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luveline · 2 days

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I'm sorry to send you such a loaded question, but as a young adult, how do you stay motivated and... I don't know, do the things you have to do? Ever since I left high school, I've felt that it's hard to commit to anything, especially the things I have to commit to in order to have a future, because everything seems so monotonous and uninteresting and stressful to me; because I feel like I'm not capable of doing anything, of being competent.

Anyways, I love your blog. Your writings are one of the few things that make me happy on the worst days xx

that’s okay! I’m gonna try and answer you clearly !! cw for suicide mention

So first I want to say that I’m really sorry you feel this way! It’s quite a heart ache to feel uninspired or uninterested, or worse to feel like you’re not capable of doing things everyone else is doing. You deserve to wake up and feel happy and confident in yourself and your abilities! And I want to say I’m sorry in advance if this is not quite the answer you’re asking me for!

so, when I was around 18/19 (and well beyond those years, but this was when I was very done and defeated and, you know, crying myself sick every night if I wasn’t just laying in bed) I was in university, but I didn’t finish the year at campus, and I had to go home. I’m not sure if this is something I should be saying because it’s so personal but I just want to sort of be honest with you cos I don’t want you to think you’re alone in that feeling. But anyways I had to go home, I was really lonely and I just felt like I couldn’t do what everyone else was doing, like there was something wrong with me. I couldn’t cope with the kitchen, I couldn’t use the bathroom there, I didn’t know how to turn the heating on, couldn’t talk to people, couldn’t navigate the bus by myself, and I felt so pathetically stupid, I had such low self esteem for myself that I felt like I should kill myself just because I was so useless —I didn’t WANT to understand these things. I just didn’t want to do anything. And the reason I’m mentioning it is because while I don’t think it’s okay to assume these things of you, I want to emphasise that there can be a common link between feeling like you aren’t capable and a mental health issue! Of course, you can feel quite useless without that though, so not telling you that that’s definitely what you have going on but more wanting to say that if you think it might be useful, you can have a look at mental health issues and perhaps see if you’re relating to them. But beyond that, hopefully on the way to answering your question, is how I managed to feel more capable and how I now find motivation to do things I have to do.

I sort of had to do a reset, or a sabbatical! I’ve always been an upset person unfortunately, and I had a long few months where I didn’t do anything at all. I’m really, really fortunate that my mother let me stay at home while this was happening however reluctant she was, I can’t imagine really what I would’ve done or what could’ve happened to me if she didn’t let me stay there. I always thought about how she could’ve just turned me out and she probably wanted to, because for months I stayed in bed. I didn’t talk to anybody, deleted all my social media, and I stewed in how much I hated myself for not being any good at anything. I felt soooo stupid and so alone, and I probably cried myself to sleep every night wondering about my life and if I’d ever have the motivation to go on. There are still times now where I am intensely upset and unsure about things and what I’m capable of, but the difference between then and now, and the reason for my motivation I think, was that I was able to foster a need for something? I’m really so sorry if this sounds like total total nonsense, but I needed something. I wanted so badly for someone to “save me” from my not being able to do things, I spent a lot of time thinking about that. Like, how I could be saved. And then I strung out the middle man without realising I was doing it! It is very hard to go from having no motivation and no sense of self ability to then being confident, but I do think you can do it! I needed someone to get me a job and I ended up doing it myself, I needed someone to be gentle with me when I was sad so I started speaking to myself with a more kind inner voice and seeing myself as someone who didn’t need to be perfect to be good.

There was lots of bits of advice I tried to take on. Not all of it is kind to myself, some of it is though!! Like, for example, there’s a sort of parody of it now that says “I think you’re thinking about yourself too much” but one of the ways I stopped hating myself and instead started to believe I could do things and achieve was by thinking about the level of self obsession I was feeling to constantly think of myself. And I promise I’m not trying to say something hurtful to you, I absolutely don’t believe you’re self obsessed, but you’re also not incapable!! In a slightly more annoying take on your feelings, why can’t you do it if everyone else can? You absolutely can! I personally believe sweetheart that you can do everything I can, but you need more support, or you need to be fostered with some love. You are not incapable, you are not incompetent, you are a smart, kind, and important person. There is nobody else like you on the entire planet and I’m better for it that you’re here.

I apologise profusely if I’m projecting too much on you, I’m not trying to say you must feel exactly as I did years ago, but I think your ask really is important and I really want to give you an answer to your question because I know I felt exactly the same at some point. Working toward a future self I didn’t even like or believe in was boring. Nothing in me wanted to work hard or study or continue because I didn’t look forward to achievement.

sorry this is all so long! Hopefully this last bit is the actual advice you might be able to use. Beyond that wisdom about trying not to dedicate too much time to thinking of myself, there are lots of “rules” I tend to live by, in order to just keep going forward. For starters, you deserve to have fun. You deserve good food, nice clothes (not showy though you deserve those too, but nice sturdy clothing), a warm safe house, and you need to work for it! We defo deserve to work less for things but I keep going and trying to better myself because I know I need to do this in order to be comfortable. This will sound out of left field, because the focus of the book is not strictly motivation, but there’s a graphic novel called my lesbian experience with loneliness by Nagata Kabi that has stuck with me because she has this same sort of view as to feeling like she’s stuck in monotony, and there’s one bit in particular where she talks about doing things for yourself you might not do, I.e making sure you have underwear and socks that are clean and whole. I grew up poor and I’m not super rich now either, but since I read that, one of my priorities is having whole and clean underwear, and that did help me find the motivation to work or to study. We need to function in a way to maintain good standards for ourselves, and even if you have boxes of clean socks, there might be something in your life you can think about working toward! I throw away underwear or any clothes that don’t fit me right, and I don’t feel guilty about it when I would’ve before because I know that feeling well dressed is good for your heart. Does that make sense? To give yourself a good standard of life, you have to keep going. As well as that, another way I stay motivated to go on which I’ve talked about before maybe (not that I expect you to have read this) is my writing. I’m motivated sometimes to do things I have to if only because I need free time to think deeply about the things I want to think about. Also I love writing more than pretty much anything, even if most writers will look at what I’m doing and laugh or wonder why I’d dedicate so much time to some things in particular, because I love it. If I can make sure my rent is paid every month, that’s a promise I have a room to sit in every night where I can write whatever story I want! Another motivation is my ability to give bits of myself? It sounds ridiculous because I don’t genuinely believe I’m giving myself to people but to try and be a positive part of someone life is a good place to start if you feel purposeless. My relationships with my sisters are a tether for me and I’ve tried so hard and so much to make these relationships count, as well as with long distance friends, and recently ish I got back into contact with friends I couldn’t maintain relationships with when I was feeling down, and now my life feels very changed. I don’t live solely for myself, (though it’s okay if you do, because its hard and sometimes a lot of pressure to live for and around others) so that gives my life more purpose, and gives me more reason to do things I have to do. I also desperately enjoy this blog !!

I’m genuinely so sorry if this is all useless. I’ve been typing this answer since like 1:05 and it’s much later now, but it’s because it’s hard to describe to you the things that give motivation, because I know deep down how impossible it feels when you have none. I don’t expect you to read this and think aw jade you’ve solved it I’m fine now actually, I just hope that one thing in here can lend you an idea as to what to do next. If you’re struggling to go on, there are lots of options available to you in the UK such as the SHOUT text line for stress, depression, and eating disorders. They’re free to text and anonymous! I don’t think there’s one answer to giving yourself purpose, it is a very hard life and I don’t blame you for feeling incapable or bored or worried or anything you’re feeling, but I do for sure know you can do this, because I can do it, if that makes sense. Like I bet we’re extremely different people on account of uniqueness but also bet we have so many similarities!! And I certainly don’t mind guessing that you’re a loving, caring, person who deserves to feel more fulfilled. It’s my recommendation that you try to understand why you’re not feeling your best right now, that you talk to someone if you can, that you have some faith in yourself, and that you treat yourself with the same love and patience as you would any other person experiencing burnout! again I’m so so sorry if this is all rubbish. I’m forcing myself to stop now. So sorry if it doesn’t make sense or if half of this is completely unrelated to what you’re asking. I love you and I hope you feel better, genuinely truly ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#jade's asks #ily

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em-harlsnow · 1 day

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part 2 of my tattoo speed write, find part 1 here.

Tattoo date!!

so mickey goes in to get his tattoo with ian. he’s been for a consultation already because believe it or not he doesn’t want someone to do a shoddy job of it.

he’s drawn a cross between a serpent and dragon and shown the person doing it what size he wants and where he wants it.

ian asked him to draw his ‘MM’ tattoo as well so it’s sort of cursive, or at least has some swirly patterns ingrained into it because he doesn’t just want it printed on.

the guy doing it is just covered in tattoos and piercings. mickey thinks they look sort of cool, but the piercings look way too painful for him to ever consider it. the guy sits him down in the chair and starts running through the process, even if they already talked about it in the consultation. Ian’s sitting on a chair next to him, out of the way of the tattoo artist.

“I can see you’ve already got some ink, but i still have to go through everything.” Mickey nods. “So what you want is big, so it’ll take a couple of hours. Just a reminder: it is permanent. It’s not gonna rub out or wash off.” Mickey snorts, looking down at his knuckles and the guy laughs. “Yeah, i know you know that. I’ll draw it out first so you can confirm it’s what you want. But when we actually start just let me know any time you want to take a break. It’s also common for people to faint, so let me know if you feel lightheaded.”

He makes Mickey sign some stuff which he hardly reads because he understands that a tattoo is permanent thank you very much, and he is also familiar with the healing process and the pain.

So the guy starts to draw it out and that only takes like twenty minutes, during which him and ian just have a conversation about the next gallagher family thing. Then the guy asks Mickey to check if it’s okay, and Mickey’s pleased with it.

The tattoo artist (I’ve decided his name is Zyler) leaves the room to get the ink and prepare the needles.

“are u nervous?” Ian asks him, to which mickey rolls his eyes fondly.

“no, copper cock, i’m not nervous.” Except he is a little bit because tattoos still hurt and he’s never gotten one with this much fucking preparation before.

Ian just smiles at him and grabs his hand (on the side not getting tattooed) and mickey sighs but allows him to think he’s helping (which he definitely is)

Zyler returns and starts and yep, that fucking hurts. It’s not too bad after a while, and it’s the shoulder so it’s not close to the bone. he may have been drunk and it may have been a while ago but his knuckles hurt more by miles.

Zyler talks to them, asking about how long they’ve been married. ian answers most of the questions because Mickey’s not one to chit chat with strangers when he’s not being stabbed over and over by said stranger, never mind when he is.

Around half way through, Zyler says they’ll take a 30 minute break, because they’ve been there for like an hour already.

Ian reaches over to see how it is, and Mickey yells out.

“don’t touch it, idiot!”

“I’m not going to touch it, Mick, just let me have a look.”

Mickey twists to show him the progress and Ian smiles, telling him something like ‘looks good’.

Zyler talks to Mickey some more, asking about his current tattoos. Obviously, he’s had to take his shirt off for the procedure because even with sleeveless shirts it’s just easier to take it off entirely. Mickey tells him how he got his knuckles when he was like 14, to which Zyler looks surprised but not entirely shocked. Mickey explains how he designed the one on his forearm and got some unlicensed guy in Mexico to do it for him. He explains how he gave the ‘Ian Galager’ one to himself in prison, but doesn’t elaborate.

Zyler states that the nature of his previous tattoos makes sense considering his clearly high pain tolerance.

“I mean, i’ve been shot twice, so that probably has something to do with it as well.” Mickey laughs.

Zyler looks surprised again, because he may run a tattoo studio so he meets a lot of characters, but this is a lot.

“You’ve been shot twice?”

“Yup - all of ‘em his fault.” Mickey jabs a finger at Ian, which he snorts at.

“They aren’t my fault, they’re your fault. I was just in the vicinity.”

“In the vicinity my ass, Gallagher. Your fault.”

“You were the one who got too cocky and showed off to Kash, then got too cocky again and tried to steal a fuckin’ Grandfather clock, Mick. None of that was my fault.” Ian’s laughing and Zyler laughs too, although he looks somewhat puzzled. “Also - I was the one who got someone to patch up your ass the last time you got shot.”

“Yeah, i’m so fuckin’ grateful for your kitchen table and a grandpa with a pair of pliers”

“Better than your kitchen table with all the guns and knives on it and two dirty fuckin’ forks held by your high brothers.”

Mickey just does a little eye roll, and Zyler looks all the more intrigued as he cleans the equipment to continue.

“You got shot in the ass?” Is the bit he focuses on, too interested to maintain professionalism.

“Yup. All because of him.” Ian just rolls his eyes.

“The first one was in the leg, and both were because of your stealing habits.”

“Stealing habits- I don’t? I don’t have fuckin’ stealing habits, Gallagher. You’re making be sound like a klepto.”

Ian just rolls his eyes and smiles, squeezing his hand has Zyler starts up again.

“So… how long have you been together?” He asks, because all this lore he’s learning doesn’t sound like people who’ve been married for just two years.

“Better part of eleven years.” Ian answers.

“Jesus- how old are you two?”

“I’m 26. So, I was 15 when we first got together and he was 16.”

“Wow, real high school sweethearts.”

Mickey scoffs at the term.

“Yeah, I mean. We went to the same school so technically we’ve known each other since like elementary.”

Zyler raises his eyebrows again.

“But he looked like a dork in elementary so i didn’t go near him.” Mickey adds, voice somewhat strained.

Ian slaps his arm lightly.

When they’re finished, him and ian switch positions. Mickey’s shirt is back on, but he now has a plastic plaster-thing over the new ink. He keeps looking at it, almost touching it, and Ian slaps his hand away in warning not to.

Ian doesn’t even have to ask for Mickey to hold his hand during his tattoo, because he just does it anyway.

“Any meaning behind this one?” Zyler asks as he draws out the patterned ‘MM’ on his wrist.

“His initials.” Ian gestures towards Mickey with his head. “Mikhailo Milkovich.” And Mickey chides him for saying his full name because that wasn’t necessary, Gallagher. “He drew it, too.”

“That’s sweet.” Zyler tells them. “Usually I feel like people who get each others names tattooed aren’t gonna last, but I gotta say I think you guys might be the exception.” Ian beams and Mickey grumbles around a smile.

Ian squeezes Mickey’s hand tight throughout the whole thing, much the same as how Mickey had. He gets a matching plastic wrap and they both get some care-gel thing they need to put on each night as well as a reminder to put more sunscreen on areas with ink.

Ian waves a friendly goodbye to Zyler, and Zyler has a great story to tell his coworker Sasha, who he’s been hoping to ask out soon, when she gets back from her sister’s wedding.

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction

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whereismyhat5678 · 1 month

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OOOOHHHH PIZZAHEAD HAS A CRUSH ON PEPPINO- *get zap by his laser beam*

owie

Guys I think he likes Peppino- 👀

#Pizza Tower #Ignore the tags if you just wanna see funny art <x]#I haven’t answered asks for so long guys. I’m so sorry 🙁#I’m thinking of just answering requests when I have the motivation to do it. I swear to all the asks that were sent in December I really #hope this doesn’t bother you 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️#Idk I think I’m just kinda loosing it towards answering requests- They’re fun don’t get me wrong! But I feel like it’s something I HAVE to d #I’m probably gonna answer them one at a time. That way I don’t feel as stressed about it #I hope this doesn’t kill your guys mood.#Pizza Head #Also so real anon #Anon ask #ask

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crossbackpoke-check · 8 months

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what are ur thoughts on the winners room trope?

ooooo okay surface level analysis: i like winner’s room fics :)

etwas tieferes: i think it’s cool that it’s (afaik) unique to hockey fandom and i enjoy the way it integrates a lot of unspoken rules in hockey with desire/makes them a physical/tangible reality… also the narrative potentials/world-building it opens up can be fun because there’s not really a set of rules for the “winner’s room” trope. are there in-universe rules? who gets chosen? who’s exempt? who gets to pick? where’s it going down? is it the entire room or one guy? what if your (ex)boyfriend is on another team? does somebody need to be taught a lesson or do you need to remind someone who got traded you still love them? also, most important, winner’s room gives you the chance to put two random-ass guys you saw interact for 0.002 seconds and went “hmmm. interesting” about into a Situation and i love that

#yeah buddy!! i love answering questions!!! unironically i have so many opinions!!!!#refraining from putting this in the main text but had to go: yeah who doesn’t love a good g*ngb*ng #it also doesn’t just have to be a bunch of dudes fucking though per always: i think winner’s room fics can bring up interesting dialogues #about the idea of bodily autonomy and self-sacrifice or sacrifice in sports #every fic can utilize a trope their own way so you might have lighter versions or heavier versions and #tw: sa #dub-con/CNC elements which. given the truth of SA and abuse in hockey it’s valuable to have tools to explore and i feel like i need to #address that when i talk about this? obvi dead dove do not eat for some fics re:winner’s room but i think a lot of them do talk about #control and power to some extent if you were to do a deep literary analysis. which we don’t need to. sometimes it’s enough to read a fic one #time because you liked the main pairing and didn’t know SHIT about the flyers and then come back to it years later and absolutely lose your #goddamn mind about the fact that actually you DID know about travis konecny before you thought you did and at one point there were all these #guys that you now know and love who were just like. random fuckers in the sides of the fic. i tend to do that a lot bc i will read for #nearly everything (if i love u. i will read your works even if i don’t know anything about the fandom and also i am always willing to jump #on new ships) so also tangentially i think winner’s room fics are a lot of fun because you can see a lot of different interactions between a #lot of guys like not only is it this guy and this guy but also this guy and that guy and these two interacting around the sacrifice etc etc #tangled web many layers und so weiter. not sure if any of that makes sense but also i’m gonna tag for mentions of sa/wjc/hockey canada stuff #i don’t even really know if winner’s room functions as well even in other sports bc of the Team Identity in hockey & cultural context #liv in the replies #winner’s room can be layered with SO many other kinks and tropes and aus and also just like. i like it & that’s probably all i needed to say #also obvi re: rules for trope there aren’t ever any there’s just some popular variations and we can kinda see some of those forming #but i’m not even sure if winner’s room has its own tag on the archive? i’d have to check i know i have a few saved in my bookmarks at least #OH also if you made it this far. wasn’t sure if this was like a ‘do u got recs’ or a ‘what’s your moral stance’ or ‘hey is this something ur #into’ so. good faith good vibes y’all and if this wasn’t what u meant please elaborate the question i do love answering things #ty for the ask!!!!#for the record i do watch hockey like the leonardo dicaprio pointing meme finding milliseconds of interaction to go HAHA GAY NARRATIVE about

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garoujo · 7 months

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✩ ˛˚ . GETO SUGURU — you always liked taking your boyfriend dress shopping with you, maybe it’s because he always gave all of your options a fair chance.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, bf!geto, public / fitting room / mirror scenes, my questionable characterisation (it’s been a while guys please spare me!) ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hii! another lil jjk thirst for now, im gonna be working on some more genshin also + a lil nagi post cos ofc it’s me <3

“do you like this one?”

you ask as you brush down the hem of the dress around your hips, meeting the dark, sharp gaze as it’s owner breathes out a low whistle before readjusting himself to sink deeper into his seat with a whisper of a grin.

“mhm, looks real good, pretty girl.”

you don’t know how long you’ve been in this store’s fitting room, but your boyfriend geto looks comfortable as he leans back in the sofa. his thighs are spread and one of his arms thrown haphazardly along the back space behind him as he hums.

anyone else would’ve probably complained by now but he looks content with dragging his gaze along your figure, tracing along the fabric that falls across your body so perfectly that he can’t help but want to peel it back, like he’s following a map to something greater.

“look at you.” geto’s words are like honey with the soft sort of drawl his voice takes with you, accompanied by the smooth twist of his neck as he urges you to do a pretty little spin for him — one that you do so easily as you giggle.

“sugu. you’ve liked all of them.” you feign annoyance, turning back to face him as you rest one of your hands on your hip, earning you a raised brow from your boyfriend before he’s shrugging his shoulders and pushing himself to stand.

you almost roll your eyes with the way geto stretches his arms over his head, deliberately as he watches the way you struggle not to watch the way every muscle seems to twitch as he moves. you pout your lips, and that urges him to take a few long strides towards you before his hands are on your hips.

it’s intimate, gentle, the way he holds you — looking down at you with a slow hum like he’s really thinking your choices over in his head. “have i? maybe it’s the model.” he eventually answers, accompanying it with a quick peck along the exposed skin of your shoulder as he leans over you.

“we need to pick one for the party.” you try again,

“mhm.” but geto’s barely listening, much too enthralled with busying himself in the crook of your neck, suckling and pressing his lips along your collarbones — hands squeezing and kneading at your hips and waist before they trace along the hem of the dress.

he steps into you, urging you back into the fitting room you just pushed yourself out of, like it was built for two and you’d have maybe put up more of a fight if he wasn’t so intoxicating. “how am i supposed to choose.,” you feel dazed with every wet press of his lips on your skin as he speaks, low hum of his voice making the nerves under your skin sing as you press your fingertips into his biceps, trembling with need.

“i’m serious, sugu—“ your words are a mere whisper, you can barely trust your own voice before he’s turning you to face the floor length mirror infront of you both. he allows you a shakey breath before he’s back over you, chest pressed against your back as one of his hands take your chin between his fingers, urging you to make eye contact with him in your reflection this time.

“i mean, see how pretty it looks.” geto’s words are honest, unwavering despite the weight of arousal that hangs in the small room and the press of his clothed cock against your lower back. both of you are only hidden behind the flimsy curtain, there’s not a lot of space in here but it only seems to push you both closer — like you’re hoping you could melt into him entirely.

“had to see it up close for a better opinion.” he grits, jaw tensing as his fingertips swipe experimentally between your thighs — the push of his wrist pulling at the hem of the dress until your panties are just visible in the mirror.

“suguru..” you try, gasp with the way your legs suddenly feel unsteady, readjusting yourself against geto’s chest despite the way you know he’s got you anyway. you can feel his hair trace along your skin as he curls over you, leaning over your shoulder to smear a kiss across your cheek before he’s meeting your gaze infront of you again, urging you to step your legs apart ever so slightly with his fingers.

“hm? i’m just making sure my girl will be comfortable for the party.”

it catches you off guard the way you feel his clothed cock push up against your panties, expertly until you’re so comfortable in him you could melt — letting his strong hold steady you as his free palm squeezes at your tits through the neck of your dress.

you swear you can feel geto throb against you, despite the layers separating you both — you can still feel the outline of his blunt tip, deliberately pushing into your swollen clit as he breathes deep into your skin. you rock into him, like there’s not a whole store of people through the thin curtain separating you both, like you’re the only people in the whole mall before you feel the vibration of his tone drip through you once more, but his sharp eyes remain on yours in the mirror.

“think you’ll have to try them all on again after this.. so they all have a fair chance, pretty girl.”

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x you #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut

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rachalixie · 1 month

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can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar.

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways.

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then.

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later.

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face.

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you.

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span.

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it.

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar.

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention.

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in.

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat.

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it.

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable.

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return.

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work.

—

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door.

god, is everything about this man endearing?

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through.

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console.

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile.

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time.

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair.

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him.

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here?

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing.

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little.

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide.

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that.

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground.

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed.

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night.

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years.

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it.

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it.

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him.

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again.

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand.

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home.

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce.

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other.

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck.

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have.

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?”

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch.

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?”

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over.

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind.

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times.

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one.

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer.

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday.

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible.

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him.

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at.

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature.

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you.

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior.

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues.

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting.

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #skz fluff #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader

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dumplingsjinson · 8 months

Text

List of “things they say that makes my heart melt and my knees weak” prompts

“I can kiss you forever,” Character B murmurs. “Yeah?” Character A says, laughing a little, only to stop when Character B leans in and presses a kiss against their cheek. “Yeah,” Character B says, “Yeah, I can. You think I’m lying?” (As I said, forever ingrained in my brain. I cannot fucking believe this isn’t just fictional shit characters in books/fics say-)

“You make me so happy.”

“I’m just… Happy for your existence, y’know?”

“You’re going to have to teach me so many things because I’m not familiar with any of this.” “Okay. So… What do you want me to teach you? Where should we start?”

“Here, put your hand under my shirt. It’s more comfortable that way,” Character B says as they lift their shirt slightly, encouraging Character A to slip their hand underneath and letting their warm palm rest against their bare skin.

“You’re so cute.”

“You’re so adorable.”

“You’re so comfy and cozy.”

“You’re so warm and cuddly.”

“You smell so good,” Character B whispers as they continue to litter kisses down Character A’s jaw and neck, revelling in the noises Character A lets involuntarily slip out of their mouth.

“Mm, I think you’re the one who wants more cuddles,” Character B murmurs, pulling Character A back into their arms. “Nah, I think you’re the one who wants that. I mean, look at you,” Character A teases, settling comfortably in their arms.

“Why don’t you try kissing my neck? If you don’t then I’m gonna kiss yours.” “You’re acting like you weren’t just kissing my neck for the thousandth time already just then.”

Character B saying “Stay for tonight?” throughout the whole thing and asking “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” as Character A gets out of bed still in a daze, ready to leave (but not really wanting to leave but they’ve already told their parents they will be home by the end of the night), while Character B looks up at them imploringly while they’re tying their shoelaces.

“Sorry, I’m just really new to this,” Character A mumbles, burying their face in Character B’s chest out of embarrassment. “Mm, that’s fine. We can take things slow. There’s no rush,” Character B reassures in a hushed murmur, carding their fingers through Character A’s hair.

“I’m not familiar with this,” Character A whines as Character B continues to hug them to their chest. “Yeah? Well, you’re going to have to get familiar because I’m going to be doing this a lot,” Character B teases.

“So… What’s the next date going to be?” Character B murmurs, nuzzling their face on Character A’s neck.

“Tell me if this is too much, okay?”

“You seem a little warm in that, you sure you don’t want to take that off?” and then after Character A says no a few times because they’re wearing only a singlet under that shirt, they say, “You can always wear my shirt instead if that’s the case.”

“You know, you can hold my hand in public if you wanted to,” Character A murmurs into Character B’s chest. “Well… I did want to hold your hand but I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with it,” Character B answers, holding Character A a little tighter to them. “Next time, though,” Character B tacks on affectionately.

Saying “Let’s go back home” rather than “Let’s go back to my place” (to me it feels like they’re implying “This is your home too and you can come back any time you’d like”, even though that’s probably not what they’re saying but I’m gonna interpret it that way because I am: Delusional as fuck!)

#long post #these are all the things cat guy to said me yesterday which had me going ALKFHDLKWSFEKLNFLEKRN #so yeah it’s personal lmfao #he’s character B and I’m character A lmao #some are not verbatim but most are skksks #some of the action stuff happening in between the dialogue is a little exaggerated but other than that #it’s basically what happened so idk what to tell you wlknfeknwf #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #otp prompts #prompts #writing scenarios #cat guy chronicles

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

Text

four times eddie gets carried and one time he does the carrying

one

Eddie opens his eyes to chaos: a heartbeat under his ear that’s furious, a voice echoing just above him yelling profanities and directions, hands digging into his legs and side that should probably hurt.

But nothing hurts.

He can’t feel anything, actually.

Which is probably a good thing considering the last time his eyes were open, he was dying.

Maybe he is dead. Maybe this is Hell.

But he catches a somewhat familiar scent, and he turns his head towards the solid but soft wall holding him.

He must make a noise because the voice vibrating against his face stops, the movement under him stops, and a different panic ensues. He’s not sure what’s being said now, too focused on the comfort he’s feeling.

Maybe it’s not Hell. Maybe he’s found his way to Heaven.

But that’s Steve’s smell and Steve isn’t dead. Is he?

Eddie’s eyes open and he finds just enough energy to make a small noise, one that wouldn’t have been heard in the chaos, but definitely gets heard in the silence surrounding him now. He hates silence. He hopes if he’s dead, he can at least hear some music sometimes.

“Eddie?”

It’s definitely Steve’s voice, and Steve’s smell, and probably Steve’s strength holding him up.

“You don’t have to talk if it hurts, but can you tap my chest if you can hear me?”

Eddie could do that. He could.

His hand was already brushing against Steve’s chest as they walked, so he lifted a few fingers and brushed them against the material of Steve’s shirt.

“That’s good!” Steve sounded pretty thrilled about such a simple touch.

Eddie was familiar with being touch starved, but he didn’t think Steve could be this bad off with all the times he’s been practically glued to Robin.

“St-“ he tried to say his name, maybe get some answers for why he was being carried, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“It’s okay. I’m getting you safe. We can fix it,” Steve was walking still, but no other voices could be heard anymore. It was like the world had narrowed down to only them. “I promise I’m gonna fix it.”

“Mkay.”

Blackness clouded Eddie’s vision again as he lost consciousness.

two

Eddie’s physical therapy sessions in the hospital sucked, but the ones at home sucked worse.

At least at the hospital, no one was around to watch him struggle and fail except the physical therapist. At home, Steve was watching and making sure he did everything right, never more than a few feet away in case he needed help.

Eddie could walk with support, but he refused to use the stupid walker the hospital gave him. Wayne found a cane in his room from when he hurt his back a few years ago and told Eddie he could decorate it however he wanted if it meant he’d use it.

And he sure did.

He covered it in black paint, stickers, and had all the kids paint their names on it.

But he still hated using it.

So he was focusing on the walking movements the PT gave him, and Steve was constantly hovering beside him, waiting for any sign that he needed to stop.

“Your legs are shaking, Eds. We should stop for today,” Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, careful not to put any weight on him. “You can do more tomorrow.”

“No, I’m almost to the couch.”

The silence was loud as he looked ahead at where the couch actually was. He wasn’t almost there. He wouldn’t make it.

But he was stubborn, dangerously so, and he was gonna make it.

He took another two shuffling steps, then felt a shooting pain in his side and nearly collapsed.

Steve’s arms were under him immediately, lifting under his legs and supporting his back in a fucking bridal carry.

“Put me down!” Eddie squirmed, but Steve was strong. “I was almost there!”

“No you weren’t and you were gonna push yourself too hard. You would’ve fallen and got hurt and if you get hurt again, it’ll be my fault.”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut before his argument could be said.

Did Steve think he was actually responsible for Eddie?

“Stevie, it’s carpet. I would’ve been fine,” Eddie said quietly as Steve walked them over to the couch. He didn’t set Eddie down though, just held him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not letting anything happen to you again.” Steve set him down gently on the couch, making sure his legs were stretched out so he could do some of his sitting movements. “I’m not letting you down again.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t let me down,” Eddie stayed frozen where Steve had set him down, unable to even breathe properly.

“I should’ve been there so you didn’t run back to distract the bats. You never should’ve almost died.”

“Steve…” Eddie reached a hand out, tugging on Steve’s hand until he was sitting on the coffee table across from him. “None of this is your fault. I’m an adult. I made my choices. I would’ve made them even if you were there.”

“But-“

“No buts!” Eddie smiled at him, ignoring another sharp pain in his hip. “You know how stubborn I am. Do you really think you had a shot in hell of stopping me once I decided to be a distraction?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then stop blaming yourself. You saved my fuckin’ life, man. You stayed by my side nearly every day since then. You couldn’t let me down if you tried, okay?”

“Okay.”

three

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, he knew he had.

But he was currently in Steve’s bed. Which is upstairs. He hasn’t mastered walking up stairs yet.

How the fuck did he get here?

It was dark except for a hint of moonlight streaming between the curtains and a glow under the door from the hall light that was always on.

He turned on his side and nearly screamed when he saw a black outline of someone else in the bed.

The body moved and Eddie could just make out the hair.

Steve.

He was in Steve’s bed with Steve.

“You okay?” Steve’s raspy sleep voice startled him, his heart rate climbing to probably dangerous levels.

A hand reached out and touched Eddie’s chest, right over his racing heart. Steve’s hand was warm and wasn’t moving away.

“Mhm. How’d I get here?”

“Carried you.”

He couldn’t see if Steve’s eyes were open, or if he was even properly facing Eddie, but he was grateful for the dark hiding his blush.

“I could’ve stayed on the couch.”

“Wanted you here,” Steve mumbled against his pillow, his hand bunching up Eddie’s shirt as he pulled him closer. “Sleep.”

Eddie could think about it tomorrow. Or maybe never.

Maybe this was a dream, or maybe Steve was still asleep and had no idea what he was doing or saying. Maybe he’d wake up and Steve would be gone and he’d never know for sure if he dreamt it or it was real.

But for now, Eddie fell asleep with Steve’s hand against his chest and his body heat keeping him warm.

four

“I don’t know why you picked a spot so far into the woods. Are you trying to murder me? You were just being nice for the last three months because it would be easier to trick me?” Eddie paused to catch his breath. He was admittedly very out of shape, but this trek seemed particularly difficult.

“Are you in actual pain or are you just tired?” Steve asked, not slowing down at all.

“Can’t it be both?”

Steve finally stopped and turned to Eddie, the worried set of his brow almost making Eddie feel guilty.

“We can go back, Eddie,” Steve offered quietly.

Eddie saw the disappointment on his face, though. And he was a little sore, but mostly from being tired, not from actually overexerting his muscles.

“No, I can make it. How much longer?”

Steve looked around for a moment. “Less than half a mile, but most of it is uphill.”

“I’ll just take it slow. Sorry,” Eddie apologized.

“Hey,” Steve was suddenly back in front of him, hands on his arms to stop him, to comfort him. “We can go as slow as you need. We’ve got all day. Need any help?”

Eddie didn’t. He knew he didn’t. He was doing a lot better than he expected, truthfully.

But if it kept Steve’s hands on him, he was obviously going to say yes.

Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him over a particularly large log.

They continued in silence, but Steve’s arm never left his waist, and Eddie’s breath never quite went back to normal.

When they were almost at Steve’s destination, Eddie lost his footing and nearly face planted into the wet soil. But Steve tugged him back just in time, until his back was flush against Steve’s front.

“Let me help,” Steve said against his ear.

His hands went under him, lifting him up in the familiar bridal carry that seemed like second nature for them at this point.

Steve held him close, made sure he had a good grip, then started walking forward.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie barely whispered. He felt a bit ashamed, that he couldn’t do something so simple, that Steve felt like he had to help, that he was a nuisance.

“I want to.”

Neither of them spoke again until they reached their destination.

Steve didn’t put him down at first, walking over to a clearing that looked out over the lake.

Eddie had no idea this was even accessible to people, had only ever noticed the cliff from the edges of the lake and assumed it was just untouched wooded area.

“This is a nice view,” Eddie said as he looked around. He could see a lot of the outskirts of town, even some of the surrounding areas that were mostly untouched by the events of spring break. “Can already see some stars.”

The sun was still up, but it was near dusk. The walk back would be dark if they didn’t leave soon.

“Yeah,” Steve finally set him down on his feet, but didn’t put any space between them. “Wanted you to see it.”

Eddie watched as Steve’s hands fiddled with his sweater, a nervous habit that he noticed back when he was still in the hospital. He’d never mentioned it, wasn’t even sure Steve knew he was doing it, but he always offered his ring-covered hand as a replacement.

Maybe it was a little selfish, but Steve never seemed to mind.

As soon as Eddie slipped his hand closer to Steve, he started toying with his mood ring, a gift from Dustin when he got out of the hospital so they could tell how he was before asking. It didn’t actually work, but they all thought it was fun.

“You come out here often?”

Steve shrugged. “Not as much since Vecna. Don’t really like being alone anymore.”

“Yeah. I know what ya mean.”

They stood there in silence again, looking up at the stars and out at the vastness of rural Indiana. Steve moved on to fidgeting with another ring, spinning it and twisting it every way possible.

“Wayne asked when you’d wanna move back in with him. Said he’s settled in the new trailer and can get your room set up whenever you’re ready,” Steve finally said.

Eddie turned to look at him, noting the shakiness in his voice. He was biting his lip so much, it was a miracle he wasn’t bleeding.

Something was off.

He’d been staying with Steve because it was easy, it was best for everyone to have easy access to a bedroom and bathroom while he healed, and Steve was the only one with parents who weren’t around. Wayne was stuck in the second floor of a motel, which wasn’t ideal for Eddie at all. But now he had a new place, and Eddie could handle stairs now, and it just made sense to go home.

So why did it feel like he’d be leaving his home if he went back to Wayne?

“Do you want me to go?” Eddie asked, bracing for the ‘yes’ he was certain was coming.

“No.”

Eddie pulled back in shock.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean no, I don’t want you to go,” Steve grabbed his hand again, tracing along the outside of his rings, making goosebumps pop up on Eddie’s arms. “I want you to stay. But I know you love Wayne and probably miss him. You should go if you want to.”

Eddie fishmouthed for a moment, unsure how to respond. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew he should probably think about this without Steve in front of him.

“And if I don’t wanna go?”

Steve searched his face for any hint of a lie, but Eddie knew he wouldn’t find one. He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay with Steve.

“Then you should stay,” Steve choked out, almost in as much shock as Eddie had been only a moment ago. “Stay. Please.”

“In the guest room?” Eddie pushed. He shouldn’t push, but he had to know if this was Steve acting out of fear of being alone or if Steve was feeling the same about Eddie as Eddie was about Steve.

“I was thinking you could stay in my room. My bed.”

Eddie smirked. Steve was a charmer, no doubt about that, but he was clearly nervous, in uncharted territory.

He leaned in, watched Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at the shift in control of the conversation.

“And if I get sharing bed privileges, does that mean I also get kissing privileges?”

Steve nodded, eyes still wide, still shocked speechless.

“Could I start that privilege now?”

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Eddie had never enjoyed a privilege quite as much as this one.

+ one

“You said the front step was fixed!” Eddie screeched as they stood outside their new home. “Look at it. It’s depressed.”

Steve snorted. “It’s just a little…crooked.”

“It’s barely even attached anymore.”

Steve nudged his shoulder and held out the key. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, no. We had an agreement, didn’t we?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I’ve been training for this moment for over a year!”

“Throwing me around on the bed is not ‘training’, baby,” Steve smiled. “But if you really wanna do this, I’ll unlock the door.”

Eddie grinned and leaned over to pick Steve up into a bridal carry.

Steve yelped when he almost immediately dropped him, his hand fisting in Eddie’s shirt to try to keep from falling.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Eddie said, tightening his hold on his legs and shifting him up so that his face was level with Eddie’s. “You know what’s nice about living in the middle of nowhere?”

“What?” Steve breathed out, eyes darting down to Eddie’s lips.

“I can kiss you right here in the open and no one’s around to see it.”

“Then do it,” Steve challenged.

Eddie was always up for the challenge.

He kissed him, smiling into it as he realized this was their whole future. This house, this life, it was theirs.

Eddie carefully stepped up onto the porch, avoiding the worst of the step, and walked up to the front door.

Steve leaned over to unlock it, pushed it open, and waited.

He looked up at Eddie as Eddie stepped through the door.

“Maybe someday we can do this married,” Steve’s voice was quiet, nervous.

“You wanna marry me?” Eddie half-teased. He still couldn’t quite believe how much Steve wanted him, how much he loved him.

“I’d do it today if we could.”

“We could pretend anyway,” Eddie kissed his forehead before setting him down. “We’ve got a lot of rooms to christen.”

“Where do you wanna start?”

“The living room has a fireplace and I’ve had fantasies-“

“Fantasies? Seriously?”

Eddie tugged Steve to him by his waist, captured his lips in a heated kiss. “So many fantasies.”

Steve started walking them backwards towards the fireplace. “Show me what these fantasies looked like then.”

“You got it, big boy.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #4 + 1 #I couldn’t manage a 5 + 1 #touch starved Eddie Munson #touch starved Steve Harrington #getting together

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messylustt · 1 year

Text

obsessed ( simon says… ) — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : scream maybe you shouldn’t have picked up that call, or chose to play that game. but there’s no backing out now, even if ethan’s requests…escalate.

contents : knife play. making out (ofc). dub con. sexual ‘simon says’ game. possessive ethan. wc 3.2k.

pt one pt two pt three

“simon says…touch your knees.” ghostface—ethan—says through the phone.

you scoff, bending slightly down to touch your knee. “both of them. put me on speaker.”

you do as he says, resting your phone on the kitchen bench. to a neighbour you probably looked stupid, touching your knees in your kitchen.

“how many rounds?” you ask, awaiting his next request.

“until i get bored.” ghostface answers, as you clench your teeth. “simon says, take off your jacket.”

you remove your jacket, resting it beside your phone, as you lean against the counter. “i’m going to easily win this, ethan.”

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” he chuckles. “simon says, tie your hair up—in a ponytail.”

you shake your head in confusion, but do so, wrapping your hair tie around your hair. “you're gonna get bored easily.”

“will i?” he probes. “simon says, turn off the lights.”

you narrow your eyes.

“chickening out?”

you scoff, turning to the large light-switch, flicking down. you get enveloped in darkness, with the exception of the moon shining outside. “good.” Ghostface speaks as you walk back to your phone.

“simon says, grab a knife.”

you halt. “what?”

“simon says. grab. a. knife” ghostface repeats. you gulp. ethan said he didn’t want to kill you. god, he wasn’t gonna make you kill yourself…was he? you wouldn’t do it, obviously. but still, it’s hard to think of Ethan as someone so sadistic.

you walk to your knife block, picking out a reasonably large one. you spare a chuckle. “are we going to spar?”

“i’m not in your apartment.” he responds. “yet.”

you suck in a breath. “alright, next request.” you're feeling stupidly assured. and you’ll soon realise how stupid your assurance is.

“simon says, go to your room.”

you grab your phone as you make your way through your dark house. “you’re not in there…are you?”

“wow, you really don’t listen to a word i say.” ghostface says, as you reach your doorway, you reach to flick the light switch when he stops you. “keep it off.”

it’s probably better this way. easier to imagine that this isn’t happening at all. you walk further in. “shut the door.”

you continue, ignoring his request. “simon says, shut the door.” ghostface reiterates impatiently. you hold back a smirk as you rere back to shut your bedroom door.

“this is a game, ethan. not just you ordering me around.”

“mm,” ghostface hums slowly. “simon says,” he bites out. “sit on your bed, facing the door.”

you hold down your questions of confusion, as you slowly take a seat, rubbing your hands down your jeans, as you keep the knife placed beside you. “ethan, what's the point of this—”

“feel free to back out. but that means you don’t win.” you knew he was baiting you, manipulating you, but you needed to win. you sit straighter, trying to appear more confident. you had to have the group's own knowledge of ethan, before he hurt any of them.

“next request.”

ethan is smirking on the other line, excited for what was to come next. you were just so committed to helping your friends, such an admirable quality. but how far would you go for them?

“simon says…take off your shirt.”

there's a moment of silence as a thought you stupidly hadn’t thought of hits you. it was idiotic to think ethan wouldn’t use this game to his advantage. he had kissed you—three times now. you take a breath, before lifting the hem of your loose top. you hear a small, almost inaudible intake of breath on the other line. you're still in your bra, of course. it’s like you're wearing a bikini top…just more lacy, you think to yourself.

“alright—”

“take off your bra.” ghostface—ethan—cuts in.

you tilt your head. “what was that?”

you can hear him growl in irritation. “simon says; take off your bra.”

“i feel like there should be a request limit. you could carry this on forever. it's a little unfair.” you tease the clip of your bra, popping it, but keeping the cups to your chest.

you hear ethan scoff on the other line. “fine. i get 20.”

“20?” you raise a brow. “i’d say more like 7. you’ve already used a few.”

“jeezus christ.” ghostface groans. then it hits you. why was ethan so eager for you to remove your bra? he can’t…see you. you gaze around your room, looking for security cameras. you stop on one directly above your bedroom door. you narrow your eyes at it, and you catch ethan chuckling.

“yes, i can see you, y/n.”

you straighten, cursing yourself for not seeing the obvious. of course he was watching you.

“i’ll settle for 15.” ghostface says. you look away from the camera, mulling it over. “fine, 15 requests, but you’ve already used some.” you hum, counting in your head. “about 9. you have 6 left.”

ethan clenches his jaw in slight annoyance but answers anyway. “fine, 6.”

you feel satisfied, confidence filling you again. you can get through 6. “you haven’t completed my 9th request.” ghostface says, making you glance down at your still covered chest. you harshly breath, cursing under your breath, and ignoring the way your lower stomach heats up.

you slowly drop your bra, trying not to curl into yourself. “your 10th?” you quickly ask.

there's a moment of silence on ethan’s end, as you assume he’s just watching you. “ethan?”

“so impatient.” ghostface breathes. “simon says…touch you breasts—play with your nipples.”

“i feel like that could be two requests.”

“no it fucking isn’t— touch yourself.” the impatience in his dark voice has you reaching for your breasts. you ignored the pull of your morals, telling you how wrong this was. this was to help your friends.

you squeeze your breasts, the cold air having made your nipples turn hard. you brush your thumbs over your peaks, trying to swallow the shudder. you can hear heavy breathing on the other line, as you pinched your nipples, rolling them between your fingers. pleasure shocks shoot through you, but you do your best to ignore the want to relax onto your bed. you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, or that view. though you're sure the view is nice enough as is.

you then lower your hands, away from your tits, and hear him groan. “11th?” you breathe, trying to hide your growing breathy tone. christ. the heat had spread through you, pooling down into your panties. you gulp.

ethan’s breath’s are heavy on the other line as excitement courses through him. “widen your legs, touch yourself inside your jeans.” then he quickly corrects himself, gulping. “simon says…do that.”

you hold back a scoff, as you drag your hand down to the zipper of your jeans. “slowly.” ghostface warns.

you slow your movements, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down. you widen your legs, as you support yourself back with one of your hands, the other sinking into your panties. “simon says—tell me how wet you are…and why.”

you suck in a breath. this was the last thing you wanted to reveal to him. “be honest.” you can hear ghostface—ethan—shift over the phone. his tone is still modulated but way more breathy. you gulp down your pride and speak.

“i’m s-soaking.” your finger grazes across your clit.

“through your panties?”

you nod in response and ethan growls. “why?”

you had to say it. “because of…” you gulp. “because of you.” you're rubbing your clit now, as your pleasure begins to override your pride and morals.

you hear a breathy choke followed by a gulp. “what about me?”

“that's— more than your request.”

ethan has to hold back from marching into your apartment, grabbing your throat, and finishing you off himself. orgasm wise, not death. soon; he thinks to himself as he palms his dick through his jeans.

“simon says, finger yourself. insert two pretty fingers.”

your pussy is weeping and you're scolding yourself for it. you shouldn’t be turned on by a fucked up version of a children’s game, especially when its controlled by a killer. this situation was a mess, and you hated that you were soon becoming one too.

you pass your clit to insert two fingers, making your hips shudder against your duvet. you bite your lip to hold back moans, as you begin to finger yourself, your legs spreading wider for better access.

“fuck,” ghostface whimpers, as your head lolls back a second before you try to recompose yourself. “s-simon says, taste yourself.”

you hold back a whine as you remove your fingers, your body feeling empty. you raise your hand, to see your two fingers glistening in your arousal. “lick them.” he demands. you raise your fingers to your mouth and wrap your lips around them, by your knuckle. you suck and use your tongue to remove your wetness.

ethan is falling apart on his end of the line, as he watches your eyes slightly roll. you're trying to stay as composed as you can be, and watching you slowly crack has made ethan’s dick needy.

“last re-request.” you stutter out, as you remove your wet fingers.

there’s a pause, the air feeling incredibly tense.

then… “simon says…open the door.”

you freeze, staring at the wood, closed and now eerie. shit. ethan was right outside… wasn’t he? you had thought about him coming to your apartment after…all that. but that doesn’t mean you're anymore prepared.

you look at your phone to see that he’s hung up. you stand, looking at the knife. you grab it, taking a breath, and ignoring the pressure of an unfinished orgasm between your legs. you hesitate, all the possible; good and bad; swirling around in your head.

then it’s immediate…

ethan is opening the door, grabbing your jaw and wrists, pushing the knife away from him while also pulling you towards him. you stumble, your naked breasts hitting his clothed chest. you hiss as your nipples graze against the material. ethan is holding your cheeks between his fingers as he shuts the door behind him with his foot. he’s holding your wrist with the knife in your hand out to the side, his grip strong and unwavering.

“don’t tell me you were about to stab me?” ethan mocks, tilting your chin higher up to meet his gaze.

the moonlit atmosphere is making him look almost ethereal, if it weren’t for the crazed look in his eyes. he pushes you closer to your bed, making the back of your legs hit against it. he presses himself into you, as he gets the knife out of your grip.

“why did you ask me to get a knife if you didn’t expect me to use it?” you ask, as ethan stares down at your tits. he shoves you onto the bed, before hovering over your body.

“when i asked you to grab a knife i didn’t have harm in mind.” ethan hums as he brushes the flat side of the knife across your cheek, the cool metal making your shiver. he then leans closer, shifting the knife to reach one of your breasts. you stiffen. you should feel scared and you do, but not as much as you should. another feeling is creeping up on you fast, the burn between your legs still extremely prominent.

“e-ethan” you gulp as you feel the cool metal brush across your nipple. you unintentionally arch as a whimper leaves your mouth. ethan grins as he breathes across your lips.

“you don’t know how hard it was to stay put as I watched you touch yourself.” ethan darts his tongue out to lick your bottom lip as you whimper against the playing knife. “i wanted my hands to be feeling you, licking your taste of my own fingers.”

you shudder, as ethan moves down to wrap his mouth around your free nipple. the contrasting temperatures make your eyes roll.

“you looked so edible doing what you were told.”

“i-it was a game.”

“that you played very well.” he praised, as he licked your nipple. you jolt, your back arching off the bed.

“i thought you’d be more difficult, since you never seem to listen to me.” ethan speaks to your skin. “but look how obedient you are right now.”

“i’m not, your just— oh.” you moan ethan bites your nipple. pain an pleasure shoot through you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t quite catch that.”

“you mother—” you cut yourself off as the knife grazes your throat. still in use of the flat side, but the sharp edge is still seen as a threat to you. you gulp, as ethan notices your nearly fearful eyes.

he reaches your face again, looking down at you as he brings the knife away. his elbows are by your head as he cages you in. your breathing is rapid, and your body is on fire.

“your scared of me?”

“no I’m not.”

“just a little bit.” ethan says softly. He then kisses your lips, a gentle brush, making your head spin. “i’d never hurt you. you know that right?”

you focus on ethan’s eyes as he watches you. he then leans down to your ear, his hand reaching down to the top of your jeans. “i only want you to be writhing in pleasure, y/n.”

ethan then pulls down your jeans. over much better morals you slightly raise your hips. ethan smiles, as he tosses your pants to the side. he’s now kneeled on the bed. your legs between his open ones. he’s looking down at you with a tilt to his head. then he brings the knife into your vision.

you gulp as the metal lowers to your pussy. but ethan only cuts the material if your panties, pulling them away to leave you bare.

ethan then pulls his top over his head. you hadn’t expected Ethan to look so… you hope your not fucking drooling. ethan grins down at you as he unbuckles his belt.

you shudder as it makes a snap at how fast he removed it. he then unbuttons his jeans, but stops to move his legs. he now sits, both feet on the floor as he ushers you over by a head tilt.

ethan grabs your hair, and that’s when you remember you tied it up. ethan asked you to tie it up.

he pulls you to the floor as you fall to your knees. “fuck.” ethan breathes as you look up at him.

“you were prepared.” you say, talking about your hairstyle.

ethan smirks. “i’m always prepared. though, the bigger question, is are you?”

ethan pulls his cock out of his pants, as it stands tall and proud. you gulp, wide eyes staring. ethan’s hand tightens around your ponytail at your expression. “you don’t know how long I wanted you like this.” he hisses out. then he brings you closer, your mouth millimetres from where he needs.

your breath hits the tip of his cock, as his breathing shudders. “christ.” he moans as you finally wrap your lips around him. so delicate at first, just kitten licking the pre-cum off. ethan’s hips buck up desperately. And you finally sink down onto him. your cheeks hollowing out.

“oh— fuck.” ethan moans as you begin to bob your head up and down. ethan’s hold around your ponytail tightens and loosens depending on the pleasure that wracks through his body.

“god, look at you. drooling all over my c-cock. Shit.” ethan gulps. “you look so fucking pretty, so pretty.” he whines out as your pace picks up.

you then deep throat him, gagging around his head. ethan’s mouth hangs open in pleasure as sweat glistens his forehead. “how are you— fuck— how are you so good at this?” ethan musters, through his pathetic moans.

then a blinding pleasure shoots through him, as he thrusts his hips into you.

breathing hard you lean back, swallowing and wiping your bottom lip. ethan feels dazed as he stares at you. shit, he’d never orgasmed so hard.

he reaches forward to wipe away a spot you missed. you then grab his finger with your teeth, sucking his cum off. “y/n—“ ethan chokes out.

ethan then swiftly grabs your chin, pulling you up to stand as he swings you back onto the bed, underneath him. he crawls atop of you, his pants now gone, as he rips a condom packet between his teeth. rolling it onto his dick, he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer.

he’s directly in front of your lips when he speaks. “where did you learn that?”

you gulp. “you’re a little too good with your mouth.” ethan speaks, each letter hitting your lips. “can you show me again—what you did with you tongue?”

ethan then pushes the tip of his cock into you. you gasp as you grip his shoulders. “h-how?”

ethan leans closer to your mouth. “imagine my tongue is my dick, and show me.” he whispers the last words before he kisses you.

you were rather experienced with giving him head. how many other guys have felt what he felt? he kisses you harder, pushing himself all the way in.

you moan into his mouth, but he stays kissing you, swallowing all the sounds escaping you. “show me.” he says again breaking away for a second.

he wanted to know exactly how skilled you were. he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, as you panted. but you do as ethan says, and lick the tip of ethan’s tongue. ethan has to hold down whimpers as the feeling of you around his dick sends stars into his mind.

you move your tongue to trail down his as you kiss him harder. you keep swirling and circling as ethan tries to not let his eyes roll. he breaks always from your mouth a second to thrust hard into you, making your nails scratch down his shoulder blades.

“fucking hell y/n.” ethan breathes against your open, panting mouth. “you do know what your doing with that tongue. who the fuck else has felt it?”

“w-what?”

“your tongue—who else has felt it?” he speaks harsher as he thrusts into you.

your a mess, a whimpering mess underneath ethan. “tell me.”

“a f-ew guys.” you manage to say in-between thrusts.

“a few guys huh?” ethan hits your g-spot harder, making you writhe underneath him.

“i need names, y/n.” ethan breathes. “fuck.” both your highs are so close.

“i don’t remember— t-them all.”

“or are you just too fucked out to think, right now?” ethan’s pacing has turned somewhat sloppy as his orgasm is at arms reach.

“god, y/n. cause i can’t have boys walking around with an experience of you. they’ve touched you. touched what’s…mine.”

you moan, trying to reach for your orgasm. ethan groans as he feels his cock twitch. “my girl, right?” he breathe-hisses. “my girl—all for me.” he kisses you, just as his high hits, yours not far after.

your both panting as the pleasure slowly falls away in waves.

“shit.” you mutter. either because of how good that felt, or because you’d just fucked a ghostface.

“i—” you gulp. “i won.”

ethan chuckles. “you’d win if you did all of my requests.”

your brows furrow, as heavy breathes still escape you. He leans down to speak to your lips again. “the last one. i told you to open the door.”

“i—” you pause, remembering. you hadn’t opened it. you hesitated and ethan had had to come in instead.

your eyes grow wide as ethan grins. you’d lost. your friends…

“but don’t worry,” ethan begins. “maybe if you ask nicely i might stab them somewhere they can heal.”

#. ( archived )#the ethan effect #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry #jack champion x y/n #jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion smut #scream #scream 6 #scream smut

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hearts4renaa · 11 months

Text

YOU'RE LOSING ME.

summary: how the love began to die out between you and them. featuring kamisato ayato, alhaitham, diluc, and zhongli. gn! reader (see a/n below) pt. 2 here w/c: 2.1k words in total a/n: inspired by the new vault track from midnights by taylor swift. meant to be a gender neutral reader but one of the lyrics i reference uses "her". otherwise, no pronouns used.

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser, who only wanted you to see her.

“I’ll be entering an arranged marriage to the daughter of another clan.” Ayato said matter of factly, as if it was as casual as discussing the weather. Today was the off day Ayato had free. He’s been so busy the past month that he barely has time for you. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you woke up together. He always slept late and woke up earlier than you. The affection was rarely there too; The usual loving kisses and cuddles were reduced to pecks on the cheek and pats on the arm. This was one of the rare times you were actually able to sit down with him.

The air was tense, almost impossible to breathe in. What was supposed to be a romantic dinner quickly turned sour the moment Ayato announced a piece of news you never wanted to hear. “I’ll be meeting her in two weeks. I’m expecting the marriage ceremony to take place within the next three months or so.” He wasn’t looking at you, instead more focused on the food in front of him. Your chopsticks fall from your hands, the clatter piercing the silence between you two. Ayato looks at you, completely deadpanned. You take the moment to really, truly look at him. His expression was standoffish, and his eyes were dispassionate. Just where did that loving gaze go? “What?” He asks.

“Ayato, you can’t just expect me to be happy about this.” You huff in frustration, picking up your chopsticks and setting them down in a proper manner. “When you accepted the proposal, did you just forget about our relationship? About me?”

Ayato rolled his eyes and sighed. “You’re acting like I declared undying love for her. I’m simply doing what’s best for the clan, and for Inazuma as a whole.” He puts down his chopsticks as well, clearly not focused on eating anymore. “It’s not like I’m ending things with you. Marrying her opens many opportunities I can’t pass on.”

“You’re not ending things with me, but you’re just gonna go off and marry some girl?” Your heart broke a little more with every word. If someone were to listen closely, they could probably hear each individual crack. “Ayato, our relationship has already been wavering a little…you’re so busy. It’s like you just can’t fit me into your schedule.” Your eyes start to become glossy, and you need to swallow back your tears to fight against them falling. “How can I expect us to stay together when you need to make room for two spouses now? I thought love meant more to you than business did.” Your voice cracked with every syllable that fell from your lips.

Ayato stood up from his seat on the floor, adjusting his sleeves and beginning to make his way to the door. He slides it open before stopping in place. “Marrying her has a lot to offer.” He speaks, but he isn’t even looking at you.

“And I don’t?” You ask. You didn’t even know if you wanted the answer to that. Luckily for you, he didn’t answer at all. He looked back at you from over his shoulder. He takes a breath, and you feel as if he’s stealing the air straight out of your lungs. He turns his head back and sighs. He steps forward, leaving the room.

The door shuts, and you are left in silence.

And I’m fading, thinking: Do something babe, say something.

With Alhaitham being appointed as Acting Grand Sage, it’s only natural that his workload for the Akademiya would increase. However, if there’s one thing that Alhaitham truly hates, it’s when unnecessary work piles up and begins to leak into his personal life, like a bucket overflowing with water. A work-life balance can only go so far before work begins to completely tilt the scale in its favor. Naturally, this takes away from time the two of you could spend together.

Normally, that would be completely fine with you. You knew Alhaitham was a busy man with a busy lifestyle. It’s completely reasonable for him to not throw aside his work just for you. Alhaitham always tries to make time for you, to show you his affection in small ways that don’t take up too much time. Either with tea he makes for you before he leaves for work, small trinkets that begin to appear on your bedside table, or a hushed declaration of love when he accidentally wakes you up when he rises early. But recently, his efforts have been slowly dwindling. You no longer wake up to the smell of tea. You no longer reach over to your nightstand in a sleepy haze, only to feel an object that was not there before. You no longer hear an “I love you” amongst the sound of your bedsheets ruffling in the early hours of the morning.

Of course, you noticed. So you took it amongst yourself to try and do something to express your love. You usually go to sleep before him, but here you are in the living room, waiting for him to return. It’s already quite late, and you fight back a yawn every twenty minutes or so, but you’re determined to stay awake to greet him. The smell of his favorite food wafts in from the kitchen, and you smile while thinking of his reaction. You might not be a Michelin star chef, but you pour love into everything you make him.

Finally, the door opens, and there he is. His eyes are tired, and an annoyed expression is etched onto his face. “Hey, honey.” You shoot up from your seat to greet him at the door. His head snaps in your direction slightly, not expecting you to still be awake. He lets out a little grunt as a response. You can tell he’s in a bad mood, but you keep pushing. “You’re home late.” You state before realizing how you pointed out the painfully obvious.

“I always am.” His voice is monotone, cold. He walks straight past you, barely even sparing you a glance.

Your hope begins to falter, but you try again. “Are you hungry? I made you dinner.” You reach your hand out to lightly touch his. He pulls his hand away with no hesitation. You feel the familiar sting deep in your stomach, and you try your best to ignore it. You clear your throat as if to rid the moment of his past action before speaking again. “Then, maybe we could eat together-”

He groans aloud. “Can you just be quiet?” He snaps. His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t filled with love or hate. It was indifference, and in all honesty, that hurt so much more. “I’m exhausted. The last thing I need today is you nagging me.”

You falter, as if you were shrinking away in a desperate attempt to try and disappear. “Right.” Your voice is quiet, meek. “Of course.” You turn away to walk into the kitchen, and you hear your shared bedroom door slam shut. You sit at the dinner table, gazing at the untouched meals on the opposite ends. Your hand moves to touch the spoon and stir it around in the food, but any outsider could tell that you have no intention of eating a single bite.

For the rest of the night, you sit there alone as the food goes cold.

Lose something babe, risk something. (You’re losing me.)

If there’s one thing Diluc strives to do, it’s protect you. He lost his father already, he can’t risk losing you too. It brings him peace to know that you’re safe at Dawn Winery, away from things that can bring you harm. But even though he is protective, it’s not as though he keeps you locked inside the house. He knows of your adventurous spirit and he would never want to hurt you. However, he has a habit of being a little paranoid. The people of Mondstadt are aware of your relationship, but he rarely lets the two of you be seen together. He prefers things quite private, but you’re starting to get a little sick of it.

You just returned from a small commission; it’s been ages since you’ve done one. It felt so refreshing to wield your weapon and go on a mini adventure! Even if it was just a few slimes near Windrise, the experience was one you haven’t had in far too long. You end up with a small cut on your hand, but you look at it in pride as you walk back to the winery. You open the heavy door, and you’re met with the face of your lover.

“Y/N, where were you?” Diluc’s question is loud, his voice laced in concern. A second barely passes, and he’s already by your side. He catches sight of your hand and cages it in his larger ones. “Why is your hand hurt?”

You shake him off lightly, heading to the couch to set your things down. “I took a small commission.” You explain. “Just a little group of slimes. My hand got cut, but I’m okay. Don’t worry about it!” You attempt to reassure him, but the crease in his eyebrows doesn't go away.

“Y/N, how many times have I told you?” Diluc scolded. He folds his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to take commissions. I provide for us enough already.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop them. You can feel your frustration rise inside you. “I didn’t take the commission for the money, Diluc.” You huff at him. “I wanted an adventure, even if it was a small one. It’s the experience I wanted.”

Diluc scoffs. “Oh, so getting hurt is an enjoyable experience for you?” Diluc never had the most friendly tone, but you’d have to be truly clueless to miss the sarcasm weaved into his words.

“By the Seven, Diluc, it was a cut!” You exclaim. “All of this over a cut?”

He looks you in the eyes. “You know I just want you to be safe.”

Your eyes softened slightly, biting your lip. “But Diluc, you play it too safe sometimes.” You grab your weapons and bag again, adjusting your jacket before heading towards the door. Despite just getting home, you felt the need to get away, to cool off. Maybe to kill some other monsters, you weren’t sure.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Out.” You respond curtly. You weren’t sure of your destination, but you didn’t care. You just needed to be away from him.

“Y/N-“ He called out. You cut him off by slamming the heavy winery doors.

Choose something babe, I’ve got nothing to believe, unless you’re choosing me.

“I love you.” Zhongli murmured, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping his pole arm. He towered over you, who was on the ground in a pool of blood. The metallic smell was hard to ignore. “I love you, I truly do. And I always will.”

You laugh bitterly. “You love me, and you caused my injury.” You use your hand to weakly gesture towards your torso. “Some love you have…”

Zhongli grips his weapon even harder. He digs the heels of his feet into the group as an effort to ground himself. He knew that if he were to take a single step, he’d run to you, and he’s not sure if he can stop himself. He takes a breath to calm himself, and every breath of air he breathes makes him wish he could breathe that same life into you instead. “It’s for my nation.” He says as calmly as he can. Oh, how he wished he could run to you, kiss you, and heal you. He continues with bated breath. “You know I cherish my nation.”

You cough, blood splattering out. “More than you cherish me?” You ask weakly. “More than you cherish us?”

Zhongli’s eyes soften with sadness. “Yes…more than I cherish you, my love.”

You sigh, suddenly feeling the fatigue hit you like a truck. You’re so tired. So, so tired. You voice out your thoughts. “I’m exhausted, Zhongli.” Your voice is weak, along with your body.

“I’m sorry.” He says before facing away from you. He can’t bear to look at you in this state. He can’t bear to see what he’s done to you. He takes slow steps away, using all his willpower to not turn around and run to your side.

“I love you, Zhongli.” You call out.

He takes one final look. “I love you too, dearest.”

A sad, soft smile etches itself onto your face. Your eyelids droop, and eventually, they flutter closed. Zhongli stares at you sadly. His weapon drops to the ground, making a loud clatter. The silence is deafening. He peers at your lifeless body before closing his eyes. “You’ll always be my favorite story.” He whispers.

A single tear falls from his eyes.

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader

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feybeasts · 10 months

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I really don’t know if this is like. For anyone. But as a 33 year old autistic, I’ve spent a lot of time having to deal with a wide variety of folks in various jobs, and it’s forced me out of my shell. I dunno if you’d call ‘em masking behaviors or just… guidelines, but I thought I’d share some stuff about how I try to go about dealing with socializing with folks, especially neurotypicals, in the hopes it might help folks like me who, growing up, didn’t have a rulebook for this stuff.

It’s by no means comprehensive, but maybe some of you can use it:

Open with kindness, folks are a mystery until you get to know them, but if you’re polite and assume the best unless proven otherwise, nine times out of ten, they’ll be the same way!

If someone is rude or disrespectful or unkind off the bat, it truly is a problem on their end, not yours. I know that’s one your parents might have thrown out without explaining, but genuinely, my experience has been that people aren’t good about compartmentalization, and they tend to let their bad mood spill out.

Similarly, it’s your right to disengage if someone makes you uncomfortable. You don’t owe someone your attention if they’re rude or too forward, and it’s not your obligation to correct their behavior. It’s okay to just move on!

Remember people aren’t mind readers- I know for folks like us, feelings can be Big and Present and Overwhelming, but from the outside, people might just assume you’re being sullen or grumpy. It’s helpful to explain yourself, what’s going on- don’t give ‘em your life’s story and try to lead with kindness, as above, but explaining where your head is at can help folks understand why things might be hard for you.

People REALLY like to try to fix stuff. If you tell someone who cares about you what’s going on and they try to throw a buncha stuff like “well have you tried this” or “maybe you should do this” at you, they’re generally not trying to tell you what to do like you’re wrong, they’re just not sure how to help and are doing what comes naturally- trying to fix the problem. It can help to open any venting with “hey, can I vent about this?” Since then the expectations are set.

People can only operate on the information they have, so it’s better to over-explain than not explain at all. Don’t throw out every single detail of what’s going on, just the basics, but “I’m feeling frustrated because of some unexpected news” or “Well, I’m kinda struggling with my relationship with a friend” can be enough for folks to understand things at the ground floor.

There are very few people in your life who are capable of taking on the weight of a friend’s problems on top of their own, and it takes time to learn who those people are. I know folks like us can make friends quickly and rush into trusting them implicitly, but people can sometimes take a while to show you who they are. And not every friendship is gonna be as deep as we’d like it to be. This is okay, of course, not everyone has to be best buds, but it can help a lot to take the time to wait for those people to show who they are.

Ask questions, listen to people, and know that it’s okay for there to be silence. It’s very easy to get excited about what’s stuck in your craw on a given day, but remember that from the outside, people might get worn out if every conversation is about what you’re fixated on. It’s a give and take, so try to consciously remind yourself to make sure to listen and give them room to speak too! It means a lot when you do that for people!

When you don’t know if someone is ignoring you or if they’re mad at you or what have you from a lack of information, remember that oftentimes it’s a product of ignorance, not malice. Again, you know how you feel about a situation, but they probably don’t. A conversation turning from what you were talking about, someone ceasing replying to you, not answering a question, etc is more often just unaware than they are actively being malicious.

Remember that it’s on other folks to tell you if there’s a problem between them and you, not on you to sleuth it out. If they aren’t properly communicating with you, that’s on them, not you- try not to beat yourself up if someone doesn’t talk to you about something before a molehill becomes a mountain, that’s a mistake all kinda folks make, and it’s something some people never learn.

Most of all, remember that for all the talk of social cues and neurotypical behavior, the truth is, everyone kinda… sucks at this social thing. All you really control is how you approach it, so if you do your best to come into a relationship of any kind with kindness and love for yourself and respect for others, most of the time you’ll come out ahead!

ADDENDUM: BIG one here- if you think you did something wrong, apologize! I don’t mean a big like- sobbing show of contrition, don’t grovel or write paragraphs, but if you speak over someone or say something that doesn’t land or make any little social mistake here or there (everyone does sometimes!) a simple little genuine “oh, my apologies!” Or “oop, my bad!” Not only makes them feel better, it can make you feel better too!

Hope some of these help folks!

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asbealthgn · 10 months

Text

wrote this goofy thing as an expansion of this post

It’s very surprising when the door to Eddie’s trailer opens and Eddie is standing there with flowers.

It’s even more surprising when he says, “Happy one month!” with a big grin.

Steve looks back and forth between Eddie and the flowers—wildflowers by the look of them, probably picked around the edges of the trailer park. “Uh, one month of what?”

Eddie gives him an uncertain smile like he’s not sure if Steve’s being serious or not. “Of our relationship,” he says, the last syllable tilting up almost like a question.

Huh. Kind of weird, but at the start of summer Steve and Robin had an ice cream party to celebrate the year anniversary of when they started at Scoops together. So it’s not like this is completely unheard of. Except—

“You and I have been friends for longer than a month,” Steve says, “It’s been like—” he tries to count the months since spring break in his head “—at least four? Unless you don’t count when you were unconscious in the hospital, but that was only a couple weeks, so—”

“I mean one month of our relationship,” Eddie says, putting emphasis on the word. And now his eyebrows are drawn together. Face concerned. And Steve is clearly missing something here.

Did something significant happen a month ago? Some moment where they moved from friends to best friends or something? It was probably about a month or so ago the first time Steve spent the night at Eddie’s trailer, but that wasn’t a huge deal. Steve has spent the night at the Byers’ house before and it’s not like he and Jonathan are breaking out the balloons to commemorate it.

Steve feels guilty, because clearly there’s something that Eddie thinks he should know that he doesn’t. He doesn’t like this nervous look on Eddie’s face. Steve tries to think like Nancy, tries to put the clues together. But he’s not Nancy. So he’s lost.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Steve says, “I don’t get what you mean.”

Eddie deflates.

“I know we haven’t necessarily defined it.” His voice is wavering, eyes getting watery. Shit shit shit, what did Steve do? This is so completely out of nowhere and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it. “But I didn’t realize it was actually that insignificant to you.”

Steve shoots his arm out to stop Eddie from closing the door on him. He needs to figure out what’s going on so he can make it right, and that’s not gonna happen if Eddie shuts him out. “Eds, seriously, you’re gonna have to fill me in,” he says, “‘Cause I honestly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, anger over taking the sadness in his voice, “You’re gonna act like you don’t know?”

“I don’t!” Steve nearly shouts, desperate. “Please, man, I’m not trying to piss you off here. Whatever it is, I wanna make it right. You just have to tell me what you mean.”

“You and I,” Eddie says. Looking at him like it should be obvious. When it’s so, so not. It makes Steve want to scream. “We’re—I thought we were together.”

“Together? Like…together how?”

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look this pissed off. “Use your goddamned brain, Harrington,” he spits, “Like together.”

Oh. Okay. That’s…something. It’s not that Steve would necessarily be opposed, or even that he hasn’t thought of it. It’s just not true. They’re not together. And he’s not sure why Eddie thinks they are. Yeah, they’re close, but it’s not like they’re closer than Steve and Robin. It’s not like they’re closer than Steve was to Tommy back in the day. He and Eddie haven’t done anything that feels outside the realm of friendship to him. And he definitely didn’t realize that Eddie saw it any differently.

“Um,” Steve says, aware that he’s standing like an idiot on Eddie’s doorstep and needs to answer. “Why?”

“Oh my God,” Eddie says, making as if to close the door again. Steve barely catches it in time. It makes Eddie glare at him. “There’s no way you’re being serious,” he says.

Keeping one hand on the door, Steve throws up the other one in a gesture he stole from Robin. “I really am,” he says, “You know what the kids say. I’m an idiot. You really have to lay things out for me.”

That at least makes Eddie soften a few degrees. “You’re not an idiot, Steve,” he says, “You’re just—oblivious, apparently.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Eddie sighs. “Just come in. We can talk about it.” He steps back and lets Steve come inside. The flowers are still clutched in Eddie’s hand, starting to wilt. Eddie sets them on the table before joining Steve on the couch.

“A month ago is when you stayed over for the first time,” Eddie says. Steve nods. “And you kissed me.” Steve nods again. Eddie lifts his eyebrows significantly. “You’re not seeing the connection?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, I guess there’s other ways you could construe that,” he says, “But I thought it was, like, a friend kiss. A goodnight kiss.”

“A friend kiss,” Eddie says flatly. “You kiss a lot of your friends?”

“Sure,” Steve says, “Well, Robin prefers forehead kisses and Jonathan’s more of a hug guy, but I used to kiss Tommy and Carol all the time.”

Disbelief is the main emotion on Eddie’s face. And a whole lot of other ones that Steve can’t quite parse out. “So—everything we’ve done,” Eddie says, slowly, like he’s trying to come to terms with it. “It’s all just…been normal friend shit to you?”

Steve thinks back over the last month, trying to think if anything stands out in his head as non-platonic. Maybe there’s been a time or two when he was kissing Eddie or cuddling up to him in bed or sitting on his lap during D&D where Steve’s felt a sort of stirring deep in his belly. But he figured that was one-sided. His body’s reaction to whatever was happening and not a manifestation of, like, feelings or something. After all, the same thing used to happen with Tommy when they’d do similar stuff. And clearly they were just friends.

After a full twenty seconds of Steve not answering, Eddie drops his head in his hands. “Holy shit,” he mutters. Then he lifts his head. “This—you—the other day. You slept over. We made out. You—you took my fucking shirt off, Steve.”

Yeah, that did happen. And Steve doesn’t have a great explanation for it. “I don’t know,” he says, “It was the heat of the moment or whatever.”

“The heat of the moment,” Eddie repeats, and Steve can’t tell if he’s on the verge of tears or the verge of laughing. Eddie puts his arm on the back of the couch and leans toward Steve. “Can you honestly say that you’re not attracted to me at all?”

Annoyingly, Steve can feel his face start to heat. “I never said that,” he mutters.

For the first time, Eddie looks triumphant. “So you are attracted to me?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve says, squirming uncomfortably. Of course he’s attracted to Eddie. What’s not to be attracted to? He’s smart, funny, hot, good with the kids, good on the guitar, good at kissing. Helped save the world. “You’re, like, it for me. I definitely think about you that way. I just didn’t think you thought about me that way.”

Eddie laughs, the sound containing more disbelief than humor, but still overall a good thing. “I can’t believe the guy who’s been sharing my bed for the past month didn’t think I was into him.”

“Hey, you’re not the only person whose bed I’ve shared.” Shit, that was a bad way to put it. “Platonically.”

Shaking his head, Eddie laughs again. “Clearly, your idea of platonic does not line up with mine,” he says. “But you mean it? You’re into me?”

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says, “I’m into you.”

“So, does that mean you’d want to be my boyfriend?”

“Apparently I already have been for the past month,” Steve says, grinning.

Eddie grins back. “Doesn’t count if you didn’t know.”

“Then we can count from today,” Steve says, “Starting now, I’m your boyfriend.”

He hasn’t finished saying the last word before Eddie is surging forward and taking Steve’s face in his hands. He shifts onto Steve’s lap, kissing him deeply.

And it doesn’t feel platonic at all.

#oblivious steve is like a son to me #steve and tommy having made out in the past is also very important to me #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet

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monzabee · 5 months

Text

bad idea right? – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where seeing Lando tonight is a bad idea, right?

Pairing: lando norris x ricciardo!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of breakups and also fighting, cursing, kind of a toxic relationship?, allusion to smut, it's criminal how long it took me to finish this fic

Request: this wasn’t requested, but the idea is veeery loosely from this tiktok right here! (i might def write the scenario in the tiktok in the future though)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! it has officially been a month since i started my master's programme and i have to say it is absolutely kicking my ass, but thank you all for bearing with me while i adjust! this song has been stuck in my head for the last two-three (?) months and i really wanted to write a fic based on it. i also wanted to say that i've received all of your guys' requests, and i'm working on those, but it's harder for me to get out a request than a fic that just popped in my head because i tend to be more of a perfectionist with those - so, those are definitely on the way, don't worry! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It’s not that you don’t like spending time with your brother and his girlfriend – because you do, but considering the fact that spending a mere hour with them causes you to suddenly question your life choices (of being single), you are very eager to leave them alone for the night. Which brings us to the current situation, with you standing in front of your brother’s apartment complex in one of the hoodies you stole from the sample boxes, waiting for someone you should’ve never hit up in the first place. It was probably not your brightest idea to message Lando to ask him if he wants to go for a ride, especially because a) the last time you saw him a year ago the two of you were yelling and throwing things at each other and b) you’re definitely buzzed from the bottle of wine you hogged upstairs. But you know what they say; absence makes the heart go fonder, right?

So there you are with your phone in your hand, texting Lily in hopes of getting the tiniest bit of reassurance about your decision.

To lily m: i texted lando To lily m: he’s gonna pick me up From lily m: WHAT? NO To lily m: seeing him tonight To lily m: it’s a bad idea, right? From lily m: YES From lily m: DO NOT GET INTO THAT CAR To lily m: yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?

Fuck it, it’s fine, you decide as you quickly delete the last two messages. With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around yourself to shield yourself from the cold air of the night. And while you could just wait for Lando inside the apartment building, you really don’t want to attract more attention to yourself. You can feel yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes pass by, and you even contemplate cancelling the whole thing and going upstairs to sleep. Just as you’re about to give up on the whole thing, a car honk grabs your attention. When turn to look at the source of the sound, you see Lando’s unamused face through the open window.

He motions you to get in with his head, his voice as equally detached as he calls out, “Get in.”

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you do as your told. But you tell yourself that it’s not because he told you to, but because you’re cold. And so you get in the car making sure you slam the door as hard as you can, which makes him scowl as a small smile forms on your lips. “You know, you could really try on being more polite.”

“I’m picking you up in the middle of the night,” he points out as he puts the car on drive and starts driving off, “and put your damn seatbelt on.”

You give him a sideway glance as you put on your seatbelt, letting out a sigh, “Are you okay? I’m sensing some serious undertone.”

Lando doesn’t answer you, mainly because he is smarter than he looks and he knows you’re trying to goad him into another fight. That’s what the two of you had always done, not that he hated you or vice versa, but the two of you mainly got along in fights which ended up in both of you twisted between the sheets of the whatever hotel you were currently staying in. And it had worked for a while, until of course it didn’t, and Lando was mature enough to admit that he had a huge role in fucking up your relationship.

“You changed your car,” you point out.

“Thought you’d appreciate a roof over your head this time,” he replies.

The car is silent as Lando drives down the now empty streets of Monte Carlo, and you find yourself involuntarily checking out his side profile because well, he always looked so good while driving. You suppose it’s only one of the things that didn’t change with time.

“So,” his voice draws you out from your thoughts, “why’d you call me tonight? Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “if you don’t feel like being here Lando, I can just get off and go home.”

“Now I didn’t say that, I simply asked a question.” He steals another glance at you, but this time a little smirk forms on his lips when your eyes meet and he sees your scowl. “It was a harmless question, really.”

Your voice comes off as clipped as you answer, “I’m not drunk.”

“Your cheeks are red,” Lando points out but the playfulness from mere seconds ago is gone, in fact, he’s more serious than you’ve probably ever seen him, “you either had wine or your rosacea is acting up.”

It takes a moment for you to take in his words, and there is no humour in his voice or on his face when you look at him to see whether he’s joking or not. “I had some wine,” you confess, voice much lower than before as you add, “but I’m not drunk.” One of his eyebrows rise up, and you find yourself mumbling, “Fine maybe a little bit, but not a lot.”

His jaw ticks as he mumbles, “Okay, whatever you say.” And as you try to assess whether his voice is cold or not, you see his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“What?” You ask, a bit quicker than necessary (in your opinion), “What did I say?”

Now it’s his turn for his voice to be clipped, and his eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Did you only call me because you’re drunk?”

“No,” your reply is truthful to some extent, you suppose, you would’ve texted him even if you had no alcohol in your system. “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a hum, “Why?”

It’s a hard question, and you contemplate not being a hundred percent honest – but deep down you know he deserves better, even if you had your differences. So, to reveal the truth, you turn your face away from him to look outside the window, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t turn to see what his reaction will be. Everything is peaceful for a moment.

He takes you to a hill, the very one he took you for your first date. Though, it doesn’t carry the same excitement this time around. The two of you remain in the car with the windows rolled down, but the colder air doesn’t make you chilly. It’s silent, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Neither of you make the first move to start a conversation, and you don’t know if that’s because you’re both obstinate or he doesn’t want to be there. Though, you suspect he would’ve told you ‘no’ if he didn’t want to be there – not that he could ever tell you ‘no’.

It's unnaturally hard, you realise, not looking at him on purpose when he’s seated so close to you. Especially because you haven’t seen him in months. Not that you’d confess that to him, or let yourself have another weak moment where you say you missed him. Because you can’t. Because it’s not the way the two of you operate. Because he broke your heart but you’re not strong enough to let him go. With that last thought, you take a sharp breath, undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean against the hood of the car and he soon follows suit. But where your hands are splayed behind your back, his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You’ve not been sleeping.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because he is not dumb (or blind enough) to let the circles under your eyes slide.

And it’s a statement that might be true. You only give him half of a shrug, “So?”

“It means that something is bothering you.” You’re about to object, but he quickly shuts you down, “I once drove you around for four hours so you could sleep in my car, honey,” his fingers move to gently turn your chin towards him so he can look into your eyes, “and that was because you forgot to bring me back junk food from Australia.”

Even if you’re taken aback by his physical touch, you don’t show it as you stubbornly maintain your eye contact. “It’s the jet lag, I haven’t travelled in a while.” You gulp down a breath as you gently push his hand away, “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He turns his body to face you, “You’re just as sweet, aren’t you?”

“Lando,” you warn him, “don’t.”

He raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends,” your response comes off in an instant, “I only see you as a friend.” The biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“Friends,” he repeats, tests out the word, then shrugs, “sure. Now tell me what happened tonight that made you call me. Did you and Daniel fight?”

“What?” an involuntary laugh leaves your lips, and you catch the corner of his lips turning upwards just the smallest bit. “No, we didn’t, it’s not about Daniel. Can we just not talk about it, please?”

He gives you a firm nod, and you catch his grimace as he turns his attention back to the view in front of you. “You can tell me, you know,” he mumbles, “you used to.”

He’s right, you realise. You used to tell him all the little thought that popped into your head, whether it was nice or not, and he’d accommodated your thoughts. It was easier to talk to him, once upon a time, and you’re not really sure why it hurts so much right now that you can’t.

“Why do you care?” The question comes out quickly, and your voice is not as strong as you’d like it to be. “After everything, why do you care?”

“We’re friends, right?” The words tastes unbelievably sour in his mouth, and he has to restrain himself from making any sort of face, but it seems harder than it actually is for him to do and he questions whether it is worth it to

“Friends,” this time it’s your turn to test out the word, and it tastes as bitter as they come, “sure, can we ride around a bit more?”

“Fine,” he gives you a nod and motions you to get in the car, “but I have to get gas first.”

The fluorescent lighting of the gas station is definitely not the most flattering thing. So much so that you’re sure the unflattering light outside is exaggerating the bags under your eyes. But that situation of course doesn’t apply to Lando because even under the harsh lighting, he looks too pretty. And compared to earlier in the night, you don’t try to hide the way your eyes focus on him while he’s driving, though you hope you do a much better job at hiding the thoughts that come to your mind. Even after he’s parked the car in the nearest pump, you find yourself staring at his side profile a bit too long, which earns you a sideway smirk and you try your hardest not to react, but the smile you keep trying to fight is too strong and eventually you find yourself with the tiniest smile playing on your lips.

Lando turns towards you, meets your eyes and leans over the console, “Do you want anything from the shop?”

You blink once, trying to come up with anything, twice, then “Can you get me those gummy bears that I like?”

He gives you another nod, reaches into his pocket and then hand you his phone. Ignoring your questioning stare, he explains, “So that you can play music or something, the password is still the same.” Before he gets out of the car, he does the unexpected and leans in just a little bit more to press a feather-light kiss to your temple.

You watch him get out of the car and walk away from you with your mouth slightly hanging open. You contemplate trying to unlock the phone, because why would he tell you that his password is the same? And why would he trust you with his phone when the two of you have been broken up for over a year? With shaky hands, your fingers put in the password, calling Lando’s bluff. Oh shit, you think when the phone unlocks, now what? Throwing the phone out of your hands onto the driver seat, you grab your own and quickly type a new message to Kika, who of course got the news from Lily and has been blowing up your phone, while ignoring her dozen other messages who went unread in your text thread.

To kika: this was a bad idea kika Tokika: a very *very* bad idea From kika: please tell me you’re going home To kika: um… To kika: sure From kika: GET OUT OF THAT CAR AND GET YOUR ASS HOME From kika: NOW!!

Chewing on your lower lip, your eyes linger on the messages spamming your phone, and you contemplate just getting out of the car and trying to find your way back home. But you also can’t help yourself but think… what’s the worst that could happen if you stayed? Clicking the button on the side of your phone, you place it face down on your lap after making sure you silence it for the rest of the night. With the reminder of the abandoned phone on the seat next to yours, you open your window to let some of the night air in. As your phone keeps buzzing on your lap, your eyes focus on the figure that comes out of the convenience store – and by some grace of God, he doesn’t realise the way your eyes basically undress him as he approaches his McLaren.

There’s no smile on his face, in fact, if you didn’t know Lando, you’d say he looks like an asshole; not that he occasionally doesn’t act like one. He gives you that boyish smirk when he’s next to your window, signalling you to roll it down by tapping on it twice. Lando leans against the car, his eyes locked onto yours. “Got your gummy bears,” he says, holding up the package and handing it to you once you roll it down. “It was the last one too, you’re lucky.”

Giving a tight lipped smile to the man looking expectantly at you, you accept the packet of gummy bears. “Thank you, Lando,” the softening look in his eyes is, ironically, strong enough for you to choke on the next words that are on the tip of your tongue. “I–”

“I’m sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?” A third voice interrupts you, and you find yourself moving your gaze from Lando to the woman who’s excitedly waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice polite but he’s also very annoyed at the same time – though the way he eyes up the stranger definitely makes your blood boil.

With his attention on the woman, you find yourself feel the tension in the air and quickly look down at the packet of gummy bears in your hands. You start absentmindedly picking at the wrapper, your mind racing with a mixture of emotions. As the conversation between Lando and the fan continues, you steal glances at them from the corner of your eye. She's gushing about a recent race, talking animatedly about the thrilling moments she witnessed. Lando, for his part, is gracious and engaged, taking the time to listen and respond. And despite the polite exchange, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It's a reminder of the world he's a part of, a world where fans approach him with admiration and excitement. A world you used to share, but now only observe from the sidelines.

You watch the woman place her hand on Lando’s bicep, laughing at a (rather mediocre) joke he made about the understeer of the car. It’s not a funny joke by any means, and you are not scared to admit that the woman’s laugh that fills your ears makes your insides twist uncomfortably. You remind yourself that you're here by choice. You could have left at any moment. But there's something about this night, about being with Lando again, that you can't quite let go of. It's a confusing mix of nostalgia and longing, wrapped in a blanket of uncertainty.

The woman’s voice hits your ears as you hear her ask, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Without letting them both know that you’re actively listening into their conversation, you attempt to subtly let out a warning cough, but Lando covertly smirks as he leans towards the car with his hand grabbing the lowered window – without caring about the possible finger prints he might leave behind, might you add. Without any hesitation, you let your fingers go of the packaging to thread your fingers with his.

While his thumb gently starts to draw circles on the knuckle of your thumb, he does his best to supress the chuckle building up in his throat. “That’s, um, very kind – but I’m with my girl, you see, and we are both pretty tired.”

Maybe you would’ve given her a friendly smile over a misunderstanding if you were in a better mood, but as the woman looks at you with wild eyes, all you can offer her is an annoyed pout, and soon after she leaves after apologising to you both for interrupting your plans. You watch her leave until there is a good enough distance for her to not hear you, and then turn to Lando and give him a glare as you hiss, “I am not ‘your girl’.”

He finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding as he watches you letting go of his hand with an exaggerated push, and then diverts his amused eyes towards you, “Sure, whatever you say, jealous girl.”

“I am not– I wasn’t jealous!” you exclaim, eyes narrowed. When he starts walking towards the driver’s side, you can’t help but call out, “I’m not jealous!”

Lando is still chuckling to himself when he gets in the car, and even as he starts driving, completely ignoring your whining complaints. “That’s alright, honey,” he says, voice full of condescension, “it was very cute.”

“You are an ass.” You roll your eyes as you cross your arms across your chest. “Maybe I should’ve gotten off when I had the chance, that way you could’ve fucked her in the back seat.”

“Bold of you assume she’s the one I’d want to fuck in my back seat,” he raises an eyebrow, then shrugs “but sure.”

Your face scrunches up in disgust, “You’re, ugh, you’re just the worst, Lando.” Shaking your head in disbelief, you add, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over you fucking girls in your car.”

Lando manages to get out a disapproving tut, and then contends, “I never said I’d fuck girls in my car, I’d said I’d rather fuck you in my car.”

Completely baffled by this revelation, not that you should’ve been, you turn to him in disgust, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs again, noncommittally, and without paying you any mind continues to focus on the road.

“Well,” you laugh, breathlessly, “good thing that’s never happening.” Gently clearing your throat, you later can’t help yourself but add a silent, “Again.”

“If you’d rather a bed, that could also be arranged, honey.” Lando assures you, and you realise the little fucker has a smirk growing on his face.

“As if I’d sleep with you willingly,” you scoff.

A boisterous laugh is what you get from Lando, who tilts his head towards you, “Come on, I’m a good-looking bloke.”

“And I’m sure I’ve seen much hotter man,” you sing, but you just can’t remember when. So deciding to block out what Lando is rambling about, you pull out your phone to message someone who has the answer for you.

To lily m + kika: can you tell me someone who is hotter than lando? From lily m: alex From kika: pierre To lily m + kika: ew, be serious please From kika: what about the guy with the accent, from hungary? From lily m: the doctor? To lily m + kika: i think she meant the reporter From lily m: god no he was a creep From lily m: what about the surfer? From kika: oh yeah he was cute too To lily m + kika: i need someone hot, pleaseee From lily m: THE MODEL FROM MILAN From kika: WITH THE ABS From kika: and also porche From lily m: BUT ALSO THE ABS To lily m + kika: okay thanks To lily m + kika: love you guys

Getting lost in the conversation, with the aid of your ambition to prove yourself right and, naturally, Lando wrong, you don’t realise that he’s actually driven you back to his apartment instead of a bar or literally some other place that sells alcohol in that ungodly hour.

“This isn’t a bar.” You point out, eyebrows furrowed.

Lando dignifies your comment with a scoff, “Well aren’t you quite the detective?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you basically hiss at him this time, “This is basically kidnapping.”

Lando glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Kidnapping? Really? I thought we were just catching up.”

You shoot him a sarcastic look, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, sure. Catching up in the middle of the night at your place.”

He parks the car and turns to face you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Well, here’s my proposal. I’ll go to my apartment and you’re free to either join me or drive my car back to Daniel’s – I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options as you watch Lando give you an assuring smile and handing you the keys before getting out of the car. Going back to your brother's place doesn't sound all that appealing, and Lando's offer, as questionable and a bad idea as it may be, seems like the lesser of two evils. Though, there is also the reality that if when you go up to his apartment, you’re probably going to do something that either you or your friends will regret tomorrow morning. Watching Lando’s retreating figure move further into the apartment building, you think, fuck it, it’s fine.

So, you wait for a few minutes, anxiously twirling the car keys in your hand to make him wait – but you’re pretty sure it makes you suffer just as much. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then climb out of the car. Locking it behind you, you follow Lando into the building. The familiar scent of his cologne hits you as you step into the elevator, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. The elevator ride going up to the second floor is pure torture, and it leaves you squirming in your place the whole time. Basically throwing yourself out of the elevator once it lands on the second floor, you realise that Lando has been waiting for you, standing and smiling at his door.

He gives you a teasing look as you approach, clearly amused by your slightly dishevelled state. “Took you long enough,” he remarks, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. But instead of saying anything or retorting back, you quietly follow him inside his apartment. Lando closes the door behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The dim lighting casts a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. The first thing that catches your eye is the helmet collection he keeps in the living room. Without saying anything, you quickly make your way over to the shelves that display the helmets, trying your best to avoid his approaching footsteps behind you. The familiar design of a particular helmet has you instinctively tracing the number at the top, and the arms that hug your waist from behind makes you freeze for a moment. Lando's touch is both familiar and foreign, stirring up a mix of emotions you thought were long buried.

“That's from Monza, 2021,” he says, his voice close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure. “I remember,” you reply, your fingers still lingering on the helmet.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the present hangs in the air. Lando breaks the silence, his voice low and measured. “I wasn't sure you'd actually come up.”

You turn to face him, meeting his gaze, but don’t attempt getting out of his arms. “I didn't think so either.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours. It's a tentative touch, a testing of waters, and you find yourself responding to the familiarity of the kiss. The taste of the past lingers, and for a moment, it's as if the years haven't passed. But reality crashes back in, and you pull away, the distance now a necessary boundary. Lando looks at you, a mix of emotions playing on his face. There's longing, regret, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that bind you.

“I thought we could just catch up,” he says, his tone a mix of apology and yearning.

You turn in your place, facing him. “Catching up was never our strong suit, was it?”

“Not really,” Lando shakes his head, “no.”

You bite down on the corner of your lip, threading your fingers through his curls as you pull his face down to meet yours as you rise on your tiptoes, “It’s a bad idea, right?”

Lando lets out a supportive hum as he lets his lips softly brush against yours, “The worst.” And maybe he should have been the gentleman and pull away, but when he sees your eyes closing, he just leans in further to press his lips against yours – and the way you respond to his kiss? It's as if the world outside ceases to exist. The kiss deepens, each brush of his lips against yours reigniting a long-buried flame. Lando's hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, erasing the physical space between you.

You don’t complain as he pulls you towards his bedroom, or when he gently throws you on his bed, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As he hovers over you, the weight of the past and the intensity of the present converge. His hands trace the contours of your face, memorizing every curve as if committing it to memory. And when the two of you get lost between each other within his sheets, the only thing that ends up coming from your mouth is either his name, or some sort of encouragement to keep him going. After he manages to wear you out, Lando decides that you’re definitely not going anywhere as he wraps you in his arms around you. The room is filled with the soft sounds of breaths syncing, hearts beating in tandem. Lando's fingers draw absent patterns on your skin while you check the messages that have accumulated in your phone. The glow of your phone illuminates the dim room, creating a subtle contrast to the warmth that envelops you. Lando's presence beside you adds an extra layer of comfort, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that unfolded moments ago.

From danny: please tell me you didn’t get kidnapped by the organ mafia From danny: wink twice if you’re alive From danny: this is not funny, where are you? From danny: fine i’ll ask alex to ask lily

Rolling your eyes before sending him a text to let your brother know you’re okay, you decide to turn your attention to the group chat with Lily and Kika.

From kika: did you get home safe? From lily m: daniel is pretty stressed about it From lily m: please for the love of god tell us you’re home and not with lando right now To lily m + kika: omg just calm down i’m in bed To lily m + kika: and i’m going to sleep To lily m + kika: love you guys

You catch a glimpse of Lando’s grin over your shoulder as you click your phone off, but he only chuckles as he buries his face into your neck as he leaves small kisses to the skin there. “Well, I’m not lying, I just didn’t specify where I was.”

“Or in whose sheets,” his laugher gets louder as you jokingly slap him on the arm, “go to sleep, honey, we’ll be tired in the morning.”

And it might’ve been a bad idea to message him in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff

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janaispunk · 20 days

Text

come morning light

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.5k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury

a/n: i'm finally finished with chapter 2, and once again nervous af about it haha. there's not terribly much happening in this one, but i promise we'll get there, it just needs the buildup :)

thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading <3

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but after hours of tossing and turning in the darkness of your bedroom, you think it’s probably time to get up.

You’re halfway convinced that last night’s events were a product of your imagination, that your mind has felt so lonely that it conjured up the whole scenario. But when you step out of your bedroom and find the door of your parents’ bedroom only halfway closed, the way you have never left it before saying good night to Ellie earlier, you have to come to terms with the fact that this might actually be your reality.

Ellie seems to be sound asleep, a lump under the covers, softly breathing, but when you head to the living area and switch on one of the smaller lamps, you’re met with the piercing glare of Joel. He’s still lying on the couch, much like you left him, still pale, still dark shadows under his eyes, but he’s much more awake now, his gaze following your every move.

“Hey,” you say softly, sinking down on the same armchair that you sat in when you watched him last night while Ellie took a shower. You suppress a shudder at the way he regards you, his eyes flicking up and down your body, taking in your size, you presume, searching for weapons. Your gun is tucked into the waistband at the back of your pants, which you’re sure he’s already aware of. You don’t like the way he makes you feel, like somehow you’re intruding on him. You should have the upper hand, this is your home and he’s injured, you helped him for crying out loud, and here you are, nervously watching his every move. You did the right thing. It’s gonna be fine.

“Where’s Ellie?” he asks, ignoring your greeting, his voice gruff.

“Sleeping,” you reply, nodding your head to the bedroom door. “She’s okay, I promise.”

Some of the tension seems to release from his body and he slumps back down a little, but the distrust in his expression when he looks at you doesn’t waver. Then again, you’re probably not much different.

“Look,” you sigh, “I’m not playing some kind of game here. You came into my house, I saw that you needed help, so I helped.” You try to infuse your voice with as much confidence as you can. “Don’t make me regret that, okay?”

He shrugs, a noncommittal grunt the only verbal answer. It could potentially be interpreted as a thanks, you guess. In a less tense situation, you’d probably grow annoyed by now. Shrugging yourself, you get to your feet and head to the kitchen. Anything to escape the way he’s watching your every movement.

“Hey, do you want coffee?” You don’t really want to offer him any, but you’d feel weird drinking it yourself without asking.

He pipes up at the question, head turning in your direction, his face the most open that you’ve seen it yet. “You have coffee?”

“Yeah.” That’s why I’m fucking asking.

“I– yes.” A breath, a second of him not meeting your eyes. “Thanks.”

You smile, small, fleetingly, busying yourself with the ground beans and the boiling water, reveling in the smell that slowly spreads throughout the room. It reminds you of happier times, when the world was still normal.

He has pushed himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily, when you walk over to hand him the steaming cup, still careful to keep your distance.

After you sit back down, the both of you stay silent for a few minutes. You enjoy the bitter taste on your tongue, the way you slowly feel your energy rising.

“Does it hurt much?” you ask eventually, gesturing towards his stomach.

Another grunt, the hint of a head shake.

“So it does.” He opens his mouth, the protest most likely already on his tongue, and you raise an eyebrow. “I have painkillers, are you sure that you–”

“No.” It comes fast, his voice raised, no room for arguments.

You instinctively flinch back at the unexpected louder sound, the cup shaking in your grip. You set it down on the table in front of you. Have your hands free, just in case.

There’s a hint of regret in his eyes, his free hand slightly raised, palm open. He’s trying to calm you down, you realize.

“Okay,” you breathe, working hard to keep your voice steady, “no painkillers, got it.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face half hidden, words almost lost behind the cup. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you tell him as much as yourself.

You’ve gotten jumpy, not used to loud sounds anymore, raised voices, not used to humans in general, you suppose. You hadn’t fully realized it until now, until there’s other humans around you again.

“Thank you,” he continues unexpectedly, “not just for the coffee, but– you know.” He’s struggling, the words not coming easily, but you think that he’s being earnest. “Patching me up.”

“Of course.” You nod hastily, your heart still beating a little too fast.

Another moment passes in silence, both of you slowly sipping the coffee. He’s looking around, taking in his surroundings, eyes lingering on the closed wooden doors and the stairs leading up. You try not to get nervous about it. It’s normal that he would want to know more about where he is, after all.

“This is the basement, right? Is it safe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “No way to get in from outside.” As long as you stay inside, you’re safe.

He hums, appreciatively, you think.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Always. It’s my parents’ house. I mean–” you laugh, but it comes out hollow, “we lived upstairs, obviously. But my dad was… kinda crazy. Or– not that crazy, I guess, all things considered.” Your lips curl into a wry smile.

Your mind flashes back to long lectures about survival techniques, learning how to shoot, your father going on and on about first aid, hunting, all the things that you couldn’t have cared less about as a teenage girl, but were ingrained in your brain nonetheless. You’re grateful, now, but it’s laced with guilt about how often you snapped at your father, how often you told him he was paranoid, seeing dangers that weren’t there, that he was wasting your time. You couldn’t have known, the rational part of you argues. But you can never take it back now, the guilt whispers.

When you look up, Joel’s eyes are on you, eyebrows raised in question. You shake your head, trying to clear it. Stay in the present.

“Sorry, what did you–?”

Worry is painting his expression. “Are you okay?”

Don’t show weakness. “Yeah, of course. Just spaced out for a second.”

You force a smile onto your face and stand up rather abruptly, gathering both cups and putting them into the sink. Joel hasn’t moved, but you feel his eyes on you as you move.

“Do you, um, do you want to shower, maybe? Or just wash up, I don’t know, how–” You gesture towards the dried bloodstain on his flannel, forcefully keeping your tone light. “I have clean clothes, too, if you want.”

A shiver runs through you at the thought of going through your dad’s things, of someone else wearing them. He doesn’t need them anymore. He’s not coming back.

You know that you’ve gone silent for too long again even before you see Joel’s expression. He doesn’t ask this time, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t place, something that almost looks like understanding.

“Yeah, I guess cleaning up a bit would be nice. I– thank you. Again”

His voice is gruff and he avoids your eyes. You think that he doesn’t like it, having to thank you. Owing you.

Giving him a nod, you head to the bedroom, hoping not to disturb Ellie, but she’s awake already, her eyes glinting in the light that’s falling into the dark room from the living area. You clench your jaw, heading for one of the drawers, trying hard not to think about what you’re doing. It’s not like he ever wore this stuff, it was just sitting down here. It’s fine, you’re fine.

“Don’t worry, it’s not about you,” Ellie says quietly from beside you, breaking through your racing thoughts.

You turn towards her, confusion on your face. “What is?”

“Joel,” she shrugs, still keeping her voice low. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s a bit of an asshole, really.” She sounds fond, saying it, like it’s an endearing character trait.

A surprised laugh escapes you. “I– okay, thanks, I guess.”

She waves it away, swinging her feet out of the bed. “No, thank you for not murdering me in my sleep.”

“Yeah, likewise.” You shake your head, still laughing to yourself. It’s so easy to like the girl, to feel like you already know her.

You hand Joel a pile of clothes, purposefully avoiding to look at them too closely, explain where the towels are and he grumbles his approval before the bathroom door closes behind him.

You release a breath and close your eyes for a second. You are undeniably warming up to Ellie, finding it almost impossible not to, but her companion is a different story.

“Hey, do you drink coffee?” you ask in the direction of the bedroom.

“Ew, no!” comes her reply as she steps out of the door, collecting the wild mess of hair on the top of her head and securing it in a ponytail.

Her offense at the mere suggestion makes you chuckle under your breath as you busy yourself with preparing breakfast in the form of porridge instead. She’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you, her eyes wide as she takes in the cupboards full of supplies.

You’re glad that you don’t need anything from the storeroom, keeping that door in the corner firmly closed. You want to trust her, want to trust them, but a feeling of unease still lingers at the thought of letting them know just how much you have.

Instead, you voice another question, a thought that fills you with unease as well.

“Hey,” you begin, keeping your eyes trained on the stove, “I’m sorry, but you and Joel, there– there isn’t anything weird going on, is there?”

“Like what?” She sounds slightly defensive, but when you steal a glance at her, she’s eyeing you with curiosity.

“I don’t know, like…” You shrug, stirring the mixture of water and oats, “you want to be here, he’s not forcing you to come with him or anything, right?”

“No, don’t worry about that,” comes her reply, almost amused. It was a bit of a stupid question, when you think about it, considering how worried she was about him last night, how protective.

“Okay,” you smile at her. You’re curious nonetheless, how they ended up together and where they’re headed, but it’s probably not really your place to ask.

You divide the porridge into three bowls and hand her one, while you carry yours and one for Joel back to the living area and set them down on the wooden table.

Ellie starts shoveling the food down immediately and you’re left wondering once more what happened to them and when they last ate something.

“So…” Ellie begins, her mouth still half full, “you’re just down here with all this food? Because your dad stored it here, before… things went to shit?”

You can’t blame her for her curiosity, you’re aware that you’ve probably found yourself in a better living situation than most people. Your thoughts go to the storeroom again, basically stuffed with enough supplies to last you multiple lifetimes, especially now that it’s just… No.

You hum in affirmation, not trusting your voice and you’re thankful that she’s too distracted by her breakfast to notice anything weird about your reaction.

“So you don’t go out hunting or anything?” comes her next question. You freeze.

You did go hunting, back when you cared about variance in the meals you prepared, about using fresh ingredients when you could. Until there was no need for that any more.

You realize that Ellie is saying your name, not for the first time, judging from the look on her face.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your hands tightening around the bowl. “No, I- I don’t go hunting.”

If she finds the situation weird, she shrugs it off impressively fast.

She nods to herself, eating quietly for a minute, before she speaks up again. “So what do you… do? Down here all day?”

“Uh…” What is it that you do all day? Time has been blurring together, days without anything happening repeating on a constant loop. You realize that you don’t remember, can’t talk of any activities that are part of your day. How long has it been like this?

You’re relieved from having to answer by Joel emerging from the bathroom, his face pale and his breaths going heavy. He has put on the sweatpants you gave him, but his torso is bare, the skin around the injury still an angry red.

He sinks back down into the cushions with a heavy sigh and you quickly get to work, cleaning the wound once more and giving him more antibiotics before you redo the bandages and hope for the best. Your hands don’t shake as badly as they did last night.

Ellie gets him some water and pushes his bowl of porridge into his hands, urging him to eat, before she turns to you. She’s trying to be strong, to hide her worry, but the pleading look in her eyes when she asks you if he’s gonna be okay tells a different story.

“Of course,” you say, giving her what you hope to be a reassuring smile.

Joel does look better after he’s eaten something, but his eyelids are drooping and after a few more minutes, his eyes close and his breath evens out. You do the dishes and check the cameras, calming down a bit more when you’re sure that everything seems to be quiet upstairs.

When you return to the living area, Ellie is rummaging through her pack, muttering to herself, until she pulls a book out of, proudly turning the cover for you to read it. No pun intended - Volume Too.

She starts reading them to you while you settle back down with a second cup of coffee and you share her laughs, enjoying the way it makes her look lighter, allows her to be a kid who can laugh at stupid jokes. You ignore the sting it causes in your chest because you once knew someone who would have loved this book just as much as Ellie does.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#fic: safe and sound #janas fics #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

Text

play for me

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker asks you to play the piano for him. only this time, he wants you to sit in his lap.

w.c: 0.9k+

warnings!! {minors dni} age gap, power imbalance, cockwarming, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, fem!reader

inspired by this ask

The humored grin Mr. Skywalker wears as he opens the door for you tells you he’s not exactly surprised that you show up on his doorstep this weekend. He pats you on the head and moves back to allow you in his home.

“Already missing me?” he teases, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

You hold your hands behind your back and bite your lip as you nod. Your heart suddenly quickens when he steps toward you, closing the gap.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, pulling you into his embrace. As he holds you, he presses the side of his face to his chest and his chin rests on your head. “How’s college going? I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“Really?” You wanted to say why haven’t you, but this wasn’t the time. And you think you know why. It’s probably for the same reason why you didn’t reach out to him. You’re doubting things.

It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him. So, his lack of calling you might be meaningless. You came back to remind him of what you want.

He takes your coat and hangs it up for you. “Every night I’m missing you. I-I just figured... you might be busy.”

You grab his hands and slot your fingers between his. “That’s not true.”

Anakin turns to hide his face. “Have you thought about... us?”

Hearing him say us melted you. Does he know that you’re all his? Only his. You belong to him. He’s the one you gave everything to. He’s seen, touched, and kissed every inch of your body. He’s been inside you. Why is he acting... hesitant?It’s so unlike him.

“My feelings haven’t changed,” you say. “I drove home to see you.”

The grin that builds on his lips is smug. “Oh. So, mommy and daddy don’t know you’re here?”

You shake your head, feeling almost humiliated by the infantilizing way he asked you that. The fact that you liked it unnerves you even more.

“Good,” he starts pulling you by the hand into the parlor. “You’re not gonna have time to see them anyway.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling stupid for not knowing the answer.

He chuckles. “You’re going to be spending every minute with me, angel.”

You jump on him to hug him. You squeeze tightly. Inhaling hard, you drown in his familiar scent. You’ve missed him so much you could almost cry.

“Play for me?” he asks, then kisses the top of your head. He lifts the lid of the white grand piano. He says that because he knows it will make you feel better.

With your body against his and the bottom of your chin pressed against his chest, you look up at him. “Of course. I’ve been working on something new.”

He plops down on the bench first. “I wanna hear it.”

Holding onto his hand, you step around and smooth the back of your little spring dress down. But before you make contact with the cushion, Anakin grabs your hips and forces you down onto his lap.

Your eyes instinctively enlarge, you fight against him at first. “What’re you—”

He turns you to the side and grabs the back of your neck to shut you up with a kiss. The way his mouth defiles you as his tongue pushes past your lips instantly relaxes you. Closing your eyes, you hold onto him and give into him completely. It’s like he knew this was what you needed to break the uncomfortable tension. You couldn’t help it though. For the last few weeks, you worried that he lost interest.

Yet the hand that ascends the length of your thigh puts your fears to rest. And his lips reveal that you’re still the object of his obsessive desires.

You feel his fingers invade and create a space between you and the crotch of your panties. In one motion, he swipes them from your legs and sets them to the side. Come to think of it... he never returned the last pair he ripped from your body. For a moment, you consider the perverted reasons he held your favorite panties captive.

Surprisingly, your teacher’s hand leaves you wanting. You expected him to finger you. You’d be grateful just to be edged. You’ve missed him. And when he breaks the kiss, the ache of being left unsatisfied builds.

You know he sees the disappointment on your face.

“Stand up for me?” He helps you to his feet.

With your back to him, you hear him fiddling with something. You glance over your shoulder to see his leather belt removed from his pants and dangling in his hand. There’s no question where this is leading, especially hearing him unzip.

No words between you, he grabs your hips once more and pulls you down on him, this time guiding his cock inside your pussy. You’re already slick just for him. The hours and hours, days and days of waiting left you always on edge. Sometimes, just thinking about him was enough to turn you on.

With his length fully seated inside you, he hugs you close to him. His lips brush against your ear. “Are you comfortable?”

Both of you are completely still. Your face is hot... and so is the rest of your body. Your heart beat is a little quicker than normal, but that’s only because you feel so close to him. When he’s inside you, all you feel is contentment and pleasure because everything you could want is in your grasp.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

He nuzzles the side of your neck. “Good. Are you going to show me what you’ve been working on, angel?”

“Right now?” You look over your shoulder. “Like this.”

“Yeah,” he shifts his hips, and the new, deeper angle makes you shiver, “exactly like this.”

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