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quin-ns · 11 months

Text

Fake Blood (Ethan Landry x Reader)

Word count: 5.6K

Summary: spoiler: the blood isn’t fake. alone in your apartment after your friends had been attacked, you ask ethan to stop by. he does in an unexpected way and you get more than you bargained for

Tags: (18+), friends to lovers, minor violence, knife tw, flirting, making out, virgin!ethan, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, the ghostface robe stays on during sex, denial ab ethan being a murderer :) (if bad why hot?)

A/N: just watched scream 6 for the first time only a few days ago and couldn’t get this psycho out of my brain (tiktok edits didn’t help lol). timeline might be a little wonky but tbh it’s not relevant. also this follows the theory that ethan did the big apartment attack. I really wasn’t expecting this to be this long but it’s worth it yall I promise

cross-posted to ao3 • scream masterlist • main masterlist

As much as you liked Mindy, if you knew becoming friends with her would lead to you being integrated into her friend group of past and present serial killer victims, you might’ve thought about asking someone else to partner up with you for a presentation in your film studies class.

When you’d asked her, it was mostly to avoid having to accept an offer from a guy named Jason, who had always stared at you during that class and brought up the ‘Stab’ movies whenever he could (this was before you knew your friends knew him, but you still got a weird vibe from the guy).

She’d been excited to hang out with you after you two gave your presentation, and that’s how you wound up spending most days with her and her tight knit group of friends.

You were probably closest with Mindy, but you liked her brother too. For a guy named Chad, he was actually pretty chill. You got along with Tara as well, who was in a bit of a rebellious phase after being attacked and nearly killed, which you only learned about once they trusted you enough. Her older sister Sam was mostly cool too, but a bit overprotective. There was a gloomy aspect to her, but you supposed it made sense given that she was betrayed by her murderous boyfriend and now the internet peddled theories that blamed her for a series of killings in their home town of Woodsboro.

They had a tight bond, and even though you grew close with each of them, you knew you’d be an outsider. Like Tara and Sam’s roommate Quinn, Mindy’s girlfriend Anika, and Chad’s roommate Ethan. You all had shared multiple conversations about their trust issues. It must’ve been hard to even start to trust people after all that.

Out of all of the other “newcomers” as Mindy once put it, you got along with Ethan the best. He was a little quiet and sorta dorky (which your friends would tease him about a little—all friendly, of course) but he was fun to talk to. You guys liked a lot of the same stuff, including horror movies, and it didn’t hurt that he was cute.

In your opinion, with his curly dark hair and eyes to compliment, the whole “shy guy” thing was part of the appeal.

You wondered if he’d ever make a move, or if he even knew you were curious about him in that way. You wouldn’t go so far to say it was a crush for your ego’s sake, but you wouldn’t send him running off with his tail between his legs like you did with most guys.

Like that guy Jason from film class, who, just before Halloween, was killed alongside his roommate by a masked killer.

“Didn’t he have a thing for you?” Mindy asked you as you were all gathered around the TV, finding out the news together.

You were sitting crammed in a chair next to Ethan since the others had all taken up the couch space. He didn’t seem to mind, but it did unfortunately make it easy for them all to look your way and stare. You didn’t like the attention.

You were in shock at the news, especially when the anchor revealed Jason had also killed your film professor. Ethan pointed that out, saying if the guy was crazy enough to do that he might’ve even gone after you.

“Maybe the killer who killed him did you a favor,” Quinn suggested in response to Ethan.

The thought terrified you. You looked around the group. “Do you guys think he really would’ve hurt me? He seemed weird, not psycho.”

“We talked not that long ago, nothing seemed off,” Tara revealed with a grim look. “He asked if you and Sam were gonna come to the party.”

You hadn’t planned on going—what the hell would’ve happened if you had?

You exchanged a look with Sam, who seemed to have the wheels in her head turning.

You zoned back into the news as the reporter explained the mask found was a ghostface mask—like from the Stab movies. And of course, the actual Woodsboro killings.

“Pack a bag,” Sam told her sister, springing up to move around the apartment building.

Sam and Tara argued, which was a little weird to witness. You tried to sink back into the chair, while Ethan looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Hopefully it wasn’t “get out of the chair” because you didn’t think you could move.

The night ended with you going back to your little apartment alone. Your roommate was out of town and so your anxiety was on high alert.

A lot had happened that night apparently, including Sam and Tara getting attacked in a convenience store and them being questioned by the cops.

As much as you cared about them, you feared what would happen if you were with them.

That’s why the next night when you were invited over, you had been hesitant. A government paper was the perfect excuse, but you had FaceTimed with them so you all could keep an eye on each other.

You sat at your little desk, your laptop opened to work on your paper, and your phone propped up on your cup so you could talk to them hands free.

Apparently everyone was together at the apartment except Ethan, who told you he was studying in the library when you texted to ask him. You responded that you were working on a paper and that if he wanted to come over to keep you company, he could.

You’d spent some time alone with him, but not a lot when you really thought about it. It was always in the group—who were all murder suspects, according to Mindy’s movie rules.

You knew you weren’t the killer, and you had absolutely no motive. The others were still suspicious of you so that hurt a little (maybe that was another reason why you were keeping to yourself), but you did your best to understand that they weren’t just suspicious of you.

Everyone was a suspect, and no one was safe.

You felt even less safe when Mindy said she’d call you back. You didn’t know why she had to hang up so urgently, but you had a feeling it had to do with the emotional conversation Tara and Sam had been having in the background. You couldn’t make out most of it clear so you avoided mentioning it.

You sighed and checked your chat with Ethan. He hasn’t responded to your text. You were getting nervous now that you weren’t video chatting with your other friends anymore and the thought of being home alone didn’t bring you much ease.

You thought about just going over to the Carpenter’s (and Quinn’s) apartment, not wanting to bother Ethan further. Maybe he was ignoring you on purpose.

However, it was a far walk there. You didn’t feel safe making it alone at night—especially with a killer on the loose, likely targeting your friends. If you had a car, maybe, but you were a broke college student who could barely afford a place to live.

You sucked it up and double texted Ethan, this time asking if he could come over and that you were worried.

When he didn’t respond right away, you gave it a few minutes.

A little while longer passed and since you now couldn’t focus on your paper, you tried to call Mindy back. Then Tara. Then Chad. Then Sam. Then Quinn. Then Anika.

Not a single one of them answered.

You took a deep breath. Then, you went to double check that your door was locked.

You tried to call Ethan, but his phone went immediately to voicemail. It must’ve been dead or powered off.

That left no one else to call, and you felt more alone than ever.

You sat down at your desk and tried to focus.

You ended up going to your bedroom, putting on sleep clothes, and watching a comfort show under all your blankets instead, paper completely forgotten.

Your phone dinged from your bedside table and when you looked at it, you saw a message from Ethan. Only a few hours late, but he said he was on his way up.

That was sudden. You tried to not overthink being alone with Ethan too much.

A few moments later, there was a knock at your front door.

You climbed out of bed, not really caring that you were wearing sleep shorts and a baggy shirt. Your friends had seen you go to class in about the same when you had all night study sessions.

When you got to the door, you got a little nervous. But you knew it had to be Ethan, so you tried to push the anxiety aside and unlocked then opened the door.

You were met with shock and horror.

Towering over you in your doorway stood a figure in a black robe… and a ghostface mask.

You tried to slam the door, but the person caught it. You choked on a scream when they shoved their way in, holding a knife. There was a small stain of red on the metal blade and a darker, bigger mass on the robe.

Blood. Blood was red.

You scrambled back and tried to think of where to go. None of the doors in your apartment locked, not even the bathroom door.

Your heart and mind raced and suddenly you were spewing words.

“I don’t know what to say to make you not kill me, but I please don’t,” you rushed out.

The person—the killer—moved closer to you after shutting and locking your front door.

You ran, but there was really nowhere to go. The killer ran too. You tried to lure them to the bathroom and shove them in, but they dodged and had you almost within their grasp.

They didn’t slash the knife, though.

You ran for the front door, but the killer grabbed you by the arm. You were shoved back against your hallway wall and pinned. Your back slammed against the wall, but not hard. They held the knife to your throat—not too close, but it was still there and still kept you frozen.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

The words came out before you could stop them. You internally scolded yourself. That’s the kinda shit the girls who got murdered asked.

There was a laugh, and then a familiar voice.

“I’d never do that.”

By the time the killer reached for the mask and pulled it off, you still hadn’t processed your shock.

“Ethan?” you gawked up at him while he gave you a cheeky smile. He let the mask drop and the hand holding the knife fell to his side.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said through a smile, excited eyes scanning your face for realization.

“Is this… is this a fucking prank?” you questioned, finally comprehending. “Ethan, what the fuck!?” You shoved him back by his shoulder, admittedly a little pissed. “You’re covered in blood!”

He stayed standing in front of you.

“It’s fake, I promise. It was just a joke,” he reasoned, looking a little guilty. “Y’know, cause Halloween and… alright, maybe my timing isn’t great.”

You scoffed out a laugh at that. “It’s terrible timing. There really is someone after us.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Ethan apologized with a small, apologetic smile. You stared at him, still surprised. He looked so innocent for someone that could pull off, let alone come up with, such a messed up prank.

“Is this where you’ve been? Dressing up to mess with me while there really is a killer after us?” You questioned, raising your brows and crossing your arms.

“Y’know, if there really is a killer after us, we probably shouldn’t let each other die virgins,” Ethan stated in a flirtatious way he easily could’ve played off as a joke. Maybe it was entirely a joke, but you played along in a different direction.

You scoffed. “And you’re just assuming I’m a virgin?”

He shrugged, the long fabric of his costume rustling. “I see how you are with guys. They want you, you never want them.”

“So what, I’m a tease?” you guessed, used to hearing that but a little disappointed to think it would come from him.

“No,” he clarified quickly. “But they’re just never good enough for you and you know that. Like that jerk Jason.”

You cringed a little at the mention of him, and then felt bad about that. The guy had been murdered, after all.

“Don’t say that, he’s dead.”

“So what?” Ethan asked plainly, surprising you a little. “He was a killer too. He could’ve gone after you, you should be grateful to whoever did it.”

You furrowed your brows. He was starting to sound like someone else. “Grateful?”

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to be.” Ethan’s expression as he spoke was one of reassurance. “You could’ve been next, you never know. He was one of those guys who couldn’t take a hint that he was beneath you.”

You had no idea he thought that way about you—that there were men he deemed unworthy. It was enough to distract you from the shift in his demeanor.

“And what? You’re saying you’re one of the guys who’s good enough for me?” you couldn’t help but wonder. You never thought about your dating history (or lack of) like that.

“Hell no,” he said, surprising you yet again. You were expecting a ‘yes’ with the way he was coming onto you all of the sudden, but what he said carried even more of a self-depreciating brand of charm. “But I’m hoping maybe you’ll pity the loser who’s had a hopeless crush on you for a while now and give him a chance.”

“You’re not a loser,” you said before you registered the rest of his words. When you did, you were taken aback at the confession. “But you’re not usually this… bold, Ethan.”

You wanted to ask him if something was wrong, but there was a lot wrong these past few hours.

“What can I say? I’ve been feeling more confident recently.”

You hummed, understanding that in a way.

“Maybe it’s the whole ‘we could die any second’ thing,” you ventured a guess.

He smiled to himself, like you’d just referenced an inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“Could be,” he agreed. He laughed a little and looked down at himself, then met your eyes again. “Sorry about scaring you. It was in poor taste. We both like horror movies… I don’t know, it was stupid.”

You scoffed, but you weren’t really mad anymore.

“I like horror movies, I don’t want to be in one,” you told him, eyeing the knife he held loosely in his right hand. “Is the knife real?”

“What?” Ethan asked, feigning confusion. He lifted the knife and examined it. “This knife?”

“Yeah, that knife,” you parroted back his playful tone. “You said the blood is fake, but is the knife real?”

A devious look crossed Ethan’s face. He held it to your throat slowly, holding it horizontally. You didn’t flinch, much to his pleasure. He seemed almost impressed.

“Gotta be authentic, right?” he mused, eyes flicking to your parted lips as you breathed steadily. “Can I kiss you?”

When his curious eyes looked back at yours, you couldn’t help but notice he still held the knife. The rush of excitement you felt scared you more than the fear of him letting it slip forward.

“What’s the knife for?” you asked with a surge of confidence, taunting him a little. “If I say no?”

Ethan laughed at that. He pulled it back and let it drop to the floor. It clattered against the wood, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. But it wasn’t from fear—it was from anticipation. Maybe your curiosity was a little more than that after all.

“You’re safe with me,” he assured. “Promise.”

His words felt layered, but in a way you couldn’t define.

Perhaps it was his way of saying he’d protect you. Maybe it was strange, especially given his entrance, but you found yourself feeling exactly that with Ethan. Safe.

Nothing was going to hurt you, certainly not him.

“About that kiss…” you started, giving him the indication that he was looking for.

Ethan took the hint and ran with it, lips crashing into yours in the blink of an eye.

His lips were soft, but the kiss was needy and hungry. You tried to move your lips in sync with his, but he was much more dominant.

A joke that you’d never say flashed by about him practicing.

It was easy not to laugh when Ethan’s hand threaded into your hair and his tongue began to explore your mouth.

The leather glove felt strange. It made you pull back a little, which you almost couldn’t do with the way Ethan eagerly chased your swollen lips with his own.

You glanced over his costume again. It looked really legit—when did he have time to get it? Was he actually gonna wear this for Halloween? You swore you remembered him and Chad talking about some other costume he made out of cardboard for the frat party.

Before you could spiral down that path, Ethan pulled the leather gloves off quickly and cast them aside. It was like he could read your mind. Both hands went to your face, pulling you to meet him halfway in another searing kiss.

You didn’t know what was coming over you, but whatever it was was causing arousal to stir in your belly.

You figured out the answer to that pretty quickly.

It was want. You wanted Ethan.

“Is the other offer still on the table?” you uttered softly when you and Ethan had to part for air.

He grinned, unable to contain it.

“Thought there was no way in hell that would work,” Ethan admitted a little breathlessly. “Thought I never stood a chance with you, but I liked you anyway.”

Ethan had a boyish charm about him usually, but now that was combined with a streak of deviance that you finally now noticed.

You weren’t expecting to be as intrigued by it as you were.

“Give yourself a little more credit,” you told Ethan, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch a little. One hand rested on your shoulder and the other fell to hold your hip, tucking under your baggy shirt and rubbing your skin beneath. “You are pretty cute.”

Ethan’s smile only grew, but when you leaned in to kiss him again his lips met yours.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and guided the two of you to the ground with your back leaning against the wall. He was in front of you, on his knees, with you in his lap.

You ran a hand through his curly hair and you guided his lips back to yours. From what he’d revealed, Ethan hadn’t had a lot of experience with girls. It was a damn shame, because the boy was a great kisser.

His hand caressed your thigh as he trailed upward. You gave him a soft sound of encouragement when his fingers found their way to the waistband of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” Ethan asked, which made you want to grab him and kiss him again.

“Yeah.”

His hand slid into your shorts and your underwear.

One finger—you guessed middle—pushed inside of you. A small gasp escaped you at the intrusion and he watched your face.

Ethan was making sure the sound wasn’t of pain, which it wasn’t, and you appreciated that.

He withdrew the digit, then pushed in again. He repeated the motion a few more times before adding his index finger.

Ethan’s breathing grew heavy as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. He thrust and curled them inside you with rhythm. He managed to find one pretty quickly. That plus his thumb rubbing at your clit, you were falling apart in mere minutes.

Your brief orgasm rocked your whole body, leaving you clenching his fingers and quivering.

Ethan muttered things to you, but you could hardly hear over the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your head rested back against the wall as you caught your breath, still trembling from the aftershocks. Ethan withdrew his hand from between your legs and out of your shorts.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but in between slow blinks you saw him lift his fingers to his lips. You watched breathlessly as he placed them into his mouth and moaned at the taste of you.

No words would come out of your mouth, but he took rendering you speechless as a compliment.

“I’ve thought about that,” Ethan started, voice a little ragged. He was watching you, but his hand had moved off to the side. “What you’d look like… what you’d sound like… what you’d taste like.” The awe in his eyes as he spoke left you swooning.

“And?” you managed, sitting up a little straighter.

With the change in your angle, you could feel the bulge in his pants, even though the added layer of the costume he had yet to remove.

“You’re better than I ever imagined,” Ethan finished.

A scrape against the floor alarmed you. You looked to the sound and saw Ethan grabbing the knife off of the floor.

You watched as he brought it between your bodies. He first tucked it through the leg of your shorts, the cold metal sliding against your skin as it caught under your underwear as well. Then, he pointed the sharp side facing out. Finally, he sliced up through the fabric. You gasped a little as the cold air of the room hit your newly exposed skin. He did the same with the other leg, then pulled the tattered material away from your body.

You did the honors of pulling off your shirt. You didn’t have a bra underneath and you almost laughed at the way Ethan gawked at your fully naked body when you cast it aside.

“Your turn,” you told him. You were completely undressed, while he still wore the long, black disguise.

“Actually,” Ethan said a little eerily. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I was thinking I could leave it on?”

It was a question, there was room for you to say no. Maybe you should’ve, it was a little weird. But you weren’t really thinking about that. You were more focused on how badly you wanted Ethan to fuck you, and that clouded your brain.

“As long as you don’t put the mask back on,” you relented in a joking tone.

“You’re so fucking cool,” Ethan rushed out before slamming his lips into yours. The knife was cast aside again—you didn’t see it happen, but both of his hands were on your face.

You laughed a little against his lips, dazed and drunk on arousal. You didn’t really care about the logistics of it.

His hands moved down, but you were distracted by his lips dominating yours.

You heard the sound of his zipper being undone and he moved a little—you guessed shoving his pants down his thighs.

There was no time to look down because in a rush, Ethan was pinning you back against the wall with his body. One hand gripped your waist, holding you in place for him. The other was presumably guiding his cock to your entrance.

You gasped a little against his lips when he started to press forward while simultaneously pulling you down into his lap. The fabric of the costume draped over your thighs, blocking your view.

The stretch of his cock pushing into you was more intense than you could’ve predicted, but your whole body trembled with pleasure at the feel.

Finally, he either got too excited or lost his patience, and guided you down the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan cursed to himself, body straining to keep from moving. His head dropped to your shoulder, heavy breaths hitting your neck. He leaned against you, forcing you against the wall.

His cock twitched inside of you and his body tensed, trying to hold back.

You panted slightly, trying to get your breath back. You ran a hand up his back and you felt him shiver. Your hand moved up the back of his neck and into his mess of curls.

You always liked Ethan’s hair.

You gave a small, barely qualifiable tug, but it had an effect. His body jerked, causing him to move inside of you. You gasped a little, but the motion felt good.

He lifted his head to look at you. His face was a little flushed and the lust blown look in his eyes made you quiver.

“You can move,” you whispered out, not trusting your voice.

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He secured the arm around your waist a little tighter and he put the other hand on the wall, giving himself leverage.

The slow drag of him moving out of you made you gasp for breath. The thrust back in knocked the air out of your lungs.

He set a quick pace after that, hips slamming eagerly into yours as the pleasure and excitement overwhelmed him.

It felt good, really fucking good.

Neither of you knew exactly what you were doing, but you were sure you’d figured it out because your whole body tingled with pleasure.

You cried out his name, which only spurred him on.

In a jarring movement you could hardly track, Ethan dragged you from the wall to the floor. He put himself on top of you, never once withdrawing from inside of you.

He watched your face as he pounded into you. Ethan had more leverage this way, able to grip your hip in one hand while the other held the top half of him off of you by being planted on the floor near your head.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, which you couldn’t see because the bottom half of your body was covered by the black costume. You hardly paid any attention to that aspect. You didn’t care that he wore it, not when you were this caught up in pleasure.

(In hindsight, you should’ve).

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Ethan breathed out, hips starting the stutter with every thrust.

The knot in your belly started to tighten as he buried himself into you over and over.

You couldn’t speak, your breathing was so labored as you reached to cling to him.

His head dropped down to your shoulder as he allowed more of his body weight to fall onto you. You found yourself enjoying the feel of him truly being on top of you.

You hardly noticed the fake blood smearing onto your bare skin. When you did, you were too gone to care.

You bucked your hips, meeting his stuttering thrusts. He was getting close to his edge and so were you. You moaned beneath him as his forceful thrusts sparked pleasure through your entire body.

“I’m close,” you managed to moan out against his ear.

“Oh, fuck,” Ethan groaned out, cock pulsing inside of you at the thought. He lifted his head enough to be able to watch your face. “Come again for me, please,” he panted out, nearly falling over the edge at the mere anticipation.

The begging was hot, and your body was already ready to give him what he wanted.

You noticed his eyes flicking down your body, seeing the red stains on your skin. That was quickly forgotten by you when your whole body began to tense and quiver. You held onto him tight as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

You didn’t see his eyes linger.

Ethan couldn’t hold it together, not with the way your body tightened around him as your orgasm rocked you.

He collapsed on top of you, holding you against him as his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were clenched shut as he frantically shoved his hips against yours, burying himself deep. His cock twitched, his whole body shivering as he spilled himself inside of you with a moan.

The sound of him alone was enough to prolong your pleasure as you rode it out, but the extra movement and the feeling of him filling you was an added bonus.

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively pulling the air from your lungs.

After a moment, he found the strength to roll off of you, only to then drag you to his side.

“I can die a happy man, now,” he joked morbidly.

You shoved him a little by the shoulder like you had before, but not enough to actually make him go anywhere.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you argued weakly.

He flashed you a brief grin. “I meant it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes and did you best to laugh it off.

You lost track of how long it took you to move from the floor to your couch. The same thing happened between the time it took for you to get from the couch to your shower.

It was a tiny shower that couldn’t fit two people, so you rinsed off as quick as you could. You were tired, and your legs felt weak, and you knew you’d be sore in a way that would make it hard to keep calm tomorrow.

Whatever he had used for the blood, at least it washed off fast. You were able to finish up in a matter of minutes.

You threw on new pajamas and crawled into your bed, managing to tell Ethan to take however long he wanted and that he could stay over if he wanted.

You found yourself hoping he would.

You were nearly asleep when the shower shut off and Ethan finally joined you in bed. He was only in his boxers and a black t-shirt, which he must’ve been wearing under the costume robe.

A thought nagged at the back of your mind about the costume, wondering why he’d gone through all of that just to mess with you for a minute—albeit a terrifying minute. It didn’t seem like him, but then you remembered you’d only met him a few months ago.

You were so exhausted you fell asleep in his arms, not awake enough to care about all of the weird details. In fact, the only thing you could think about was how much you liked falling asleep with Ethan’s arms around you.

In the morning, you found out your friends had all been attacked.

You showed up with Ethan after the feed on your college’s chat app blew up with images of cops swarming and ambulances outside of Sam, Tara, and Quinn’s apartment.

Mindy seemed relieved to see you, but not so much when she realized Ethan was with you. Maybe she’d cleared you as a suspect in her head.

She yelled at him to stay back, accusing him of being the killer. Nobody was taking Quinn’s death well, but Mindy was especially heartbroken over Anika.

“Stay back!” Mindy yelled at Ethan, who did as she commanded.

Everyone turned on him then, even Chad. Everyone except you. They demanded his alibi.

“How do I know you’re not the killer, roomie,” Chad spit at him, amped up.

“I was with Y/N last night,” Ethan defended, holding his hands up in a small show of innocence, before you could say a word. “We were… preoccupied, alright?”

You wanted to elbow him for how he worded it, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he tried. It might’ve been on purpose, you weren’t sure.

He wasn’t close enough to do that, though, and now all eyes were on you.

“Yeah, he was with me,” you backed Ethan up.

You weren’t going to leave him hanging because it was the truth, but you knew what that implied, and so did your friends. They all shared subtle—but not unnoticeable—looks. Your face felt warm, while Ethan bit back a prideful smile.

“So you guys, um…”

“Chad, stop,” Tara scolded him before he could point out the obvious.

“Point is, we had nothing to do with this,” Ethan stated.

We?

They were suspicious of him, and now he was lumping the two of you together. There were always two killers in the movies—you began to doubt if the alibi would ease their anxiety or only spike it.

You thought back to when he had showed up to your apartment in that costume. He’d scared you, but you accepted it when he told you it was a joke that he mistakenly took too far.

It made you wonder. What if it was him?

If he wanted to hurt you, he easily could’ve. That didn’t seem to be his intention. What was? Seeing how much he could scare you? Get your heart rate up? Seeing if you wouldn’t believe him?

Or was it seeing if he could put the evidence right in front of you and have you ignore it because of a crush?

Fuck. Maybe it was some weird combination of all. Were you that gullible? Or were you overthinking it now?

Your brain struggled to come up with a conclusion.

You wanted to believe Ethan was innocent. You really, really did.

It was easier than believing you had slept with a killer. Or potentially worse, that you had feelings for one.

Ethan gave you a slight, assuring smile.

Your head told you one thing, but your heart told you another.

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you kept your mouth shut and gave him one back.

#quin-ns writing #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry smut

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rollingsins · 1 year

Text

all hers, part i

summary: “I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” Tara says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.” ghostface!tara

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, possessive behavior, vaginal sex, murder of an OC character), smut.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: for anon, who requested some smutty, possessive ghostface!tara. very, very fun to write, let me know if you want me to write some more ;)

Four murders in seven days.

It was a nightmare. You’d heard the stories, sure. Seen the movies. But you’d never thought it would actually happen to you.

That’s what you got for transferring to Woodsboro of all places.

Your phone buzzes as you finish locking the remaining doors. It’s Tara. You smile instinctively as her name flashes across your screen.

where are you? still coming over?

You look outside. It’s dark already, and the thought of leaving the house when there’s a lunatic running around scares the shit out of you.

not tonight sorry, baby. lost track of time. don’t want to leave Chase here by himself.

You contemplate asking her over. Her sister is in town, and you’d been trying to give them some space to reconnect. Sam was with her, you assured yourself. Besides, the last thing you wanted was her leaving the safety of her home and getting attacked.

“YN! Popcorn ready?”

You drop your phone to the counter, check on the popcorn in the microwave.

Chase had been your first friend at Woodsboro High, before you’d met anyone else, even Tara. Since you’d started dating her, you hadn’t seen him much. He’d asked you over tonight - your parents were out and he didn’t want you on your own. He’d had a hankering, in somewhat bad taste, to marathon the Stab movies.

It was nice being with Chase again, even under such terrifying circumstances.

You tell him so.

“You know why that is, right?” He laughs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Your girlfriend hates me.”

You roll your eyes.

“She does not.”

“Does too. Every time I see her she gives me these eyes.”

He squints, twists his face into an angry glare.

“Like she wants to kill me.”

“You’re imagining it.” You tell him.

Throw a kernel of popcorn at him.

“Uh huh.” He says, turning his gaze back to the movie, “Sure.”

Talking about Tara had always been weird with him. He’d had a thing for you, back in the day, when you’d first met. He’d even asked you out once. But you already had your sights set on Tara and nothing could deter you. He’d taken it well-ish. So you’d thought.

“How are things going with her, anyway?” His voice casual. You look over.

“Good.” You say. “Great. Why do you ask?”

He doesn’t look away from the TV. Shrugs, but it’s tense. Like he’s trying to appear more non-committal. You suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“Just wondering.”

The movie plays a little, you let awkward silence wash over the room. Peer down at your phone. No response from Tara. Maybe you should have gone to her house after all.

“I-” He says suddenly, then stops. Purses his lips.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” He says. “Nevermind.”

You stare.

“What, Chase?”

“I just get a weird vibe from her sometimes. That’s all.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“You don’t know her.” You say, instantly defensive. “There’s no vibe. She’s perfect. She’s the perfect girlfriend.”

And she was. She picked you up everyday at 8am on the dot to drive you to school. She walked you to class, held your books for you. Showered you with affection.

“She’s possessive.” Chase says. He’s looking at you now. Words spilling out of him like they’ve been pent up for a while. “You just don’t see it because you’re all moon-eyed for her. It’s not normal. It’s like you're her special toy and nobody else can play with you.”

“Stop.” You say.

“She’s isolated you from all your friends.” He continues. “You used to play soccer, remember? What happened to that? What about dance? All the things you used to love. You don’t do them anymore. Your whole world revolves around her.”

You stand up. A lump rises in the back of your throat. You’d come here to watch movies with an old friend, not have him berate you about your relationship.

“That isn’t true.” You say, “With school, I just don’t have time for those things anymore-”

“Because when you’re not in school, you’re with her.” He presses. “And she wants you with her all the time. Like I said, possessive.”

“Great to know how you really feel.” You say. Grab your phone.

“Sorry, YN. The truth hurts.” He slumps back into his seat, stares at the TV again. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” You mumble.

You open your phone when you reach the bathroom, go straight to Tara’s contact.

She’s opened your message, but hasn’t replied.

“Great.” You say aloud. Your perfect girlfriend has left you on read.

You contemplate calling her, asking her to come get you. No. You chew on your bottom lip. You could just leave, chance an encounter with ghost-face. You decide against it. You’re annoyed with Chase, but not that annoyed.

You wash your hands. Head back downstairs. Flick Tara another message.

You’re not mad, are you? Love you. Wish I was with you instead. xx

Chase hasn’t moved. He looks up when you enter, looking a little sheepish.

“YN-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You say. Sink into the sofa, as far from him as possible. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

And you do. Forty minutes of cheesy dialogue and bad acting and not a word from Chase. You like it that way. You keep glancing at your phone, waiting for your girlfriend’s response. But nothing.

The movie’s over. You can hear the credits rolling, but your eyes are drooping. Half gone. Your phone long abandoned, Tara’s reply nowhere to be found. You’re dreaming of Hawaii in the summer. Pina colada in hand. Tara dressed in a bikini, waist deep in the water. Kissing her in the sand, not a care in the world.

Then you hear the crash.

Your eyes jerk open. You sit up. Startled. You look around the room. The TV has shut itself off. Chase is nowhere to be found. There are noises coming from the foyer. Your heart beats, fast. You look wildly around the room. You want something to defend yourself with.

You settle on a small wooden zebra. Some useless ornament only Chase’s mom would decorate with. It’ll do.

You hear scuffling. More crashing. Then, Chase’s voice, shrill - scared.

“Please! Stop!”

Your ears ring. Terror rips through you as you make your way into the hallway, quietly as you can.

Chase is on the floor, writhing, both his hands wrapped around a curved, silver dagger.

Your stomach drops.

It’s Ghostface.

Your bottom lip trembles. You want to run. Scream. Hide. All at once. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, transfixed.

Ghostface raises his arm, steady. Then slams his dagger straight down and through Chase’s chest. Chase cries out. Blood gurgles from his lips. Ghostface stabs him, twice, then three times. Crazed. Possessed.

Your body gives way. You let out a scream. Topple backwards into the hallway cabinet.

Glass smashes around you. Ghostface looks straight at you.

Your back hurts from the fall. You writhe desperately on the floor, trying to get up. The Zebra has slipped from your fingers. Tears tumble down your face.

In your peripheral, you see Ghostface abandon Chase. Head straight for you.

You cry out as he makes a grab at you.

“Stop.” His voice is contorted, unnatural. He’s using a voice-changer. That same awful voice from that dumb movie you’d just watched. You sob as his hands tighten around you.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t struggle.”

You flop out of his grip, kick up just in time to take the Zebra in your hands.

“I’m not here for you, stop-”

Your fingers tighten around the Zebra. You use all your force to smack it hard against Ghostface’s head. You hear him cry out. Fall back.

You’ve hit him hard. He clutches at his head as he falls back.

There’s a clang as his mask hits the ground.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your chest seizes painfully. The Zebra in your hand slips out of your grasp and hits the floor.

“Tara?”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes. You blink.

She swallows. Stands upright.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She says. The voice changer is gone. The sound of her voice makes you want to weep, “Don’t be scared.”

She edges towards you, slowly. As if you’re a baby rabbit that might startle at any moment. You see the gleam of her dagger in her hand. Still wet with blood.

“Tara.” You say again, voice trembling. You take a step back. Panic floods through you. How can this be happening?

“It’s me.” She assures. “You don’t have to be afraid. Look.” She holds out her hand, drops the dagger to the floor. It careens over the carpet. Stains it with blood.

She inches closer. You don’t realize just how close she is before she’s reaching out, tugging you into her open arms. Your body locks up. The shock, the panic, the lump at the back of your throat. Everything spills over. You blubber into her chest as she holds you tight.

“Shhh. It’s okay baby.” She comforts you, hands rubbing tight circles across your back. You want to push her off. You want to run. But you can't, you're frozen, all you can do is bawl. She tilts your head up to her. Rubs her nose against yours. She smells metallic. Like blood. She’s covered in it, you realize with a start.

You tremble.

“Don’t be scared.” She repeats. Strokes her fingers along your cheeks. “My pretty girl. I would never hurt you.”

Her eyes are wild. Pupils blown. No trace of your sweet, loving girlfriend. You don’t recognize the person in front of you. You want her off you. But you don’t dare push her away. She presses you into her. Over her shoulder, you see Chase’s lifeless body. His glassy eyes stare up at you.

“He’s dead.” You say. Tears leak like acid from your eyes. Tara holds you tighter.

“I know.” You feel her lips graze the side of your head. She presses a lingering kiss there. “I’m sorry you had to see, darling. I thought you were asleep.”

A whimper emerges from your lips. Tears fall hot and fast down your cheeks, your hands limp at your side as she holds you. Cradles you.

“Why?”

She pauses. You feel her tense.

“Because they wanted you. All of them. They wanted you, but I’d never let them have you. Because you’re mine.”

And it clicks. There had been four victims so far. The first was Dan and his brother Sam, both boys you’d known since elementary school. Both who’d had crushes on you.

Then there was Aaron, your first kiss. Then Sadie, your first girlfriend.

Your bottom lip trembles. They were all dead because of you.

Tears roll down your face. Your body starts to shake.

Tara shushes you, pulls back only slightly to wipe away your tears. She’s so tender, gentle, you almost forget the bloodied body you’d just watch her maim lying in the corner of the room.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl.” She presses her lips to your forehead. “Here. Look.”

She steps back momentarily. Shimmies out of her black robes. She’s wearing your old varsity soccer t-shirt underneath. Your sweatpants. The necklace you’d got her for your one year anniversary. She looks like herself again. Your Tara.

Your bottom lip trembles.

“See. It’s just me.”

It makes you cry even harder. How could this be real? You’d just watched as your sweet, gentle, loving girlfriend had driven a knife into someone.

Tara. How could it be Tara?

“I know, I know, baby. It’s okay.” Her arms are around you again. She holds you as you sob. Every instinct in you screams to run. To get away from this deranged psycho who just killed your best friend in front of you. But you can’t. She’s the only one you want to run to.

You press yourself into her, tears soaking through her shirt. She cradles you, you feel her lips ghost your forehead.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” She says, “I’m sorry, baby girl. I know it’s a shock.”

She holds you a while longer. Until your eyes are red and dry, nothing left to cry. Your heartbeat still hammering against your chest.

What do I do?, You think. Where do I go?

She was calm now, much calmer than you. But that could change in a heartbeat. If you ran, she’d chase you. Maybe even kill you too. That look in her eyes, black, terrifying. You hiccup against her.

What the fuck do I do?

She rubs your back. Draws away from you just enough to wipe the rest of your tears from your face. Lets her fingers linger on your cheeks.

“Come here.” She dips down before you can protest. Presses her lips to yours. You don’t resist. Electricity flows through your body. Your stomach flutters the way it always does when she kisses you. Your body wants her just as it always does. Guilt flushes through you. You draw back, hold her at arms length.

“I can’t.” You pull back, a fresh wave of tears rising. Your stomach turns. “I think I’m going to be sick”

Her hands grip your shoulders.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. Hey. Look at me.” She’s firm, suddenly. You look up at her through glistening eyes. She softens her voice again, brushes your hair out of your eyes.

“I’m going to clean this up.” Her head jerks to the body near the corner of the room. “Then I’m going to clean you up.” She strokes the side of your face. Scratches on your cheeks from the glass.

“And then I’m going to take you to bed and make love to you. Show you just how much I adore you. Alright? Will that make everything better, sweetheart?”

Revulsion rises in your stomach suddenly. Her hands on you feel heavy. Suffocating. Your cheeks flush hot with emotion.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me.” You say. You shake off her hands, take a step back.

The words startle you as much as they startle her. Hurt clouds her features for a moment. She tries to smooth it over, tilting her head.

“Baby. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do. I don’t want you near me. Not after what you’ve done.” You back up, pressing yourself against the wall. Part of you wants to make a grab for the dagger but she’s too close. Besides, what would you do with it anyway? You weren’t like her. You weren’t a killer.

Tara blinks. Her eyes fill with something you don’t recognize.

“You’re just confused.” Tara says, voice hollow. “I know it’s hard to get your head around-“

“Please. Go. Just go.”

You’re shaking. Tara stares. Her bottom lip twitches. You recognize what’s behind her eyes this time. Anger. Irritation.

“You want me to go? After all this. After everything I’ve done for you?” For the first time, her voice is trembling. She looks angry. Hurt. Confused.

“For me?” You ask. Your voice rises. “You killed my best friend for me?”

“For us.” She urges. “Don’t you see - there’s no distractions anymore. No one else. No one is going to take you from me.”

She’s moving closer again. You don’t want her near you. You eye the door, move before she can stop you.

“YN!”

You run. Blood rushing in your ears.

She calls your name again, but you don’t look back. The front door is locked, so you sprint for the back. You can’t think straight, can’t trust your own emotions. So you trust your instincts.

Run. Run. Run.

You reach the door, fumble with the handle. Your heart in your throat. You twist it madly, but it doesn’t budge.

“Come on!” You cry out. You twist again, but it’s too late.

You feel her hands on your waist as she grabs you.

You struggle against her, screaming. The sheer force knocks you both over. You scramble up, trying to stand but she’s too quick. Her hands wrap tight around your waist, pulling you back down to her. She grabs your wrists, holds them tight over your head as she climbs on top of you.

“Get off me!” You cry, but she doesn’t. Squeezes you down tighter.

Wild eyes stare down at you. Her eyes, usually the softest brown, are wide, saucer like. Her eyebrows knit together as she pleads.

“Please, baby, stop.” She begs. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

She’s smaller than you, but she’s so much stronger. She’s always been stronger than you. It used to be hot, the way she could hold you down with such little effort. Now, it terrifies you.

You try with all your might to push her off but she only grips tighter. A frustrated sob emerges from your lips. She presses you against the floor. You feel her lips on your forehead as she shushes you.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” She says, voice so tender you almost forget she has you trapped in a vice grip. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then let me go.” You wail. Your body goes limp. There’s no point in struggling. She’s too strong. “Please, Tara, just let me go.”

“I can’t do that, baby.” She says. Her voice soft, almost apologetic, “I love you.”

You whimper, pathetically. Your mind whirls, going a mile a minute. There’s no way out, you realize. She’s stronger than you. She’s faster than you. And she’s hopelessly and desperately in love with you. She’ll never let you go.

Your breathing evens out.

“I love you.” She says again, voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath is hot, against your mouth. You shudder. She presses her lips to your cheek. Nuzzles her nose into your neck.

“I love you.”

Her lips press into your neck. A hot jolt of energy sparks between your legs. Even now, after everything she’s done you can’t help but want her. You start to cry again.

She tilts herself up. Looks at you, really looks at you.

Gone is the manic, crazy killer who just chased you down a hallway and stuck a knife in your best friend. Her eyes are wide, that soft, sweet brown they always are.

There she is. Your first love. Your high school sweetheart. The girl who had taken your virginity. Tara. Your sweet girlfriend, Tara.

“I love you.” She whispers, a final time. Your heartbeat slows, steady. Your eyes flicker down to her lips. She notices.

She lingers above you only a moment, before she leans down and captures your lips.

Heat flushes to your cheeks. Butterflies erupt in your chest.

Warm, warm, warm.

Is all you feel.

You groan into her mouth. Confusion flashes through you once again.

“Stop.” You murmur against her lips. Soft. Half-hearted, like you don’t mean it. She pulls back.

“Stop?” She asks. Voice low. Like she knows what you’re going to say.

Your breath hitches. Her hands loosen their grip on your wrists. Her weight on top of you suddenly feels erotic.

“Don’t stop.” You whisper, and she claims your lips once again.

Your kisses build, feverish. Desperate. A mesh of lips and teeth and tongue. You loop your hands through her hair, pull her tight against you.

Her hands loop under your shirt, tug at your jeans. You pull hers off first, wanting her hot and naked against you, groaning at the heat of her skin against your own.

All thoughts of Chase are gone as you slip your hands into her underwear. She’s wet already, gasps as you circle her clit. You press warm kisses to her jaw.

She presses you back onto the floor. Tugs your underwear down your legs. Her fingers dip down to your heat.

“Tara.” You gasp. She nuzzles herself into your neck. Presses, wet, sloppy kisses down your jawline. Her fingers brush your clit before she sinks her fingers inside you.

She groans. Kisses you deep.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight. So wet.”

“Tara.” You gasp. Her fingers curl inside you, her thumb rubbing gently over your clit. She kisses you again. Works her fingers deeper into you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” She asks. Her voice is graveled, thick with want. You moan out as she hits just the right spot.

“You like that? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod, madly, clawing at her back, trying to pull her closer.

“I like it too, baby. It’s my favorite thing in the world. I’d do anything to be inside you.”

Her eyes are black, hazy, lust filled. You kiss her deeply.

“I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” She says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.”

You moan.

“Tell me.” She says, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, baby.” You gasp.

“That's right. All mine. Every inch of you.” She growls. Her hand movements are steady. Angry. Pounding into you. Your hips jerk with each thrust, your cheeks red.

“Nobody else is going to touch you. Not ever. I’m the only one who gets to do this.” She says. Her eyes are starting to blacken again, jealous at the thought of somebody else sinking inside you.

“No one else.” You pant. “I promise.”

She growls, takes a nipple in her mouth. Bites down hard. Her fingers drive into your pussy.

You moan her name. It relaxes her a little. She slows her pace, dipping down to kiss down your stomach. She nuzzles against your thigh, lovingly.

“Who can blame them?” She says. She reaches up to touch your face, presses a gentle kiss to your belly. Her fingers pump in and out at a steady pace. Her fingers coated in your wetness. “My perfect girl. Always so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you? I want you all the time.”

She dips down, presses kisses to the tops of your thighs, rhythm steady as she fucks you. A low moan escapes from your mouth as she licks a long stripe down your center, stopping momentarily to wrap her lips around your clit.

Your thighs clench around her head but she keeps your legs pried open. She sucks you only a moment before she’s grinning up at you, debauched, slipping a third finger inside your dripping cunt.

“I wish I could spend every waking moment inside this gorgeous pussy. Always so pretty and tight and wet for me. Always throbbing around my fingers. Squeezing. Trying to keep me in you, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes gleam. Her pretty red lips sticky with your arousal.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby? You’d like me to be in you all the time.”

“Yes.” You groan.

“Dirty girl.” She chides. Her head dips down again, and you throw your head back as she sucks on your clit, hard.

She releases you after a moment. Lips back on your thighs, fingers pummeling up into your g-spot.

Your stomach coils. She sucks on your thigh leisurely, her fingers slamming into you with no mercy.

“Mine.” She says. “Say it.”

“Yours. All yours.”

Her arms grip tight around your waist. She licks her way up your length, not stopping the force of her fingers.

You throb around her, so close. She presses kisses to your thighs as she works you to the edge.

“You going to come for me, baby?” She murmurs, lips on your clit, “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart. Come in my mouth.”

She sucks your clit, hard, and you topple over the edge.

Your back arches. You let out a low groan as your orgasm washes over you. She works you though it, lovingly sucking, her fingers curled.

You slump back onto the floor as she presses kisses to your belly. She keeps her fingers in you as she leans up, kisses you so tenderly.

“Good girl.” She murmurs. You sigh into her mouth. You can taste yourself on her lips. It’s intoxicating. She presses a kiss to your neck.

Draws her fingers out of you. You whine. She smiles, sucks you off her fingertips.

“Don’t worry baby.” She murmurs. Brushes a lock of hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart beat slows. She shuffles herself off you.

Wraps herself tight around your waist, drawing you into her.

Your eyes draw to the robes of the floor. The mask. The dagger. Chase is here somewhere, dead in another room. And you just fucked his killer.

Shame floods through you. Your body tenses. She can sense it. She turns you in her arms, pulls you into her bare chest.

“Shh. Don’t look, baby.” She coos. “I’ll clean it up.”

“He’s dead.” You say. More monotone than anything. In the last thirty minutes you’ve felt every possible emotion you could ever feel. You’ve cried every last tear. You’ve fought and struggled and lost against your own desires. You’re exhausted.

“It’s alright, babe.” She senses your resignation. Presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s just you and me. The way it should be.”

She tilts your face up to hers. You let her press a kiss to your lips. Close your eyes.

“I’m all yours, baby.” She says. “And you’re mine. Forever.”

You nod, slowly.

She is, there’s no point in denying it.

Next part

#scream #jenna ortega #fanfiction #mine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #ghostface!tara #wednesday #wednesday x reader #ah

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iwaasfairy · 10 months

Text

┌─ “ ! „ WHEN YOU ASK

tw. yandere, dubcon, threats, coercion, some degradation, dom/sub themes, humiliation, noncon voyeurism, former bullying mention, threesome-ish, crying, knife, choking wordcount. 5.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by another amazing person ♡ thank you so much for the commission!! i hope you like this one and it lives up to your expectation and i !! ahHH i just always get nervous writing charas i haven't before but I had a blast! mwUah i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again thankies to rhi for being best beta hehe

akashi seijuro x fem!reader

See, if someone asked, Mibuchi could say that he’s friends with you.

It wouldn’t be an outright lie -you’ve been in the same classes since middle school, he’s seen how you act around your friends and wave everyone goodbye with a smile- but maybe it isn’t exactly the truth either. Safer to say, Mibuchi knows of you. Would even call you an acquaintance of sorts, and he’s pretty sure you guys were sort of friendly when you were twelve and he sat next you in class for a good couple months — he might even have walked you home at some point.

You could have been friends, if he’d been a little less busy with basketball practice in middle and high school, a little less busy with the team. Because really, he’d have had every opportunity to. You were in the cheer squad for a couple years, and he’s pretty sure you were one of the girls who helped collect funds for the Rakuzan bus rides from and to tournaments- and you always seemed pleasant, kind. If he hadn’t been so focused on his sport career, he might’ve even had a bit of a crush on you.

Not that he plans on making up for it now, but it’s not hard to see or admit that you’re pretty stunning, you were back then— and you definitely are today. Perfectly manicured nails and beautifully glossy hair that makes you look full and warm and modelesque all at once. You shine. It’s hard not to notice someone like you whenever he sees you at their matches. He knows he’s not the only one. College jocks are hardly the picture of self restraint, and if you think signed athletes are any different, you’d be wrong. But all of that doesn’t really matter, because you don’t sit in the stands for him.

The redhead that he has spent the past few years playing alongside is lucky to call you more than friends. He respects Akashi. There’s almost no way around it when you play on a team alongside the guy, that pure, unfiltered resolve he has, and the steely brute force it sometimes takes the form of. Akashi wouldn’t exactly have it any other way too, and though that might get annoying if he were anyone else, Mibuchi isn’t arrogant enough to acknowledge that the guy plays best when he knows people he respects have his back. That type of world-class talent doesn’t come around a lot.

The redhead that has you sitting looking pretty in the stands is the same boy that’d shove you to the concrete in grade 2. The one he saw yank your pigtails and put glue in your backpack, isn’t he? The one who started the talk that you’d kissed a teacher under the bleachers, and stood by when Hayama stuck his hand up your skirt? Yeah, it’s probably because you aren’t friends that he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that kids grow up, and he respects the Captain.

So it’s because he respects Akashi that he finds himself in this situation, isn’t it?

You’re tiny. Well, everyone is sort of ‘tiny’ compared to most professional basketballers… but leaning against the concrete pillar with your perfect outfit and your arms wrapped around yourself, not a hair out of place - it is more vibes than actual appearance that makes you seem small. Compact, tiny, quiet, if he didn’t know any better, he’d liken you to a skittish little animal. You’re waiting, eyes scanning everyone briefly as they stream out. It’s sort of lonely looking, though. His head reminds him it isn't really his problem, but hey, it feels weird to pretend to not see you too.

And he supposes you are kinda friendly, right? As his long legs carry him through the sliding doors of the training center, he plops a sucker between his lips, glances over his shoulder and - makes the executive choice to walk up to you. If only to entertain you a little while Akashi takes his time running through the coaches’ comments, like he usually does. You blank when you notice him walk up, before doing a quick double take at the doors, and he takes the sort of deer-in-headlights look as a question on your end. “Akashi’s probably going to be a little bit longer, if I had to guess.”

“Oh. I see.” You let out a nervous little laugh, and wring your hands together, and he takes a brief second to look at you. Sure, he hasn’t exactly been very chatty when you’ve strolled in during practices with forgotten bento boxes, or when you sit at the very front row during matches with your perfectly presented exterior and a nervous glitter in your eyes, or even when it seems you’ve been dragged along to the teams events— but from what he knows of you… in the past, you’re not the shy little bunny standing before him now. It almost makes him a little self-conscious. Is it him that’s making you hesitate, or are you just… different now? People do change, after all. Still, it doesn’t seem… like change.

“I’m… Mibuchi, I was in the same class as you a lot growing up.” He finds himself explaining, in case you forgot. He wouldn’t exactly blame you if you did. If you managed to forgive and forget for Akashi, you could’ve forgotten most other things.

But you pause, and then your face softens into a slow smile. “I remember you, Reo-kun. We were desk mates in Ms. Tanaka’s class. You were always nice to me.” Right, with your high ponytail and cute bangs and your flowery frilly shirts. Thinking about it harder, he definitely did have somewhat of a crush on you back then. “It’s nice to get to talk to you again, it’s been so long.”

“You still like basketball, huh?” he asks, and you laugh and look at the floor, before nodding.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to meet his again. “Yes, I guess so. Don’t have much of a choice.” It lingers when your voice goes a little more quiet. Right. Because, your boyfriend’s a pro-athlete. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the games! It’s really nice to get swept up in the excitement of it from time to time.” You sound light, breezy … but almost mournful too. It’s somewhere in your eyes, your long lashes unable to hide the deepness of it. “Honestly, I can’t wait for the season to start again.” Another beat passes, before you seem to snap out of it, and refocus on him. “You’re still playing too.”

Whatever tension crept up in his shoulders doesn’t loosen when he grins. “Almost fifteen years now, can’t let that streak go to waste.” He sucks on the lollipop for a long moment, before tilting his head. “Besides, pretty sure Akashi wouldn’t let me.”

It cracks your carefully crafted expression. For a split second -surprising both himself and you, it seems, because then your smile is picture perfect again. The same perfect smile you give everyone when they say ‘hi’ and Akashi laces his hand with yours. Or when you blow back a kiss across the field. And see, he isn’t too concerned with people’s reactions, usually. But it’s so sudden that it feels … weird. Everything suddenly feels weird. You never wear Akashi’s jerseys, even when he stuffs them into your hand before matches. Not that you have to… it’s just, you used to be cheer captain. It seems like something you’d want to do.

That sits weirdly.

“You’re definitely right about that,” you agree, but the light of it doesn’t reach your eyes. Before he can think about it, the electronic doors slide open behind him— and as if you’re burned, you take a few steps away and into a new line of sight. “‘Juro, you’re back!”

“Why aren’t you waiting in the car, stupid?” is the first thing that comes out, reaching for you like you’re a lost child, as his mismatched eyes find Mibuchi. His face is perfectly blank of emotion as it always seems to be. “You guys were talking?”

Instantly, your eyes shoot up to his, and you seem to cling a little harder. “No! N-no, just… Mibuchi was waiting with me. We’re done.” You fiddle with the chain of your necklace when your boyfriend stays quiet and stares you down, searching for … a lie? An explanation? Whatever it is makes Mibuchi feel like he shouldn’t be watching. But he can’t pull away from the scene. His teammate eventually leans down to kiss you long and deep, and your shoulders drop a tad bit. Not enough to look relaxed.

“Hm.” If Akashi notices, he doesn’t mention it, and instead brushes his lips along your temple. “We should get home then. You look a little tired.” You don’t agree, but your feet start moving robotically upon the prompt, and the noiret takes that as the only clue he’s gonna get that the conversation is over.

“See you two next… practice,” he starts to say as you two walk off, but quiets down as you turn over your shoulder to look at him. There’s something off about your eyes. At least, he swears— there is. It makes him feel like he’s crazy. Because your pretty smile is right there, and you’re wrapping your perfectly manicured fingers around Akashi’s bicep.

The look doesn’t fade when Akashi simply nods, and ushers you along with a hand that lands in the dip of your spine. “Sure.”

The next time he sees you isn’t at practice. It takes him aback a little, putting the weights he was curling down to straighten up for a better view. You’re looking around like a lost puppy, and the reflection on the large glass panes boxing him off hides most of you from view, but sure enough- it’s you. Just you, once more, rubbing your hands along your arms as you wait in line for something.

It isn’t his business. It really isn’t, but- you didn’t show up to any of their matches or practices the last two weeks. Is it so strange that he’s sort of glad to see you alive and well? Not that he’d ever think badly of Akashi, but you’d been in such a bad mood when you left, and it just… didn’t seem right. He takes his water bottle to toss it onto his bag, before jogging on over out of the gates and around the corner right when you slip out of view. A few people walk around him, and he catches a brief look of your face as you hesitantly slip a card into the ATM.

Your hands are shaking. They’re shaking, and your lip is screwed between your teeth and… if it wasn’t you, he’d think you were doing something nefarious. “Hey,” he softly breathes as he walks up, and your jumpy squeak only makes him more uncomfortable.

Your eyes are so wide when you turn around. “Mibuchi! —Oh, Reo… it’s you.” The device behind you beeps. “Sorry, I,” your pretty face paints on a smile as you take out the money and slide it neatly into your purse, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me.” There’s a moment of silence as he scans you up and down, and that horrible feeling drops back into his gut. He can’t help it, it’s laced in the air between you two, it’s on his tongue, it’s in your eyes when you blink up at him. “Reo? Are you- okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he nods, wiping his hands on his gym shorts. Is— should he say something? Is there something to say? It’s not like he can just … ask if you’re being treated badly. Hell- he’s been friends with Akashi since high school- he trusts the guy! There’s absolutely no reason he should be thinking like this. “You look beautiful,” he ends up blurting out, unable to think of anything else to say. “Me and the guys missed you at practice.”

“O-oh,” you giggle, and shake your head. “I was just a bit… busy at home, that’s all. I hoped Seijuro would’ve told you guys not to expect me.” Either you’re a really good actor, or some of your nerves slide off of you when you look up at him, and this time, he believes the smile. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you what he’s like, he isn’t really the talking type.” There’s a certain fondness in your eyes when you shrug. “You know, Seijuro bought me a ring five weeks into dating, when we were in high school. Said he knew what he wanted, and that he’d make me the happiest wife on the planet if I agreed.” You giggle. “At sixteen years old, he was already that way. I thought it was really romantic back then, his smittenness.”

This he remembers. Akashi talked about it in the locker room once, knowing you’d be cheering in the stands, he’s pretty sure he even showed off the ring despite the ridicule. Did you still wear Akashi’s jerseys back then? He can’t for the life of him figure out why he cares to remember so bad. Your tongue swipes out to brush your lips. “We’re a long ways out from high school now, huh?” Mibuchi’s hand twitches by his side as he watches the smile die out, but what the hell can he say. He wasn’t there for either of you, not really. If something did happen, would he even know?

His eyes sink down your face ever so briefly to your throat when you look off. There’s a mark purple and red where a necklace would have sat, bruised all around, and though faded- he stops smiling.

“What’s that?!”

You jerk away with an uncomfortable glance, and a shake of your head. Fuck, he wants you to say something. He wants you to tell him some stupid story about a rash or a tumble, to tell him to fuck off and leave you be, because it isn’t his business- but you don’t. Maybe he does consider you a friend. “Hey, if- you ever need anything,” need help, he wants to say, but the word doesn’t make it out of his mouth. “You just have to ask, you know?” He doesn’t exactly expect you to drop everything and beg for aid in the middle of Kyoto, but the pristine calm that washes over you is almost eerie.

Your eyes find his. “Well— I- I want to visit my mom.” The tremble in your voice is soft, but it’s there, squeezing your fingers a little tighter. “Can you drop me off at the nearest train station? Seijuro’s off on a little business trip today, and he’s got his car. I don’t really… want to wait until he’s back.” A nagging little voice in the back of his head tells him not to get involved.

But the voice isn’t loud enough. “Of course, yeah.”

Akashi’s passes are bad today. He’s been on edge seemingly all practice, wiping sweat off the back of his neck as he talks to the manager- and Mibuchi doesn’t feel entirely comfortable just walking up to him. They don’t have the friendship they did in high school, and though he still appreciates the guy, there’s a space there that wasn’t there before. As if on cue, the redhead’s eyes flick up and meet his, differently colored eyes scanning him up and down, and Mibuchi looks away. He doesn’t want to seem too interested in your business, he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t want him to be either— but he can’t exactly pretend not to be curious anymore. It’s basically leaking out of him onto the polished floor.

Did you get home okay after? Did you and Akashi talk? Did you fight?

The first hour results in a record of missed 3 pointers and shitty teamwork, so clearly the tension isn’t just in his head. Even their stern watcher of a coach eventually grits his teeth. “All of you, I want you to regroup before the end of the night, or I’ll have you dribbling until your arms fall off.” Everyone straightens out and gives a quick ‘yes, coach’. His eyes then slide to the Captain, and he crosses his arms. “Akashi, take a rest, you’re all over the place today.”

“You almost elbowed me in the face earlier, dude,” the shooting guard softly mumbles upon the prompt, and it’s barely a second before Akashi’s nose to nose with the man, his fist wound in the sweaty jersey by his throat. Everyone freezes up, and even the long-time coach is caught off guard by the sudden flare of anger. But Akashi doesn’t falter, and hisses out his words.

“Stay out of my fucking way then. This is my court, and you’re on my team. You serve me.”

The gruff older man stands up to separate the two with a short bark of the Captain’s name, as those devilish mismatched eyes flick up. “Akashi! Bench, now. You pull a stunt like that again and you’ll remain there.” It’s like there’s a black cloud over the entire gym that makes them hold their breath, until every so slowly, the fist unfurls and drops. The redhead doesn’t say another word, but his brows are just as furrowed as he steps back, and looks around. Those fiery eyes pass over Mibuchi just briefly, and he swears they stare a little longer than they should. “Now line up, you shitty little brats!”

“Yes, coach!”

Shoes squeak on the floor as they line up, and Mibuchi lingers on the interaction a bit longer. The shorter man catches the ball tossed at him, and slowly straightens up as he clicks his tongue. “Yes, coach.” He can’t shake the glare or the thinly laced impatience in his voice.

It displays almost three on the blinking alarm clock when the rattling at his door wakes him. There’s an impatient knock, and then another few ones about twenty seconds later that have him throwing the covers off. The house is as he left it for the night when he drags himself towards the entrance and waits for a moment longer, before a tiny sniffle catches him entirely off guard. It’s a woman. His tired mind still instantly comes upon you, and he unlocks the door when a hand again meets the wood.

The apartment light doesn’t fail him. It is you, though there’s a darkness under your eyes -smudged mascara- and your hands are bound before you, as you’re basically held up by your neck and you’re pushed into the doorway. Mibuchi stumbles as his hands land on your arms to stop your fall, and for a brief moment, everything seems okay.

Until the door is closed behind the three of you and the person who pushed glares with an anger that he can feel burn his skin. Akashi. The normally quiet, demanding Captain doesn’t have much of his usual restraint when he picks you back up by your arm and holds you out as if you’re a stolen toy— and he sneers as the hiss of his voice cuts. “You think I’m fucking stupid? I saw you looking at her all of last season’s practices. But she doesn’t actually want you, does she? She tried her very fucking best to run off, to no avail.” He briefly glares down at you when you whimper, and shake your head against the gag in your mouth. “Don’t pout, slut, you deserve to be punished. Don’t you think?”

You’re crying. Hard, a desperate, trashing cry that’s making his hairs stand upright. And he doesn’t think you could ever look ugly, but you’re definitely crying like you want the ground to swallow you up whole, and like the action of struggling this hard is causing you pain. “No, I don’t wanna.”

The entire scene doesn’t make any sense. Why are you — why is Akashi here? It fries his brain the longer he thinks, and his hands slowly slide off of your arms to take a tiny step back. “Captain…,” Mibuchi starts, reaching out to hold your hand. Akashi should let go of you. You’re hurt.

The movement has Akashi’s irises back on his teammate with fire, eyes wide and accusatory. “Move.” He takes you by your collar and drags you like you’re a kitten, before shouldering Mibuchi out of his own doorway to deposit you on the cold floor. It knocks him out of his daze enough to at least process the situation. This can’t be his former friend pulling something like this— but it’s playing out right before him. What the fuck? “I had to spend the entirety of yesterday driving up to Tokyo because of the stupid shit my flighty little wife pulled,” Akashi’s voice is tighter now, calmer, but not any less vicious as he watches you.

“Maybe if you get on your knees and beg my forgiveness, I won’t let everyone know what a fucking whore you are.” Through the gag, your muffled, pitched voice sounds out in the openness of his apartment. You look so pitiful, and Akashi’s not letting up as he grips your face to pull it only about an inch away from his own. “Apologize. You are mine. Doesn’t matter how far you run, you’re always going to be mine.” A thumb brushes along your cheeks to get rid of the silvery tracks. “I love you. You know I do.”

“You should let go of her,” his own voice comes before he has time to think it over. This situation is absurd, and he isn’t willing to just stand by to watch you get treated this way— at least, that’s until the other man turns to him and the brief moment of kindness is replaced by a darkness that flashes over his face.

The redhead’s hand disappears into his pocket, glaring at him from his elevated position in the baren light of the room. “Shut your fucking mouth, Mibuchi.” There’s not a sliver of familiarity left when he clicks his tongue, and like he’s the one who’s disgusted, narrows his eyes. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.” The tense silence is only made more pressing by the way you give him those fearful eyes, shaking your head ‘no’ as the man before him steps a bit closer. “I am not here to ask your opinion… I’m here to punish her.” As he points in your direction, his hand comes out of his pocket with a knife, glittering brilliantly even in the dark, and is then aimed towards him. Your pinched crying starts up again when he pulls your head up by your hair, and Akashi raises an eyebrow.

“You think you’re the first with notions of heroism? This brat runs like it’s a hobby. You’re not special.” His eyes burn. “If I hear you talk to me again, I’ll hurt her,” he breathes, deathly serious as he turns to you, “and if you don’t obey, I’ll hurt him, okay? I know you don’t want that, baby doll.” When you wildly shake your head again, he kneels down by your side, and Mibuchi can’t do anything but watch as the spit-filled gag is pulled down your chin and Akashi cups your cheek to kiss you ever so softly. “I know, I know, it’s okay. You were being friendly, hm? You’d never use our friend here for your own protection. But you still let me find you, and now you get punished, you know that.”

“Seijuro, I’m sorry, please,” your voice barely sounds like you. It’s hoarser, desperate, and cracking with tears as wetness and snot runs on your face— “please let’s just go home. We don’t have to make up here, I won’t- I won’t run again, I promise.” Akashi stills for a second too long to pretend to be indifferent. But he still hardens up, and simply turns over his shoulder to look at the noiret with a cold look.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“N- ‘Juro- no,” you start struggling again through your tears, and he wants to help you. “Please anything but this, I beg you! Seijuro!” Your poor wrists look rubbed raw because of the fabric, and be it the dejected look in your eyes or the sound of your cries ringing through his house -it sparks another surge of adrenaline in him. But the Captain doesn’t repeat himself, and the words ring through his skull. I’ll hurt her. “I’ll be your good girl-” you start, before dissolving into a mess of cries when the redhead wraps an arm around your belly and pulls you up onto your feet against him. You go soft and quiet when your face is against his chest, and Akashi presses the sharp blade of the knife into your neck.

“Well?”

“It’s to the left.” Mibuchi has no other choice, does he? He has no way of knowing if the man before him would actually hurt you— he doesn’t even know the person standing before him now. As he trails his eyes over the two of you in both worry and stress, the glitter of the ring on your finger doesn’t miss him. You really did get married, didn’t you? Was it always like this? He can’t imagine you’d have stayed as long as you have if it was… but then again, he clearly doesn’t know anything about Akashi. He doesn’t know anything about you either, from the looks of things.

“Come along,” Akashi says, leading the way to the abandoned bedroom with too steady a step. If he wasn’t so worried about getting you hurt -or worse- he could probably make a run for his phone charging on the kitchen counter. But by the time police got here, it’d be too late. So instead he just slowly, carefully follows behind as you’re deposited on the messed up sheets of his own bed, and stands in the doorway with baited breath. As Akashi slowly starts to undo each button of your silky pyjamas, a horrible feeling settles in his stomach, and he clears his voice. There’s no way it can be what he thinks it is. The stretch of skin revealed to him is littered with fresh hickeys, and Mibuchi looks away.

Not quick enough, clearly, because you pull up a sniffled breath and let out a little whine when Akashi hums. “Always make me embarrass you like this.” The soft lilt to his tone is almost gentle, if he wasn’t threatening you with a knife a minute earlier. “Crying like a baby until you get what you want, hm?” The ruffling of clothes is enough to have heat come up onto Mibuchi’s face, resolutely boring his eyes into the doorframe instead of you. Akashi can’t be serious. He clears his voice, and the Captain sighs. “So how long have you been in love with my wife?”

“Huh?” He looks up to see the way you’re holding the undone shirt to your chest and barely keeping your modesty, and Akashi giving him a blank look. “I- I’m not-”

“Sure you are. Just look at her.” He apraises you from his spot beside the bed, and runs his long fingers along your jaw and shoulder with a little breath. “She’s absolutely perfect. Aren’t you, baby? My beautiful little doll.” The kiss he lays onto your lips is genuinely soft, and loving, and a cold spike comes to Mibuchi’s spine at the sight of you melting into the touch despite everything. “Always perfect for me…” Akashi whispers, and then straightens up. “That’s exactly why I can’t let you go.”

He turns over his shoulder briefly to look at Mibuchi, and then sighs. “You should take a seat. I’m going to remind my little whore wife exactly who she belongs to- you sit and be quiet, understand?”

He can’t bring himself to answer verbally, but at the pleading look in your eyes -the one currently eating him up as much as it is sending hot flares down his body- he slowly takes the farthest corner of the bed and sits. Your eyes don’t manage to make it to his as Akashi unclasps your arms from around you and peels the last of your soft top off. His eyes flick down instinctively, he can’t help it, and makes his mouth a little more dry. You’re - beautiful, embarrassment coloring your cheeks and ears and chest with obvious humiliation that only makes the redhead hum. “You’re so pretty.” His rough palm comes under your face to grab it and force it to turn. “Look at Mibuchi, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“N-no,” you whimper, but bite your lip hard, and your chest rises and falls rapidly.

“You don’t like being watched?”

“You know I don’t,” your voice comes out soft, but there’s an edge there that only makes Akashi’s mouth twitch, as he forces you to uncross your legs. He starts work there too, peeling off your shorts down beautiful smooth thighs. The noiret tries to stop himself from watching so intently, he truly does, because it’s clear you hate every second that he stares. But — fuck, your little whimpers are making his heart race. He’s just a guy, and the stress, and flood of adrenaline is betraying him now. Once your shorts and panties are off, Akashi just watches for a moment, and you take a deep breath. “You can’t bully me into liking it, Seijuro.”

He barely reacts. Brushes his rough thumbs along your tits and over your nipples, and pushes you back on the bed. “Shhh. We’re having a moment, baby. I didn’t want to do this, you know?” Akashi speaks like he’s cherishing you with his lips hovering yours, nudging your one thigh apart to make room for his hand as he runs two fingers along your slit. “But you make me. You’re just a stupid, dumb girl acting out because you want to be reminded of who you belong to, hm?” You shiver, and he spits onto his hand to start grinding his rough palm against your pussy as you close your eyes.

“No. No, I don-”

“No? You did this with Aomine,” he sighs, working two of his thick fingers inside you and you wiggle and hide your face into your shoulder, “and you did this with Kise too. But you’re still here. You just like getting your pussy fucked hard when you make me mad. Say it.”

“Ah- Seijuro, I-” His fingers curl in you, and your back lifts off the bed as your mouth opens into a silent moan. “Ah, ah— I like getting my pussy- fucked h-hard,” your voice is barely a whimper, but it’s quiet in the room save for everyone’s labored breathing as the slick sound of your pussy gets messier and louder. As you’re curling your hips onto his hand and resisting the urge to really fuck yourself onto his fingers, he pulls his shirt over his head and reveals the hard on covered by flimsy basketball shorts— and you let out a squeak. “Seijuro, ‘juro, I feel- mh-” You can’t even string a proper sentence together as he grunts, and traps your poor clit against the fleshy part of his palm.

“You should apologize for using Mibuchi,” Akashi softly says, a faint little grin on his lips that shows the glee in his eyes even more. “Go on.”

“But I— I didn’t use- ah, ahh-fuck.” Your wetness is glistening every time Akashi pulls his hand back and forces long fingers back in you- and you stuff the fabric of the gag back between your lips just to bite it hard as your tits are squeezed and he pinches your clit until your thighs shake. Then you cry, and open teary eyes to the man still frozen at the end of the bed. He doesn’t want you to look. To notice the shame pooling in his gut. “‘M sorry for using you.” Your snively look is too much.

Akashi hikes one of your thighs to your chest as he pulls his cock out and only shakes his head a little in disbelief, before lining up and pushing the drooling, red head in one hard pump inside. You whine out, and he licks his teeth as he grabs your throat and squeezes. “Needy fucking bitch. If you want to get your cunt fucked harder, you- should-” Each thrust slaps hard against your skin and hikes you further up, tits bouncing as your hands grab his forearms. “learn- to ask. Now Mibuchi will have to fuck his fist thinking of you, hm? Your- ugh- fault.”

His cock grinds deep inside your belly, hitting that spot good enough that you can’t open your eyes. Your ring glitters like your slicked pussy does, and the silvery tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you shake your head and sob, biting down on your puffy lips hard and clinging on. You look sorry. But with each thrust and squelch of your pussy taking Akashi as deep as you can, that look gets a little more faded. Maybe you're good at forgiving and forgetting.

You certainly look it.

#akashi x reader #knb x reader #knb x you #knb smut #kuroko no basquet #akashi smut #akashi seijuro #tw.dubcon #tw.yandere #tw.threesome #tw.dark content #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.akashi

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demonicchicken1121 · 3 months

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Alastor, Rosie, and Cannibal Town: an Analysis (I’m fucking at it (Alastor Posting) again)

Ok I know that a lot of people have already been talking about this, but I really want to analyze Alastors behavior in cannibal town and how it’s so much different than how he behaves literally anywhere else.

Alastors true motives, personality, opinions, etc are widely debated in the fandom. Does he actually care about Charlie or the hotel? What’s his beef with Lucifer? Why did he make a deal and who was it with? Al is such a mysterious and closed off character, and his demeanor changes so frequently that no one in or out of universe really knows much about him. I personally think that the closest we get to seeing Alastor in his truest and most authentic self is when he’s in cannibal town.

From the moment they arrive, Alastors demeanor changes dramatically, even from a few moments before, when Charlie was venting about her relationship issues. He seems genuinely excited to be there and see Rosie, to the point where he seems to forget he brought Charlie here for a reason (hell I think he forgets Charlie is even there at a few points.)

Al and Rosie HAVE seen each other since he returned to hell, at the overlord meeting, but they didn’t really have the time to interact. Even so, they are so in tune with each other. This man was gone for seven years and here they are gaslight gatekeep girlbossing like nothing happened.

But once they actually have the opportunity to interact outside of the overlord meeting they’re super excited to catch up. The only other time he shows this much enthusiasm to see someone is with Mimzy, but things quickly goes south when she puts the hotel is danger. Alastors friendship with mimzy feels very onesided, and it seems that she only shows up when she needs something. While Alastor and Rosie clearly ask each other for favors, it feels a lot more equal in a way where they each get an equal amount of benefit.

And while we haven’t seen much of them yet, I get the vibe that they hang out in their free time and respect each others boundaries and schedules. I think Al went through cannibal town hoping to see her in the prequel comic, but figured she was busy after the extermination and instead asked some of the residents to say hello on his behalf. But that’s just a theory, a gam-

Also just a little thing I noticed, when rosie is joking about Charlie being too young for Alastor, Charlie looks visibly annoyed, but Alastors body language and expression don’t change. He tends to react relatively strongly when anyone (Angel) makes a move on him or assumes he’s dating anyone, but I think he knows Rosie well enough to know she’s joking.

Alastor lets his guard down so much in this part of the episode. He’s really in his element and his behavior seems so natural and genuine.

I love how he’s so willing to just roast Susan. Every iconic duo has that one person they fucking hate and will not be subtle about how much they fucking hate them. It’s especially funny with alastor, who’s usually really pretentious and passive aggressive when he insults someone, but with Susan it’s just

“✨Ornery old bitch?✨” also this is the only time in the entire series that alastor swears in a genuinely humorous way. In almost every other example, he is trying to intimidate someone or piss them off, and also when his staff was broken.

And speaking of his staff, I think it was actually a big deal that Alastor let Charlie use it, even tho it was for a very short time. This does show that whether or not he actually cares about her, Alastor does have a certain amount of trust and respect for Charlie. Despite that, I don’t think he would have done this if he wasn’t in cannibal town and with Rosie. The staff is clearly very important to him and likely holds some amount of his power, given how he reacted when it was broken.

As weird as this sentence is out of context, I think Alastor feels very safe in cannibal down. Rosie and probably the other cannibals genuinely like and respect him. it speaks volumes that not only he let Charlie use his staff, but he put himself in the position that would leave him vulnerable to Rosie if Charlie were to turn on him. While he knows it’s highly unlikely that would happen, I think it’s still worth noting that he intentionally left himself in such a vulnerable position in cannibal town and nowhere else.

Something else interesting I noticed, is that “ready for this” is one of the only songs that Alastor is interacting with another character, and isn’t competing for the spotlight. He is walking all over Vox in “stayed gone”, and getting walked all over by Lucifer in “Hells greatest dad”, but here, he’s very in tune with everyone else. He and Rosie are on equal footing and he feels secure enough to fade into the background a bit, harmonizing with the cannibals and letting Charlie take the lead.

So yeah, I feel like Cannibal town is alastors home in hell. His relationship with Rosie is probably the most positive relationship he has in the whole show. I think viv has mentioned that Alastor wasn’t a cannibal before he died, and I’m not sure if that’s still canon, but if it is, I can definitely see him becoming a cannibal when he became friends with Rosie. I can also see Rosie being one of his first friends in hell, maybe they even rose to power together. I’m clearly getting into some more speculative headcanons because I do what I want, but I’m putting them in their own section.

Now for headcanons with little to no substantial evidence ✨✨✨

I do actually really like the idea that they became friends very quickly and rose to power together. I like the idea that they were friends before Alastor became this super powerful force in hell. It also makes sense that he would trust someone who wanted to be his friend back when people weren’t constantly asking for favors or testing his power. Bc I do think that there was a short period of time between him arriving in hell and rising to power. (I have a lot of ideas about how he got his powers which probably will get its own post, but to brief, he wasn’t super powerful when he arrived in hell.) it makes sense that him and Rosie would have become friends in that period.

When he did start rising to power, I think Rosie would have guided him, given that he was a relatively new sinner. She would help him find overlords to target, possibly even letting him recruit cannibals to help him take them down. After he was finished broadcasting their screams, he would return their bodies to Rosie for her to sell. Maybe any cannibals who helped him would get discounts or first pickings.

This makes sense to me bc not only would it help explain why Alastor has never seen Rosie as a rival or a target, but also it would help explain why they’re so close. Nothing builds a friendship better than overthrowing incredible forces of power. Also they totally square dance on the weekends.

Viv please I need an episode that’s nothing but these two dicking around in cannibal town for twenty minutes.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel season 1 #hazbin spoilers #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #rosie hazbin hotel #radio demon #hello rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #long post

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undercoverpena · 10 months

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iv. before the gold and glimmer

javier peña x f!reader | chapter four of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: i adore each of you who are coming along this weird and wonderful journey, we're getting closer, i promise. wordcount: 2.5k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

I’ll be home in an hour.

I’ll be ready

Are we going to do the crossword tonight or are you going to spend an hour flirting?

too early to comment

I’m bringing my A game.

to flirt with me? baby you flatter me

No. Crosswords, you fucking flirt.

hermosa did you just swear at me

I did. Now I have to concentrate, stop distracting me.

Javi is aware that his pop is thinking things.

Has been since the phone conversations began. The ones initially having slotted in when the house was empty. Quiet. Just him and his thoughts banging around, occasionally punctured by him pressing the keys on his phone until the phone rang.

Now, the phone calls have bled out into quick chats on other nights (Javi’s hand over his mouth, trying to muffle a laugh). He’s caught sight of his pop’s smirk more than once.

He’s very aware that he hasn’t helped things by dropping your name into conversations.

Accidentally, at first.

Then just accepting his fate and embracing it. Talking about you as if you’re this fully fleshed thing in front of him—mentioning the news thing you’d heard, something funny you’d said.

He even mentioned you to Murphy. Again, not on purpose.

Steve was quick. Picking up on it immediately in their latest monthly catch-up where usually Javi listens to how amazing, disruptive and yet tiring kids are—how Miami would be good for him, and that Connie misses him. This time it segwayed suddenly into, and who might she be then, Jav?

It had crossed his mind to play it down. To conceal you—because a part of him suspects he should hate all of it.

Before, he had always preferred secrecy. Kept the women he had been seeing behind lock and key. Partially due to the nature, the risk—now, though, he thinks he just doesn’t want to share.

Doesn’t want to taint it. Selfishly wanting to keep you all to himself, his slice of happiness that no one can dull.

It also aids in holding himself back from falling over the cliff, tumbling into ruin because he let himself get ahead of himself.

Feel too much, too quick, because Javi didn’t even know what you looked like. Hadn’t eyed you up across a bar, hadn’t spotted you in the aisle of the store.

You’d stumbled into his life.

No reason, no real cause or explanation, and now he’s not entirely sure as to why he feels the amount he does. That he cares, that he likes you. How that when he talks to you, he feels only happy, content and joy—like he could do and be anything.

You provide the key to the semblance of normalcy he’s been longing for. Liking what others would think is mundane, like about your day. Now he longs for it all face to face, where he can read your face instead of dissecting your voice.

She’s just someone I’ve been talking to. Don’t—don’t even know her, really. You knew all the others well before? Fuck off, Murphy. Just sayin’, sometimes, shit just don’t make sense, Jav.

Steve says it as though it answers all his problems.

Like he thinks the words will make all the pieces click into place, suddenly cemented and real—all understood and no longer complex.

But it’s all still very much messy—a tangling of feelings that ready exist and more which threaten to come.

In truth, he doesn’t mind the complications of it all. He just thinks it’s best to protest it a little. Pretend he hasn’t abandoned all logic just because someone made him smile and feel a little less broken.

Because he knew, just like those around him, that he was done for.

It all perfectly evidenced by the fact he doesn’t mind when his pop begins giving him one of those smirks more often than not—the ones surrounded by wiry white hair, partnered with a knowing look on his face. The same conversation circling, the one that’s been going on for days now—

“When the two of you meeting?” “I don’t know, pop.” “You made plans to see her yet?” “No, pop.” “You should go see her. You need a break.” “Pop.”

At some stage, his pop stops beginning it—challenging him. Now he just signals the words with a look. One he assumes parents are given when their child enters the world—the one that is part knowing and part ‘you know you’re going to do what I’m saying, anyway’.

Javi hates that more than he hates the rest of the situation.

Because his pop isn’t wrong. He wants to see you, watch your expressions instead of imagining them.

Not just to see what you look like, but so that he can see how you react when he says certain things. Whether you scrunch your nose or your lips curl before you smile; whether you hide your face when he embarrasses you, or whether you fold your arms and pout.

Each time the two of you text or call, he thinks it—wants to bring it up and ask.

A need in him growing, in the same way his feelings do. Multiplying, quivering in his bones when you laugh, and it travels straight to his heart—making it swell and bloom. Filling the expanse of his chest until he isn’t sure he can feel any more happiness.

Picking up the phone on the first ring, he hears your usual chirpy hey, which he follows with his now usual: “Hey baby.”

“¿Cómo estás, Javi?”

“Ay, you’ve been practising.”

Hearing you laugh makes him smile. Unknots the stresses of the day from him as he pulls the chair over—sitting on it as his head rests against the wall.

“I purchased a Spanish for kids book, so that’s my skill level.”

Smirking, he rolls his lips. “You trying for me?”

“Sí.”

Snorting, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Eres tan linda, querida.”

“I know the last word means darling.”

“I said you are very cute.”

You pause, a shuffling sound coming from your side of the phone before the softest of sighs. “You’re making me blush, again.”

“You make it too easy.”

“Stop,” you say, all fake warning and all likely accompanied by a cute smile, “How’s your day been—tell me you got a splinter in your ass?”

Smirking, he slumps further into the chair, legs spread, spare hand resting on his thigh. “Starting to think you only talk to me for my body.”

The laugh you let out is closer to a howl, and his cheeks hurt from hearing it—his grin so large, it doesn’t fade for hours.

apprehensive feeling, 5

Come on, Javi.

I think it may be angst

If I were there I’d kiss your cheek.

I know you mean that in a nice way but it feels demeaning

Oh no I meant it as the latter.

is that how we’re being

You tell me.

paris divider, 5

Seine. You ever been to Paris?

no have you

Not yet.

not yet?

Well there’s always time. Heard it’s a romantic place to go.

maybe if you were nicer someone would take you

You make a good point.

things go ok this morning

Not like I wanted but not the worst. I can apply but they’re playing the experience card again.

bullshit, you ok

I will be. Thank you for checking in on me.

you can tell me if youre not yknow

I just need to destress is all. It’s like talking to a fucking wall sometimes.

fuck I love it when you swear

Javi, stop.

do you really want me to

No. But you’re making my face burn.

bet you look real pretty getting embarrassed

I actually do not, so you should stop so you don’t inflict the face on others.

I don’t believe you

Maybe one day you’ll see it for yourself so you can believe me

wish one day was today

Why would you destress me?

baby I’d make sure you couldn’t even think the word stress never mind feel it

You confident in that?

youll have to find out

Something was different in the air the moment he woke up.

Things went far easier than they normally would. No one tried to bowl him over during feeding. The fence he went to check on didn’t look all that bad—and there wasn’t even a queue when he visited the homeware store for pop.

There also wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky.

And it put him on edge.

His gut—the one he had relied on to take down the narcos—flared back to life. It could be a good day, a once-in-a-blue moon, a blessing in a sea of disguise.

But rationality didn’t stop him from checking over his shoulder, do a final sweep of the land.

It had been like that when he’d first gotten back. All on edge, finding it difficult to settle. He had smoked back then, worse than he had done when he’d been over in Colombia. It’s why he’d chosen to quit.

Now, he rotated the phone between his finger and thumb, feeling it vibrate against his palm, checking if it was you before he allows the smile—the one you pull from him by just texting him—blossom.

So I have good news and I have bad news lead with the bad first I can’t call you on Thursday night

His heart drops, plummets.

A part of him knew something bad was around the corner. Taking in your text, over and over. Checking he understood it as he climbed the stairs up the porch.

Javi rolls his head on his neck, staring up—the flies around the porch light buzzing away as he tries to compose himself.

Somehow always knowing that deep down, this day would come. His mind is too quick to act, abruptly busy with conjuring thoughts. That old analytical part of him whirs back to life as it tries to make heads or tails of the situation in front of him, as though it was a case.

Because he suspects that your good news is that you have a date—someone you’ve seen face to face and has swept you off your feet. A person who will take you away from him because he can’t offer you that.

Plus, you don’t even know him.

Not really.

He’s just this person you text.

This person he feels…

well fuck. The good news best be the best news ever I think it is. Don’t tease me, querida Says you, baby.

Baby?

It takes him a second.

The four letters blowing all the conjured theories well and truly out of the water.

His eyes trace over the letters, even after he’s sent the reply. Javi’s heart suddenly in his throat, pulse in his ear—the blood banging around.

Shut up. Anyway I can’t call you because I’ll be on an early flight in the morning to Houston. Work needs me to check out some odd sales. You’ll be in Texas? Yeah. So the good news is, if you meant what you said, we could meet in person.

He swallows, spine straightening—posture suddenly pristine, making the muscles in his back ache from the day as they flex and tighten under his shirt.

You want to meet him.

Or he thinks.

Not wanting to read between the lines—needing the confirmation, to hear you say it. His shirt begins to cling to his back, hair falling over his forehead as sweat grows, strands of hair being grasped against his skin.

You want to meet me? Of course, I’m the one suggesting it. But if you don’t, that’s fine. I mean, I’ll begin judging how lonely you actually are if you don’t. But it’s fine.

His thumbs aren’t quick enough.

Each text firing in—and he wishes, more than he usually does, that he could be there with you. Clutch your cheek, assure you, make you breathe—

baby breathe. I want to meet you, I do But? but nothing

Even if there is.

There seems like there’s a but

Javi doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

Somehow, miles away—you can already read him. Know him. His thumb massaging his nose, wrist hiding his smile from the world.

I’m nervous about the fact you could see me and never want to speak to me again You think I’m that shallow? No. It’s just you’ve been the best thing about my day in a long, long time, querida Call me. it’s late isn’t it Javi.

He moves, the chair he had been on almost toppling over as he opens the storm door and then the next. Moving into the kitchen, not even needing to pull your number up. He knows it.

It’s burned into him.

The receiver meets his ear as you answer in record time as your voice greets his ears. Followed by a sigh when he greets you in a low-whisper.

“Javi, I feel the same.”

He swallows. “Yeah?”

Silence greets him before you do a soft laugh. That little one he’s begun noticing you do when you later tell him you’ve just nodded or shrugged—forgetting he can’t see down the phone.

“I wanted you to call so you could hear it. That I want to meet you because I can’t stop thinking about you. And that might be insane, and odd. But… I like you. I feel things.”

“I know,” he says, pressing his forehead against the wall—eyes closing, hand tightening around the phone. “I like you, too.”

Javi hears it. The discernible way you relax.

It comes across in the way you take a breath, in the way he suddenly feels his own shoulders slide from his ears.

“But if it’s too soon, I can use some time off—“

“No, cariño. No. I… I want to. I’ll be there.”

You swallow—loud in the silence. Almost clunky. “I’m scared too.”

Opening his eyes, he stares at the peeling paint. Something running over him, from his head to his feet. It whispers to relax, to breathe—allowing him fully to do both.

“You could… I don’t know, see me and find I don’t match the image of me you’ve created. Or, find me horribly boring. Or that I’m actually the strangest person. It’s scary. I’m scared too.”

He nods, smiling to himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Baby.” It silences you, and the thought makes him smile. “I’ll pick you up from the airport, okay?”

It takes a beat.

A full ten seconds.

“We’re going to meet,” you say softly, almost wistfully.

And it cracks then, a smile. A real one. His usual one. Turning on the spot, pressing his back against the wall, head meeting it as he lets the grin spread into his cheeks, almost to his eyes if his thumb and finger didn’t begin rubbing them.

“We’re gonna meet,” he replies.

Opening his eyes, seeing the noticeable flicker of the television—its shimmering light flittering through the doorway, illuminating his pop, who is standing smiling at him.

AN: remember, if you wish to see the deleted 18+ scene for the birthday bash, be sure to check back on 8th of July, otherwise see you next Tuesday

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richea · 1 month

Text

Inomata’s Design Notes & Memories - Destiny Cast

Some notes:

I’ve linked images of each thing she references below.

Unlike the first batch of Eternia characters I previously posted, these were in Japanese. And unlike the Destiny 2 ones I translated, she talks about her experiences with the characters in the game and not just her design processes!

The book in question is this one.

What I think about most when designing characters is their colors and the components to their look. The characters are displayed as such small sprites, so in order to be able to differentiate them from each other, I give each of them a specific color palette and unique accessories to each of their outfits.

Stahn’s thing was his scarf. I also made sure his shoulder pads, gloves, and boots looked huge.

Rutee is supposed to be a thief, so I made her look a bit like a ninja. I didn’t want her to look too girly, so I gave her shorts and exposed her navel. For colors I went with red and black, since that’s a distinctive palette. Whenever I’d do boss battles, she’d always be joyfully picking 2 gald off the ground instead of healing my very low HP characters (laughs). I thought about removing her from my party to prevent this, but then I’d feel bad, and it just made me think “this is all part of her plot” (laughs).

Philia is a priestess through and through. I went for white and green to give her an earthly feel (laughs). Her glasses and braids were a strong request from Namco. I came up with designs for her, but they didn’t have the glasses or braids, so they were repurposed for the priests in Straylize Temple. It was the basis for Philia’s design as well as Elraine’s in the sequel. Philia has her eye on Stahn, but he eats too much and he oversleeps. I feel like they’d work out better if Philia was more the assertive type herself (laughs).

Woodrow is an archetypical handsome man, so I didn’t have much to stress about when designing him. He’s a king, so I wished he had a stronger atmosphere behind him. I almost never used him when playing the game though (laughs). When you break into Dycroft, I thought, “it’d be really cool in a narrative sense to use him here, but he’s just so weak”. But you get special dialogue if you take him along, so I went “tsk” and brought him anyway. “Just stick to the backlines and don’t die” (laughs).

Leon’s really easy to draw, so again I didn’t have much to stress about when drawing him. He has a princely vibe to him, so I gave him white tights, but everyone was taken back by it! I thought, “is it that weird?” and ended up making them less tight fitting (laughs). He acts a bit snobbish, gets seasick easily and refuses to eat vegetables, so he really crosses off a lot on the “young master” list. He’s also really fun to use in battle (laughs). He has a really low defense stat but he hits fast, so it’s crucial that you string your combos together. When paired with Stahn, if you can isolate your bosses in the far side of the screen, they go down quite fast. Then I see the popup that Rutee’s picking gald off the floor again and I just use healing items on him (laughs).

I wanted to make Chelsea cute and small, so I based her image off of little birds. I gave her a palette of pink, green and blue, and made her hair look like a cockatoo or parrot. Her bloomers look like a paper lantern and I find them quite cute (laughs). Her life story makes me want to cry though. She’s fine and all in the first game, but in the sequel, she’s still wearing those bloomers from when she was a kid, living all alone on a snowy mountain. And if you go through her drawers, you can take something that Woodrow gave to her. I felt so bad, I thought “even though it’s so out of the way, I’ll go buy all the items you need!” (laughs). Then she makes all of these bows for you, but by then, I’d already enhanced my weapons a lot… But I felt so bad that I never Refined them and thought, “I’ll keep these on me forever” (laughs).

Johnny’s original idea was “troubadour,” but as the story progressed and I gave him his hat and all sorts of plumes, he came out a bit comical (laughs). He’s a really fun character to have in your party though, and I fell in love with him right away. I love that his tone-deafness does physical damage to the enemies (laughs).

With the Swordians, they have the will of humans and I wanted to incorporate that into their designs, but it didn’t seem to fit so I went for something more inorganic. Berselius alone has a creepy aura to him, and when Destiny 2 came around I thought “But his owner is such a nice person! Is it really okay for him to have such a creepy design?” but then I thought well, maybe Harold just likes things that way (laughs).

#seines translation #tales of destiny #tales of destiny 2 #mutsumi inomata #tales design notes #inomata mutsumi

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lumi-nescentt · 6 months

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And When I'm Feeling Alone, You Remind Me Of Home

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Wolff Reader

Warnings: a lot of fluff, like first christmas with your boyfriend and your family vibes

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Going home with his girlfriend should scare him, especially when your dad is a very intimidating Austrian giant and his boss but it's the last thing on his mind when you show signs of a cold.

A/N: I've been in a Christmassy mood since the first snowfall so I felt like writing something with Mick that happened in a cabin in Switzerland bc that's exactly where I'd like to be for the holidays

Spending the holiday season in a cabin in Switzerland with your family and your boyfriend had been Susie’s idea and you couldn’t have been more grateful for your step mom’s idea. You loved this time of the year and spending it without all the people you loved had simply been out of the question. You loved the winter ambiance too much not to share it with all of them.

It took a bit of sweet talking your dad for him to accept having Mick over for two whole weeks and even more to let him stay in the same room as you but after a little scolding from his wife, Toto had caved in.

It’s not like Toto didn’t like Mick, in fact he cared about him a lot. The relationship he had had with his dad was very strong and he could see a lot of Michael in the younger German. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little protective of his only daughter, even though you were already 23 years old.

With Mick being here, your little brother Jack had someone else to obsess over and the poor Mick had had to deal with Jack following him everywhere he went and asking him a million questions. Mick didn’t seem to mind in the slightest and happily answered every question and even played with him whenever he could.

It felt a little weird to have one more person joining your family for all your traditions but you loved how dedicated Mick was. Having him here meant that for once, you didn’t have to build your gingerbread house with Jack. As much as you loved your brother, his taste in decoration didn’t really match yours so you were happy to let him do his thing while you and Mick decorated yours.

Baking the vanilla cookies had been a bit messy because as hard as he was trying, Mick wasn’t the best baker. He always managed to pour half of the ingredients on himself which ended up with Jack throwing flour everywhere because he thought that was what Mick was trying to do. It took twice the time it usually did to make a whole tray of crescent biscuits but they were still very tasty.

Out of all the things you had done together, your favourite thing had been decorating the Christmas tree. Seeing your dad sway around to festive music with Susie in his arms while Mick chased after Jack who had stolen a Christmas ornament right from your boyfriend’s hands, everything felt just right. The tree was beautiful and next to the usual four stockings now hang a brand new one embroidered with Mick’s name in thin golden letters.

As Christmas approached, you could see the stockings get more heavy and the way yours was practically overflowing already didn’t go unnoticed. You knew it was Mick’s doing, your stocking was always pretty full the previous years but never to that point so you made sure to thank him as best as you could by giving him a lot of attention and spending most of your time close to him.

When it was finally time to open the presents that were at the bottom of the tree, you and Mick were woken up by the screams of joy of your brother bursting into your room and tugging on your hand while you stirred awake.

-“y/n ! Come down please.” Jack whined, tugging on your hand with both of his

-“ Mick, make him stop.” you groaned with a laugh, turning around and burying your face into your boyfriend’s chest while Jack climbed onto the bed between the two of you, looking at Mick with a big toothy smile

-“ I got it.” he assured you before turning towards your little brother “Good morning, Häschen. What do you say we go downstairs and bring your sister her coffee ?”

-“ Will that make her come with us faster ?” he asked, not totally convinced

-“ I promise you it will.”

-“ Ok let’s go now.” Jack exclaimed before running downstairs as fast as he came in

-“ We’ll be right back, Liebling.” Mick assured you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, following your brother who was now asking Toto to show him how to make coffee

Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the couch downstairs, all cuddled up against Mick with a blanket wrapped around your shoulder while Jack ran back and forth between the tree and the couch to give everyone their presents so you could all start opening them together. With the snow lightly falling outside, it was the perfect moment to do so.

Since Mick hadn’t asked you for help with picking gifts for your family, you simply assumed he hadn’t bought anything but from the look on your parents’ face when they opened their presents, you could tell that half of what was under the tree had actually been bought by Mick.

It had been Mick’s idea to go ice-skating with you on the frozen lake after having lunch and while it stopped snowing. The thought was very sweet, Mick wasn’t the best at it but he knew you enjoyed it so he gladly went with you. You spent the entire afternoon spinning around, holding Mick’s hands so he wouldn’t fall and trying to race him, knowing damn well you were way faster than him. Mick played like a gentleman and was never a sore loser, only giving you a quick kiss when you won before asking for a rematch.

The rays of sun piercing through the clouds had tricked you into believing it’d be warmer but the December cold was seeping through the few layers of clothes you had decided to wear. Your beanie was a little too thin so, despite wearing it, you could still feel the cold air hitting your head.

You had also decided to leave your scarf inside, even though your dad had tried to convince you to wear it. All you had to do was smile and make puppy dog eyes for Toto to leave you be. He was convinced you’d be sick later but he was truly helpless when you asked him something with your pleading eyes.

You had seemed fine when you came back a few hours later so Toto stopped worrying about it and focused on the Harry Potter movie marathon you had started after coming back. Jack was sitting on Susie’s lap, half asleep already despite the fact it wasn’t really late. It seemed like tiredness was also hitting you as you fell asleep halfway through the second movie, nuzzled against Mick who was softly playing with your hair, lulling you to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later in your bed as Mick turned off the lights, settling next to you. Using the remaining strength you had, you shuffled closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

-“ Thank you for carrying me, baby.”

-“ You looked too cosy for any of us to wake you up and your dad was going to do it anyway so I just told him I could do it.”

-“ You just earned brownie points with him then. He never complains about it but I know I’m not as light as Jack.”

-“ I can assure you, you weigh nothing angel.”

-“ Thanks, Mickie.”

The two of you fell into comfortable silence and soon enough fell asleep. Mick was usually a pretty heavy sleeper but after feeling you turn around for what felt like the hundredth time, he slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see you awake. However, you were still asleep but your previous relaxed face had now been replaced by a frown as a drop of sweat slid on your forehead.

Thinking you might have been having a nightmare, Mick turned on the lamp on his bedside table, casting a dim orange light in the room before trying to wake you delicately. He called your name several times without a response before he tried caressing your shoulder over the cover, finally making you open your eyes.

-“ Are you okay ?” Mick asked worriedly

-“ My head hurts and I’m cold.” you complained, wrapping yourself in the cover and getting closer to Mick

-“ You’re burning up Liebling, do you have any medication you could take ?”

-“ I didn’t bring anything but Susie probably does, Jack usually gets sick pretty easily so we never leave without it.”

-“ Alright, I’ll be right back.” Mick tried to move before you tightened your grip around his waist

-“ It’s the middle of the night Mickie, stay here we’ll ask in the morning. I don’t want to be a bother.”

-“ You’re in pain, I’m not just going to sit back and do nothing when I could help. Also I’m pretty sure if I let you be and Toto found out he’d be pretty pissed at me and I’d actually like to keep my job and my girlfriend.”

-“ He wouldn’t do that, he’s a big softie and he loves you deep down.” you mumbled, screwing your eyes shut as a chill shook your entire body

-“ That’s it, I’m going to ask Susie. I’m sorry Liebling, I know you’d rather not but I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

-“ Come back soon please, you’re warm and I’m freezing.” you caved in, knowing you didn’t have enough strength to actually argue

As quietly as he could not to wake up Jack who was sleeping in the other room, Mick knocked on your parents’ door waiting for either of them to open the door or to tell him to come in before entering. After a few seconds, the door opened with a sleepy and confused Toto behind it.

-“ Is everything okay, Mick ?”

-“ Yeah, sorry to bother you but y/n’s sick and I’m pretty sure she has a fever but I don’t have any medications with me. She said Susie might have brought some.”

Hearing some noise and feeling the warmth of her husband gone, Susie got out of bed and stood next to Toto catching the end of Mick’s answer.

-“ I’ll go get them for her, in the meantime, Toto could you make her a cup of hot water with honey and lemon juice please ?”

-“ I’ll do it Susie, thank you so much.” Mick jumped in, hurrying to the kitchen with a stressed look on his face

-“ He feels guilty…” Susie said, shaking her head

-“ What ? How do you know ?”

-“ He kept glancing towards you worriedly with a kicked puppy look on his face and he’s been fidgeting with his fingers this whole time.”

-“ I didn’t notice.” Toto admitted with a sigh, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck

-“ It’s okay, you always go protective dad mode whenever any of them is sick and you usually don’t snap out of it until you’re sure you can’t do anything else to help. It’s pretty sweet.”

-“ I feel a bit bad now, I’ll go talk to him.”

-“ Perfect, I’ll go down with the medication in a bit.” Susie said, kissing her husband on the cheek before starting to look through the bathroom’s cabinets

When Toto arrived in the kitchen, Mick was pacing, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even notice he had company until Toto cleared his throat, making him jump slightly.

-“ Are you okay, kiddo ?”

-“ What ?”

-“ You look stressed, are you okay ?” Toto insisted, resting against the counter as Mick stopped in his tracks

-“ I’m just worried about her.”

-“ I know, trust me I am too but she’s going to be fine. It’s just a little cold, she’ll be okay in no time. You shouldn’t make yourself sick with worry about it.”

-“ So you’re not mad at me ?”

-“ Of course not, why would I be ?”

-“ Because I’m the one who convinced her to go ice-skating for hours when it was still cold so it’s my fault if she’s sick now.”

-“ You’re not the one who refused to wear warmer clothes, Mick. It’s not anyone’s fault but if it was it’d be mine. I’m her father, I should have insisted that she wear her scarf and a thicker sweater too.”

-“ Even if you had, I'm sure she wouldn’t have listened. She’s too stubborn to do so. It’s not your fault either.” Mick smiled as the kettle made a sound signalling it was

Toto watched as Mick carefully filled the cup with water and gently mixed the whole drink, taking a sip to make sure it wasn’t too hot as Susie came in holding pills in her hands.

-“ Here you go Mick, she can take one now and another in 4 hours if she’s still in pain.”

-“ Thank you, Susie.”

-“ No problem, now go and make sure the both of you get some sleep.” Susie smiled, giving Mick’s arm a squeeze before going back to her room with Toto following close behind.

When Mick came back to your room, you were dozing off, barely awake enough to open your eyes and smile weakly at him. Mick sat down next to you and brought you closer to him, making you sit up a bit so you could drink. The two of you sat in silence as you slowly drank the whole cup while Mick played with your hair.

-"Are you ready to go back to sleep ?” Mick asked, kissing the top of your head

-“ Yeah I think so.” you answered, lowering yourself under the covers

-“ Come closer, you said you were cold and I want my good night kiss, angel.”

-“ I don’t want you to get sick because of me.”

-“ I don’t mind you not kissing me if you’re worried about that but I’m not letting you freeze.” Mick smiled, pulling you towards him so your back was resting against his chest

-“ Good night Mickey.”

-“ Good night Liebling, wake me if you need anything.”

Luckily for Mick, the rest of the night went without another incident and you ended up sleeping like a baby. Being sick had tired you out quite a bit so you slept for most of the day, only waking up when your dad knocked to bring you a tray full of warm food and some more medication he had picked up at a nearby pharmacy.

When you finally got out of bed, it was time for dinner and you just sat down on your chair waiting for the rest of the family to come sit down, watching how Jack immediately ran towards you and gave you a delicate hug, almost afraid to break you if he squeezed you too hard.

-“ You’re not going to hurt me, you can squeeze me a bit harder, Bunny.” you smiled, ruffling his hair

-“ Dad said we had to be very nice to you because you were sick.”

-“ Dad’s just exaggerating because he doesn’t like seeing me sick but I feel much better already.”

-“ You promise ?” Jack whispered, looking at you with worried eyes

-“ I promise, you’re not getting rid of me this easily. Who would tickle you until you’re screaming, huh ?” you teased him wiggling your fingers against his ribs until he was laughing freely

-“ Well what do we have here ? Is somebody getting attacked and no one’s here to defend them ?” Mick taunted you with a smirk as Jack screamed for help

Before you could stop him, Mick was coming towards you, tearing you away from Jack and pulling you onto his lap as he sat down on his chair.

-“ How do you want to take your revenge Jack ? Should we tickle her too ?”

-“ Yes !!!” Jack screamed in delight watching as Mick starting poking your ribs, joining in quick after

-“ Please have mercy.” you said in between laughs, squirming to get away from the two pairs of hands tickling you “ I won’t tickle you again Jack.”

-“ What do you say little buddy ? Should we stop ?” Mick asked your brother who thought for a second before nodding

-“ Thank you boys, I was starting to run out of air.”

-“ You can thank Jack, I wouldn’t have stopped if it wasn’t for him.” Mick joked, placing a soft kiss on your cheek

-“ You’re getting confident Mickey.” you smiled at him

-“ Is that a bad thing ?”

-“ No, I like it. It looks good on you.” you said, turning to face him so you could kiss him properly this time earning a groan of disgust from Jack who ran to hide behind Toto’s legs

Toto and Susie were standing in the archway, Susie’s head resting against Toto’s arms with soft looks on their faces.

-“ Inviting him was a good idea, Süße.” Toto smiled, bringing Susie closer to him

-“ I know, that’s why I brought it up in the first place. I knew seeing him with her would win you over, you big softie.”

-“ It would be lying to say I can’t see how in love they are. It’s just weird seeing her so grown up, I still remember how tiny she was when she was born. Mein süßes kleines Mädchen.” he whispered the last part, picking up Jack in his arms

-“ Don’t get all emotional now, she still needs you in her life so come on let’s get dinner started before you start crying.” Susie smiled

The dinner went peacefully, Jack was on his best behaviour, making sure you were alright every five minutes despite you reassuring him which made you smile, he really was a sweet kid. For the whole dinner, Mick’s hand never left you, it was either on your thigh or resting on the back of your chair, tracing circles on your shoulder.

Despite sleeping all day, you were still tired so instead of watching a Christmas movie with the rest of your family, you and Mick went back to your room to rest. Now that you felt a little better, you let Mick get closer to you and the boy happily snuggled against you and kissed every part of your face with the kind smile that had made you fall for him in the first place.

You both knew that if he became sick too, you’d be there to take care of him and that was all that mattered. You could be anywhere in the world, stuck in any foreign place, as cliché as it sounded, you knew you’d be alright if you had each other. He made you feel safe in the most uncomfortable situation and you did the same for him, everyone around you could see it.

The rest of the trip went normally and before you and Mick went back to his family’s cabin, your dad pulled him aside and gave him a hug, surprising the younger man. Before he could say anything, Toto thanked him for taking care of his daughter and said he was glad you were dating someone as nice and thoughtful as him.

If Mick had been a little less stunned, he would have probably hugged him back but all he was able to do was smile and nod. Without knowing it, your dad had just given Mick one of the best late Christmas presents he could have wished for and Mick was now more sure than ever about the future of your relationship.

#mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 scenario #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n

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underhousearrestblog · 10 months

Text

Lost In Translation | Pedro Pascal

(summary) a drunk confession makes things weird between you and Pedro

(warnings) an age gap (oh the horror)

(pairings) Pedro Pascal x reader

(genre/ tropes) angst, lemon-y fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, friends to lovers

(word count) 7.7k

(also) Pedro’s point of view (of sorts) is in Italics

(also) minors, scram (I’m kidding. Kinda. I was reading these types of things when I was twelve. I’m not the one to advise anything. Just, please, don’t interact. Better for my conscience and your digital footprint.)

(also) damn – I’m actually doing something here now... a step up from my usual one-post-per-six-months activity...

HAPPY READING!

Things around you blurred, people’s faces were distorted and music was giving you a headache. You lost count how many drinks you had about an hour ago and now you were regretting having any.

Your friends – who were more work acquaintances than friends – had ditched you, you had no car that you wouldn’t be able to operate in this condition anyway and not enough money to call a cab. All you had were a very revealing dress with a deep cut up your right thigh and a phone with around twenty percent charge left.

You stepped outside. Evening air did some but still not enough good for you to feel confident enough to walk those two and a half kilometers to your apartment building. Especially not in these knee-high boots. You would probably end up murdered. Or murdering yourself by accidentally stepping in front of a car. Either way, in a ditch.

You checked over you contacts for anyone who would pick up a phone and pick you up at the club at this ungodly hour. Since you had moved, most of your contacts were pretty much useless for this type of shit.

You pulled out your wallet. There were several business cards that you had gotten since you had started to work as a PR manager for The Last Of Us production team. Your eyes scanned over some of the names. Nico Parker. You weren’t sure she even got her license yet. Bella Ramsey. You knew for a fact she didn’t have a car.

Pedro Pascal.

Shit.

Well, from a purely objective stance, he was the best choice. He could pick you up and he didn’t give creepy vibes so technically you should be fine.

The problem was – he probably didn’t even know who you were. You had been on, like, two lunches with him with purely professional intentions. There had been more people from both the cast and the PR team and, even though you had spoken to him one-on-one multiple times, he had these types of conversations every day.

Worst he could do was say no.

To be fair, he could theoretically also cuss you out.

Or look at an unknown number and not even pick up.

Before you let your mind talk itself out of it, your fingers typed in his number and called.

It was quite chilly, now that you were out in dark alley with only your stripper dress on. It was pretty but god was it doing a shit job at keeping you warm.

The phone was calling and after the very first ring, you started to doubt yourself.

Maybe it would be less embarrassing if you just called your boss? Sure, she would know you indulged in an occasional living of your life but she was a woman and maybe would be more sympathetic than most of the men you worked with...

Two-

- Y/N? – unprepared for Pedro to actually pick up, you startled.

Your brain was foggy from all the alcohol and your body was still trying to decipher the sudden temperature drop so it took you several seconds to even put words together.

- Hey, are you alright? – it was actually him.

He really picked up at a quarter to midnight.

How did he know who was calling?

- Hey, Pedro, - up until this point you had used the formal “Mr. Pascal” just like everybody in your team but now it would feel weird. – So I have a bit of a... situation?

What was the term for getting drunk and placing all your trust in people that you had met two weeks ago?

- Are you alright? – he sounded worried. – Where are you?

Not wanting to appear nervous yourself, you tried to put on a smile, hoping it would make your voice sound lighter and careless.

- I’m at the... – you looked over your shoulder at the sign in front of the club, - Sensual Vibes, - you cringed at the name.

He definitely thinks you’re at a strip club.

- It’s a bar downtown. And I’m kinda drunk and I don’t really have any money, and my asshole friends left, and I’m also kinda col-

- Do you need me to pick you up? – he didn’t sound mad.

If anything – he sounded almost careful. As if he didn’t want to push any boundaries by insisting.

You were silent for a second.

Why was it so hard for you to ask for help when it was clear you desperately needed it?

Fucking pride.

You can cringe in shame tomorrow when you haven’t been murdered trying to walk home drunk...

- Yeah, - you said quietly before adding, - but it’s totally fine if you can’t. I’m sure two kilometers of walking will be fine if I can get off these stripper shoes-

- I’ll be there in twenty, - he said in a voice that left no arguments. – Go back inside. I’ll come in and get you.

- Who was that? – Oscar asked, stuffing the leftover pizza back into the box.

- Y/N, - Pedro put away his phone and went to get his car keys.

- Y/N? Who the fuc-

His hand stopped halfway to close the lid.

- Oh shit, - Oscar laughed, turning towards his friend. – Is that the girl from the PR team? It’s that Y/N?

Pedro didn’t answer and went to get his jacket. Oscar, in true friend fashion, followed him into the hallway, while teasing:

- Is that the same girl who still calls you Mr. Pascal even though you corrected her, like, thousand times?

Pedro just rolled his eyes.

This wasn’t exactly new. Oscar had never really met you – at least, in person – though there was abundance of information regarding you given by his friend every time Pedro had a drop of alcohol in his system.

- You know, if you weren’t so famous, I’d think she actually didn’t even know your first name by how much she uses the surname... – Oscar went back to pick up the leftover pizza, before turning back and looking at his friend suspiciously. – Are you sure she meant to call you? I mean, if she called you by your name, the call might have been meant for another Pedro. All I’m saying is-

Pedro threw him a dark look and turned to leave. Could that be true? You never really called him by his name and he was almost one hundred percent sure you didn’t even have his number...

- Lock up before you leave, - Pedro murmured before opening the door.

You were drunk and alone so, either way, you’ll have to make peace with it.

Once Pedro had ended the call, all you could do was blankly stare at the screen. To be fair, you were very intoxicated so... could you had hallucinated this whole conversation?

Either way – waiting inside was probably the best choice here...

You dropped down on a sofa in the foyer. You felt a headache coming on.

God, this is gonna be embarrassing...

After fifteen minutes of waiting and contemplating about leaving on your own, a hand lightly touched your shoulder, making you startle yet again. You had been way too focused on a painting on the wall to notice anybody approaching.

- Pedro? – your eyebrows shot up as if you were surprised that the person who you had called had actually shown up.

- Were you waiting for someone else? – there was a note in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher and your foggy mind refused to cooperate.

- N-no, - you stammered out. – I just wasn’t sure you would actually show up...

Now was his turn to look surprised. He opened his mouth to say something but, when you lightly swayed on your feet, he quickly put an arm around your shoulders to steady you.

When he lightly pressed his palm on the skin between your shoulder blades, a small shiver ran through your body, making you look up at him. He had probably seen or feel you shiver and had interpreted that as you being cold which was technically true. He pulled off his jacket that looked way too big for you.

You were by no means model-thin but the jacket was oversized on him so it looked like it would end up around your knees.

You shook your head.

- I’m not taking your jacket after you drove all this w-

- Don’t argue, - was all he said before lifting your arm, pulling the sleeve over it and then repeating the same on the other side. – And it’s still longer than that pretty thing you call a dress, - his eyes ran over your half-naked body.

Not in a leering way. But he did gulp when his eyes touched on the slit across your thigh.

Great, there’s no getting this out of memory, he chastised himself for enjoying and savoring you while you were very clearly drunk.

Shit, he’s probably uncomfortable, was all you could think about.

His car was pleasantly warm. You managed to climb in on your own but when it came to the seatbelt, you fingers still lacked focus and were stiff. After two unsuccessful attempts at connecting the two parts, Pedro gently peeled your fingers from the belt, reached over and buckled you in himself.

Before he could step back, you placed your hand on his bicep to stop him. The touch itself was innocent enough but you felt your skin lightly tingling as if you had touched a wire with low charge.

Pedro’s eyes followed you to where your skin had touched his. All he could do was stare at your fingers around his arm.

- Shit, sorry, - you decided he was probably uncomfortable and withdrew your hand, - sorry, I didn’t mean-

- It’s fine-

- I just wanted to say thank you, - your gaze held his. – I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.

There was something intoxicating in doing favors for you. He would’ve driven to pick up any of the women he knew if they were drunk and alone but your trust in him made him a bit delirious.

He wanted you to call him if you ever needed to get home drunk but he also wanted to drive you to a meaningless appointment and pick you up after work.

- It’s fine, - he swallowed before stepping back. – You’re welcome.

He could hear Oscar’s teasing voice in his head, telling him how absurdly romantic it was for him to simp after a girl who probably read his number off a business card when hers had been cataloged in his phone since day one. He probably could recall it from memory at this point.

Pedro closed the door on your side and walked around to get into the driver’s seat. He tried to take in some of the chilling evening air before getting in.

- ... and my friend said just go up to him and ask him out, - he heard you say once he got in, - but every time I looked at his pretty face I chicked out... – you hiccuped, - chic... chickened out! And then-

Your words were slurred and half-coherent.

Pedro started the car, pulled out of the parking lot and then threw a glance at you.

- Who were you trying to ask out?

- I wasn’t trying... And he wouldn’t come anyway...

Alcohol had made you braver and in a stupid attempt to rip your own band-aid off, you turned towards Pedro and whispered in an almost broken voice:

- Would you go on a date with me?

You needed his answer. Tomorrow was gonna be shameful but you could, at least, write this off as a drunken mistake. You had finally done it, you had finally gathered all your courage and taken a step-

But it was the way you had said it. With the accent on the word ‘you’. All Pedro heard was your confession about liking another man and how busy he was, and now you looked at him with glossy eyes and it made him wonder if this stupid man you were talking about had said something to make you insecure. You had just confessed about your crush and needed confirmation that other men – smarter men – would still date you.

But knowing that you trusted him enough to take you home drunk, he knew he couldn’t just confess about wanting you for himself. That was a dick move used by every false male friend around the world.

- I... – you watched his throat work, as he was putting words together, then he ripped his gaze away from where you sat in his car, in his jacket, for the first time ever giving him your undivided attention. – I think you’re amazing and any man would be lu-

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. His figure got distorted through the rapidly increasing moisture.

You are amazing.

Any man would be lucky to date you.

Not me though.

Last one wasn’t said out loud but, in your defense, it was usually never spelled out when a person was rejecting someone.

This was a rejection speech.

He was giving you a rejection speech!

You lifted your hand to silence him. He immediately did and you looked out through the window on your side.

- Please, don’t, - your voice broke at the end. – I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

It was said and done.

You had asked and he had rejected you. Work’s gonna be a bitch but PR, thankfully, was a team effort so you could probably take meetings with another member of the cast and make one of your colleague meet with Pedro. Eventually, your stupid little feelings would stop hurting and you would move on.

Eventually.

Until then you probably should avoid Pedro every chance you got.

It was said and done.

Even drunk, you had realized his incurable crush on you and in a very “I’m well-versed in public relations” manner had put an end to his confession. What was it that you had said? I respect you way too much...

Respect you way too much to outright say “no”.

You had a crush on a man you worked with. Probably someone your age. Probably someone who’s life wasn’t constantly dissected on every media platform.

You were a real pretty girl so even if you never gathered the courage to take the first step, that man you talked about would probably do it for you. He would be stupid not to.

Which meant that at some point you would be seen on set, laughing and kissing some other man who probably had no idea for how long you had lusted after him. And Pedro knew that if your crush forgot what he’s got, he would be way too tempted to teach him a lesson or two about not throwing away life’s biggest treasures.

Maybe even way too tempted to put the fear of god into that man. To threaten to never dare to break your pretty little heart.

But you had good taste in most things. And the man you were talking about asking out was probably good. More than good. He probably was respectful in public and would make you scream his name in private. Buy you a nice dress and later rip it off your body. Pick you up to take you places and then wait patiently for you to come back to him.

You deserved the best. And you were probably way too good for that boy you liked. Granted, Pedro thought you were way too good for basically everyone, including himself, but he also wasn’t one of those men that would pass on an amazing woman all because “she’s too good for him”.

Nah. He knew he would greedily accept your love and lust if only you offered. He might have thought you were too good for him but he also knew there were many things he could provide for you. He was successful, had money, a stable job, he was mature and wouldn’t play any games. Besides, he was damn near sure he loved you and even with you reciprocating just half of that love and affection, it still would be perfect.

- What’s your add-

Once he looked over to where you were watching him just a minute ago, Pedro found you fast asleep with your head pressed against the window. His jacket, way too big for you, had fallen down your shoulder, revealing that distractingly little napkin you bravely called a dress.

Shit.

This was definitely not good.

If he had to bring you back to his home, he knew he would see ghosts of you every time he stepped inside his own house. And that would be bad. Right now you were already everywhere at work, he couldn’t afford to let you make yourself at home in his private space too. Damage would take months to undo.

He contemplated waking you up but even then there would be no guarantee that you would even remember where you lived in this condition.

Pedro started driving towards his own home slower than necessary, hoping you would wake up at some point and give him your address.

All he could hope for was that Oscar had already left because, otherwise, Pedro would never hear the end of this...

Shitshitshit.

Your head was hurting even before you opened your eyes. That was never a good thing. Once you did, you were met with a semi-dark room that was vaguely lit by a small lamp left on on the nightstand.

Where the fuck where you?

This looked way too homey to be a hotel and way too impersonal to be someone’s bedroom. You lifted the thick blanket that was draped over you to check out if you weren’t missing any clothes. Or some more important things, like body parts.

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion when you were met with the same light blue dress you had worn at the club with just more wrinkles in it now. All you were missing where the boots that you saw placed by the bed.

You checked the small alarm clock on the nightstand.

5:06 AM.

It was early.

On a day off, you probably wouldn’t have woken up this early but your body had most likely dealt with the alcohol in your system and had woken up naturally once you had sobered up.

Then you noticed the small note placed next to the clock.

I’m not sure how much you remember but I picked you up from a club. You didn’t give me an address before passing out, so I brought you home with me. You’re in my guest bedroom. I’m in the one down the hall. I got you some aspirin and water. And some clothes.

Pedro.

There was something else written on the paper but it was scribbled out. You lifted the note and placed it before the small lamp, letting the light shine through.

Cute dress.

You smiled, however that smile lasted for exactly one second before you remembered the conversation in the car. You had asked Pedro on a date. He had given you the “there’s more fish in the sea” speech.

God.

You had excused your bravery with “you can live today and be embarrassed tomorrow” but now, when tomorrow was finally here, you weren’t sure it was actually worth it.

Thank god you didn’t work closely with Pedro because this would be ten times more awkward if you were an actress.

You quickly changed into the clothes Pedro had left for you. It was a white t-shirt with something spelled in a foreign language you didn’t understand. The shirt reached down to your knees and covered more than your dress had. You could technically leave in just the t-shirt but your sudden sobriety would probably result in you freezing to death so you decided to wear sweatpants as well. You rolled up the ends of the pants that were too long, threw a glance in the mirror and decided that you looked presentable enough.

Once you left the guest room with the dress still in your hand, you tried to find out if Pedro had already woken up. It seemed unlikely. It was very early.

And that seemed to be the truth, as none of the lights were on in neither the kitchen nor the living room. Or in the hallway.

Thank god the key was still in the door and you didn’t have to wake him up to unlock the door. You carefully tiptoed through the hallway and sneaked out through the front door, leaving nothing but a vague scent of your perfume and a note on the living room table.

Thank you. Truly. You have no idea how grateful I am. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

That’s exactly how Pedro found your note three hours later when he woke up. Note had no name. Apparently, you didn’t assume he rescued women every night and didn’t think he would mix you up with someone else.

As if he ever could.

He was quite grateful to have missed you, in case you remembered how he had come onto you in the car. He didn’t want a pitying glance and you saying sorry, as if you had anything to be sorry about.

Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

Pedro let out a bitter laugh. That’s what you sign at the bottom of a work email, in hopes the recipient never truly reaches out for anything. You just felt like you owed him.

three weeks later

Pedro felt somebody brush a makeup brush over his temple to add some last touches before the filming started. People were running around, adding and taking down some props. Camera crew were doing some last check-ups. And in what Pedro thought was a torturosly ironic touch to an already important scene that caused some nerves to resurface, you were there.

In fairness, you weren’t here on your own and by your own wish. Some people of the PR and social media management teams were here, hoping to take some photos of behind the scenes for marketing.

And they were all pretty irrelevant because his eyes didn’t leave you for one second.

Pedro, Bella and some of the others were placed good ten meters from where you were standing by the door of the room that seemed to shrink every second. You were either unaware of his intense gaze or simply ignored it.

Pedro didn’t know which one would piss him off more.

There weren’t many things that didn’t irritate him these days. Oscar had started to call it Y/N withdrawal. As if he was an addict. A junkie who’s been cut off from his favorite drug of choice.

At first, Pedro was understanding. You probably felt weird you had clocked him liking you and wanted space. Fine. He would be an asshole not to give you space. Then he called you but the call always went to voicemail. On week two he had the first PR dinner since ‘the incident’ and when you didn’t show and had sent one of your assistants in your place, it only soured Pedro’s mood. The assistant had lied about you not feeling well but when you were still nowhere to be seen on the next meeting – and the next – he knew it was an excuse.

You were making excuses.

Week three took the crown when at one of the advertisement meetings that was mandatory for all cast and production team members, you had apparently ‘had a doctor’s appointment’.

Now he was pissed at the whole world and especially himself for fucking this up. You were a smart girl and he should’ve expected you to put two and two together that night. And, in addition, he was just a tiny bit pissed at you for not giving him a chance to apologize.

When you excused yourself and went into the kitchen, Pedro quickly stood up.

- Sorry, - he murmured to the makeup artist. – I’ll be right back.

Filming was set to start in ten minutes.

That was all he needed to say the things that needed to be said.

You were facing the open fridge when Pedro walked in. You read something that was written on the side of what looked like a protein shake.

You looked good. There were no signs of tiredness in your eyes. No sluggish movements. No yawning.

That was good, Pedro tried to tell himself.

Would it hurt for you to be a little affected that he was absent from your life for three whole weeks?

Then his eyes caught a thin bracelet around your wrist. It was shiny and had a minimalistic heart charm on it.

Pedro recalled Oscar once mentioning getting something similar to his wife because “the only time women wear heart jewelry is if it’s gifted by a man who’s interested”.

It was quite a big assumption that the bracelet was, one, a gift, two, from a man, and three, that it was the same moron you wanted to date. And yet it only fueled Pedro’s irrational jealousy and anger.

He let go of the door and it fell shut with a loud bang.

You jumped.

- It’s really unprofessional, you know, - Pedro accused. – This behavior of yours lately.

It only took a second for you to go from a startled look to a glare. You put the drink back in the fridge and shut the door. Loudly.

How matching.

- Excuse you? – you pushed back.

- I get that you’re avoiding me and that’s fine but you also have a job to do, - he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. – You’ve missed several PR meetings and allowed your underage intern to replace you.

You chuckled under your breath and looked away.

So that’s what this was about...

- So you feel a bit neglected because an intern – highly skilled, might I add, - was attending a few of the meetings? Is he not good enough for you?

Pedro looked at you as if you’d grown a second head.

- I don’t care if he’s as useless as a toddler – don’t change the subject!

You blew away a strand of your hair that had fallen in front of your face.

God you looked hot angry.

When you tried to side-step him and leave, Pedro followed your movements until his back hit the door, leaving you without an escape. He leaned against it, wrapped his right palm around his left wrist and looked down at you.

- You’re avoiding me, - he was glaring at you.

You glared back.

- No shit.

Pedro had expected more resistance. Or more excuses. He definitely expected you to look at him with a confused stare and say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’. Now that you had done none of that, it felt a bit weird to “confront” you because you had had every right to avoid him.

- I’m just making sure you don’t get a write-up for skipping work, - even though the words were genuine, the tone was rude and you recoiled.

You looked up at him as if he’d slapped you.

- Are you threatening to snitch on me for skipping few meetings?

His eyes widened.

Shit.

- That’s not wh-

- Fuck you.

Now he looked like you had slapped him.

This was going downhill and fast. He had never accused anybody of bad work ethics and you had never cursed at someone for essentially doing nothing wrong, really.

You had spent three weeks, trying to soothe your ego. But rejection still stung. And, for the first time in your life, your personal feelings had affected your professional life. There was no excuse for that.

So you exhaled, counted to ten, got to five and decided to push your emotions down. You didn’t actually believe that Pedro would ever attempt anything to harm your career but he was still a big star and, would somebody come across this very unprofessional conversation, your future job opportunities might be in jeopardy.

- Listen, I’m sorry, okay? – you said, then quickly added. – For missing those meetings.

You didn’t want to voice that you were also apologizing for taking rejection badly.

Even though, you were.

- Won’t happen again.

His eyes softened.

- I’m sorry too, okay? – he lifted his hand to place it on your shoulder or upper arm but decided against it in the last second and let it fall back against his side.

You laughed. Genuinely.

- What are you sorry for?

- For what I said in the car, - he explained.

Your eyes returned to the startled expression that they were in when he first came in. You had wanted to avoid that night but he had brought it up voluntarily. He could see your prey-like expression and shook his head:

- I didn’t mean... – he got quiet for a second. – That would be a lie. I did mean it. But I think I could’ve worded it better. Maybe. Or explained it to you when you were sober...

I didn’t mean... That would be a lie. I did mean it.

His words, even though soft and placating, still grazed your heart like a knife.

You could respect him for not leading you on.

Leading someone on was still worse than letting somebody down gently.

Be a big girl and accept defeat like a champ, you motivated yourself.

- That’s fine. It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

You had realized he liked you, damn near loved you, and it didn’t mean anything.

His love meant nothing.

Pedro swallowed and nodded. When you gestured towards the door that he was still blocking, he stepped aside, letting you leave.

- Did you feel harassed by me? – he asked before you left.

You laughed. But when you realized he was dead-ass serious, your smile fell.

- What?

- In my car. That night. Did you feel harassed by me?

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Even though it was absurd for him to ask this, you felt warmth engulf your heart.

He’s making sure you didn’t feel unsafe with him...

God.

He’s gonna make a great partner to someone someday...

- God no, - you grinned, trying to put him at ease.

- You sure? – he asked.

- Of course, - you gave him a bittersweet smile. – How could I have felt harassed? Nothing happened.

Nothing happened, as in, I asked you out and you turned me down, simple as that.

Nothing happened, as in, you figured I liked you and that realization meant nothing, I still mean nothing to you.

When week four rolled in, things had went back to normal. The weird kind of normal. The professional kind of normal. You were present in all PR meetings you needed to attend, Pedro went out of his way to treat you like a friend.

He had started bringing these weird mini cupcakes from around where he was living. Every meeting, he would show up and give them out to all, usually five or six, attending persons. He would never skip you, giving you exactly the same amount of pleasantries, sweets and eye contact as to every other person from the cast and PR teams. It was as if he had timed your interactions to make sure you felt identical to everybody else here.

You translated his actions as he’s making sure to drive home the point of “I treat everybody like this, don’t make this weird, you’re not special in that sense”.

He translated his actions as making sure you saw that even after you rejected him, he still wouldn’t be passive-aggressive towards you and wouldn’t exclude you from anything.

“Don’t make things weird” had become a motto for both of you, at this point. This was exactly why Pedro had advised Oscar to also invite you to the party he was throwing in honor of ending the shooting of one of Oscar’s movies. Even though Pedro knew you would show up all dolled up and, most likely, with a plus one, as suggested the invitation.

And “don’t make things weird” was exactly why you had accepted, even though the last time you had attended a formal function, it had ended with you at a club and with no ride or money.

You had showed up in a black sleeveless dress that reached your knees. Pedro had had exactly one drink and he was using the hell out of it as an excuse why he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – take his eyes off you. The dress was simple and maybe exactly because of that your own beauty shone through more than usual when there was nothing to distract people from it.

Then you turned towards the small home bar and his eyes slid over your frame, landing on the dress’ very deep slit. This time it was on the behind of your dress’ skirt.

You and the fucking slits. Making every piece of clothing look like it was designed specifically for you...

- Thank god moods are not contagious because this would be the saddest happy event ever, - Oscar’s hand landed on his friend’s shoulder, as he followed Pedro’s gaze down to where you were standing.

Pedro unintentionally moved to block you from his friend’s eyes which came as a surprise to both. It was very clear that Oscar had no negative or positive intentions regarding you so it was even more weird when Pedro felt small pang of jealousy when he saw the bottle of wine you had gifted Oscar for hosting the party.

Oscar raised his eyebrows, amused.

As if asking, really?

You, on the other hand, were doing everything to avoid Pedro that evening. He looked good. He looked so handsome even though he was one of the very few men here who had chosen to wear a sweater instead of a suit or a dress shirt. You definitely needed a distraction and given how it had ended with drinking last time you got drunk, you avoided alcohol like it was the plague, only drinking virgin cocktails.

The biggest problem with avoiding someone is that that person is living in your head rent free, in order for you to be where they are not. Which meant that before you avoid them in a room, you have to check specifically for them. The biggest support for you in this was the fact that Pedro seemed to avoid you as well, so it was quite easy to keep your distance.

- Is there a guest I’m not aware of? – Oscar humored lightly. – Or are you stalked by someone?

Only the ghost of your best friend.

You smiled, shook your head and asked a few questions about the movie to whose ending this function was dedicated to. After some time he excused himself and said to go look for his wife but before he left, Oscar casually threw out:

- I’m sorry things are weird between you and Pedro right now, - he seemed apologetic.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Pedro had clearly told him about what had happened.

It was already embarrassing enough for you to realize that Pedro had been sober that night and remembered every word your drunk self had confessed. And, to add insult to injury, the rejection still kinda stung. But he had clearly told everything to another man. And that one made you even more upset because you knew Oscar by reputation only but that reputation was quite good. So he probably felt sympathy for your little groupie act by asking out someone clearly out of your league.

You averted your eyes. How many other people knew?

- Look, he’s a grown ass man, he’ll be fine, - Oscar put his hand on your shoulder in a pacifying manner. – It’s just that this was his longest crush ever so it will take more time than usual...

Because you actively tried to block out his voice, the words didn’t register at first. And, once they did, they still didn’t make much sense.

- But it will-

- What did you just say?

Your tone was harsh and it made Oscar do a double-take.

- I... I’m not trying to pressure you into anything by what I said about being his longest crush, if that’s what you meant. I promise.

Your eyes searched his face for any signs of amusement or humor... or confusion. When you didn’t find any, you put down your drink and turned your full attention towards him.

- What did he tell you happened that night?

Oscar looked at you like you were a child asking to explain the alphabet.

- I’m not sure I should-

- He clearly told you something! – you raised your voice – not loud enough to be heard by everyone but enough to make some of the closest people turn heads.

Oscar nodded:

- All he told me was you figured out he liked you. And you don’t like him back, - Oscar used the tone he probably used with his kids. – And that’s fine. You have every r-

- What kind of fairy tale did he fed you? – your first thought was that Pedro had lied to his friend.

But why would he ever do that? What could he possibly get out of telling people you were the one who rejected him? Letting someone down wasn’t a crime and it didn’t make you a bad person.

- He rejected me! I straight up asked him out and he gave me the whole speech about there being men who would be oh so lucky to date me. And then he kept on friend-zoning me for a month just for funsies. Making sure I knew my place was with all the other people who worked for him!

When you turned to leave – and maybe give that free alcohol a shot or two – Oscar unceremoniously grabbed your upper arm and turned you back.

- That can’t be true, Y/N! You were the one drunk! Are you sure you remember everything okay?

You rolled your eyes, trying to pull your arm away.

- I was drunk, not stupid! I know rejection when I receive one!

Oscar’s grasp wasn’t hurting you or anything but it probably looked like you were fighting from afar, at this point.

- Look, Y/N, calm down, - he lowered his voice so other people wouldn’t hear a thing. – All he told me was that you had confessed liking someone you worked with, and-

- And who do you think that someone from work is, genius?

You could almost hear gears turning in Oscar’s head.

- So... When he said that you had asked if... When you were wondering if he would date you, it wasn’t because...

You waited.

- ... it wasn’t because you were insecure about nobody being interested in you?

- Why would I give a shit if other people were interested in me?

It was a good thing you were sober because it was taking a good amount of time to understand this even sober. Your eyes widened when you finally put the pieces together.

The way Pedro looked almost crushed when you had interrupted him to silence him in the car.

Please don’t. I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

Could he had mistaken it for rejection?

You silencing him out of respect so you didn’t have to tell him you didn’t want to date him? Did he thought that you were thinking his ego couldn’t handle being rejected by someone who was not rich or famous?

Shit.

You tried to find his pink sweater somewhere in the crowd. He couldn’t have gone home already, could he? You had relatively little knowledge of the layout of Oscar’s house so your best shot was to run into Pedro somewhere.

Your wish manifested a bit too literally, when you roughly rounded a corner and ran straight into someone.

Pedro’s fingers wrapped around your upper arm in the same manner Oscar’s hand had just mere seconds ago. Just to drive home the point of your attraction to him, a small shot of electricity shot through your arm whereas nothing even similar had happened when his friend had touched your arm.

- Careful, - he steadied you and then removed his hand.

When you looked up, you noticed that he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You thought you had gotten over this awkwardness...

Guess not.

With music still sounding throughout the house, you looked around, grabbed the front of his sweater and pushed him into one of the many guest bedrooms here. Once you closed and locked the door, you turned towards Pedro who was looking a bit thrown out of the boat.

For one moment, nobody said anything. Then you pushed down the dress that had ridden up your thighs while you were frantically looking for him throughout the house, and stepped closer to him.

The height difference was always a turn on for you but right now it did nothing but annoy.

- Sit down, - you commanded.

He took a step back and sat down on the bed.

When he looked up at you, you realized that you probably shouldn’t have asked him to do that. Your foggy brain finally decided to give you back few of the memories missing from that night month ago.

When he had gently lowered you onto the bed and you had finally woken up just in time to see him drop down on his knees to take off your boots. Out of concern, he had looked up at you with a very similar expression as he was having right now. With his lids lowered, eyes dark and pupils dilated.

When his brows furrowed in confusion, unaware of your flashbacks, you snapped out of it.

- Why does Oscar think I rejected you in your car that night? – you demanded before you lost your courage.

Pedro looked away.

You had had a long day at work today and still most of your energy had went into dodging Pedro at every corner, trying to not even look at him, while simultaneously keeping an eye on him at all times to not accidentally get close. Your patience had worn out long before you got here.

You unceremoniously grabbed his chin and turned his head back towards you.

- Look, I’m sorry I told him, - Pedro raised his eyes to meet yours. – I needed to tell someone and you were avoiding me and refused to even look at me!

You shook your head and tried to step back before he grabbed your hand in both of his.

- I’m sorry.

- What are you even sorry for? – you ripped your hand from his. – For lying?

When all he did was stare up at your in confusion, you took a step back to keep some distance.

- Do you get pity points or something for act-

Pedro stood up and you lost any advantage you had due to height. When he advanced towards you and you still stepped back, he caught your wrist, refusing to let you leave.

- Stop running from me! – he demanded. – Talk to me!

Fine.

- Fine, - you still tugged on your arm and he still didn’t let go so at some point you had to give up on it and leave your hand in his grasp.

- Tell me why you were avoiding me for a month, - he used a painfully soft tone as if afraid you would run at the very first sign of confrontation.

You were silent for a moment, trying to find the right words to sound like a mature adult.

- I guess... – you sighed and decided to just get over it. – I was hurt that you weren’t interested in me when I asked you out that night after you picked me up. I was butt hurt and it wasn’t fair to you because you have ever-

You didn’t get to finish when he closed the small distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. You would’ve pulled back by surprise if not for Pedro’s hand cupping the back of you neck.

Your heart seemed to simultaneously skip a beat and stop altogether. After the initial shock, you slid your hand into Pedro’s hair and lightly pulled him back by it.

Amusement danced in his eyes with a light shake of his head.

- To think we could’ve done this weeks ago, - he laughed.

You felt a bit giddy inside, still not really comprehending every piece of this misunderstanding but, in your defense, it probably had been quite hard to catch any love signals that night when you were wasted.

- You want me to ask you out again? – you proposed.

- Nah, - he shook his head. - I’ll do the honors, - he cleared his throat. – You’re going on a date with me.

You cocked your head.

- Are you asking or telling?

- I assumed you were a sure thing, drunk words being sober thoughts and all that...

This felt a bit too good to be true but you weren’t going to question it. Once you both left the guest room, with Pedro’s hand still wrapped around yours, and turned the corner to return to the party, you found Oscar leaning against the wall in the hallway with a drink in his hand and an amused look in his eyes.

- No freaky business under my roof, - he gave his friend with a stern look. – That’s like the only rule I have.

Only when his eyes found your intervened hands, he chuckled under his breath.

- Love must be hard when you’re both idiots, huh?

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #imagine #oscar isaac

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princessbrunette · 3 months

Note

love ur blog SO much could scroll thru it for hours and hours <3

for jj (if you want!): dealer!jj and reader who has a crush on him comes to buy weed for the first time? in my head she smokes by herself, gets super high & then panics and comes back to jj’s and confesses LOL bc that would be some shit I would do!!!

thank u so much !! and yes,, i love this idea hehe ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ ‹𝟹

⊹ . ⁺ 🐰🎀⋅˚₊𐙚

the first half of your weed purchasing experience went fairly smoothly, well — as smoothly as it can for someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.

you’d shown up just a little after 4 in the prettiest skirt and your lashes extra long, coated in black. you couldn’t believe you’d worked up the courage to wind up buying weed from the guy you’d had a crush on since you were little (who seemed too chaotic to ever pay attention to little old you!) but it was soon you were stood in his house, having him talk you through each strain — and you had to try extra hard to focus because he looked so good and his hands were so big and —

“i’mma take a shot in the dark and say you’re fairly new to this right? in that case i’d prooobably suggest this, s’on the milder side, just chills you out a bunch.” he slides a packet towards you, eyes flickering up to you to catch you already looking at him.

“how’d you know i’m new to this?” you start digging in your purse for the wad of cash you brought to avoid looking at him.

“oh jus’ vibes.” he shrugs, smiling when you look back up at him, cash in hand. “its cute though, i dig it anyway.” he takes the notes from you and you swallow a love confession. “want me to roll it for you?”

he rolls the joints for you, and you try not to stare like a creep before you’re out the door in no time, breathing in the balmy late afternoon air and riding off on your bike to your empty house, family away for the weekend, to smoke your maybank special.

the second half of your experience, not so smooth.

you chaotically steer your little bike with a basket up to his house not even two hours later, paranoid and practically crashing the vehicle onto the grass as you hop off it, hands shaking at your side. jj, embarrassingly is already on the porch, stroking a stray cat with a cigarette in his mouth.

when he spots you frantically moving towards him he stands slowly, tossing the end of his cigarette aside. “ohhhh boy.” he speaks to himself like he knew what was coming.

“hey, hi, uhm.” you pant, violently struggling for breath as you clench and unclench your hands at your sides.

“you good?” he frowns, stepping towards you.

“i just— i’m so sorry to bother you but i — i smoked it alone for my first time and i don’t think i did it right or maybe it’s just reacting with me super bad and now i’m shaking and i feel really weird and i didn’t know who to go to — i— i just was wondering if there was a way to become un-high, cos i — i didn’t really wanna do it in the first place i just came to buy weed from you because i have this ridiculously huge crush on you and i thought hey what the hell—”

“heeeey, hey. breathe, okay? deep breath in girlie, look at me, right here.” he places his hands on your shoulders, face right infront of yours and for a moment you’re stunned. not only because you said all of that out loud, but because his hands were on you. “thats right, now breathe out.” he puffs his cheeks out, blowing out himself like he was encouraging a baby and you copy him, wide glassy eyes fixated on him like he was your life line.

“sorry.” you whisper and he smiles, adorable dimples indenting his cheeks.

“for what? come in, you look like you need some water.” he guides you inside his house, closing the door behind you as you try your best to stay calm. your brain felt slow and fast at the same time and all your nerve endings felt alight, constantly on the verge of a panic attack. “here, sit down— yeah? mi casa es su casa, or whatever. i never took french.” he ushers you to the couch, clumsily tripping over an empty beer can before kicking it aside and skidding off to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.

“you ride your bike here?” he realises, sitting beside you as he hands you your drink.

“y—yeah.” you release a shaky exhale, bringing the glass to your lips.

“drink that nice n’slow, atta girl. see? you’re alright!” he makes an effort to keep his voice gentle, looking like he was going to reach out to put a hand on your arm but decided against it. you put the glass aside, palm coming to rub uncomfortably over the skin on your chest where your heart was. “heart feel a little fast?”

“mhm.” you mewl pathetically, mortified. you must have fumbled it, there was nothing sexy about winding up on your crushes couch having a panic attack.

“thats pretty normal, yeah. just gotta breathe n’shit.” he nods, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you. “it’ll feel better when you just let it do what it needs to do, trust me.”

you try and follow his advice, sitting quietly for a few minutes as you lean back and relax into his couch, taking deep breaths and letting the high run its natural course. after a little while, you feel a giggle bubble up.

“uh-oh, there she is.” you hear the smile in his voice and he’s already looking at you.

“i totally freaked, m’sorry.” you’re all blissed out now, finally relaxed.

“oh you’re good— uh, yeah. what even happened? like—how much did you smoke?”

“the whole joint.” you shrug, snickering again.

“yeah that… probably was a lot for your first time, huh?” he grins, shaking his head. “if i knew you were this clueless about this shit, no offence, i would have offered to smoke with you, ‘ya know? be your guide. your ganja guru, if you will.”

“maybe you can teach me the right way to do it next time?” you try, feeling braver under the influence. his eyes flutter with something unrecognisable in your state and he nods.

“y—yeah. yeah for sure. totally.”

“unless i kinda ruined the vibes with that whole embarrassing confession outside.” you groan, lifting a hand to smush against your warm cheek. his eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“no! no, it was cute… i had no idea man, i would’ve closed. you crushing on me? c’mon man i’d be all over that.” he chuckles awkwardly, watching your face melt into the softest and sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

“really? you mean that?”

“hey, it’s not everyday i got a pretty girl on my couch needing me to save her, okay— this is big for me.” he teases.

you spend the rest of the evening riding out your high, before sleepily riding out your dealer beneath the glow of the television. he’ll consider it payment.

⊹ . ⁺ 🐰🎀⋅˚₊𐙚

#anon #dealer!jj #jj maybank prompt

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juuuulez · 3 months

Text

📰 | epilogue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, 6 year timeskip, cute Judith moments, S10 Negan (aka Negan redemption arc), winter vibes because I wish it snowed where I live.

summary: Six years later, Carl and Reader consider what the future holds.

holy shit guys…it’s over! it’s done! writing this was so weird but also i’m very happy with the ending, and also getting to expand on Carl’s character beyond his death in canon was amazingly freeing.

i’ve got some requests to catch up on, but feel free to ask for stuff in the Capulet-canon! i’ll definitely go back to this and do little spinoff oneshots because they r very cute.

i hope you enjoy this as much as i did!

-> masterlist <-

Snow crunches under your feet as you treck back to Alexandria’s walls. A thin layer has dusted itself over your hair and shoulders, falling from the fabric of your jacket with each step. Slung over your back is a bundle of game: mostly rabbits, some squirrels, all tied up at the feet.

They’d designated you to checking the traps, a fairly mundane job that was mostly bearable, sans when the weather was this harsh. Having a small amount of freedom was nice at times, where you could be alone with the woods, though you knew someone was trailing nearby, shadowing your every move.

It didn’t hurt that much, knowing they didn’t trust you. You understood. But it sucked that it was these random assholes who hadn’t even been there during the war. Since when did they get a say?

Regardless, you felt relief as you arrived back home, if you could even call it that. The gates opened with a creak, allowing you inside, a familiar scene yet twisted in so many ways.

It had been six years since the war ended.

Six years of living in Alexandria, carefully under everybody’s watch. Of being torn down and scrutinised for mistakes you’d made as a teenager. Not that you’d call them mistakes, maybe that was your biggest flaw, being too prideful.

Someone comes to collect the bounty, to which you hand over the bundle, not before untying one of the rabbits you’d personally shot. That one would make your dinner tonight, besides, you’d been promising Judith a lucky rabbits foot.

The man doesn’t speak to you, though you aren’t offended. You’ve never been a big fan of small talk. In your opinion, there are very few you have the patience to converse with, and as long as they were still interested, then nobody else mattered.

Speaking of people important to you.

In the distance, you could spot Negan plowing snow along the main road that ran through Alexandria. You internally rolled your eyes, knowing that they’d been giving him stupider and stupider jobs recently.

There’s another figure, a young boy, who’s been tasked with watching him. He sits on a porch, a few feet away, kicking at the frosty ground.

“Hey, you wanna take a break?” You ask him, standing in front of the young male. The rabbit is still slung from your shoulder, along with the bow on your back.

He looks a little confused with the suggestion, and maybe offput that you’re talking to him. “No, I’m.. alright, thank you.” He attempts to brush you off, though clearly remains wary, almost unsettled by your presence.

You roll your eyes this time, not willing to continue this pointless back and forth. “Fuck off, okay? Just for a few minuets. Go waste your time somewhere else.” You demand.

Only a second of glaring down at the boy and he’s scurried off, likely to tell someone of your hostility. That’s one benefit, at least, that not many are willing to engage in a physical altercation with you, as they’d all heard stories of the war.

As you turn around, you catch Negan already watching you. A smile spreads onto your face, despite his rugged appearance, and the snow all over your jacket.

“You’re gonna be in deep shit for that one, you know?” He tells you, as if it isn’t obvious, though his tone indicates that he is pleased to see you again.

Lately, you’d been finding Negan more often around Alexandria, usually gardening or doing some other boring maintenance task. Depending on who was around, you were even sometimes allowed to visit him in his cell.

It hadn’t been like that for a long time, though. For the first four years after the war, you weren’t allowed any sort of contact. It was hard, and you’d struggled with bouts of depression on particularly difficult days, but things were starting to look up again.

“I don’t really care.” You shrug, smile turning into a downright grin as you approach. “Can’t make me do anything worse than hunting in dead-winter.”

As you crossed the path, Negan’s smile grew tender. He extended his arm to you, palm cupping the back of your neck and thumb moving the snowy hair from your face.

Though he had many regrets, letting you get caught up in everything was the biggest. In many ways he felt like he’d failed his job, which was to foster and protect a young girl. Yet, time and time again, you were put in harms way.

“What about plowing snow?” Negan sarcastically suggests, leaning on the handle of his shovel. The notion made you frown, straightening out the blue shirt he wore.

“No jacket?” You question, brows furrowed while you looked up at him.

The concern on your face made Negan smile, having watched you grow from a reckless teenager to a conscious young woman. “Nah. I have thick skin, doll.”

Regardless, you roll your eyes, trying to swallow your concern as you look to the snowy path. “I’m gonna ask someone about getting you warmer clothes.”

“I should be the one that’s worried,” Negan points out, “Hunting in this weather? It’s like they’re tryna’ kill you.”

He says it with a slightly bitter tone, genuinely irritated despite the fact that you’ve lived quite comfortably in Alexandria over the years. More so than him, certainly. Yet, the concern makes you smile, regardless.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” You justify with a shrug, “Trust me, I tried to dodge. Been feeling kinda shitty recently.”

“Shitty?” He echos.

“Yeah. Just.. bleh, y’know?”

Negan gives you a stern look, “I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes, not wanting to worry him over something you’d already written off as insignificant. “Just feelin’ icky lately, maybe a bit nauseous. I think this weathers fucking me up.

This causes him to let up a little, though you don’t miss the smug grin on Negan’s face as he continues to shovel snow. “Don’t sound like the weather,” He remarks, “Sure you aren’t pregnant? You and Carl are probably breedin’ like bunnies now you’re living together.”

The vulgar attitude never usually phased you, but this time your brow furrowed, glaring over at the man. “Don’t be gross.” You grumbled.

Luckily, Negan lets up, knowing this may be a soft spot for you. “Fine, I’m just teasing, doll. But you’ll tell me if it gets worse?”

“Yeah,” You agree, hoisting the supplies on your back a little higher. “I’ve gotta go get this rabbit skinned. And I’ll see about that jacket, okay?”

In return, he gives you a semi-enthusiastic thumbs up, though you know the emotion isn’t there. It makes you smile. You’ve truly missed him over these years, and seeing the toll imprisonments had on his attitude is jarring.

Nonetheless, you treck further into the community, locating your place. The small house sits near the back end, away from the main commotion, which you’ve grown to appreciate over time. Originally, you stayed there with Aaron, who was tasked with keeping an eye on you.

Then it was Rosita, and occasionally Tara. Back then, you were equally rude and hostile, and made a point to prove your disdain towards the entire situation. Of course, over the years, those walls melted away and you were forced into a state of acceptance.

Now, there was nobody watching over you. At least not in the safety of your own home. With the rate he was over, Carl practically lived there, though you knew he just didn’t like being in his own house with Rick gone. You’d understand how that would be unsettling.

The door creaked when you opened it, the haul causing you to bump it open with your hip. You dumped the bag at the door, and managed to unhook the bow with one hand.

You ventured further inside, intending to throw the dead rabbit onto the back porch to skin it. But you barely made it three steps down before your mission was halted, two arms snatched around your waist and tugging you back into a firm body.

“Jesus,” You huffed, “I didn’t hear you.”

Carl looks down, eyeing the left side of your head, completely flattened with the absence of an ear. “Shit. Sorry.” He apologised, having momentarily forgot in his haste to greet you.

The injury had thankfully healed, but your eardrum was ruined beyond repair. You were completely deaf from one side.

“I’m also wielding a dead rabbit, so watch out.” You remind him, shimming in his hold so that you’re face to face, though you hold the rabbit at an arms length away from his body.

“Then.. is this a bad time to kiss you?” He asks, and though it sounds genuine, the little smirk on his face indicates that your answer doesn’t matter.

You roll your eyes, a smile growing on your own face. Somehow, after all these years, you still get all bashful. “Never a bad time.”

No matter how much time passed, his lips would always feel perfect on your own. Carl kissed you like you were precious, made of porcelain, and the idea that someone was capable of being so gentle excited you. That, and it let you take control, something you lacked in your current life.

You shimmied your spare hand out of the snowy glove, so that you could wrap it around his neck. Lately, Carl had been letting you trim his hair, though you opted to keep it that same shoulder length, thinking it made him just adorable. He wore the bandage less, too, at least when at home.

Coming up for air, Carl pressed another tender kiss to your cheek, holding you a little closer. “Your hand is really cold.” He whispered.

In response, you dragged your palm over his face, squishing the cold flesh into his cheek. He groaned, finally letting go of you, seeeking reprieve from your snowy fingers.

You were finally able to continue down the hallway, though his footsteps followed right behind.

“Do you want to catch dinner with everyone?” He asked, “They’re cooking the rabbits down by the church.”

“I hate everyone.” You point out, bracing yourself against the cold air outdoors. There’s a metal peg hanging from the back porch, which you affix the rope onto, allowing the rabbit to dangle from its feet.

You can hear Carl has stopped behind you, leaning against the back door. “Besides, I think I wanna stay in. Still feelin’ kinda rough.” You say with a shrug.

It’s like a fish on a hook, where Carl can’t resist clinging to every little word you say. “Still? Do you need to see a doctor?” He suggests, worry in his tone.

Trying to ease his concern, you let go of the rabbit, giving Carl your full attention. “I don’t think so. I’m sure it’s nothing. A cold.”

Carl takes this as permission to dig deeper, wanting to find the root of this issue. He approaches, one hand settling on your hip, the other feeling your forehead. Though your temperature feels fine, he still remarks, “You don’t look like you have a cold.”

“Okay, genius. When did you get your degree?” You quip, the snappy attitude earning you an unamused glare, though it only takes a second before Carl is kissing your forehead, where his hand was.

It irritates you to no end that he’s so forgiving. But over time, Carl has learnt that you get defensive easily, expressed in irritated remarks that can turn borderline cruel. It’s his sign that something is wrong, but he needs to back off for the time being.

“I’ll skin the rabbit. You can lie down.” He suggests.

Your eyes narrow into a glare, not liking the insinuation that you can’t handle it. Though, you’re unable to be properly angry, knowing that he is trying to help. “Thank you.” You end up whispering in agreement, setting aside your pride for the time being.

With that aside, you decided to go and clean up from the hunt. There were little bloodstains on your jacket, so you left it hanging in the laundry for now, intending to deal with it later. Your boots were left at the door, and you quickly walked into the bedroom, intending to wiggle out of the snowy clothes.

Your hair was slightly damp, scalp a little sore from having it tied up all day. So, you padded into the bathroom, hoping to have a hot shower. But the second you looked in the mirror, you remembered what Negan had suggested. Albeit jokingly, but he still said it.

It was like a cruel history repeating itself. Being pregnant was a death sentance, in your eyes. Your own mother had died of birth complications, and that was before the apocalypse. That’s not to mention Lori.

Just the idea made you feel sick again. Scrounging through the bathroom cabinet, you found the beat-up packaging of a pregnancy test you’d stashed after finding it on a run. Just looking at it, all decorated in pink, made you feel worse.

You left it on the counter, hoping a shower would clear your head.

It didn’t.

The test was taunting you, staring at you through the foggy frosted glass of the shower. As much as you hated the notion, it wouldn’t leave your mind unless you got it over with. It was time to bite the bullet.

Still soaking wet from the shower, you fumbled with the box, hands shaking as you read the instructions. Whilst you peed into the little cup, you thought back to all the times you’d been intimate with Carl. The pair of you were relatively safe. But, maybe… maybe there’d been a few times you slipped up.

God, Negan was right. The pair of you were animals. It was like a late puberty, you couldn’t help it, you wanted to jump him at every opportunity. And now, this was your punishment.

A positive pregnancy test.

More like an execution date.

You spend a good ten minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, this indescribable weight on your chest. It gets heavier as time goes by, and you convince yourself that you may actually be unable to breathe if this continues.

Pulling on some clothes, you slowly inch from the bathroom, hair and skin still wet, though that doesn’t matter anymore. You can’t tell Carl, but at the same time, you need to.

You come to a stop at the back of the house, and before you can open the door, you notice Judith through the window. She’s sitting on the porch, talking with Carl as he attempts to skin the rabbit. His technique isn’t very good, but she doesn’t know any better. You hadn’t heard her come in, too busy wallowing in your own panic.

She stands, accepting a knife that Carl offers her, attempting to mimic his actions and take a chunk of fur off the rabbit. Judith struggles, not having the right angle, causing an uneven slice through the rabbits thigh.

Finally, you give in, pushing the door open. “You two are gonna butcher my rabbit.”

Judith turns to you, an eager smile on her face. She offers the knife, handle up like she’d been taught, “Show me?”

Though you accept the knife, Carl interjects, “She’s just had a shower, Jude.” He points out.

“It’s fine,” You assure them, rolling up the sleeves of your pyjama shirt despite the biting cold, “I’ll wash off with the hose. Now watch me, both of you.”

You teach the siblings how to properly skin a rabbit, explaining little tips and answering all of Judith’s questions. Though you’d come here to break some terrible news, you somehow find yourself feeling a little better. Watching Carl try and teach Judith something was heartwarming, and you wondered if he’d be this attentive with his own child.

That, and making Judith an aunt would be a gift in itself.

Later that night, you walk Judith back to her house, where Michonne was already waiting for her. She seemed relieved to know Judith was with you and Carl, given the girl had a tendency to investigate into some of the darker cracks of Alexandria.

There was still that one, heavy piece of information weighing on your mind. Though, it seemed to get lighter and lighter as time went on. When it came time to sleep, you were comfortably nestled against Carl’s side, your head resting on his shoulder.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue. It would be so easy to blurt out, yet you felt like doing some preemptive damage control.

“Would you ever wanna have kids?” You ask in a whisper, almost completely inaudible.

Given the circumstances, Carl finds the inquiry pretty strange. He shifts a little, laying on his side, so that you’re forced to face him.

“Maybe.” He says, though he sounds a little unsure of himself.

But maybe isn’t a no.

You stay silent for a moment, unsure of how to proceed now that you’ve gotten your answer. The silence causes Carl to grow curious, curious as to what has sparked this sudden interest.

“Do you?” He asks, looking you right in the eye, which makes you squirm a little.

Everything points towards your admission, but you can’t force the words from your mouth. So you just lay there, watching him, looking a little pent up and almost slightly guilty.

Fortunately, Carl isn’t stupid. He’s quite attentive, actually, especially when it comes to your health.

That, and he’d already found the empty test box in the bathroom, crumpled into the wastebin.

“C’mon.” He whispers, pulling you back into him, arms wrapped around your form. His hand makes its way into your hair, fingers twirling in the strands, keeping your head pressed firmly against his chest.

Carl swallows the lump in his throat, similarly unable to address the issue at hand. But maybe you’d rather he didn’t. “I love you, okay?” He ends up whispering, words uttered against the crown of your head.

You muster a little nod, shifting to worm your arms around his torso. You mirror his tone, quiet and hoarse, though that weight is finally beginning to disappear.

“I love you, too.”

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #twd x you #carl grimes x you #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #negan smith

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nightgoodomens · 8 days

Note

I really thought they'd keep things under wraps until GO3 was released. Big companies like Amazon don't like their actors causing a fuss or being caught in a "scandal", but man oh man looks like things are blowing up in the Sheenantburg "polycule".

Well I wouldn’t jump the gun yet, this doesn’t mean they’re coming out, but I think it might mean they’re not going to play along the new hetero game.

So let’s look a little bit at the timeline, shall we?

David goes to Cali for three weeks. We get content from GT - a video taken giving impression he wasn’t aware, sort of paparazzi shots, some from very far away, a miserable pic of him. He has fun with his kids but there’s nothing GT/DT. Before the trip we already had weird vibes from GT with her constant knocking DT down and having nothing to say about him winning apart from a repost without a good word and then burying the story within shit. Lots of break up songs too, but we were questioning is she reads the lyrics, however, it was weird how the lyrics were always about the same thing.

MS goes to Disneyland. DT goes to Disneyland. At the same fucking time.

Both get a chance to create a happy family image. Separately.

I mean, well, that was deliciously blunt but worked out so so.

Neil pops in to tell everyone that David and Michael are still very much in love just before Assembly and the era of hetero begins.

We figure out why the “happy happy” desperation from AL - Assembly gets released where MS chokes out he’s happy, and then focuses on talking about David and gives it all. AL loses it a little - she tries to interact with fans to push the happiness, reposts articles, fights with Swedish media… it doesn’t work out. While she makes Assembly about her, MS makes it about what mattered. He does not help her.

DT doesn’t help GT push the happy image either.

A blind gets released by Enty. Clearly about them. Stating the women are trying to push the happy family image in Disneyland while men would rather be together.

During the Blind and Assembly stuff, men remain separated. Until Oliviers happens.

GT posts two stories, one telling RadioTimes off for the nice article about DT, then praising one that called DT’s impression “deranged” - on that video she took without his knowledge most likely.

Oliviers, the PR save-the-hetero (aka oh-fuck-the-blind) show happens, where everyone expected some MS/DT action since DT was nominated and MS was announced as the presenter, instead it turns into a circus. The men don’t meet on the red carpet, DT stopped from going back, DT/GT are told to act like in fresh love only for DT to fail the “camera” moments, they’re sat right in the front to be visible playing the game and they overdo it, all it ends up with is MS soft looks at DT, as far as I know DT wasn’t shown at all which BAFTAs would never.

GT (who’s always escaped red carpets is now pushed by PR) tries to recreate the “look into my eyes for the camera” moment from BAFTAs, but DT doesn’t play along. AL pushes with the arm stroking, but MS doesn’t play along.

Two interesting things happen - highly photographed moment of DT sharing a hug with another man, who of course wasn’t MS. And MS presenting an award to someone else. Both felt like attempts at rewriting the history but all they did was highlight the real deal. Because they didn’t play along. Especially MS.

Media focuses on the women in an insane way considering they’re nobodies at Oliviers. Ladies post about the day as if it was their day. Pic with the men gets withheld until the fandom reminds them that they are here for the guys and so with a snark the women post the pic. Finally MS/DT look soft and happy when they’re with each other. MS stands with DT.

Interesting to note, there was no usual “preparing” pics and videos of DT from GT.

DT doesn’t win. GT posts a pic calling him a loser, he looks like he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown on that pic. I don’t know what happened, but he did not look… well.

Even the “normal” fans wince at the caption. She doesn’t even make it a story or anything, it’s right there as a post. Too bad she didn’t create a post when he won Critic’s Choice for his Macbeth (exactly what he was nominated for at Oliviers too), instead reposted a story from another account, added nothing, and buried it within crap. But “loser” got a whole post.

There was also a pic with a fan where DT doesn’t look well either.

GT and AL focus on promotion of themselves.

Yesterday a blurry video gets released of GT slapping her hand at DT to silence him, MS ready to silence her instead, and DT basically pointing at MS and standing closer to him. (Video up to your own interpretation). Sort of felt like it added context to DT looking the way he did at the end of the night.

No usual home selfie either.

And today. David’s Birthday.

GT showed what lovely posts she can create about people she cares about recently. While her story for DT “thanks for being born” was the kindest thing she’s done because for once she didn’t include an insult or “humbling” him, it was quite… well, nothing. Song choice was questionable. The story was cold. The picture was old.

We waited whole day for a post but no. We expected Cali pics, home pics… nope.

Not only she only created a story, right after she also posted HBD for an actress whose birthday wasn’t even on the same day, just to keep her theme of burying anything DT related that wasn’t about GT. But she’s done something interesting on that story - called the actress her favourite tv wife for DT and hashtagged don’t tell MS.

Honestly I just rolled my eyes. Nobody in the fandom would agree with her and trying to take a dig at MS… bad move.

RadioTimes is full of love for DT all day. And so are other accounts. Love is pouring from every side. Somehow GT isn’t keen to repost those articles.

Suddenly AL pops in with a story. And what a story. Not only she’s looking at DT cutout while holding a card “WINNER”, MS is standing between DT and GT, and the caption is “To my partner’s HUSBAND”. Not tv wife. Not “My wife’s husband.” This was just about DT and MS. Song choice has interesting lyrics too:

“There ought to be a law against

Anyone who takes offense

At a day in your celebration”

Winner not loser? Husband not tv wife? Anyone takes offense?

BAFTAs pops in to share a video of MS/DT of DT giving a glimpse of how they have met 20 years ago. Neil pops in to share on tumblr David being called Michael’s husband. You know the they’re-still-in-love guy.

GT reposts the story without a word and buries it. She doesn’t post anything for DT.

So what happened? It’s up to your interpretation.

Mine is this: They were meant to bury the rumours, hence massive hetero show for Oliviers, MS didn’t play along since the beginning, DT tried but fell apart, they snapped, GT took it out on the men, MS snapped back sick of her shitty posts about DT, the same way he did end of last year.

Seeing the way GT acted during that blurry video and today… I think she lost control and now even AL doesn’t side with her. But that one she also only has herself to blame for. And I wonder… who tipped off Enty?

What’s next? Not sure. Clearly PR’s new hetero idea didn’t fly. But was the joy only allowed for DT’s birthday? Or this is it, they won’t play the game anymore? What’s up with GT/DT, are they done but will play the game for the big events or done and won’t pretend anymore either? Am I going to be surprised if hetero bullshit happens anyway? Nah. Anything can happen now, I feel. But this day and what happened during it is a fact. Whatever damage control happens, if it does, won’t erase what happened today.

Interesting!

#NightGoodOmens talks PR

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carleycore · 1 year

Text

When they insult you(Kenma and Oikawa)

A/N this blog is so weird- It’s like 400 styles in one.

Genre: Angst (it’s not SUPER bad- I can write a part two as comfort if y’all would like that)

Warnings: Insults obvi, pregnant reader(oikawa)

Part two

(not having a job)

Being with Kenma is wonderful. He never looks at other girls, fights you, and always is there to support and love you, so of course you did the same.

You’ve been dating him since high-school so you were there for him through his volleyball days all the way to his billionaire status. Naturally, you both loved and were there for each other unconditionally, so it was no surprise when he got down on one knee and proposed.

Currently the two of you were in the process of wedding planning which was super fun, but stressful as hell.

Kenma made enough money from streaming and his business and he loved to stream. So he was still working when he really didn’t need to.

You’d quit your job to focus on the planning and all had been going well.

Now the week was two months away and all you had left was the finishing touches.

All of the major stuff was done, and now all you had to do was plan the little things. Little things that would’ve been really helpful to have your fiancé's input on, so you opened his door slowly to see if he was streaming, which he was, but he was in the middle of a break.

“Hey baby,” you smiled, walking over to sit on his lap, “are you busy right now?”

You couldn’t tell when you walked in, but he seemed pissed off.

“I’ve been streaming for four hours. All I want is a break, what do you want?” He responded harshly.

“Just turn off the stream, I wanna talk about wedding stuff,” you bargained.

“One of us has to work, Y/N. I know it’s fun to just lounge around on the couch and pick flowers but I have a real job. A job I need to support you and this lavish wedding you want.”

After hearing this, you simply got up and left the room. If that was truly how he felt, so be it. There didn’t have to be a wedding after all.

Going into a guest room and slamming the door, you instantly started applying for jobs. Kenma knew you were waiting until you finished college to get a job again, and that he’d support you through getting your masters degree. But clearly, that was a lie.

And you wouldn’t force him to support you any longer.

(Not dressing up)

You were 20 weeks pregnant. Finally at the point where it didn’t just look like you ate a lot. It looked like you were growing a baby. This also meant that it was getting harder to find an outfit that wasn’t just a shirt that was streched out too much, or an ugly maternity dress that made you look even fatter than you felt. Thankfully, Oikawa was there for you ever step of the way. Buying you new things to try on, encouraging you, and telling you how beautiful you looked. But his views changed one day.

Now you and your husband, Oikawa, were walking around the grocery store. Just buying food for the week when one of his old classmates came up to him.

She was pregnant too, and shopping for groceries with her husband. The only difference was she was absolutely glowing. Her bump fit her nicely, and the dress she was wearing looked amazing on her. It gave her a very cheery vibe.

Since you didn’t go to Aoba Johsai, you didn’t know them. So, you just smiled and looked at the food intently, as if you didn’t know what you were going to grab.

After a while they left and Oikawa’s mood seemed to have worsened.

“What’s wrong babe?” You asked, trying your best to keep up with the speed that he walked to the cash register, “and we’re missing a few things.”

“Why can’t you look more like Nami? She’s 24 weeks and she still dresses nicely,” He complained, gesturing towards your Crocs, T-shirt, and sweatpants.

“I’ve tried, nothing you good on me,” you were about to cry. You didn’t know if it was pregnancy hormones or if it was the fact that your husband was berating you in public. It was a good thing the cashier had her airpods in and the store was fairly empty.

“Well maybe you should stay home then. It’s embarrassing when my friends’ wives look better than my own,” he grumbled, picking up the pancake mix and syrup you put in the basket, “seriously? Are you trying to look like a whale?”

Instead of explaining how HIS child was craving it, you simply put it back on the shelf and was silent the entire way home.

That night, after putting everything up and showering you rolled on your side of the bed alone. When he wrapped his arms around your bump as he did every night, you pushed him off. Ignoring him when he tried to apologize and reason with you.

The next day when he apologized, bought you new clothes, jewelry, and the food you wanted you still didn’t talk to him.

It’d take a lot more than bribery for you to forgive his actions.

THIS BELONGS TO CARLEY-CHAN 2023 DO NOT REWORK/REWRITE!!

reblogs and likes appreciated <3

#haikyuu #oikawa #kenma #kenma x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #hq oikawa #hq kenma #Dad oikawa #domestic haikyuu

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serenhoshi · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Got a request for Mingyu! I see that y’all really like this series since I got many many requests for the other members, I’ll write them as fast as I can! Thank you for the support! ♥

Mingyu overall kinda seems like a flirt

he is very confident with his looks, and knows how to make people’s hearts flutter

a big gentleman!

in the end i think he flirts but without noticing it

he’s just very polite, maybe a bit too much, so people think he flirts

so when he held the elevator door for you, you thought he tried to flirt

his lovely smile and confident look made it seem like it

you were really attracted to him (because who wouldn’t be?) but didn’t show it, he had an almost playboy energy so you didn’t show your interest

he didn’t care about your impression of him, he was just being nice and polite :’)

you both discovered later that you worked in the same agency

so you saw each other a lot (mostly in the elevator because you had similar work shifts)

its when he saw you for the 3rd time that he started talking to you, mingyu being his extraverted self, he had to talk for a bit

with time and conversations you discovered how gentle and caring he actually is, far from the image of him that you created

so you both got close, and you feelings started to grow, his did as well

he had a crush on you since the beginning of your friendship, you had a comforting vibe and were interesting to talk with, just enough for him to grow fond of you

obviously the members noticed this weird lovey-dovey aura around you both, and mocked mingyu, then encouraging him to talk about his love for you

i think mingyu is a big romantic, so to ask you to be his s/o, he took you out on a date in a big chic restaurant

you both looked so good together, people in the restaurant thought you were about to get married

he told you he loved you, you told him the same thing back and bam, relationship

once you got in a couple, i think mingyu would make things really fast

like he knows you’re the one, and doesn’t want to wait to get things done

so he asked if you could live together after a week of dating

also talked about having a kid after a month of dating

if it bothers you just tell him, and he will slow his excitement down, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable

if it doesn’t bother you then that’s great lmao

wants to show off with you, your whole relationship

WILL buy matching clothes and accessories

if you go out together you HAVE to wear some matching stuff, if you refuse then he pouts and gives you the silent treatment

loves cooking for you, cleans the appartment, washes your clothes

he likes to take care of everything around you just to make sure it’s really well done BY him

loves to spoil you

*brings a big plushie home* “oh this? yeah hum well there was a discount and christmas is soon so pre-christmas gift” *hands it to you*

(christmas was in 3 months)

loves to binge watch series and movies with you, invites the members for movie nights sometimes

but it ends up with them complaining about you both “cuddling too much” on the couch

he really makes sure you and the members get along

it’s really important for him that 2 of his most important things in life get along

so he brings you to practice with him sometimes, in the backstages of promotion showcases, and many other places with the members

but don’t give them too much attention of mingyu will pout

now now now mingyu and physical touch??

this man has always a hand on you -and sometimes on your ass-

takes your hand in his, hes so tall yours looks small af

likes to grab you and carry you around

you didn’t shower? *carries you on his shoulder to take you to the bathroom*

also bear hugs!!!!♥

when in bed hes also glued to you for the whole night

he just won’t let go

spicy/smutty part below :)

Mingyu in bed? huh

a confident b*tch really

he knows hes attractive and he knows you’re madly attracted to him

a noisy man as well

grunts and moans a lot

messy kisses >>

holds your ass during the whole make out part

hes just an ass man

loves your thighs as well

loves it when they tighten around his head when he goes down on you

really really likes it when you take care of him as well, despite him being a big dom

when hes horny he’ll ask for a blowjob

will moan very loudly ♥

doesn’t have a preference on where you have $ex tbh

see the elevator, where you guys met at the agency?

well,, y’know

he likes the risk ;)

before living together he wouldn’t mind keeping his bedroom dorm’s door slightly open

so the members can hear as well :)

wouldn’t mind a threesome, as long as its with someone you both trust

likes to experiment tbh, but he refuses age-play and anything that has to do with blades

overall he’s just the best in bed :D

#mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader #mingyu reactions #mingyu fluff #seventeen x reader #svt #mingyu drabbles

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hauntedhokage · 2 months

Text

Sightings

Bakugou/Camgirl!Reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: he's seeing you everywhere, and has to combat his own internal struggle of whether or not it's creepy to live across the hall from you.

warnings: mature themes, Bakugou overthinks everything, mentions of sexual content, reader is a sexworker and this is a sw positive space!!, no explicit sexual content tho.

He can’t get over the fact that you’re the one. You, his neighbor that he knew existed but had never seen, was the girl he paid a monthly fee to for affirmations of varying levels of erotic undertones. He would be laying in bed, eyes closed as he listened to your voice, while you were across the hall recording more content. What doesn’t help is that he sees you everywhere now.

The mailboxes, the grocery store, coming in as he’s leaving and vis versa. Every now and then you’d strike up a conversation with him, clearly flirting and he was happy to flirt back, but he was terrified of you knowing that he subscribed to your content. Would you want to keep talking to him if you knew your neighbor paid for your nudes? Regardless of whether or not he looked at them often (he’d looked at maybe three in the eight months he’d been a subscriber), that was still weird wasn’t it? He was a customer, an active consumer of the content you produced, and now he knew where you lived. Would that make you uncomfortable?

When you ask him if he wants to go to a cafe with you one morning since you were both headed in the same direction, he has to say yes. And he notices the way you look at him, it wasn’t much different from how women looked at him in general, but there was something in your eyes that was different. You were clearly analyzing him, eyes carefully trained on him as he orders then obviously surprised by him when he buys your drink.

The following night, your weekly audio surrounds how appreciative you are when someone takes care of you. How even picking up the tab on little things like coffee makes you so appreciative and how you’d like to show your appreciation by getting on your knees and undoing their belt for them to take care of them in return. He doesn’t feel guilty when he listens to it, he likes that he thinks you’re talking about him specifically. It could have just been inspired by him, but to think that you want him like that is quite the ego boost.

He doesn’t see you for a few days, but the next time he does it’s at the mailboxes. You were closing yours up with a couple envelopes in hand, keyring dangling from your finger when you turned to see him approaching his own mailbox. He makes some idle conversation as you wait for him to finish up at the mailbox, noticing the way you practically rock on your heels in his peripheral vision.

And then you start on about plans for the evening, asking if he was going to watch anything special. He doesn’t watch a lot of TV, so it’s an honest answer when he says he doesn’t have anything like that planned - just dinner and then reading a bit before he went to bed.

“If you need some entertainment, one of these nights you can connect to my vibe,” you suggest, and he has to tilt his head a bit as he tries to figure out what that meant. Was that like Twitter or something? He’d have to ask the intern at the agency in the morning because he definitely wanted to do whatever that was for you - he just didn’t know what the hell it was.

“Yeah, possibly. I don’t really do social media though.” And he’s watching as your shoulders drop a bit, confusion ghosting across your features for a moment before you smile at him while leaning against the wall of the elevator. It’s then that he noticed you’re wearing an oversized All Might shirt that was long enough to cover the shorts he’s hoping you’re wearing underneath. “Do you like any other heroes?”

“Dynamight is alright, I think he’s the cutest in the top ten.” You’re obviously trying to flatter him, smirk on your face as the elevator doors open and he’s gesturing for you to exit first. “But let me know about the vibe thing. I’d be happy to send you a link to the app for free.”

“You pay for it?”

“Other people do. You wouldn’t have to.”

“Because I’m a pro?” And you’re giggling as you open your door, forcing a pink to bloom along his cheeks at how stupid he feels for clearly not understanding something you were trying to tell him. “It’s rude to laugh at people!”

“Not laughing at you, I promise. You’re just very cute, Katsuki. I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

You pause, looking up at him through your lashes as you murmur a soft, “Yeah.”

His face is hot now, and he’s fumbling with his keys as you tell him that you need to take your dinner out of the oven but want to see him again soon. He wants to have dinner with you, and then some, but the thought of asking you out when he was subscribing to you felt weird. It had to be creepy, so he swallows his want and drowns himself in the sound of your soft moans and affirmations as he ruts pathetically into his hand to alleviate the stiffness in his jeans that he’d been dealing with since he got a glimpse of your bare legs.

But when you ask him if he wants to come over for dinner a couple weeks later, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he’s saying yes before you can even finish the question completely. He wanted to get to know you not just in passing and outside of what he paid for. He has to cash in on a favor Kirishima owed him, but it's more than just worth it to be sitting in your apartment eating the dinner you’d cooked.

And it was a lovely dinner, followed by him helping you wash the dishes before sitting with you on your couch. You’re telling him how you hated only seeing him in passing and wanted to take the time to actually get to know him better since he’s your neighbor, and he’s agreeing with you wholeheartedly while the weight sits on his shoulders about the fact that he knows what you look like naked and you don’t know that he knows.

He can’t stop wondering if it’s weird for him to be sitting on your couch while knowing what was beneath the sweater and leggings you wore. Would it be made weird when you found out? Would you be upset - he hoped not, considering it was your job. But he was your neighbor, and it wasn’t like he knew that when he initially subscribed - but he didn’t unsubscribe after finding out, so would that make it weird? Was he overthinking it? He had to be, considering you were still talking and he’d tuned most of it out.

“...and I’d like to spend more time with you.”

Oh, god. This was when he had to tell you, so you could make a clear decision about wanting to spend time with him now instead of finding out later that he’d been a subscriber and then thinking he was some creep trying to get closer to an idol or something. Your comfort was so much more important than his ego.

“I want to spend more time with you, too. But I gotta tell ya that-”

“I know you’re a subscriber.” And then you’re giggling at the loud shriek he lets out in shock at the information, leaning against the back of your couch as his face turns bright red. So you didn’t think he was creepy, just fucking stupid. He could live with stupid. “I can see your shipping and billing address on every commission, even if the delivery is digital. But I think it’s very cute and honorable for you to try and act like you didn’t initially.”

“I didn’t want you thinking I was creepy.”

“Not creepy, just very cute.” You even pinch his still hot cheek, and his nose scrunches up at your touch on instinct as you grin at him. “I wouldn’t have invited you over if I thought it was creepy.”

The weight is lifted with the reassurance that he wasn’t creepy, that you knew he subscribed and still invited him into your home. You scoot to sit a bit closer to him now that he’d visibly relaxed, and he lets his hand seek out yours and revels in your smile at the contact. You didn’t think he was creepy at all, and he gets to kiss you a few times while lounging on your couch with you. He’d always wondered if your lips were as soft as they looked, and now he knew that they were softer and the soft moans you made when his hands grazed over more sensitive spots of your body sounded so much sweeter live than they did recorded.

It’s when he gets home he sees that you’d sent him a special thank you for being a top supporter. There’s an audio file and a zipped folder, and he opens the audio file first since that’s of more interest to him.

“I know you mostly watch the audio content, so I wanted to record something special that fits your style. Thank you so much for being a continued supporter, it truly means the world to me. I hope to continue providing content for you for the foreseeable future, and I’d love to hear from you if you have any special requests. I hope you enjoy the photos, I took them just for you.”

God, he just loved your voice. It was like you knew just how to talk to him despite having such limited interactions. The fact that you wanted to date him seriously was unreal but he’d keep you for as long as he could.

When he opens the photo folder he truly knows that those were taken just for him. In the first you’re wearing what appears to be only one of the shirts he’d seen sold online that said ‘Dynamight makes my pussy explode!’, with a replica of one of his gauntlets intentionally placed between your spread legs to cover your crotch. The other was just a picture of you, fully clothed and smiling for a selfie with a caption on it that said ‘hyping myself up to ask my cute neighbor out’.

Then he notices the date stamp: you’d sent that email to him two days ago - which was the day that you’d invited him over for dinner.

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