you looming over him. He peeked up at you with a puzzled smile, “Hi.”

“Hi.” You replied, unsure how to break the awkward staring you’d begun. “I didn’t know you owned normal t-shirts.” You said, pointing at the gray t-shirt Spencer wore.

Spencer looked down at his t-shirt quickly, smiling. It felt weird to him too. “It’s a hand-me-down from Morgan. He gives me some of his old stuff sometimes. He says I need to ‘expand my closet’.”

You laughed, thinking about his regular scarves and sweater-vests. “I like your style. Not- not that this is bad- just unusual. You look good- normal- now. Yeah, you look like normal-good.” You rambled on to no end. Now was about the time for you to leave. You felt gross, like you were all over Spencer.

Spencer only looked down at his book and laughed a little. “You look pretty- um, good. Always. Not like- but like you always never look bad.” You decided to register this comment as a compliment once you say Spencer’s cheeks blush. He was nervous, maybe? He liked you? No, he just liked your clothes. You just wondered if he’d still feel that way when he witnessed the embarrassment that was your bikini. It was cute, sure, but very not you.

“Get in here, you two!” Penelope yelled from the pool with some sort of fruity drink in a glass decorated with an orange wedge and salted rim.

Spencer laughed, throwing his head back in contest, then gave in, placing his book down on the lounging chair. He peeled off his shirt casually. You could tell it made him uncomfortable but you could also tell that nobody cared. That gave you some hope- maybe nobody would care about how you looked either.

You did however, wait to change until Spencer was done because you were….distracted to say the least. “You going in?” Spencer asked, making it sound like an option as if Penelope and Emily weren’t staring you down.

“Yeah, I guess so. Not much of a choice.” You and Spencer smiled, looking down at the girls taunting you from the water. You did the same as Spencer, removing your shirt then your shorts and casting them aside on a separate chair. You noticed how pink his neck and chest got seeing your body for the first time, really.

Morgan made a whistle as you and Spence walked over to the pool’s edge. “Pretty. Boy. I think pretty girl’s got you beat today.”

Emily nudged Morgan, “Shut up!” She rolled her eyes.

You faked a smile through your nervousness as you waded into the pool, Spencer following behind you. Sure the water still felt cold on you, but you couldn’t wait to be submerged up to your waist- to cover up some of you.

You finally made it beside Penelope, Spencer standing beside Derek. Everybody lounged in the pool with their drinks until the sun began to set. As the hours had ticked away, more and more of the team filed inside, drying themselves off and beginning cooking Rossi’s famous spaghetti. You and Spencer, given you two began swimming the latest, were the last remaining in the water.

It was really quiet at first because of how painfully obvious it was that you both really really liked each other. But conversation started and things became easier. “You any good at swimming?” You asked Spencer, splashing some water over your shoulders to keep yourself warm.

“No, no, no. I’m not a big fan. I do admire that Rossi had us swim before eating though. You know- there’s not really actually any scientific research that proves or says you should eat before or after swimming. For me, it’s more of a personal preference.” Spencer spun off into a little tangent. You listened, of course, but you also couldn’t help but laugh. He talked with his hands still, even under water. “What?”

“Nothing, you just- you just talking with your hands still.” You poked his hand with your finger beneath the water. To you it felt like a spark. Like metal scraping across a blade- a hot, fiery spark. His little touches always felt that way.

Spencer seemed to notice it too because he had no response to your joke. “Um, it’s dark.” He coughed under his breath.

“Yeah.” You hung your head low, staring down at your feet through the well-lit pool. “Sorry.” You whispered.

Spencer’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean to make things awkward.” You replied just above a whisper, avoiding eye contact. “I know you don’t like it when people touch your hands.”

Spencer cleared his throat, maybe even subconsciously moving closer to you. “I don’t really mind when you do.”

You finally dared to look up. He was pretty and tall, and the tips of his hair were curling from the water. “Oh.” You whispered, then made a dangerous reach for his hand under the water. He almost shuddered at the unfamiliar touch. “This okay?”

Spencer nodded, for some reason pulling your hand towards him and you with it. Spencer pulled you close to him, one hand in yours and the other tilting your face up to him. Your bodies were pressed up against each other like fitting puzzle pieces as you kissed. It was soft and it was slow. You soaked up every moment of your lips on his, his hand on your neck and your hand lightly touching his waist.

“You two!” Rossi bitched from behind you, causing you and Spencer to swim apart from each other. “Now I have to change the pool water because two naughty kids were making out in my brand new pool.” Rossi complained but with a wide smile.

He’d waited a long time to see you two together. You’d waited a long time to see you two together.

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lnfours · 8 months

Text

summer love | l.n

summary: part 2 to this request but make it ✨summer break ✨

warnings: fluff, language, all the feels, lando being 100% whipped. fem!driver x lando :,)

masterlist | part 1 | ask box

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

it was officially summer break, a whole month off of racing to recharge the batteries, spend time with family and friends and just do normal people things.

but all you could think about was him. it was sickening. you weren’t sure how or why, but you found yourself thinking about lando a lot more than you should. and you knew you shouldn’t, he was your teammate, but something about that day in the drivers room made your heart rate spike.

you were laying in bed, scrolling through instagram when you had come across his story. you held down the picture, examining it as you looked it over.

it was a picture of the sunset, the location tagged london, england. you furrowed an eyebrow, he spent his summer break at home? before you knew it, you were sliding up, adding a comment underneath the picture.

you’re home for summer break?

you bit down on your lower lip after you had sent it. surely he wouldn’t reply, he was probably off having a good time, enjoying his life and not thinking about you-

yea, feels good to be home. where’d you go to spend holiday?

you clicked at the top of your screen, opening the dms. you had saw the previous dms being memes you had sent one another a while back, the two of you going back and forth about who was funnier.

it was you.

actually, i’m here too 😅

you saw his icon appear at the bottom of your message before it changed to say he was typing. you tried so hard to ignore the way your stomach was doing cartwheels.

out of ALL the places you could’ve chose from, you picked london? stalker much? 🙄

you let out a soft laugh, typing back a whitty response.

you wish i was here to see you, norris 🥱 no, i’ve just never been. always been on my bucket list to come outside of racing

typing…

i do, actually. i miss you

you read it over and over again before another message appeared from him.

also, where are you staying? we can meet up, get coffee or something? i can show you around 😁

okay, now you were internally screaming. you clicked on the photo option, snapping a picture of you in your bed, adding the location of the hotel you were staying in before sending it. he opened it almost immediately, sending another picture back. he was shirtless, sunglasses resting on his nose and you noticed he had grown out his facial hair. the sun was still setting and it looked like he was on a beach.

you’re literally 15 minutes away from me. hang out with me, i’m bored ☹️

you smiled before sending another picture, this time of the tv in the hotel which was currently playing an episode of a show you had seen a million times before.

can’t, busy :/

another picture from him, this time he was in his car. he had a shirt on now, the white fabric making him look tanner, his hair messy. how could someone look so good?

too bad, i know where you are 🥰

you took a picture of yourself giving him the finger, a playful smile on your face.

ok fine, but you’re getting me food

he replied with another picture, this time of his hand on the steering wheel. the mclaren logo on the center was the star of the show, the four little lines on the bottom making an appearance.

deal, see you soon

you double tapped his photo, throwing the covers off of your legs before making your way to your suitcase. you grabbed a pair of shorts and an over size hoodie, tugging it on before fixing your hair. you opted on no makeup, slipping your sunglasses on before grabbing your bag. once you made sure you had everything, you made your way to the lobby.

in the elevator, your phone pinged.

your chariot awaits, m’lady

you rolled your eyes and smiled, typing back a response.

coming to lobby now, mr. uber driver

he double tapped your message and when you walked through the doors of the hotel, you immediately spotted him. he was waiting for you, leaning against the passenger side door. you smiled, approaching him as he smiled back at you.

“hey,” you said, the two of you reaching for a hug. he wrapped his arms around your waist, desperately trying not to hug you too tight as you slung your arms around his neck.

“hey,” he smiled back, “ready for the best tour of london you’ll ever get with your favorite guy?”

you looked around, a playful smile on your lips, “lewis is here?”

he rolled his eyes, shoving your arm softly as he chuckled, “oh, fuck off.”

you laughed back at him, letting him open the door for you. you smiled and thanked him, letting it close as he made his way to the drivers side. you took note of each little personalized detail of the car, smiling softly at how much of his personality was put into it.

“so,” he said, starting the car, “anywhere in particular you wanted to see?”

you shook your head, “no, but if you want, you could show me your favorite places.”

he nodded, pulling out of the parking lot, “i’ve got the perfect place for you.”

you couldn’t help but smile again as you looked over at him. he handed you his phone, spotify open, “play whatever you want.”

you raised an eyebrow, “whatever i want?”

he nodded, “yeah, curious to see what kind of music you listen to.”

you smirked, typing in ‘summer love’ by justin timberlake. the song boomed through the speakers and he laughed, turning it up slightly as he made his way to one of his favorite spots.

after more songs, which may or may not have included some one direction songs (which he surprisingly knew all the words to), and some small talk later, he pulled into a parking spot at the overlook. you both got out, standing in front of the car as you looked out at the view.

“wow,” you breathed, “this is stunning.”

you looked up at the sky as you finally got to see it’s beauty without any light pollution. he smiled, leaning against the car as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“yeah,” he looked over at you, “it is.”

you looked over at him, “you’re looking at me like that again.”

he raised an eyebrow, but the smile still sat on his face as he shook his head, “no idea what you’re talking about, doll.”

your stomach did a flip and you walked in front of him, your legs between his, “how many girls have you brought here?”

he snorted, “none, only you,” he looked up at the stars now, his neck on display for you. his fluffy curls were pushed back with his sunglasses, his nose and cheeks slightly red and covered in sun freckles from being outside all day. he looked so pretty like this to you, who was still standing in front of him and god you wish you didn’t look awkward staring at him like this, “kind of a place where i come if i need to get away, just think for a little bit.”

you finally adverted your eyes back to the sky, “yeah, this would be the place to do it.”

he nodded, “so, to answer your question, none. guess that makes you special.”

you gasped, “i’m special to the lando norris?”

“don’t start,” he rolled his eyes playfully, “you’re like, P3 at best.”

“well you know what they say about being third,” you said, “they have the treasure chest.”

he chuckled again, the soft breeze of the night whisking a hair in your face. he carefully reached out and brushed it back, “actually, you get 15 points. cmon, you’re supposed to know this, y/n,”

you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried, “you would know, huh?”

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling it out and reading the notification.

⚠️ time to bereal ⚠️

you clicked on it, looking up at him but he was already looking at you, “wanna be in my bereal?”

“sure,” he said and you smiled before clicking on the notification.

however when you held your arm up, you started laughing and not being able to take yourself seriously. lando laughed with you.

“hurry! take the picture or it’ll be late!” he laughed and you pulled yourself together before laughing again. you weren’t sure what it was. if it was how close he was to you or how happy you were right now, but he took the phone from you.

“jesus christ,” he laughed as he raised his arm up, pulling you in by your hip. you wrapped both arms around his neck, smiling at the camera. he turned the phone around to get the other picture, this time he turned his head towards you and you faced him with a smile. he smiled back, your hand resting on his cheek. the flash went off and he brought his arm down, but you still kept his face in your hand.

you took the phone from him, “thank you,”

“yeah,” he smiled, “anytime,”

you locked your phone, slipping it back into your pocket before looking at him again. he still had the same look on his face, almost like he was-

“i like you, y/n,” he said, “a lot.”

you smiled, heart jumping up to your throat, stomach doing flips, and you swore you were going to pass out when he placed his hand on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin, his fingers starting to move into the hair behind your ear.

“i like you too,” you said, and that was all he needed to hear before he was pulling your neck towards him, lips connecting with yours. your body felt like it was on fire as his hands moved from your face to your hips, shifting as he leaned back against the hood of the car, taking you with him as you laid on top of him.

the kiss got hot, his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip. at first you didn’t let him in, which made you giggle against him. but, the giggling turned into gasping the minute he tugged on your hair gently, allowing him to sneak his tongue in.

he finally broke the kiss, the both of you panting. you hadn’t realized that your hands were in his hair, it now being a mess of frizzy, beachy curls. his lips were red and puffy, pupils blown. you were so in love.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, taking it out and almost laughing at the notification. he smiled at you, but raised an eyebrow in confusion, “what? what’s funny?”

you turned your phone around to show him oscar’s comment on your bereal:

oscarpiastri81: WHAT THE FUCK??!?!

he laughed, pulling you as close as he could while you typed out a response to your teammate, “you hungry?”

you nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket, “starving, actually.”

he nodded, taking your hand in his as you stood up, “i know a really good spot not far from your hotel, think you’ll like it.”

you smiled as he opened the door for you, you thanked him with a quick kiss on his lips, “sounds perfect.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 blurb #ln4 fluff #lando norris x reader fluff #enemies to lovers #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #fluff #blurb

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phantom-0-writer · 7 months

Text

*standing menacingly at the door* i made u something

anyways lol. i had a lot of school work and was really busy freaking out and stress studying for a singular test that was 4 questions and would be over in like an hour and then i proceeded to cry about it in my car for various reasons.

but yk what that means!

time for our irregular and unscheduled update of

Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program

this episode featuring a fan favorite: Duke Thomas (aka The Signal - but thats kind of irrelevant for this)

you were supposed to read that like it was from a '90s sitcom and the off screen crowd cheers rly loudly.

some house keeping updates: this scene happens in the beginning of the school year (going by the american system should be september) danny meets damian (and upsurges tim on the same day) around midterm which is around october and then the stuff with jason and damian's drawing happens around december. i kinda accidentally burned the irl timeline for anything dc first scene so now im just gonna do whatever i want.

anyways with out further ado:

table of contents

scene 04: after school activities for normal kids

Duke stood around the corner of the classroom awkwardly, wondering if he had made the right call. Sure the bats and the birds had a plethora of hands on deck any time, but most of them specialized as night time heros. Not to say that they were incompetent or anything, they were some of the most skilled and innovative people Duke had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Sure if anything happened, they could handle it, at least until Duke could slip away and show up as the Signal- Alfred and Bruce had assured him so much. But Duke couldn’t slip the guilt of busying away more of his time to after school activities when he could be patrolling or studying instead,

But Duke had wanted to do something outside of those things, which was specifically why he had made the difficult decision to join a few clubs and after school activities. He could use a break from being surrounded by people who worked the vigilante life-style just to remember how to be a normal civilian. Let himself take a break from constantly be consumed by one case or another, one disaster or another, not being able to do enough no matter how much he tried or how much time he spent patrolling.

Duke needed to feel grounded, like his feet were on the ground and he could press the brakes and smell the fragrance of life. Even if the fragrance was a forgotten pile of dog s-

“Alright,” The instructor for their culinary club started with a weird German accent that sounded really fake. “I am Herman. You can call me Chef or Chef Herman or just Chef. I will not bore you all with the boring introductions, and let's head right into the cooking, yes. On this paper here I made the partners for all of you to cook with for the rest of the year. If you have problem with it then quit.”

This Herman guy seemed like quite the character, and was definitely not helping any of Duke’s previous anxieties. Many of Duke’s clubmates seem to think so too, sending their friends various looks. But no one spoke out, and instead shuffled to the front to look at the singular sheet of paper that would assign them their partners. Duke finally made it to the front and saw that he was paired with a Daniel Fenton at Station 7.

Crossing his fingers that Daniel had at least only a half-rotten personality, Duke made his way over to station 7. The station was already prepped with an assortment of ingredients and cooking equipment. Duke had already set his stuff down claiming the seat closer to the exit (in case) when a lanky kid comes over, “Uh, your Duke Thomas?” He asks hesitantly looking back at the front counter the partner assignment sheet was.

It took Duke an awkward second longer to realize that this kid was probably his partner. “Oh yeah I am.” He laughed apologetically, “You must be Daniel.”

“Danny’s fine.” The boy smiled, absentmindedly brushing his messy black hair out of his face, his glacier blue looking at the equipment. Duke couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about Danny. Not in Gotham’s usual psycho-maniac-out-to-terrorizer-the-city-and-kill-innocent-people kind of off, more in a he’s not in sync with the rest of the world off. While Chef Herman explained the general structure of various types of kitchen and kitchen hierarchy that Duke was already familiar with, Duke tried to get a read on him.

Weird did not mean threat, after all many of the Justice League- heck even the local Wayne/Batclan were pretty weird- and they (usually) didn’t mean any harm. It wouldn’t be fair of Duke to jump the horse like that.

Deciding he should try to be friendly with him, Duke leaned over, “Is it just me or is Chef Herman’s accent totally fake?” he whispered.

“Oh, Ancients,” Anciets? “I thought I was just going insane.” Danny sighed in relief with a small chuckle. There was a moment of silence between the two of them where no one said anything for longer than socially acceptable and Duke debated using his powers to see if he could find a clue or something. That seemed kinda invasive, though.

When the Chef had started instructions on making today's recipe, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Danny helped Duke measure out the ingredients. “So,” Danny tried again, “What are you in for?”

“What am I…” Duke repeated confused,

Danny chuckled awkwardly, “Like why you joined the club.”

Duke seriously needed to get his head in the present; this was getting embarrassing. “Oh.” He nodded in understanding, “I’ve always liked cooking,” Duke shrugged, “When I was little my parents and I would always cook together, and it was always one of my favorite things to do. And I’ve kinda always liked it, but I fell off of it for a while with school and stuff,” emphasis on the stuff “I thought joining a club could help me get back into it and get away from… everything.” That was a little more candid than Duke had planned on being with someone he had met quite literally a few minutes ago, but it felt good to have that out of his chest. The pleasant memories of his parents swimming in his mind. Mixing the dry ingredients, “Sorry that was kind of a lot.” Duke laughed genuinely this time.

“Dude, no it’s actually so cool that you like to cook.” Danny said admiration was easy on his face, and Duke couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed.

“What about you, then?”

“Ugh,” He groaned jokingly, “You can’t seriously be asking for my lame ass reason after you pulled out the flashbacks.” Danny whined, letting the oven preheat like Chef told them to.

“C’mon, it’s only fair.” Duke played along, already ahead of the other groups.

Danny sighed, “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Okay, it can’t be that bad.” Duke could already feel the smile cracking on his face.

“It is.” Danny drawlled, “So I live in the dorms right, and I got to pull some strings and room with one of my friends from back home this year. And well, let’s just say my family has a bit of a reputation for causing problems, and the kitchen definitely wasn’t an exception. One time my dad tried to make some soup for my mom because she got sick.” Duke nodded approvingly, that was a sweet gesture, “It was all fun and games until the bomb squad had to show up and long story short we had to move.”

“You’re joking.” Duke gaped at the bizarre story, but at Danny’s solemn expression, Duke couldn’t help but be appalled, “A bomb squad over soup.”

“My parents were never really heavy on lab safety,” Danny added, as if that explained everything, “But I burn one pot of water and maybe make a few extra-crispy eggs, and suddenly its all ‘Danny you’re not allowed in the kitchen unless you start taking actual classes’ and ‘Danny that's a biohazard’.”

“You burned a pot of water.” Duke echoed, Danny nodded innocently, “Water doesn’t burn.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” Danny sneered, trying to crack an egg on the corner of the bowl only for all the shell to fall in the bowl and the yolk on the counter.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” Duke said, taking the bowl from him and expertly cracking an egg single handedly. Danny looked on in awe. “You said you live in the dorms?” Duke asked easily.

“Oh yeah, all of the non-local scholarship kids have to.”

Before Duke could respond, a girl from the station in front of them whips her head around, “You said you’re here on a scholarship?” She asked almost oppressively.

Danny just as taken aback as Duke felt, “Uh, yeah.”

“Me, too. Have you heard anything about the Mentorship Program here? Apparently we all have to join.” The girl’s partner was looking between Duke and Danny confused, but returned to their cooking uninterested.

“Oh, yeah. They make us all join.” Danny nodded.

“I heard from some of the older kids, that no one actually gets picked for that. It’s just like a weird formality thing.” The girl spoke animatedly, “What department are you in?”

“Applied physics and engineering design.” The oven beeps that it was ready but no one moved.

The girl seemed to deflate that answer, “Oh, I’m doing culinary science.” And with that solid conclusionary statement, she turned around and got back to her work station.

Danny blinked, processing what just happened and slowly turning to look at Duke for proof that just happened. But the second the both of them met each other’s eyes, they burst into a fit of silent laughter.

Bent vunuralably over the table, trying to catch their breath, they were accosted by Chef Hermon. “The two of you are having a comedy club, not a cooking club.” Chef crossed his arms at the edge of the table. Duke was pretty sure he was trying to sold them, but the fake accent was making it hard to tell.

Danny cleared his throat and striated up, “Sorry, Sir.” He apologized quickly.

“Chef.” Hermon peered at them, his hat looking comically large and lopsided on his head now that Duke was getting a closer look.

“Sorry, Chef.” Duke amended, trying to keep his cool.

“Yes, finish cooking your cookies.” He nodded satisfied, leaving their station.

“Okay so,” Duke tried to recount what the last thing they did was, but one look at Danny trying desperately to hold in his laugh had ruined all of Duke’s efforts as well. Barely managing to get their cookies in the oven, over Chef’s fake german accent and floppy oversized chef’s hat.

“So scholarship for applied physics and engineering design, huh.” Duke recounted from earlier, impressed.

“Yeah…” Danny trailed off embarrassed, “It sounds kinda snotty.”

“Dude. That’s literally one of the hardest departments to get into, and the scholarship is no sneeze either. There’s no doubt you worked your butt off to get that.” Duke assured Danny as they sat in their stools waiting for the cookies to finish.

“Thanks,” Danny smiled sheepishly. They sat in a much more comfortable silence now before Danny spoke again, “What grade are you in by the way?”

“I’m in 10th. General studies for now, but I was thinking of doing medicine. You?”

“I could totally see you as a hot-shot doctor.” Danny nodded approvingly, “11th. Technically, I’m your upperclassman then.”

“Technically?” Duke asked.

“I mean, how old are you?”

“15.” Duke supplied confused.

“Me too. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so we’re actually the same age.” Danny explained, sheepishly.

“Dude, you're actually way smart.” Duke gaped in awe.

“Hey medicine isn’t a day walk either.” Danny nudged his arm playfully, “I’m glad the mentorship thing is just for show, though. Now that we’re upperclassmen, y’know. I would not want my hands full with some random rich kid.”

Duke laughed, “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a lot of work.”

Easily unfolding the conversation into various topics and interests Duke found that he didn’t mind that the cookies were burnt. Or that Danny was definitely weird. But in a good way. Duke was glad they met and would get to hang out and cook with their weird not-German Chef every week. And if Danny and Duke exchanged numbers and planned to hangout outside of club activities, then well who was going to stop them.

#a little fluff to make our day better #duke and danny #the world definitely needs more of them #they start off a little shaky but their bffs at the end #danny heard the chef's weird accent and thought it was bc of time travel shenanigans and decided it was just best not to comment on that #duke will def be rubbing his friendship with danny in the other bat's faces once he gets indoctrinated #jack blew up his house over chicken noodle soup and no one lets him live it down #Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program #dpxdc #dp x dc au #batpham #danny phantom #duke thomas #signal #phantom

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crazyk-imagine · 4 months

Text

Mean

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fem!reader

Characters: Fem!reader, Paul Lahote, Sam Uley, Emily Young, Jared Cameron, Embray Call, Tiny Tim (made up)

Warnings: Reader knows about the supernatural, implications of dead parent, ex's inspire people, Sam and Emily are adorable, am I making them my favorites bc of the way I write them lol, Paul and Reader are adorable, Paul is a little shit, so is Embry and Jared, no one can act normal around a sassy person

Word Count: 1,231

A/N: Was I listening to Mean by Taylor Swift? You can't prove anything

I've had this ready for a week, but shit kept happening at work man ughhhhhh

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

It was meant to be, or so you thought.

You blink, staring at the ceiling not sure why your ex came to mind.

He was partial to the reason for your move the gloomy town (which you enjoyed more than the sunny state you were in) but not the entire reason.

If only your mom could see you now, working hard and still keeping true to who you are.

You push yourself out of bed, needing to get started on your day.

You finish up and jot down another line, knowing it's slowly turned into a "revenge" song.

You exit your place and hop in your truck, heading down to your favorite person's place.

"Emily, your other honey is home."

Sam lets out a dry laugh. "Funny as always."

"I know, it's one of the perks of being my friend."

"Are going to do..." You snatch a muffin from the tray. "Sam things?"

The couple glance at one another, curious if you know.

"Yeah, we won't be back till later-" He doesn't finish as the boys burst through the door. Almost all ignore you, not aware of your presence.

You mumble, "now I know why you're ready to feed an army."

The boys freeze, all conversations stopping. "Uh-"

"Who's the girl?" Jared asks, snaking a muffin.

You raise a brow, picking at the muffin, breaking it into bite size pieces. "What a question."

"Who's the sassy girl?" The same guy asks.

"How do you deal with idiots?"

Emily snickers, scanning over the pack for their expressions.

"Good thing Paul's not here or else he'd flip a lid," Embry mutters.

You push yourself off the stool and grab your bag. "Later, Em. Bye bye, Sammy."

You wave them off before glancing at the group. "Such an interesting... gang you have here."

You spin around, smirking to yourself, not wanting to let the cat (wolf) out of its bag. "I heard there's going to be a full moon tonight."

Or maybe you don't care if they know you know.

"Does she-"

The door slams shut.

You shake your head, smirking to yourself, proud of your teasing. You bump into a body, not entirely paying attention. "Sorry." You pass by the person and hop in your car, not realizing the electricity he felt in that simple touch.

You look up after putting your keys in the ignition, only to find a dark pair of eyes on yours.

The subtle feeling through your body alerts you.

"Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap." You have to force your gaze away from his. "Please don't be able to read lips. Oh, crap. They can hear." You start pulling out and make it back to your house.

Weeks go by and you screen another one of Emily's calls.

"I'll call her when this passes," you mutter, writing another line. You slam your pencil down, "who am I kidding? It's never going to stop."

You don't want to answer her and send another lie.

Boo Thang #2 <;3

'Sorry, not feeling good. Will text later.' 2:59pm Sent Read

A knock on your door surprises you.

You carefully make your way to the door, scanning through the peephole. Your back's flat against the door. "Why the hell is he here?"

"We need to talk."

"I don't think so."

"You know more than you let on."

"So?"

"We need to talk."

"Can I just call you?"

"No, Emily's been trying for days, and it hasn't worked. Let me in."

You scoff, "not with that attitude."

He growls under his breath, "fine. Please let me in?"

"No."

"You're testing my patience."

"Go test it out with someone else."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"You gotta be more specific bud."

"I don't like that name."

"Bud?"

"Stop it."

You smirk, "bud."

He knocks on your door with more force, trying to get one of your neighbors to come out so they can tell him to stop and make you let him in.

You snarl as the door swings open, "stop it you, idiot." You yank him in, earning a confident smirk from him.

"I don't like this look on you. You think you've won."

"Who says I haven't?"

"Me. I am the one who decides since this is my place."

"Living here alone? Really?"

You shrug, "parents died."

"Oh," he clears his throat, "sorry."

"It's fine. Not your fault."

"So, uh- what do you know?"

"I used to visit when I was a kid and heard the stories because of my cousin."

"You know?"

"That we happen to be united forever essentially, kind of hard not to, not gonna lie."

"Are you upset?"

You furrow your brows, "what do you mean?"

"Your imprints with the hothead. The one with "anger" issues. The list goes on." His brows furrow in annoyance, the pout on his lip making him look... cute.

"Who?"

He shocked you don't know who he is. "Lahote?"

"Paul?" You ask, not entirely sure if you got the right name or not.

"Oh, so you do know."

He sighs, "great."

"Barely, I just remember your guy's names from the elders at the meetings."

"How long has it been since you were in town?"

You shrug, "few years. I haven't been out of the house as much since my life went to crap," you offer a sarcastic smile.

"I feel like I've brought the mood down, do you- do you want to go out? I know this one place with uh- with decent music." He tells you the name and it takes all of you to not smile.

"Let's go, but we take my car."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, "fine."

You two arrive half an hour before you have to go on stage.

You make up an excuse and say you're going to be right back, needing to use the little girl's room.

"Next up, is one of our favorites," the mc, Tiny Tim (your favorite guy there) announces.

You walk across stage, confusing Paul but not Emily and Sam (who told him to take you there if he got far enough). They cheer you on while listening to your song.

All you are is mean And a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life And mean, and mean, and mean, and mean

You make it back to your seat beside your wolf.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

You shrug, not liking the attention on you.

"That was- that was amazing."

"It was nothing."

"No- no, that was really good." Emily sneaks up behind you. "And that's saying something, Paul doesn't like to use his words to express his emotions."

The man frowns. "We get it. We get it."

You roll your eyes, "stop it, you two."

You two make it back your place. "I should at least drop you off."

He shakes his head, "I'm not that far from you."

"I don't know if I believe that."

"Then believe ne when I say I can run and not get tired."

You narrow your eyes before turning your head to hide your chuckle. "Get out of here, you idiot."

You hear him close the door and stare into the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

The only wolf standing between the path of trees sticks out and you know it's him.

You shake your head, going into your home. "Idiot."

You swear you hear him huff.

#twilight #twilight wolfpack #twilight fanfiction #twilight fanfic #twilight x reader #twilight x you #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #paul lahote #paul lahote imagines #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfiction #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x you #paul lahote x reader #crazyk-imagine

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princessbrunette · 3 months

Note

can you do jj spitting in the reader’s mouth after making her call him dad

basing this around the episode where jj dressed up as a paramedic because that was one of his sexiest looks n people moved on from that too fast !!!!!!!!!

𐙚🐈‍⬛⋆.˚❆

jj was not the responsible one in the group. jj, was the fun one! the trouble maker, the reckless loose canon, mr ‘stupid things have good outcomes all the time’. he was not responsible, let alone strict.

that was until he met you.

he couldn’t believe half the things that came out of his mouth. like, ‘do your jacket up, now.’ who even says that? he couldn’t stand the thought of you in trouble, couldn’t bear for you to do any of the dumb things that he’d normally do, and he would never ever in his power let anything or anyone pierce through your skin and hurt you. not a chance, you’d have to get through him first.

thinking that this change of his went unnoticed is a laughable offence. he was consistently ridiculed with ‘wow, who are you and what did you do to our best friend?’ — and that he could take, usually laughing it off with a petty tongue in his cheek— wondering the same damn thing. but you, well — you had taken it upon yourself to don him a brand new nickname.

‘dad’

it made him huff, nostrils flaring and nose tip twitching upwards like it physically made him itch everytime it slipped from your mouth. “thanks, dad.” you’d giggle when he’d stop you in your tracks to tie your shoe before you went tumbling over yourself. “sorry dad!” you’d whisper in amusement when he would send you a tight lipped look that meant shut up and listen. “please, dad?” you’d emphasise deviously when he’d deny you the permission to do something reckless.

the worst part is, it made his dick hurt. no not throb, not stiffen— hurt. the sentiment made him wanna fuck into you in a way that strays from his usual pipe game. no cheeky quips with a thumb on your clit having eased his length in inch by inch, no— none of that. he means a headlock, or full nelson or something ridiculous and a deep hard fucking that makes you cry.

you’d been a pain in the ass on this little mission of his that he didn’t want to let you on in the first place. it involved a failed jail break, a stolen ambulance and paramedic uniforms. well, he wore the white all-in-one paramedic suit and the navy cap with the logo on it, and you — you sat pretty in the passenger side wearing a polo top with the hospital logo and a black mini skirt. he said if the two of you get caught, it’s on you and your ‘sex shop costume adjacent’ get up.

in hindsight, it was clear you were feeling him in the uniform from the start, looking at him all unfocused and doe eyed whilst he rambles about the plan on the drive there, sucking on that juicy bottom lip and all.

“dude— are you listening? john b’s livelihood is on the line here. we gotta take action.” he barely glances at you as he steers the ambulance, which only makes you want it more.

“yes, dad.”

it’s dad this, dad that— all the way up until you’re panting in the back of kie’s car— having escaped a police chase with no john b in tow. jj was frustrated, full of adrenaline, and turned the fuck on— which is why your panties were around your ankles as soon as he got you back to your empty home.

infact, the pink lace underwear was still binding your ankles when he had your knees pressed to your chest, his all-in-one uniform pulled down off his body just enough to have his dick out, fucking into you mercilessly with a hand around your neck. you’re totally fucked our already, moaning and squealing uncontrollably— and the cap still resides on jj’s head as he grits his teeth, talking down to you.

“nah, call me what you wanna call me— go ‘head, you know i’ve been waitin’ on it to slip out. who am i, babydoll? fuckin’ tell me.” his voice grits and his cheeks are all pink, still cute despite everything.

“d—ugh!” you can’t get it out, because he’s hammering into the spot now, and you’re nearly there. also, you chickened out. you both knew you were into it, this whole ‘dad’ thing— but there’s pride involved. embarrassment. the self awareness that you’d be a wet dream for a freud-following-psychology-student.

“come on,” he chuckles but it’s angry. “say that shit. loud n’clear baby i’m listening.”

“dad, please! wanna cum, dad!” you cry, and it’s this big burst of emotion, because you’re somewhat humiliated— feeling exposed over your kink that had been thinly veiled as a joke until this very moment. his jaw drops for a second after you say it, like he can’t contain the pleasure flooding out of him— but he gains control again in a second, authority seeping into him. his hand loosens from your neck, instead choosing to thumb at your bottom lip.

“yeah, yeah that’s right. that’s what i thought. so you do know how to be a good girl, got it. now open up.”

you don’t, so he tugs your jaw open with his thumb and leans in, spitting a big wet glob of spit into your mouth, smearing what didn’t go in around your swollen lips and laughing at you. sick, sick man. “you like that shit, huh?” and you really did.

he stops getting so antsy and irritated in the future when you drop the nickname on him in public after that point. now he knows what it really means.

𐙚🐈‍⬛⋆.˚❆

#anon #jj maybank prompt

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probably-writing-x · 8 months

Text

Questioning.

Summary: Hi!Love love love your writing🫶🏻🫶🏻Could you write some angst?Like where reader and Conrad argue maybe? Have a good day❣️

You weren’t sure when the irritation had started today. It was just… one of those days. You’d woken up and there was no milk left for your coffee, and the last slice of bread had been eaten. The toothpaste was running low, too, and you had to squeeze the last remains out of it. Nobody had bothered to go to the store yet and your car was blocked in by Jere on the driveway. Someone else had already put their clothes into the laundry but hadn’t bothered to turn the machine on, and you were certain not a single person in this house would ever decide to empty the dishwasher. It was just the little things, and they were irritating when you were living in a house of this many people.

Perhaps it wasn’t any of those things causing the issue. They were just ways of you avoiding what was really stressing you. Last night, Conrad, you and the others had been at a party. You’d left early with Belly when she’d had too much to drink and the boys had stayed. It was just a party at the beach, nothing crazy, but you’d woken up to a text this morning that had turned your stomach sick.

Hey girl! Feel like I need to be honest with you, Conrad was all over Nicole last night. I’d want to know if I were you.

I’m pretty sure I saw them kiss.

Even thinking of the words again made you nauseous, they were rotating over and over in your head. All over her.

“Hey babe,” Conrad speaks softly as he comes downstairs, swinging an arm around the bannister as he turns into the kitchen.

“Hey,” You glance up, trying to scrub a stain out of the countertop.

You couldn’t look at him, too fearful that you’d break down into tears right then and there.

He comes behind you and wraps his arms around your torso. You force yourself to not tense up under his touch, letting out a shaky breath before you say;

“I need you to go to the store,” You comment.

You feel his arms slip from you, “What?”

“Jere’s boxed my car in so I can’t go but we need a whole bunch of stuff. I’ve made a list so I’ll send it to you and-“

“Good morning to you too,” Conrad practically grimaces, stepping back to lean against the counter.

“Sorry, Con, but we’ve got stuff to do today. Susannah and Laurel will be back tomorrow and you know they’ll hate it if the house is in a state.”

“I think they’ll just be glad we didn’t burn the place down,” He scoffs, crossing his arms over his torso.

You turn around and set down the cloth in your hand, wiping your hands. He raises his eyebrows at you like he’s waiting for something so you step forward and stretch up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Please,” You smile.

He narrows his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips, so you kiss him again. This was normal. This was him. The boy that would never hurt you.

“Alright fine,” He agrees, opening up his arms to place them around your waist, “If you insist, your royal highness.”

“Thank you,” You force yourself to smile again, “I’ll send you the list, I’m going to clean the bathroom whilst you’re gone and then-“

“And then when I’m back we can actually enjoy our day? No more stress cleaning,” He encourages, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“Okay.”

He leans down and kisses your jaw, once twice three times before stepping away from you to grab his keys. He’d never hurt you. This boy would never hurt you.

“Send me that list!” He calls back to you, disappearing around the corner.

It was all fine, right?

———

Conrad gets back an hour later, carrying in bags and bags of groceries all exactly from your list. You help him put them away and then start busying yourself with tidying up the lounge.

“(Y/n) come on, we’re going surfing,” Conrad encourages, reaching out his hand to you from where he was laying on the couch.

“I don’t-“ You clear your throat, looking away from him, “I don’t really feel like it today.”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows, “Come on, you agreed you’d be done after I got back. The other three are capable of helping too, you know? Just tell Jere to clean.”

You glance at him and quickly glance away. You couldn’t get the words out of your head, as much as you’d tried to avoid them. Everything felt so normal this morning, but it was becoming impossible to convince yourself that it couldn’t be true.

“I-“ You shake your head, tears brimming at your eyes when you look at him, “I can’t today.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” He sits up fully, “What’s going on?”

You let out a shaky breath and shake your head again, “Sorry I just… um… I think there’s dust in my eye or something.”

You hurry off into the nearest bathroom and lock the door behind you, leaning back against the locked door. You can’t fight off the tears at your eyes anymore as they start to trickle down at the corners. In the moment, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, your eyes glazed over and your lip quivering with each exhale.

When you and Conrad first got together, you’d always thought he was too good for you. You knew who he’d been with before you, and you didn’t feel anything like them. You weren’t one of the country club girls, not one of the girls who’d throw themselves at him if he gave them the chance. You just fell in love and he did too. And, as much as he reassured you that you were blind to think he was too good for you, there was always just this little piece biting at you every time you thought about it for too long. Would you ever think you were good enough for him?

You walk over to the sink and look closer at yourself in the mirror, dragging your fingers under both of your eyes to wipe away the remaining tears. Your eyes looked a little red now and your cheeks felt puffy but you ignore it, drawing your shoulders back before walking back out of the bathroom.

Your steps come to a halt when you almost bump into Conrad, stood only a metre from the door.

“(Y/n) why has Shayla just texted you?” He holds your phone out towards you, “And why does it-“

“You looked through my phone?” You question, snatching it back from him.

He scoffs, “It came up on your lockscreen, okay? I didn’t think anything of it. Until I see that it’s Shayla and she’s telling you ‘Id be worried if I were you’.”

You look down at the screen and see the message still sitting there waiting to be read. She’d be worried. Should you be?

You look back up at him, “Well, should I be?”

“Should you what?”

“Should I be worried, Con?” You return, trying to avoid the tremor in your words.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what, forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything,” You shake your head, pushing past him to walk down the corridor.

He hurries after you and his hand reaches out to grab your arm, turning you around, “No, talk to me (y/n). Why did Shayla text you that?”

As you turn around, it doesn’t feel like the same Conrad looking back at you, but it only lasts for a second. His face is so full of worry you’re sure he could break there and then.

“Wh-“ You stop yourself, “What happened after I left last night? At the party, what happened?”

He frowns, his eyes looking between each of yours, “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me what happened.”

He blinks like he’s completely lost but continues, “Okay, you left with Belly. We got a few more drinks, Steven rang Taylor, Jere saw this guy he hooked up with last summer, the keg ran out and it got cold, we walked home.”

You purse your lips together, “Nothing else?”

“(Y/n) if you think something happened I’d rather you just say it because I can’t think of a-“

“Were you with Nicole?”

He raises his brows, “Nicole?” He practically scoffs over her name, “You can’t be serious.”

“Answer the question, Conrad.”

“Okay, yes, I saw her there,” He shrugs, “I didn’t realise that was an important part of the story, I saw her, we said hello, I didn’t see her for the rest of the night.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and pull out your phone with shaking hands, unlocking it and pushing it into his hands, “That’s not what it seemed like to Shayla.”

His eyes scan quickly to read the message and you watch his shoulders drop.

“Is it true?” You ask shakily, tears brewing once again.

“(Y/n)…”

For a second, you’re convinced he’s going to admit to everything and you’re going to feel your heart break beyond words.

“Is this really what you think of me?”

You stop before speaking again, “Conrad I woke up this morning to that text and I-“

“And you believed it?” He half laughs over the word.

“Why wouldn’t I believe it Conrad?” You exclaim, your words catching in your throat.

Conrad pauses.

“I know how things were when you were with Nicole. They were easy and fun and you didn’t have to think about anything. I’m not like that,” You shake your head, biting your lip to stop it from trembling, “I know I’m not who people expect you to be with and I know this isn’t… I just know that people see you with Nicole and they think that’s who it should be, not me.”

“(Y/n),” He looks at you so strongly you’re sure you could crumble, “I chose you. I chose this. And I still choose this. Every single fucking day I choose this. Why can’t you see that?”

“I just… I can’t get the thought of you and her out of my head.”

He laughs, “There is no me and her! There was no me and her last night! But if this is what you think of me (Y/n) then this is a really sad conversation.”

Before you can speak, he swallows the lump in his throat and walks past you, his shoulder bumping yours. You listen to his footsteps receding until the door slams and he’s gone.

Without another thought, every emotion spills from you, dropping to the floor as you sob.

In seconds, the bedroom door opens and Jere and Belly step out, both of them crouching down to wrap you in their arms, holding onto you as much as they were holding you up.

———

You leave the house almost an hour later, forcing yourself out of bed and down towards the short walk to the beach. On your way, you’re already certain that that’s where he’ll be. The place that made him think more clearly. The place where he’d first kissed you.

As you expect, Conrad’s sat just a little way down on the sand, his knees at his chest and his arms draped over them, a burgundy hoodie wrapped around him.

You sit down without a word and his eyes look up from the sea to watch as you do so, following you down until you’re beside him.

Both of you are silent, neither of you willing to break that just yet.

“I’m sorry Con,” You exhale, “I shouldn’t have just jumped to conclusions.”

He shakes his head, looking out at the moving sea, “I should be apologising.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” You feel the lump form in your throat, as if part of you is so sure he’s about to admit to your worst nightmare.

“I would never cheat on you (Y/n). I’d never even think about looking at another girl like that,” He explains, “But if I’ve made you feel like there’s even the slightest possibility that that’s something I’m capable of, then I’m doing something wrong. Because you shouldn’t feel like that. And you shouldn’t have felt like that today.”

“Con it’s not your fault.”

“It is my fault,” He returns, “Why do you think I would cheat on you?”

You take a deep breath, reaching out to take his hand into yours, watching him visibly relax at the contact, “I love you Connie, and I always have, and you’ve made me feel loved since the first day you kissed me and every day since. But, even with us together, there’s always this part of me that’s so sure I’m just… not enough. And that one day you’ll realise that too. And that’s not you, or Shayla or Nicole or anyone that’s causing that, it’s just me.”

“But (Y/n) I-“

“I know,” You squeeze his hands, “I know you might think it’s stupid and you might think you need to be doing more but it’s just… sometimes it’s hard to believe that you feel that way about me.”

He shifts in his spot so that he’s facing you, reaching both of his hands out to cup your face, “I love you, (Y/n) (Y/l/n). And I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll spend the rest of my life if it takes that long for you to be sure of that. Do you understand me?”

You let out a laugh and tears prick at the sides of your eyes, his thumbs shifting instantly to catch the tears as they fall.

“Now how could I not love you?” He grins, leaning in until his forehead presses against yours.

You rest there for a while, as if you’re breathing in every ounce of love he can offer you, letting out an exhale of every worry of the day.

“Do I love you?” Conrad raises his eyebrows.

You giggle, “You love me.”

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