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luveline · 6 months

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What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy.

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?"

"You don't? You're the expert."

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question.

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test."

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums."

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–"

"Lovely?"

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him.

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully.

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done.

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did."

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up."

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't."

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down.

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you answer my texts?"

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you."

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…"

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope.

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth.

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose."

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine."

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather."

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing.

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress."

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years.

It only feels like years.

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern.

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath.

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault."

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone."

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this."

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain."

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly.

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you."

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips.

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips.

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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pythoria · 7 months

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i don't think you can fully understand astarion until you do an origin run tbh, or at least watch a video of his dream and all the responses you can give. it's hinted at in the final dialogue with cazador with his "you've never forgiven anything", but astarion wasn't some indisciplined brat who "deserved" or "kinda asked for it". He would apologise and beg for forgiveness, he would mind cazador's wishes and schedule and be constantly anxious about it, and the only reason that he got the worst of his wrath wasn't because his personality is just abrasive and it angered cazador, it was purely for entertainment, because he begged the prettiest, he screamed the loudest, etc. You can make the argument that he was the most vulnerable of the spawn, the least powerful, the runt of the pack.

Sure, he wasn't a great person while he was alive what with all his magistrate bs, but he was young and a bit of a dick, not evil. When he was alive and kinda abused some of his privilege as a magistrate that was posturing, underneath it there was always weakness and self-doubt. And when he was stripped of that little power he had, he became his "truest" (or rather basest) self, which was a scared boy who wanted to make it big or impress his superiors. On some level I think he admired Cazador for all the power he had, and we know that at the ritual "he wanted to be just like him". I don't think he would ever purposefully anger someone he looked up to, even with all the shit he was forced to do. For 200 years he was an obedient puppet, and it was his shortcomings, not his defiance that earned him all the torture.

So when you meet him after the nautiloid crash, you aren't seeing a single genuine personality trait of his. Not until the love confession in act 2. All you're seeing for the majority of 2 acts is a mask, a character he created, as well as him in full survival mode. Of course he doesn't want you helping innocents, this might be his only chance to escape, he doesn't want that derailed. Honestly, you don't really see the "real" him until after you've killed cazador. For anyone who finished his quest, y'all know how different he acts in the graveyard scene. He's uncharacteristically soft, even nice, and yes he's angry and he can't undo centuries of suffering, but you've helped him come back to himself. By act 3 he already stops rlly dissaproving of helping people, and when talking to the gurs he's defensive because he doesn't want to get their hopes up and dissapoint them, not because he wouldn't give anything to help. Astarion at his core is sassy, sure, but he is undoubtedly *nice*. He's a good person, he feels so much guilt for what he's done and sympathy for his victims, and he *has* to push it all down lest the psychological pain alone kills him. He likes killing, sure, but more as a sport than a past time. And honestly i could go on and on but let's leave it at that for now.

#pythoria.txt #bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #i could analyse his character all day #i should write a character study fic lmao #this all is not to say he's some hero btw #he's deeply flawed #but aren't we all #bg3 spoilers

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javiscigarette · 16 days

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Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings.

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock.

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal.

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky.

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands.

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain.

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better.

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass.

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask.

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him.

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him.

So you do.

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision.

Fucking pathetic. Both of you.

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly.

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house.

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours.

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?”

You ask even though you don’t really want to know.

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know.

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to.

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap.

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again.

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that.

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits.

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you.

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms.

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight.

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale.

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked.

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of.

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy.

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat.

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger.

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can.

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth.

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes.

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand.

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there.

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down.

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again.

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out.

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in.

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is.

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painfull reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does.

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic.

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be.

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's.

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

#writing challenge 2.0 #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters

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milaisreading · 11 days

Text

Wedding day

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x Isagi's sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Can you please calm down, sis? Everything will be fine." Yoichi said as he walked around the room after his sister. The older Isagi was panicking a little as she thought more and more about the whole wedding that was supposed to happen in an hour.

"You think?! Yoichi, what if I am not good enough? Sae is a literal football star and I am just-"

"The best sister and future wife. Exactly!" Yoichi quickly chimed in, annoyed that she had let the recent gossip on the internet get to her. While he did have sympathy for her, marrying a high profiled person lime Sae Itoshi wasn't nothing, he was also mad that she was doubting her own worth.

"Yoichi... You of all people know how the news are. They will nitpick on the most smallest things about me." (Y/n) sighed as she went over to sit on a chair in the room, Yoichi following close behind.

"What if they are right about me not being the one for Sae?"

"That's ridiculous! He loves you!" Yoichi argued again, but he knew it was useless. He wasn't Sae. The one whose opinion mattered the most right now.

"I don't know... What if I am just hindering him? There are so many better options than I am. Did you see all those models from Madrid who talk about him? What if I am not the one?"

(Y/n) held back a few sobs as Yoichi went to comfort her. He would be lying if he said he didn't expect the news to make such a huge deal out of the wedding. He did. But, seeing the state his sister was in just broke Yoichi. She didn't deserve all this stress now. Nor did Sae deserve to be doubted.

And, while Yoichi was comforting (Y/n), he didn't notice Rin peek into the room and catching some of the conversation the were having, and catching the distressed state (Y/n) was in.

'Shit!' The younger Itoshi thought as he slowly closed the door. He didn't expect to walk into all of that. While Sae was on cloud nine in his room, (Y/n) was over here distressed over some gossip.

'Wait? What gossip? Big brother never mentioned anything about that.' Rin wondered as he took his phone out to search for anything that remotely could mention either Sae or the wedding.

Meanwhile...

Sae was happily drinking the water Rin brought him earlier. The older Itoshi never expected to be excited over anything like a wedding. Well, he never saw himself marry anyone until he met (Y/n). The love of his life.

'Ahhh~ I am all excited for our future. I can't wait for us to finally tie the knot. Maybe even a few kids down the line, but that can wait for another few years. For now, I just want to enjoy my time alone with her.' Sae smiled softly and blushed, not hearing the footsteps approaching his room.

'My sweet (Y/n). She is so clumsy and cute. So adorable and always kind to me and others. I am so lucky to have found-'

"Big brother!"

Sae snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at the door as Rin walked in, looking oddly nervous.

"What's up with you? You are more nervous than I am." Sae joked but Rin ignored him as he kept on glancing between his phone and the older.

"Well..."

"Anyway, how is (Y/n) doing? How does she look? Bet as stunning as ever. She is so adorable."

Sae went on a ramble and Rin knew he had to cut it out now before he went into an endless loop with it.

"I... There is something you need to see, and I think you won't like it."

Sae stopped and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

"What do you mean?"

"It's about (Y/n). You didn't read any of the news some of the Spanish and Japanese media reported?"

"No. Why would I? They mostly say dumb stuff, anyway."

"It might be dumb, but the stuff nearly has (Y/n) crying right now."

Sae froze up for a moment and quickly took the phone away from Rin.

The younger Itoshi was used to seeing a lot of emotions on Sae, but anger, genuine anger was not one of them. The more Sae read through the articles Rin had found, the redder his face became and the more his eyebrows furrowed.

'I would pray for the reporters, but they deserve whatever happens next.' Rin thought as an eerie silence took over.

----

Once Yoichi had left the room to let his sister cool down, (Y/n) had finally realized how ridiculous it was that she was crying about these things. After all, if Sae really didn't want her, he wouldn't have asked to marry her. Right?

'I need to have more faith in him, and also be less sensitive.' She thought as she put down her phone, not noticing Sae walk inside.

"Why didn't you tell me about those articles?"

(Y/n) yelped , and turned around to see Sae walk into the room and towards her.

"Sae! You shouldn't see me before-"

"I don't care. Rin said you were distressed over what those journalists were saying. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

For the first time since they started their relationship, (Y/n) was left speechless by the anger Sae was radiating. Sure, she was used to him being angry over what Shidou would say at times, or even when he would lose a game. But, this was a different type of anger. It was more genuine than the previous ones.

"Why?" Sae's voice got softer as he grapped her hands into his, causing (Y/n) to turn red a little.

"I thought it was stupid to bother you with that. It's just me being sensitive-"

"It's not. The stuff those idiots said about you is disgusting, and I will put an end to it on my next interview." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Sae pulled her in closer.

"I thought you don't have one yet."

"I asked my manager the schedule me one after our honeymoon. As much as I hate going on these, this is a different circumstance."

"Oh? Thank you." (Y/n) said as she grew flustered, causing Sae to finally smile again and chuckle a little.

"Don't thank me for stuff like this. And, have a little more faith in me. I have my eyes only set on you."

"You are right, I an sorry. I know you do."

She smiled as the door opened again, revealing Sae and (Y/n)'s moms.

"Sar Itoshi! What did I say about seeing (Y/n) before the wedding?! And why did you make Rin guard the entrance?" Sae flinched at his mom's yelling as Rin could be heard apologizing to him from behind her. (Y/n) laughed a little as her mom tried to calm the other woman down, finding the whole situation equally amusing.

"Well, today is an eventful day." (Y/n) laughed, and Sae smiled at her.

'At least you calmed down.'

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock #isagi's sister #itoshi sae #blue lock sae #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 6 months

Note

Hi my dear !!

My req idea is a fluffy (spicy thoughts can be included) 'seeing each other for the first' time thing with Asgard!Prince!Loki and his betrothed princess yn 🍬💓

💖💖You got it! Thanks for the fun request, @fictive-sl0th! I hope you don't mind that I added a little twist to your idea! Please enjoy! 💖💖

“The Princess and the Stable Boy”

After a lifetime of preparation, you finally travel to Asgard for your wedding to Prince Loki, a mysterious man you’ve never met. After your cruel betrothed repeatedly abandons you during your wedding week, you find a special friend with an open ear to whom you bare your soul. But the situation becomes fraught when, on your wedding day, you find you want to give your heart to someone else.

Pairing: Prince!Loki x Princess!Reader Genre: Fluff, Angst, a little spice Content Warnings: forced marriage, hidden identities, some borderline-smutty thoughts Word Count: 4.5k

MASTERLIST

“And, tell me, what is the Prince’s excuse this time?” you asked, looking at the diminutive maid in your doorway, her plain white robes a stark contrast to the elaborate, guided threshold she filled.

“His father is holding court this evening, m’lady,” she replied, her head bowed, refusing to meet your eye.

Twisting your lip into a skeptical frown, you kept your disappointment inside for the sake of dignity. “Court is never held after sunset,” you answered. “He’s pissed off again.”

The maid didn’t reply. “He did send his regards--”

“--every cursed night for the past four days he’s ‘sent his regards’! We marry in another six and I have yet to see his face, nor he mine,” you growled, frustration rising in your voice as your anger obscured your manners.”Is he deformed?”

“No, m’lady. His handsomeness is unmatched.”

“Does his tastes fall to another sex?”

She denied. “M’lady, the Prince is open about his desires, and he does not discriminate between sexes.”

“Well, does this bastard wish to marry me or not??”

The maid looked helpless for an answer. You softened a little in sympathy. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”

She shook her head bashfully. “No, m’lady.”

“Then, just go,” you dismissed, not even bothering to wait in the room for her to leave before scurrying into your parlor and slamming the door, finally letting the scream out that had been building up inside you. It felt like a wonderful release, but it didn;t solve your problem.

You were getting married to a blank face in six days, uniting your realms, as was decreed on the day of your birth. You were raised getting to know your husband through correspondence, tutors, and finishing lessons. You only knew of his interests through quizzes and long hours of study. And for all your hard work, on the eve of the culmination of it all: he hadn;t even bothered to meet you.

It was enough of a humiliation when your entourage approached the palace at Asgard only to be greeted by your future brother-in-law, ready with an excuse that your fiance was ailing. The following day, you’d heard he was spotted hunting on the edge of the city.

The next day, Prince Loki missed your supper with the royal family. Queen Frigga had given you a sympathetic apology, insisting she would send him to greet you personally the following day, assuring you that Loki was eager to wed and merely taking care of some final pre-marital business.

He never appeared at your door, and you’d wasted the entire day waiting for him.

You were a strong princess, full of glorious purpose, ready to wed whether your heart wanted to or not. Prince Loki was making it very difficult for you to keep your resolve the more it became obvious that he was avoiding you. Every minute that passed solidified the fact in your mind that you were going to be nothing but a weight shackled to his ankle, occasionally bearing an heir and appearing publicly at his side. You were about to become an official Asgardian ornament.

What a sad fate for a princess, you bemoaned, throwing open your balcony doors and stepping out into the night air. You overlooked the inner courtyards and fields of the palace property, a tree line off against the indigo horizon. The twinkle of the city itself was off, beyond the north wall, the light pollution dousing the stars above your head. The rolling knolls were difficult to admire in the twilight.

Something caught your eye before you lost yourself in pitying thought: by the west wall appeared to be a stable, occupied with the royal steeds no doubt. You could have sworn you heard a whinny from that direction. Smiling, you decided that perhaps a horse’s ear was better than no ear at all (and you’d already scared away most of your maids).

Within a few minutes, you’d donned a black cape and simple dress so as not to attract attention. With all the free time you’d had not getting to know your future husband, you’d gotten to know the ins and outs of the palace corridors quickly, so it was no time before you were out in the open air and strutting toward the stable. You briefly looked up in the direction of the highest tower in the palace: the tower where the royals themselves bedded. Prince Loki was up there somewhere, not giving a damn about you or how lonely you felt.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” you whispered bitterly before turning away from the palace again, “I won’t say one voluntary word to you for the duration of our lives.”

The stables were clean and impeccably-kept, and the lights you’d seen were still on when you arrived. You stepped inside to find that only one of the stables was occupied, by a tall, sturdy, black stallion. He was contentedly munching on something in a metal bucket hanging off of the side of the cubicle.

Someone watched the horse, leaning with his back against the opposite stall door. His ankles were crossed, as well as his arms, and he looked deep in thought. His raven hair hung in his face, unruly and thick. His gray shirt was unfastened, hanging open at his sides, barely holding onto his shoulders. His tight green leggings were tucked into shin-high leather riding boots. He had a tattoo of an ouroboros winding about his chest, just below his razor-sharp clavicle. You swore it was moving very slowly, slithering about the man’s chest in an infinity loop.

There was a quality to his profile that immediately stopped you in your path. It was intimidating, but also attractive, as if he was posing for a painting but trying to look candid at once. Upon hearing the shuffling of your boots on the hay-lined floor, the young man lifted his gaze to meet yours, and his blue eyes lit up.

Looking upon his face only added to the haunting, yet rustic beauty of the man. His jaw was angular, his lips perfectly plump and distorted into an amused smile at seeing your face.

“Princess,” he mumbled, his voice low and casual. “You’re a long way from your chambers.”

You rolled your eyes. “How do you know me? We’ve never met.”

He scoffed in reaction. “Everyone in the palace knows of the lovely future Princess of Asgard. I may be just another peasant among the ranks, but I’m not as dim as most of them.”

“You certainly have the arrogance of the Prince,” you sneered back. “I did not mean to suggest that you’re simple.”

The mysterious stranger raised his eyebrow and pushed off from the wall with his shoulder. “You’ve met him?”

Shaking your head, you looked to the side sheepishly. “No.”

“Still?” chuckled the boy, taking another step toward you, but planting himself there. “And you have not tried seeking him out?”

“It isn’t protocol for me to summon him,” you sighed. “It would be considered stepping out of line.”

“Well, from my experience,” said the peasant, “Stepping out of line is the quickest way to get what you want.”

You looked at him again. “I suppose being judged so harshly without having the chance to even please my betrothed isn’t the best motivator.”

Your conversational partner shrugged. “Maybe he is simply nervous himself? Perhaps he feels those scrutinous eyes fall on him as well, and he isn’t sure how to--?”

“--I should have known, you’d never understand,” you mumbled bitterly, turning your back to him. You had no interest in listening to this apologist make excuses for whatever mental game your fiance was playing without your consent. You chose to disengage quickly, not having the energy to stand up for yourself. “My mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you, stable boy.”

You began to walk away. “My name is Arik,” the boy called after you, his voice heightened.

You stopped. He sounded instantly contrite.

“It sounds as if I’ve thrown a switch I shouldn’t have,” he continued. “Please forgive me, Princess. I didn't mean to further distress you. I was only seeking to console with you a possible explanation as to the Prince’s rude welcome.”

Turning back, you allowed yourself a small smile. It hurt your cheeks to do so after several days of doing very little with your jaw other than bemoaning your annoying situation.

“Arik,” you repeated.

He nodded and clicked his heels, standing at attention like a general, and bowing at the waist. “At your humble service, my Lady.”

You stepped in further, gaining a closer look at the stable boy. Indeed, the tattoo moved on his chest. “I’ve never seen art like this,” you said breathlessly. The details in the ink were beautiful and delicate. Arik seemed to like you moving in and focusing your gaze on his pectorals.

“My br--Prince Thor has a similar one,” he said quietly. “It is a large bolt of lightning shooting down his back from between his shoulder blades.”

“How do you know this? Do the Princes walk about the palace nude?” you laughed.

Arik’s smile widened at your laugh. “No, Princess. I served with the Princes during our mandatory conscription. Close quarters and all.”

You sighed. “Which means the blasted stable boy knows my husband more than I!” you lamented.

He laughed with you. “Perhaps it is time The Prince conquered his bashfulness,” he agreed. “From where I stand, he is the one missing out by delaying his meeting with you.”

You felt a burning blush crawl up your cheek at the compliment. “Arik…” you paused before continuing. “...if you do know the Princes so well…could you tell me about them? If I cannot learn of my husband from himself--”

Arik took your hand in his, bringing it gently to his lips. “--if you are asking me to familiarize you with our sovereigns in their pathetic absence, I would be most happy to oblige you, Princess.”

Your heart fluttered against your ribs, and you began to feel giddy.

“Sadly,” he went on, your optimism instantly dropping off, “my services are required elsewhere in just a few moments.”

You sighed. “Oh.”

“However, if you wished to meet me here tomorrow evening,” Arik suggested, “It would be my honor to take you for a ride through the knolls.”

As much as you wanted to say yes, you knew that you had to turn him down. “The masque is tomorrow night.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.”

There was no way Prince Loki would be able to abandon you at the masque ball set for tomorrow. It was in honor of your impending marriage. Even if you weren’t going to see his face, you would absolutely be expected to dance with him in front of the mobility of Asgard.

“If only I could leave him alone in the middle of the floor for once,” you muttered bitterly. “I’m sure he regrets our appointment tomorrow night more than I.”

Arik smiled. “I admire your passion. Perhaps, though, it would be prudent to wait until you meet the Prince, to pass your own judgment.”

“He doesn’t deserve you as a loyal servant,” you remarked.

Arik shrugged. “If you do find yourself in need of more flattering company, I have a small trundle here. As long as the nights are warm, I spend them out here. Come find me at any hour, and I will be your humble ally.”

“Thank you,” you said tenderly. “I needed a friend to find me tonight.”

“As did I, Princess,” he said, holding out a hand, brushing a small piece of hay from your hair that had settled. That tiny, intimate touch from another person was enough to make your nerves tingle. You’d gone for such a long time without any comforting physical contact.

“Then, Arik, I will leave you to your duties,” you said, pulling away before anything even more wonderful could happen. Awkwardly not knowing how to address the strapping young peasant as you left his sight, you smiled and backed out of the stable.

Arik called out after you. “Sweet dreams, Princess.”

He was all that you thought of as you went through the motions the following day in preparation for the ball. You were fitted for your gown, a rich, golden fabric draped loosely over your body and held to you with green and black ribbon. Your mask was green with gold feathers. Your hair was swept up into a complicated braid and laden with emeralds. Yet even more jewels were fastened to your ears and throat, all submitting to the green and gold palate.

Just as the palace was beginning to saturate with the odor of roasting meats and breathing bowls of wine, you were ready and escorted to the Great Hall, where the festivities were already in full swing.

Even as the room stopped to acknowledge your entrance at the top of the grand staircase, your thoughts were with the stable boy who’d been the first in Asgard to treat you like a creature with a soul, with needs and fears. No one in this room knew a thing about you even as they praised you as their new princess.

The crowd parted as you descended the staircase, revealing a tall figure dressed in green finery and Asgardian military insignia standing precisely in the center of the room. His hair was slicked back and tucked under a golden diadem, his high-necked jacket fastened from jaw to hip, a lacy black mask curling down his face so that nearly his entire visage was obscured to you.

Great, even looking right at him, I can’t see, you complained inside even as you bowed cordially, reaching Prince Loki for your first meeting. You immediately got the scent of wintergreen and pine from him when you reached proximity.

“Princess,” said a deep, restrained baritone from underneath the mask you faced. Prince Loki clicked his heels and bowed formally at the waist, which only made you long for your secret stable boy more. He shared the Prince’s posture, but that had to be from their shared military days.

“Your Highness,” you barely mustered. “At last we meet.”

“You sound disappointed,” the Prince suggested.

“Only at the bitter reception from Your Highness,” you boldly answered. “What Prince treats his betrothed as such garbage as I have been?”

Loki didn’t twitch, blink, or acknowledge your cheek. He simply took the first position of a groom about to dance with his bride with all the restricted grace of a automaton.

You went to take your position at Loki’s front for the dance. You only did so out of obligation. However, before you could touch his arm, you found yourself stepping back again in spite of yourself.

“No,” you said.

Gasps echoed about the room.

“Princess?” Loki asked, sounding insecure for the first time.

“You’ve been treating me worse than a scullery maid since the day I arrived. I’ve wanted nothing but to please you and please your subjects, but after being held in this palace like a prisoner in a cage of glass and gold, I’ve come to realize this: you don't deserve my hand. However, seeing as I am being forced to give it to you regardless, I am choosing to retain a mote of my own autonomy tonight by refusing this dance.”

No one had seen this coming from you, let alone Loki.

You sucked in your breath bravely. “If you permit me to leave this annoyance of a party right now, I will consider it our wedding present.”

Committing to the offense, you spun on your heels and quickly walked back up the staircase as the murmurs and gasps grew to a louder hum.

“Princess!” Loki was pursuing you, calling to you as you retreated.

“So NOW you seek me out, now that I humiliate you in front of the assembly?” you hissed as soon as you turned the corner. “I won’t be anyone’s ornament! May you be damned!”

He eventually gave up and remained behind. You found yourself stomping about the corridors alone, making a beeline for the stables.

Tonight, the air was even warmer. Your gown fluttered in the breeze behind you as you made your way to the stables, where no one seemed to be home.

“Arik?” you called, going inside to find no one, not even the horse, around. “Arik? Are you here?”

After a few moments of you pacing up and down the row, and you heard the sound of shuffling feet outside. You rushed back into the open night, and sure enough, Arik was returning, the black stallion bridled and tethered to his side. The horse was already wearing a saddle built for two.

“My Lady?” Arik called, slightly out of breath.

“Did I find you at a bad time? You look disheveled,” you remarked, taking in how Arik looked like he’d thrown himself at a pile of laundry and decided whatever garments stuck to his body would create his wardrobe for the evening: a white peasant shirt loosely tied at the neck, and black pants.

Arik shook his head. “Alvis was startled by a serpent. Reining him in proved a challenge.”

“Then, perhaps he wouldn’t be amenable to the possibility of a ride this evening?” you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Smiling, Arik raked a hand through his hair. “I think he can be persuaded, but…shouldn’t you be at the gala, Princess?”

You scoffed, taking the ribbon tying your braid together and unfurling your hair, shaking it loose until every gem fell to the grass. “If His Highness wished to dance with me, he would have thought of this before casting me off like an old glove.”

He snickered. “It didn’t go well, I take it?”

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t even stay for supper.”

“Well, that won’t do, Princess. This has already been a trying week for you. You need sustenance.” He indicated the double-seated saddle on the back of Alvis. “I’m sure the horse is well now, my Lady. I can take you to a place I know of on the edge of the kingdom, where we can remedy that.”

Nodding enthusiastically at his offer, you stepped up to the horse, suddenly realizing that you’d never ridden before. Arik seemed to be able to read your mind, scooping you up into his arms and placing you on Alvis before quickly mounting the horse himself.

You got the briefest hint of wintergreen and pine as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Arik took you through the knolls and orchards south of the city proper as the sun descended and night returned. The shadows of trees along the path fell across your faces as you rode through the lawns and groves, away from everyone else and off into a better place. Arik showed you how to stretch your arms out to pick apples and pears off the fruit trees you brushed past along the way. You laughed as you made a game out of who could nick more treats before being caught and chased along a few meters by an irate farmer who happened to be walking offside.

You were brought to a waterfall on the edge of the kingdom, where you and the handsome stable boy sat on a boulder, close enough to the falls to feel the chilly mist. As you feasted on your ill-gotten fruit, Arik told you about your intended, and answered every question you had.

He was beautiful in the soft moonglow. A perfect specimen, healthy and strong, but also brooding and sweet. Ridiculous as it seemed (it had taken less than a day), you were completely in love with Arik. He was more of a god in his humble rags as he sat before you now than Prince Loki could ever be while arrayed in his furs and finery.

Something bothered you while he spoke: Arik spoke very fondly of the Prince in spite of your criticisms, almost as if he was trying to sell him to you. It was as if Arik could sense your growing feelings for him, and he was perhaps trying to protect you by throwing you off of his trail.

“Tell me, Arik,” you implored, “Do you think Prince Loki even has the ability to love?”

“Princess, do you expect love to come from your arranged marriage?”

You shrugged. “I was hoping for some.”

Arik smiled tenderly and took your hand. “If I know Prince Loki, he will take care of you and your children for your whole lives.”

Shaking your head, you pulled your hand away. “That isn’t what I want! I want love!”

“But--”

“--I can’t ever love Prince Loki,” you said decidedly.

Arik’s shoulders dropped, and his smile disappeared. “That is very sad to hear, My Lady, That notion will only lead to a woeful match. If I know him, he wishes only for your happiness. But why do you sound so certain of this?”

“Because without trust, there can be no love…and how can I trust someone whose face I’ve never seen?” you explained, breaking down in tears at last, leaning against Arik’s broad shoulder.

He gripped you tightly, and you felt safe in his arms, wishing you could be there forever. “Let’s run away.”

He didn’t respond. You found yourself doubling down. “I mean it, Arik. I could live a thousand years with you starting tonight.”

He pulled away from you far enough to make eye contact. His face was once of concern, of seriousness. “You can’t mean this. We barely know one another.”

“I do! I do!” you said quickly. “Arik, you see me as not a Princess, but a woman, someone who wants to make the best of a fraught situation. You understand my soul,” you wept.

Arik looked touched. He pursed his lips as he thought of what to say next. “My Lady, I don’t know what to say…”

“Take me away with you. Let’s go tonight,” you proposed.

“No, Princess,” he insisted, pushing you away, standing straight. “You are engaged.”

“So, you won’t have me, and he doesn’t want me…no one wants me,” you whispered.

Arik’s heart broke for you, and he returned you to his embrace. “Eloping would be instant death for us both, my Lady,” he said quietly. “If it weren’t this way…”

“Oh, Arik, I wish you were the Prince!” you cried, laying your lips against his and putting your palm against his cheek. He kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your whole body tightly.

“Will I see you again after tonight?” you asked softly once your lips parted.

He sighed. “It may not be a good idea,” he mused, breaking your heart. “Even this beautiful kiss we’ve just shared is enough to condemn us.”

You nodded. “I would never wish to cause your death, Arik.”

“Then, let’s stay out tonight,” he suggested. “With the promise that we won’t ever address the notion of running away ever again.”

“I agree.”

He returned you just before dawn, to the door of your chambers, giving you one final kiss before leaving. Just before he turned the corner to return to the stables, he stopped to give you one more piece of advice.

“I really do know the Prince intimately, Princess,” he insisted. “And if I know him, I know that if you give him your hand next week, he will give you his heart.”

You felt a hot tear sting your eye. “I trust you,” you said with a small nod.

Arik smiled. “Then, perhaps, there can be love here after all.”

It took all of your strength to be reserved as you closed your door to the last hope of ever having a happy life with Arik the stable boy.

As promised, Arik had disappeared, removing any temptation you’d had to seek him out and go back on your own word to bind yourself to Prince Loki. You let the depression settle over you, painting you in a numbing glaze of complacency in your own imprisonment. You were meant to be a shackle on the Prince’s ankle, as promised by virtue of your birth. You would have to resign yourself to that, and be content with that.

Five days later, at dusk, you were escorted down the long hall leading to Asgard’s throne room. You wore a grand gown in peacock-blue, your hair down and loose about your shoulders, a golden circlet draped across your forehead, your face obscured by a veil so thick you needed a bridesmaid to guide you to your palace at the groom’s side for the ceremony.

Goddamnit, even now I don't know what he looks like, you admitted the defeat bitterly. Your face was stone. You’d mentally prepared yourself for this, but it required a stiff upper lip to endure.

The ceremony was grand, but brief. A cauldron of eternal fire received your written vows to one another, and as the smoke formed the great tree Yggdrasil above your heads, you braced yourself for the moment where Loki would lift your veil and look upon your face.

You closed your eyes as the Allfather gave Loki permission to greet his new bride with a first kiss. The ambient light increased behind your lids as the veil lifted. You waited in silence for several moments for the kiss.

Instead, you heard a familiar voice say “Open your eyes, my Lady.”

Obeying, you didn’t expect the kind blue eyes that belonged to your beloved stable boy to be looking down at you from the face of your husband. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Arik? But…Loki?”

He shook his head and said softly, “We are one and the same, my dear.”

“No,” you mumbled. “It can’t be!”

The deceitful Prince took your hand and quickly kissed it. “I came into this match with the same fears as you, my love, and I had to know that you could love me for who I was, and not what my title was.”

“But…you were so mean to me…”

The Prince shook his head. “Please accept the grave mistake I made in choosing to avoid you. I thought that you’d already resented me due to our reluctant arrangement.”

“I wanted to meet you, to know you!”

“And so you have,” Loki said with a tender smile. “I assure you that Arik is in my heart. He was the real mask I wore, in order to have the courage to meet you for myself.”

You couldn’t believe it. “So, now we’re going to go forward and build an entire life off of a charade?”

“You said you trusted me,” Loki added. “Perhaps we can begin there, and with a kiss.”

The line was pure Arik. You were sold.

“It IS you!” you smiled happily, a warm wave of affection making your head spin.

As the Prince leaned down to give you your bridal kiss, Arik’s lips met yours and removed the last doubts you would ever have.

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sanguineterrain · 7 months

Note

I'm BEGGING for a continuation of the drabble where Reader breaks up with Jason

Thinking of him injured and alone after almost dying is killing me 😭

this got more serious than i intended lol but i hope you like it anon! finally there is resolution!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw jason almost dies, hints of self destructive behavior, guilt, communication (i am forcing the batboys to be good communicators!!!), injured jason, dick being the bestest goodest big brother.

pt 2 to this

****

It's extremely stupid for you to be out this late, but if you hadn't left tonight, you'd probably never leave. And you needed to leave. You can't sustain whatever you and Jason had.

Asking him to quit would've been unfair, and you know he won't do it. This city pulls him back in every time.

"Where ya headed?" the cab driver asks. He doesn't look too shady. He'll definitely overcharge you, but at this point, you don't care. You just want to go home.

"Gotham Heights." You don't give him the exact address, but someplace close enough.

It's begun to rain. You try not to think about how you just left Jason. You turned off your phone as soon as you closed the door; you know he's probably calling like crazy, but as soon as you answer, you'll go back.

And you can't.

You blink back tears. You can't keep watching him throw himself into worse and worse danger. Jason fights crime like he'd sooner let it kill him. One day, it will.

The car pulls up to a stoplight. You're dozing; it's nearly eleven o'clock after all.

Suddenly, something lands on the hood. You jump, heart dropping.

"What the fuck?!" the driver squawks.

Nightwing perches on the hood of the cab. He lightly taps the windshield.

"Evening. Mind pulling over?" he asks pleasantly. "I'm actually their designated driver tonight."

"Nightwing!" you snap, hot with anger. "Get off the car!"

"You shut off your phone and left," Dick says, those white lenses zeroed in on you. His tone is cutting. "He's losing his mind. You know we don't go dark."

You close your eyes briefly. "We almost lost him, 'Wing," you croak.

"So your instinct was to leave?"

"Alright, that's it! Get outta the car," the driver says, unlocking the doors. "Fuckin' crazies..."

Dick opens the door for you and tosses a roll of twenties on the seat. The cab speeds off. You wrap your arms around yourself as he guides you to the sidewalk.

Several emotions cross Dick's face, before he lands on one. Sympathy.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

Your face crumples. "He died, Dick."

"I know," he says, holding your elbow. "I was scared too. But he's okay. He's the toughest guy I know."

"How am I supposed to keep him alive?" you ask desperately. "I can't."

Dick frowns. "That's not your job. I wouldn't expect that of you, and I know Jason doesn't either. None of us do."

You press your palms to your eyes and start to cry for real.

"I just want him to be okay. Every time he goes out, I think it'll be the last time I see him. I love him too much to lose him, Dick."

Dick hums. "Have you told him this?"

You shrug, wiping your eyes with your hand. "Some of it. I-" You wince. "I yelled before I left. He was being so nonchalant about it, and I know it was so I wouldn't worry, but..."

"I know. He can be a real pinhead about some things, but Jason's on it when it counts. He loves you a lot, and I think he'd want to know you're feeling this way."

You rub your eyes so hard you see shapes. "I don't know, Dick. I don't know if I can tonight."

Dick sighs sadly. "Alright. Look, I'll take you home. But can you at least tell him you're okay? He called me up, terrified. Said he dreamt you were in an accident."

Nightmares. The guilt triples.

You turn on your phone. Ten missed calls and fifteen unread texts pop up.

[10:38pm] Baby please come back

At least text me you're okay

I messed up, and you can leave, but at least tell me you're safe

[10:42pm] I'm calling Dick

Sweetheart don't get into a car

[10:43pm] Please don't I have a bad feeling about it

Call me please

You sniffle and tap on Jason's contact. The phone rings once before he picks up.

"Baby? Hi, hi. God, fuck. Are you okay? Is Dick there?"

Jason sounds wrecked. His voice is raw like he's been crying. Tears start to build up in your own eyes.

"H-hey, Jay. Yeah, I'm okay. Dick is here."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have scared you. Shouldn't have been reckless. I won't do that again. I won't patrol alone anymore. I'll-I'll work with Batman again. I called him just now. Told him I'd be at the Cave next week."

"Jay, don't force yourself to work with Batman for me," you say, your stomach a pit. "I don't want you to do something that'll make you miserable."

It's been better, lately, Jason's relationship with his family. It's not perfect, but then again, you wouldn't expect a family that dresses up in Halloween costumes every night to fight crime to be perfect.

"It won't!" Jason says. "Look, B and I have our differences. That's for damn sure. But I'm not so mad about it these days. And I should be safer. You were right. I want to come home to you, sweetheart, I do. If that means working in a team, then I'll do it. I'll do whatever will make us both happy and safe."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner, Jay. I should've been."

"Oh." Jason sounds heartbroken. You can imagine him running a rough hand through his hair right now, tearing through the strands. "No, no, no. Baby, my love, listen. I don't blame you for any of this. That's not your responsibility. It's my job to keep myself alive. And Leslie's, once in a while. But I don't expect that from you. Never from you."

It's quiet for several moments. Then Jason speaks again, tone timid.

"Have I... did I make you feel that way?"

"No, you didn't," you say, opening your eyes. "Not directly. But... I don't know, Jay, I've just felt like there's nothing holding you back some days. You fight like you're fighting something inside of you." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I don't want it to burn you out for good."

Not again, you don't say.

Dick bows his head, and suddenly, you're there, watching them lower Jason Todd's body into the ground.

"I won't let it," Jason whispers. "I won't. I'm sorry I did this to you. Made you feel like this. I only ever wanna be good for you. I'm-I'm trying to be good."

Your lip trembles. "I wanna come home, Jay."

Jason makes a desperate sound, like a wounded animal. "Please come home, baby. I don't want you to leave. Wanna hold you so bad."

"Okay." You nod at the phone and look at Dick. "Can you take me home?"

He smiles, small and hopeful. "Of course."

****

Jason nearly tears the door off of its hinges before you can knock. He's probably been listening for your footsteps all evening. Your throat tightens.

"Hi, baby, hi, hi," Jason says, bracing himself against the doorframe as he pulls you into a hug. "Missed you so much. Love you so much. I'll be better, it'll be better. I promise."

You kiss his shoulder and bury your face in his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat. A-live, a-live, a-live, it says.

"Thanks, Dickie," Jason murmurs into your skin.

"Sure thing, Little Wing," Dick says, and you think he might sound a little misty-eyed. Sentimental sap.

"Thanks, D," you say softly, and Dick squeezes your shoulder.

"Get some sleep, both of you."

"You first," Jason says, and Dick laughs on his way out.

You help Jason inside, tucked under his arm, and this time, he lets you guide him to the bed. He allows you removal of your shoes and jeans before tugging you in with him.

"I'll be better," he vows, and rolls you over so you're face-to-face. "I promise."

"I believe you," you say, thumb brushing over his salt-streaked cheek. "I'm sorry I went dark, sweetie."

He shakes his head. "'S okay. Well, I mean, it's not, but I understand. I just want you safe. And here. But only if you wanna be here. I won't force you."

"Of course I want to be here, Jay," you say, kissing his cheek. "There's no place I'd rather be. I just... I want us to live."

Jason swallows and nods.

"I'll live. I will. For both of us."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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mangosrar · 6 months

Text

let the light in.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

an: i lowk hate this 🤓 also not proof read and the ending is ass.

warnings: none really just sad matt but it’s a happy ending 🤍

matt was prone to shutting you out due to his mental health. he had done it multiple times before, usually you gave him a few days to cool off and things went back to normal, but this time it was different. your boyfriend had blew up on you about a week ago and told you to leave him the fuck alone. so following normal procedure, you left his house and didn't bother him until 2 days later. under normal circumstances he would invite you over, talk it out with you and things would go back to normal but this time wasn't like that. you had reached out to him multiple times with no response, you even spoke to his brothers who told you they didn't know what to do. they advise you just let him figure it out, but you couldn't just sit around while matt was suffering, so you went over to his place, upon nicks request after agreeing with you.

"hey y/n" Chris said as he engulfed you in a hug after letting you in the house. you hugged him back and made your way upstairs to be greeted with nick.

"im so glad you're here, he hasn't came out of his room in like 3 days, he hasn't eaten or talked to either of us" he hugged you.

"Jesus, i mean i can try and get through to him but i don't know how much help ill be" you frowned.

"its worth a shot" Chris said before you sighed and made your way to matts bedroom door.

you took a deep breath and closed your eyes before knocking.

"hey matt, its me. can i come in?" no reply.

you looked over to Chris and nick, watching you from the living room and they motioned for you to walk in with their hands. you nodded before opening the door and going in.

his room was a mess, laundry all over the floor, his desk covered in paperwork that hadn't been done and his dresser looked like it had seen better days.

matt lay in bed, wrapped in his sheets with his back to you. you started walking round his bed towards him before he spoke, stopping you in your tracks.

"i don't want to hear it y/n. i don't want you here so leave" his voice sounded raspy and tired. you couldn't help but feel a sting from his words. usually matt never wanted to be away from you, hell, he would attach himself to you if he could.

"matt come on, lets just talk" you didn't move from your standing position at the end of his bed. matt let out a heavy sigh before aggressively throwing the covers off of himself and standing up and walking towards you.

"talk about what? how you fucking pity me huh? how im being selfish and im hurting people around me? no, fuck you and your fucking sympathy i don't want it" his voice was raised and he was slightly leaning down, yelling in your face. his eyes were drooped and the bags under them were deep and dark, his face looked sunken in and pale. you were taken back by his words. never once had your boyfriend spoken to you like this.

you opened your mouth to speak but before you could even get a word in, he barged past you, flinging his bedroom door open before making his way into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it shut. you took a moment to take a deep breath, looking down at your feet, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill. after re-collecting yourself you made your way to his bathroom door trying to open it.

"matt open the door please" silence.

"matt open the fucking door" no reply.

"matt open the fucking door or i swear to god im going to walk out of this house and were over. you cannot keep doing this to me" nothing but the snap of the door unlocking was heard. you immediately walked in to find matt on the floor, slumped against the cabinet, elbows resting on his bent knees, with his head in his hands. you closed the door and sat down next to him on the floor.

"oh matt" you whispered as the tears started to roll down your face too. every ounce of anger that had occurred in you from him walking away, had dispersed instantly. you placed a small hand on the back of his head and gently pulled him to lean on you. he immediately wrapped his arms around your middle and put all of his weight on you, so terrified that you would disappear if he didn't hold you close enough.

"im sorry. i don't know what's wrong with me y/n, i cant make it stop" his voice was broken and slightly muffled.

"you don't need to be sorry matt because there's nothing wrong with you, nothing at all. you just have to talk to us" you pursed your lips together and looked up to the ceiling, while running your hand over his hair soothingly, desperately trying to stop the tears that were cascading down your cheeks.

"i cant because i-... i don't want to scare you away and i don't want to have to burden you with all this shit, you don't deserve that. this is my problem and i have to deal with it myself" he cried harder than before, tightening his grip around you. you immediately put your hands on both sides of his face, pulling his head up so he was eye level with you.

"don't ever say that, you're not going to scare me away. i love you and you're not a burden honey, i promise, you're my life line matt. you don't deserve this either okay? no one does, but its better to deal with it together than alone, this is what im here for, you're supposed to lean on me when you cant handle it. always okay?" at this point you were both full on sobbing. you couldn't understand how he could ever think that, he was your everything. every sun and moon you saw belonged to him. every single living breath you took was his. every single story you ever told had him disguised in it somehow. there was not a single day that passed that wasn't all about him.

"okay" his voice was quiet as he nodded. you followed his movements and nodded with him, searching his eyes for any sort of doubt in your words, you found nothing.

"i love you" he rested his forehead on yours as you spoke, breathing deeply, trying to silence his cries.

"i love you too, always".

taglist: @christinarowie332 @urmyslxt @azkabanstar @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @flowerxbunnie @sssturniolofart @freshlovehacker

#chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #mango talks #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #s

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heyhihellosworld · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 "𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭"

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Word count: 4.2k

Summary: Working on opposite teams but you have certain things in common

Warnings: Red bull, mentions of rb being sexist (made up things + some real things because let’s not sweep the reality under the rug), smut (very soft), fluff, angst. !Remember this is all fiction, I can’t speak on the whole team, this is a story!

Notes: I don’t really know what this is to be honest because it’s really random

Working in formula 1 was your dream since you were a kid. Your whole family was really into the sport and you had always been extremely interested in both motorsports and cars so naturally you had studied mechanics and engineering. The dream was to work in formula 1 so when you got accepted into the Red bull team the whole family had been ecstatic, you had reached the goal.

But things weren't as amazing as you'd wish. Red bull had never been your favorite team but you didn't think it would be like it was behind the scenes. You were well aware of the gender discrimination in the sport, the amount of women in the teams were scarse and the ones who were there was met with a strong sexism. You were ready for that to come from the outside but you weren't expecting it to come from your own team.

It was not something that was usually shouted in your face but it was these subtle things, things they did that you weren't even sure they recognized but it drove you crazy. You didn't feel trusted and the comments that were dropped were just hindsight sexist. You tried your absolute best because the work in itself was what you loved, what you wanted to do but it was hard when it felt like everybody looked down on you because of something so simple as your gender. You had enough education, even more than most of the men that worked close to you but that didn't seem to matter, you were still looked down at.

It didn't make it better that you were good friends with most of the drivers, the rumors only speeding on the sexism both from your team but also from the outside.

"What got you in such a mood?" Lewis chuckled at you, swinging his arm over your shoulder comfortingly as you stalked down the road.

"Take a guess" you muttered, still fuming from the previous interaction with your closest co-workers. Lewis sighed, nodding his head in understanding as his look transformed to one of consideration and sympathy.

"What was it this time?"

You stomped your feet to the ground, feeling extremely annoyed as you huffed. "I was doing my job, like always and then these fuckheads just took over, finishing MY WORK and guess what, they got all the credit for the amazing work I did, I DID!" you exclaimed in frustration feeling like putting your fist through a wall.

"I can't stand it anymore, it's all the fucking time and I never get to do my work!"

Lewis hummed, pulling you into his chest to try to calm your shaking anger. "I get it, I do" he tried but it didn't calm your anger at all. "You are really good at what you do y/n, don't let these jackasses tell you otherwise"

"I know I am good at my work! It just pisses me off that they see me as less talented or less trust-able when I am darn much better than them"

Lewis chuckled, pulling you into his side as he started to lead you along the paddock, one arm resting over your shoulders. "Always so humble"

Your eyelids hooded as you grumbled at him "I am, I just know that I know best at my tasks" Lewis nodded, not saying anything as he saw a certain Frenchman approaching you.

"Ah how are you doing miss 'I know right'" Pierre joked, his smile immediately dropping as he received your murderer glare, Lewis having to bite his lip to not burst out laughing. "Not the right time mate"

"I hate that name and fuck you" you spat at the Frenchman, his smile slowly returning at your annoyed demeanor. "What, I love that name, It suits you so well you know, you always tell us we're stupid and that you know better"

He didn't budge, laughing as he gave you a kiss on the cheek "I'm only messing with you, why are you so tense? Hasn't Lewis helped you get rid of the tension today?"

"Pierre fuck off!"

You had to stop yourself from punching him in the face as he laughed at his own joke "That was one time and if you don't let it go I will kill you, mark my words" you threatened but he didn't seem very offended or scared.

"I will never let that go y/n, you can't expect me to ever do that, not when I walk into my high regarded friend fucking the seventh time world-champion"

You groaned out lod, chuckling out your annoyance in a whine "Lewis please get rid of him"

The seventh time world-champion didn't follow your request, instead he laughed and prompted you to sit down on one of the benches along the paddock "Just sit here and I will get you something to eat" he chuckled, kissing your temple before leaving you with Pierre.

"Okay okay, don't kill me now I was only joking with you but seriously, what's up?"

You sighed, meeting his soft look "I'm sorry for being mean I just had a horrible day at work"

"Ah, how unusual" he spoke sarcastically, shaking his head at you. "I don't understad why you are still at that place y/n, it's shitty"

You sighed with a groan "I knooow! But it is still my dream work just at the worst possible place"

"Then switch, I'm sure any team would want your talent!"

"I've tried Pierre but Horner dosen't approve of it"

His face was one of confusion as he opened his mouth but he didn't have time to speak until Charles interrupted him, sitting down on the bench with a wide smile "Ah y/n, how are you?"

"All fine" you sighed, Pierre looking at you with a chuckle "Bad day at work" he explained to Charles who hummed in understanding "Aha, of course"

"Explain to me what you said before" Pierre asked, your head face-planting into the wood with a whine

"He wants to keep me because of my education and references who tells me that I am the best qualified for the work and if he fired me or whatever he would get called out for being sexist, plus he loves the praise he gets because he has diversity but still I cant do my fucking job!"

Lewis came back with a tray of food looking scoldingly at Pierre for not having changed the subject yet.

"Apply to other jobs y/n, even if it is less salary it'd be worth it and you have the right to quit, regardless of what Horner says."

"I will I will" you sighed, pouting at Lewis who put the food down in front of you smiling as you looked up at him "thank you"

He chuckled, kissing your temple as he sat down next to you as you offered some of your food to Charles as Pierre was already taking parts of your fries.

Lewis looked at you as you devoured your food with a soft smile. You had known the Brit for years now having met him in your study years when you had been at the Mercedes hq for a tour with your class. He had already then admired your determination to punch your way to the top and he hadn’t been surprised when red bull had hired you. In his eyes you were a rare breed and he loved your confidence and fire that made it so clear and obvious for you to be where you wanted to be. He loved you in every way and he didn’t even try to hide it.

It was already late, the day moved in faster than it should concidering all the paperwork you had left. Apparently that was the only thing you could do without any help. You were sat in one of the offices in the motor-home, finishing up for the evening.

"Why are you still here?"

You recognised the voice before looking at him, the big boss. You did your best to keep cool, shrugging your shoulders as you stood up. "I'm just finishing up"

Christian nodded, giving you a tight lipped smile as he watched you gather your stuff. "Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you shortly"

You huffed but answered politely "yeah sure”

"What have I done this time?" you sarcastically voiced as you took the seat he pointed you to.

"What is this y/n?" Horner asked with a pointed tone, one that made you annoyed without even knowing what it meant

"What?"

"This" he sighed, showing you his phone where a clear picture from a magazine showed you and Lewis on the bench, it was taken in the moment he kissed your temple after he'd gotten you food. It was a cute photo, both of you smiling at eachother.

"Uh, it's me?"

Horner sighed, annoyed over your bratty tone as you talked back. "Drop the tone y/n, i mean why are you hanging out with Lewis and more importantly why is he kissing you? It looks very bad on us if you are fraternizing with the drivers and especially with our enemy"

You sighed, looking at him monotony "He is my friend, what is wrong with that?"

"The wrong with that is that it looks like you are sleeping with him!"

His words took you aback "What? Just because I am with him you think that I'm sleeping with him?"

"It's what everybody thinks y/n! Stop hanging out with him or we will have a problem"

You shook your head "I won't say up our friendship just because your sexist brain"

"Y/n, watch your language"

"No you know what fuck you Horner, literally. I have come into this work with a better degree and better experience than any other of the people in my team, yet I can't do a single thing because nobody believes a woman can do shit in this team! Don't think I don't hear all the comments, and what about all the shit you say huh? Does those things include me, yeah of course they do because i'm only here because I want to fuck the drivers, sorry I forgot" you voiced sarcastically, letting all the pent up annoyance and frustration boil over as you stood up at the table, hating how he loomed over you when you sat down.

Christian didn't say anything as you took the few steps to the door. When your hand touched the handle you turned around with an sarcastic smile "Oh, I quit"

With that you left, slamming his door behind you as you stormed out of the motor-home with your computer under your arm.

Lewis furrowed his eyebrows as you walked along the dark streets in the paddock. Most of the people had already gone home, the clock ticking long over nine so to see you there surprised him.

"Hey y/n!" he shouted after you making you stop and turn around to locate the one searching for you. Your stressed face relaxed as you saw the Brit, jogging to catch up with you. "Hey Lew" you smiled, kissing his cheek as he smiled brightly, walking with you towards the parking lot.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked curiously, watching your shoulders shrug and face twist. "Well, Christian called me in for a one to one meeting"

"Ah and how did that go?" he chuckled sensing your body language

"Shit" you grunted, his smile warming your body. "What did he want?"

"Well he called me out for hanging out with the drivers and dug up some picture of us, telling me it looked bad for him and the team if I was around a lot of drivers and especially if I was fraternizing with the enemy" you sarcastically tilled, faking his impression to Lewis amusement.

"So, I quit" you added not daring to look at his face, scared to be met with the expression that you had been wrong.

"You did!?" Lewis asked, looking at you with a bright smile "Yeah" you tilled timidly, finally daring to look him in the eyes.

"Why do you look so scared?" he chuckled, giving you a hug from the side. “Because I don’t know if what I did was stupid”

Lewis shook his head confidently “no it’s not stupid at all”

You shook your head, feeling anxiety rippling through your body “Lewis, I just quit my job, I don’t have anything else available right now and I just quit what may have been my only chance to the job I want and dreamt of my whole life”

Lewis sighed, stopping you from walking any further “y/n, you’re gonna have more chances to this kind of job and don’t worry about quitting. I know you have enough savings for months and if that has changed I will help you. All I know is that it’s the best thing you could've possibly done”

You blinked up at him timidly “you really think so?”

His smile warmed your body as he nodded “you always say you know best but I think this is the only time I can completely agree with you”

You let the smile crawl over your face as you giggled “I don’t always say that!”

Lewis laughed with you “you kinda do”

You smiled at him as you stopped in front of your car, unsure of what to do or say. Nobody could make you so nervous and insecure as Lewis could. Not because he said anything mean or did anything but because you wanted to impress him all the time. You didn’t want to show any insecurities but therefore you became a mess every time he looked at you with his angelic eyes. He could make you squirm with one look but that was also what you liked about him.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Your words were quite and didn’t sound as good as you wished but Lewis didn’t seem to mind as he smiles “sure”

Lewis made sure you didn’t dwell on the work situation for the night. Helping you pack up the groceries you bought and making you loose your facade to order take-away. He talked you up and pulled some jokes, all to keep you away from the thoughts he knew you would drown in if you were alone

Your relationship with the man was very unclear. None of you really talked about it nor thought about it to much. It was what it was and it worked for the moment. Lewis loved you and everybody knew that. The seven time world-champion making it pretty obvious with the hearts eyes he always seemed to have whenever he looked at you. You loved Lewis too but you didn’t wanna label it. At least not for now. You had worked so hard to come into the business and you wanted to be secure and confident there before moving forward with him.

But you still spent more time with him than without him, spent almost every night wrapped up in his sheets but nothing was yet official and it didn’t have to be. Both of you content for the moment but you knew that soon enough you wanted some type of commitment and you knew he wanted it too, soon

“What do you think I should do?”

You popped the question that was etched in your mind. Having to air it for some kind of peace.

Lewis hummed in your ear. Your body laid on his. Head on his chest as you watched some lazy tv.

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

You groaned, tilting your head to look at him “no, what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should announce interest in other jobs and if you want to pursue your dreams and work in f1 you should go around and talk to the other stables. Look around and just announce your interest and soon enough you will get something and if not immediately you either take a break or you find something in between” he resonated lowly with a calm tone. Making you feel like there was no problem or drama.

“What if I never get another job like this” you mumbled in his neck. His hand caressing your back comfortingly.

“Then it was never meant to be. Would you rather stay there and never feel valued than find a job that makes you happy and make you feel valued?"

“I guess you’re right” you sighed into his soft skin.

He gazed down at you, softly tilting your face so you looked him in the eyes. “It’ll be okay, you will find a nice job that you love and I’m sure that you will find a work on the grid if that is what you want. You don’t have to worry, it will all sort itself out. Maybe not tomorrow but overtime and this truly was the best decision you could make. You deserve to go to work and enjoy it and be treated good”

“Thank you Lew” you smiled, softly pecking his lips. “No need to say thank you” he mumbled, slowly kissing you again. The kiss was slow but sweet and loving. His hand rubbed circles on your back and the other one still held your chin, keeping you in place as he kissed down your chin and over your neck.

His brown eyes asked the question he needed an answer to.

Your whole body felt electric, needing his touch needing to relax and get other thoughts in your head “Please” you whispered, leaning your head back on the couch to give him more space.

The pace was slow and soft. His kisses moving down your body before his determined tongue worked on your most sensitive spot. He did everything so annoyingly slowly but you still didn’t want to take control so you let him be. Let him tease you until you came over his amazing tongue.

His dick made you feel like you were outside of your own skin as he moved slowly inside of you, the position he had you in making your head spin.

It was all soft and slow. Not with the aim to fuck you fast and hard but with the aim to savour the moment and pamper you with love

And it made you fall even harder for the Brit.

You felt like you were laying on a cloud. Your body relaxing and head slowly working down until you felt completely content.

Lewis had thrown you some clothes before climbing in bed with you, his arms cradling you to his chest as you talked with soft voices.

“How do you feel for the race?” You hummed into the skin of his chest. “Uh I don’t know” he admitted your head nodding in understanding. “Last weekend was really good but the question marks still stand and I don’t know what this season will turn out like and it makes me… I don’t know, fidgety, angsty? I want control but I don’t have that”

“Well. I think it’s gonna turn out fine. You did such good improvements last season and you are already ahead of that, I mean you got your first podium like last race and now it was the third or whatever so it’s not done yet”

Lewis hummed, pulling you into him more, nestling his face into your neck. “It will be easier if I have you”

You giggled at his cheesy comment, trading your fingers through his curls softly. “Why are you laughing at that?” He asked feigning hurt which made you laugh out loud. “Because it was so cheesy!”

“Can’t say a single thing can I?”

“You can!” You giggled “just not something so cheesy”

Lewis chuckled, kissing your temple “that’s just how I am”

You smiled at him, feeling completely overwhelmed with him and how the fuck you had met someone like him. But just like that the moment was over and interrupted with your schrill ringtone. Lewis groaned reaching for it and handed it to you with an unimpressed look.

“Y/n! I didn’t think you would answer”

You groaned out a chuckle at Pierre’s voice rolling around to look at the ceiling. “Hey! For what do I deserve that tone?” Pierre exclaimed, he was clearly not at home. The sounds in the background loud enough to drown out his voice if it wasn’t for his yelling

“Where are you?” You asked, sitting up in the bed and pulling the duvet up your chin. “I’m out with Lando and Charles, come here!”

“Nah not today Pierre” you chuckled, meeting Lewis curios look and flashing him a smile.

“Whaaat why not, you love partying with me don’t you”

“Of course I do but not today”

Pierre was quite for a second “hey why did you call?” You tried to nudge him “ah well I heard you quit!”

“Yeah I did” you hummed, laughing at his excited scream “yeeeaa finally! Hey Charles said they may be looking for someone at Ferrari so go ask tomorrow!”

“I will, thank you P, but hey if that was it can we talk tomorrow?”

“Ye yeah of course, where are you by the way?”

“Uh” you started but he catched up immediately “your at Lewis’s aren’t you!”

You grunted in annoyance “Hey Charles! Y/n is at Lewis’s!”

You groaned, throwing your head back “Pierre!”

“What! Y/n!” You heard Charles yell from beside his friend, your eyes rolling at their childish behaviour. They all knew about the ordeal after all.

“Okay okay we talk tomorrow bye idiots, call me if you need anything and be careful” you scolded

“Yeah yeah mom bye byeee”

You shook your head with a smile on your face as you looked at Lewis. “Well they just wanted to ruin the moment” you smiled, slowly sinking down next to him in the bed again. “Well they know how to do that very well”

You laughed, pecking his lips with a hum of agreement. “At least they are good at something”

Nerves tickled through your body as you waited for the e-mail. It had been a week since you’d been at an interview for Ferrari. It was the exact same job as at red bull but hopefully a better team. You loved the vibe you got when you’d been in the interview. They had showed you around and introduced you to multiply people who worked there and to your happiness there were multiply women who would work close to you if they would give you the job.

“What time was it they said?”

Lewis voice broke the silence in the kitchen. He was cooking you dinner as you sat at the bar stools with your computer. Reloading the page over and over to see if any new mail had dropped in.

“They said the results would be out thirty, everybody who applied should get a email with either an invitation to the job or a no thank you” you explained for what felt like the hundredth time.

Lewis scoffed at your tone but the smile he held told you he wasn’t angry or upset with it. Knowing you were just so stressed to know.

“It’s gonna be fine, relax” he tried but you scoffed this time “no it will not”

“Even if this isn’t your job you will find another one, take a deep breath and relax”

It didn’t matter what he told you. This meant to much for you to be able to relax and he knew that as well he just didn’t want you to stress yourself up

“I’ve got an mail” you whispered as you saw the mail pop into your mailbox after you’d reloaded it yet again.

The man immediately dropped the spatula and hurried over to you. “We’ll open it” he chuckled at your grimace.

“What if-“

“No, open it and then we will take it step by step” he told you sternly, not wanting you to stress.

You did as he said with a sigh. Your heart beating fast as you read the message.

“I got it” you whispered out loud, not really believing it yourself yet. You read it again and again until Lewis scooped you up from the chair “see told you it would work out! I’m so happy for you”

The beam you held never faltered as you ate your delicious dinner and watched a movie with the man you more and more started to fall in love with.

“I will never get tired of seeing you in red” Charles grinned as you walked through the paddock, your smile mirroring his

“I will”

The bitter mutter from your boyfriend made you chuckle, kissing his cheek to turn his frown upside down.

“Oh come on, what happened to always support and love”

“I do support you” he defended “but that doesn’t mean I have to love it”

“I think you do love u it” Pierre cut in, Lewis shaking his head at his words “it’s always hot with that type of rivalry”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Pierre’s words nodding along with his reasoning

“Not all wrong”

Lewis didn’t answer he just pulled you closer with an protective arm around your waist

“Don’t like it” he muttered in your ear

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #Lewis Hamilton #Lewis Hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfiction #Lewis Hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton angst #red bull #mercedes

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latoyalestrange · 1 year

Text

spin the bottle

d. malfoy x f!reader

Summary: On a boring ride to Hogwarts on the Hogwarts express, your Slytherin friends come up with an idea for a game to pass the time.

words: idk

warnings: lil spicy, nothing smutty. as always minors dni. this is a blurb i wrote a few years ago and just getting around to posting it here. i didnt revise it so be warned.

"Guys," Pansy sighed and slumped in her seat. "I'm bored,"

" Agreed," Goyle chimed with a mouthful of licorice. Draco was visibly annoyed. He hated hearing other people complain. You sat quietly, the odd one out of the group. You didn't have many close friends at Hogwarts, but mingled with everyone. Your true friends were nowhere to be found on the express, so you settled to sit with Draco and his posse. Even though you were friends with the Golden Trio, Draco never made an enemy out of you. Mostly because you stayed quiet, but it could also be in part caused by secret feelings of Draco's. You were nearly everything he wanted. Pureblood, smart, and you kept your opinions close to your chest. For some Draco always admired that about you. He also thought of you as a way to annoy Potter. If he had you, it would be a way to show Potter that he was a better man. After the silence ended, Pansy perked up in her seat next to Draco.

"I've got an idea! Let's play spin the bottle!" You looked nervously around at the other occupants of the train cart. Blaise, Goyle, Pansy, and Draco liked the idea.

"I get to go first," Draco sat up and snatched the butter beer bottle out of Pansy's hands.

"Oh, of course, Daddy's boy gets to go first," She teased, rolling her eyes. You stifled a giggle.

"Piss off, Pansy," He huffed, his eyes narrowing.

"Go on, then," She nudged his arm forward with her elbow. He placed the bottle onto the table and with no hesitation, he spun it around. A lump formed in your throat and you could feel your stomach fill with butterflies. The bottle spun slower and slower until it finally stopped. It pointed at you, no doubt. The boys in the compartment sounded their whistles and "oooo"'s. Pansy looked shocked. You had a feeling she was repressing anger.

"Well then, let's leave them to it," She announced to the boys. Your eyes widened.

"W-What?" You felt as if the wind was nocked out of you. You couldn't meet Draco's eyes out of nervousness, but he was staring at you, and with a smirk. "What do you mean, 'Leave us'?"

"Oh, don't you know? That's how we play this game around here, right boys?" Goyle and Blaise nodded, almost as if they were afraid of what would happen if they didn't agree. "Come on then," They followed her out of the compartment like ducklings. You blinked hard and gulped as you heard the compartment door shut. Draco stood up; you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He stood in front of you for a moment, then turned, but only to shut the blinds all around the compartment. He sat back down, opposite to you.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," He stared down at his lap and played with his ringed thumbs. A wave of relief fell over you. You looked up at him, but all you saw was a lonely, insecure boy. Suddenly, his rough personality was just a front. This was real. Now filled with sympathy, you got up and sat next to him. You knew exactly what it felt like to know no one knew the real you, and you were glad you got to see this side of him. The side that no one got to see.

"Draco?" He didn't look up at you, almost too ashamed.

"Hm?" Was his only reply.

"Kiss me," You felt his body tense under your comforting hand. You were the first person to actually accept the real him. He turned to meet your gaze with a questioning expression.

"Kiss me," You repeated. He fixed his posture towards you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek. He slowly leaned into you and locked his sot lips onto yours. Everyone knew Draco as hard and tough, but his kiss was just the opposite. Gentle, almost as if he had loved you for years. When he broke away from you, he kept his hand on your cheek and pressed his forehead against yours. You took this as a sign to take initiative and placed your mirroring hand on his jaw and pulled him in once more. He wrapped his other arm around your neck and pulled you deeper and deeper into him. Now on top of him, barely keeping balance on the narrow booth, you pulled your scarf and tossed it away, hitting the blinds that covered the window.

"Easy, tiger," He teased with a sheepish smile. You smiled back at him. You hadn't seen him smile in years. Giggling, you leaned over him for more. His hands gripped your waist and yours had fistfuls of his platinum hair.

Suddenly, a knock at the door.

"Are you guys done snogging or what?" Pansy shouted. Draco rolled his eyes, breathing heavily. You gave him one last peck and you were about to stand up from straddling his hips when his hands pulled you back. You smiled at one another once more.

"One more," He demanded quietly, his smile still not leaving his face. You leaned down and his hand tangled itself in your hair, not allowing you to release until he wanted you to. He finally retracted his grip and you got to your feet, pulling your scarf off of the ground. He stood up as well to open to door. He faced an annoyed Pansy, who fixed her attention on his now sloppy hair. She huffed and stomped back to her seat between Draco and the window.

"It was your idea," Draco teased, causing the other boys to laugh as they followed her in.

Draco's smile remained for the rest of the day.

#draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fluff #harry potter smut #dracoblurb

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starrystevie · 1 year

Text

based on this headcanon i posted previously!

"what do you mean you've never had a valentine?"

eddie rolls his eyes and swings his arms across his front as if to gesture to his entire being at steve's question.

"consider me flattered that you think all this," he gestures again, "would land me a date at all, but it's not like i even want a valentine in the first place."

they glare at each other as steve picks at his cold diner fries and eddie finishes off his strawberry milkshake. they've landed at a stand still, steve trying to figure out how eddie can experience a real valentine's day, and eddie trying to figure out how to talk steve out of whatever sympathy thing he's planning. he opens his mouth to say something, and before he can get a word out, eddie cuts him off.

"whatever you've got cookin' up in that pretty little head of yours, i want you to stop. i don't want a bullshit pity date on a fake holiday that only puts more money in the hallmark ceo's pockets. forget it."

eddie watches as a grin spreads across steve's face and he knows then and there that there's no way in hell steve will forget it.

it's four days later that eddie is packing what is bound to be the best bowl of his life, feet up on the coffee table and the wizard of oz playing faintly in the background, when he hears a knock at the trailer door. he ignores it with a huff and shakes his curls out of his face, bringing the bowl up to his lips only to be cut off by the knocking once more.

"what?!" eddie yells out. he doesn't want to get up and see who it is. he wants to wallow in the weird liminal space of self-pity and anger about capitalism and smoke weed until the flying monkeys in the movie seem even scarier than they already are. he doesn't want to deal with someone when he feels so crushingly lonely-

"it's me!" steve's voice is muffled through the door. "let me in, munson!"

something vaguely hope-shaped catches in eddie's chest before he pushes it away with a deep breath and a shake to clear his head. "open the door yourself, lazy. it's unlocked."

he hears something hit the door, a loud thump that he thinks might be steve kicking the door, and then hears the door handle rattle for a few seconds before steve clearly gives up with a groan.

"come on, a little help here?"

"this better be fucking worth it," he grumbles under his breath. eddie rolls his eyes and set the pipe down on the coffee table next to his pbr with a huff. "fine, fine, i'm coming hold your horses."

he doesn't really know what he is expecting, but steve with his arms wrapped around a bouquet of daisies, a too-big heart shaped box of chocolates, a stuffed bear and a card is at the bottom of the list. he's smiling that smile, the one that eddie takes a mental picture of and files into the steve-shaped folder in his memory every time he sees it, and he has on a stupidly charming button up shirt to go along with it all.

"what." eddie says blankly, the cold february air making him shiver as it hits his bare arms. steve thrusts the gifts towards him with an even brighter smile that has his eyes crinkling and eddie's heart thumping painfully in his chest.

"be my valentine?" steve breathes out and eddie has half a mind to pinch himself.

"steve, i don't-"

"nope," steve responds and pushes past eddie to get into the warmth of the trailer. "you don't get to say no or tell me it's stupid or that today's only a money grab for the corporate elite or whatever-"

eddie balks as steve beelines to the kitchenette to pull out a large glass to put the flowers in. "it is, though."

"-we're going to sit and order a pizza and eat these stupid, over-priced chocolates for dessert, and you're going to like it."

there's butterflies and knots and something that's too close to love fluttering around in his stomach, so eddie sits down on the edge of the arm of the couch and watches as steve finishes adjusting the bouquet.

"daisies?" eddie asks after a beat of silence.

steve beams. "they're your birth flower so i thought..."

dorothy's in the background saying something about not being in kansas and eddie feels the same.

this is all as foreign to him as tin men and scarecrows and wicked witches would be. he's never had anyone, let alone someone like steve fucking harrington, barge into his house and demand a date. he's never wanted anyone to demand a date out of him, especially on valentine's day of all days. he sees steve reach for a phone book and start searching for a pizza delivery number to call and it all feels right in a way that it probably shouldn't.

"are you fucking with me?" eddie asks. his voice feels small.

steve looks up, face smoothing out from determination to something softer, and puts the phone back in the cradle. he hesitates before grabbing the card and teddy bear, this fuzzy brown thing that's holding a heart that says 'i love you beary much', and hands them to eddie.

"not in the slightest," he tells eddie. with a wave of his hand, steve motions for eddie to open the card before pulling his hand up to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail.

the front of the card is simple, just some hearts with a 'be mine' in a fancy script, but it has eddie's breath catching anyway. it's a real card with real stupid hearts and real meaning behind it and it forces him to pause before he can open the rest. he's too cowardly to admit that he's afraid of whatever it could say.

"open it," steve says like it's the easiest thing in the world and eddie pulls his eyes away from the front of the card to see how steve is staring at the paper like it's going to burst into flames. "but don't read it out loud. please."

it's an easy request to follow. with the card open, eddie glances down to see only a few short sentences written and yet it still hits him like an arrow through his goddamn heart.

you're going to think this is a joke, the card starts, but i promise it's not. it's not pity, either. it's just some crazy little thing called love. be my valentine? xo, steve.

eddie can feel how big his eyes are, wide as dinner plates, as he looks between the card and steve who probably won't be hungry for pizza after he finishes chewing off his thumb out of nerves. a laugh sneaks out in a gust of wind through his nose and it has steve wincing despite himself, which has eddie rushing into action.

"you mean it?" he asks, wrapping his hands around steve's shoulders. their eyes meet and steve looks as scared as eddie feels as he nods with a watery laugh of his own.

"yeah, i mean it. you haven't had a valentine and what better way to start than with a harrington that is absolutely nutty over you?"

the tin man is the background singing something about having a heart while eddie's beats out of his chest as steve connects their lips in a soft kiss. and eddie might be against valentine's day, against capitalism and the mass-produced niceties that it brings to the everyday consumer, but if steve keeps pressing into him like this, it might just become his favorite holiday yet.

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luveline · 6 months

Note

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu.

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it.

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes.

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes.

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name.

You barely blink.

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out."

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back.

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements.

"It's okay," Spencer says.

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship.

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring.

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute."

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that.

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried."

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you."

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now.

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you.

You turn away from him.

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain.

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself.

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out.

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay."

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back.

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…"

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt.

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back.

You wrap your arms around his waist.

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

Eddie's hard work has finally paid off. Corroded Coffin is the new sensation and soon enough, Eddie gets an invitation for an interview, one that could promote the band on a much larger scale. He's excited but also terrified and Steve, being the supportive boyfriend he is (and also CC's unofficial mascot, "the yellow sweater boy" or simply "Stevie" to the fans) offers to go with Eddie. Eddie introduces Steve as his "emotional support ex-jock" and it goes well.

Until it doesn't.

Eddie gets more lively as he talks about the band's beginnings, the inspiration behind their songs and their influences, his own musical idols and influences. He's at ease, gesturing animatedly as he explains the evolution of the band's style, so he's caught off guard when the interviewer brings up that fateful spring of 1986. Eddie freezes, opens his mouth but nothing comes out. The memory of snapping bones, feeling of helplessness...it all comes flooding back.

But where Eddie feels like curling up into a ball and hoping the world will finally leave him alone, Steve is ready and prepared. He grasps Eddie's shoulder - Eddie blurted out a confession in one of his concerts so it's no secret for his fans that they're together, but why tempt fate - and gives the reporter a wide smile, sincere to someone who doesn't know him. He slips into his charming persona and speaks for the first time during the interview. "Thank you for asking this question," he says and the drop of poison easily dissolves in the sweetness of his voice. "I hope my recollection will be enough because I sure don't want to have Eddie go through all that horror again. But I assure you...I was there for nearly all of it. So ask away. I'm glad to finally set the record straight."

And so Steve talks about that March, about how Eddie found Chrissy dead in his trailer, mutilated in such an inhumane way his body took control and got him out, no call to the police, not a single thought. He mentions there was a witness who saw him enter the trailer and immediately stumble out, not enough time to harm anyone (Max has stuck to this story and never changed it, no matter how much anyone pushed). He talks about how he met Eddie later, how shaken he was and how the town started a manhunt for Eddie for no good reason, except that he was different. "He started a club for kids who were outcasts, who just wanted to remain children for a bit longer - and the whole town went to hunt them down. They attacked a thirteen year old girl. They beat up a fifteen year old boy just for belonging to the club."

Now it's Eddie's turn to grasp Steve's shoulder, his arm, worried about his sharp tone, his hardly contained anger. But Steve carries on, staring the reporter down as he stutters that he will have to verify this information. "This is rather different from the official story," he says, his forehead glistening with sweat.

And Steve just flashes the disarming smirk that established him as King Steve once upon a time and tells him to verify it all, please. Because Eddie Munson has nothing to hide and neither does the Corroded Coffin. "It's not different if you paid any attention to the police report," he mentions calmly, leaning back in the chair. "People don't like to speak ill of the dead, but a dead person is exactly who's at fault here. Jason Carver riled up the mob. He bought a revolver after he did that, publicly for self-protection, but..." he shrugs, buries the edge in his voice under his charm yet again. "We have a witness that heard him admit who it was for." Dead men tell no tales, but Nancy Wheeler sure does.

And as the reporter scrambles to put together a coherent thought, Steve lands the finishing blow. "It's a shame you only invited Eddie to discuss this," he says and the sympathy in his voice is almost believable. "After all, his band mates were also targeted and attacked."

The reporter stares at him, speechless.

"Oh, you didn't know?" The disbelief is genuine for once and he leans in, looks the man straight in the eye. "Jason Carver and his friends went to interrogate the band, you know. Only to talk, they said. Except they almost broke Gareth's hand during that talk. Once again...there is a witness. A different one, if you were about to ask. Perhaps you should talk to them too, I can give your their contact details. You know," he adds, smiling at the reporter, "I am incredibly thankful you brought this up. There aren't many who are willing to dig up old wrongs to set things right. I wasn't sure what to expect of this interview, there was always a possibility of someone malicious taking advantage of this traumatizing event, just to get a shocking scoop on a bunch of guys who have worked incredibly hard to get where they are. I was wary because there are always people willing to destroy lives just to get a bit further in theirs. I'm so grateful you aren't one of them. Because I see you as someone who wants to do more than shock their audience...I think you're someone who wants the truth, no matter how ugly it is."

And no matter what the reporter intended before, he is that man now. He nods frantically, assuring Steve that he will bring justice to Eddie and the Corroded Coffin. Steve Harrington has that effect on people - if he believes in someone, that belief is often enough to give that final push. Anything to keep Steve Harrington's faith, not to disappoint that earnest look in his eyes. Eddie almost feels sorry for the reporter - after all, he knows the best what his boyfriend is like when he doesn't hold back. It's a sight to behold.

After a few reassurances from the reporter, the man finally turns to Eddie. "I apologize for bringing up bad memories, Eddie," he says and perhaps this time he means it. Eddie would like to believe that. "Is there...would you like to add anything?"

Eddie thinks screw it and firmly grasps Steve's hand, homophobia be damned. He needs to get through this. "Yes, actually..." he says and his voice is low, almost broken, but at least it's coming out now, carrying the words he's wanted to shout at the world for years now. "That night...was probably the worst night of my life. Worse than when I almost died. Well. When I actually died before someone brought me back," he smiles at Steve, briefly, before turning back to the man scribbling down every word. "It took me a long time to realize I couldn't have done anything to save Chrissy. Hell, some days I still don't believe myself, I'm thinking if I've done something differently, been faster, but...in the end, it didn't matter. Doesn't stop me from feeling like I failed her."

Steve knows these things, of course. That's why he doesn't interrupt, just strokes his thumb over Eddie's whitening knuckles.

"Chrissy Cunningham was a wonderful, bright girl. She was friendly to everyone, even outcasts like me. There is no way in hell I'd ever want to harm someone that...that warm. Kind. The truth of the matter is - for years I didn't defend myself against these accusations that still appear from time to time, no matter what the official investigation said. I didn't sue anyone even though I was advised several times to do so, for the slander, the attempts at my life. Because you...because I felt guilty just for being there. For surviving when she didn't." He looks at the reporter with full force now, straightens his spine. "But I knew Chrissy Cunningham and I know she wouldn't want anyone feeling guilty for something they didn't do. She brought joy to others, not misery. And I want to honor her memory. So once and for all, for the record - I didn't kill Chrissy. I never hurt her, couldn't have. But I still keep her with me as an inspiration, as a soothing voice behind every bitter thought - I don't talk about her, don't use her story for publicity because she didn't, doesn't deserve that. But she's what I think of when I see bright smiles of our fans, when I see young people having fun at our concerts - I wish, more than anything, that she could have been one of them. So I try to bring as much joy into this world as I can to make up for the empty space she left behind, even if that might never be enough. That's all."

The interview spreads like a wildfire. Headlines like "Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson breaks silence for the first time!" or "CC's frontman reveals details of persecution and mass hysteria in 1986". The news pick up the story, question the people in Hawkins who deflect or begrudgingly admit to their actions, justifying their deeds...but some of them talk. Karen Wheeler becomes the star of the show, recalling in horror the hunt for her daughter and her son's friends. "I vouch for Steve Harrington's recollection," she says firmly, shushing her husband's feeble attempts at deflection. "I'm glad someone finally had the courage to call the spring of 1986 what it really was - a witch hunt."

Eddie finally has the courage to do what he's wanted for years - he names the next album This One's For You, Chrissy. The world knows now, it knows that he mourned for her in his own way and that she meant so much to him, as a first extended hand, as a symbol, as a human being. He donates as many profits as he can to a foundation in Chrissy's name, providing the much needed mental health support to Hawkins children and teenagers. And piece by piece, Eddie Munson heals.

Before the interview becomes the sensation it is, Eddie crushes Steve in a hug and thanks him for everything, for making this burden easier. He's still worried his words will get twisted, that there will be a new wave of hatred, but Steve just chuckles and kisses his head. He reaches into the leather satchel he had at the interview and presents Eddie with a dictaphone - everything they've just talked about recorded. "Please, Eddie," he rolls his eyes in that bitchy way that has Eddie swooning, "I may be pretty, but I'm not stupid or naive."

Apart from the much needed closure and at least partial justice, there is an unusual side effect to this whole ordeal - Steve gets a new nickname in the Corroded Coffin fan base. After the way he handled the interview, after shielding Eddie and his band mates from unwanted attention, he becomes "The Guard Dog Steve", also lovingly referred to as "Golden Retriever Steve". Eddie loves it. Steve finds it ridiculous, but it makes Eddie smile so maybe it's worth it.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie drabble #corroded coffin #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things drabble #protective steve harrington

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