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remuswriting · 3 days

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MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN; MIYA ATSUMU

Y/N decides to walk home, even though it's pouring. Atsumu and his truck save the day.

WORD COUNT: 1,950 words

TAGS: Feelings Realization; Friends to Lovers; Fluff; Post-Time Skip

NOTES: Do I write too much of Atsumu? I don't know and I don't care! Also, not beta-read. It's 2 AM as I post this so hopefully the amount of typos is not overwhelming

Read on AO3

The rain is relentless against the pavement and soaks Y/N down to the bone. The nice jacket his mother bought him for his birthday two years ago does nothing to keep him dry. It’s actually just weighing him down as the rest of his clothes stick to his body. He should find somewhere dry and wait for the rain to lighten up, but he just wants to be home already.

Y/N usually enjoys his walks home from his calculus lecture. Some days he listens to an audiobook or calls Atsumu to hear about what crazy things the MSBY Black Jackals have been up to. Although Atsumu may be annoying at times, he’s a phenomenal storyteller when he wants to be, and Y/N likes listening to stories after suffering through his three-hour calculus lecture. Atsumu also loves talking, so it works out well.

His phone buzzes inside his bag, signaling he’s gotten a text, but he refuses to pull it out. The rain will just ruin it, and he doesn’t have enough money to replace it. He imagines it’s Atsumu asking if Y/N is home yet or if he’s sound shelter to wait out the storm. Atsumu prefers calling over texting, says it’s easier to say what he needs to than type it out, but he waits until Y/N calls him because Y/N likes texting more.

His phone buzzes again in his bag—several more times, actually. There’s the possibility that it may not be Atsumu texting him. It could be Osamu, asking the same questions as Atsumu while also probably questioning him if he still has enough to eat since he meal preps for Y/N.

“It amazes me ya’ve survived this long,” Osamu said one day when staring into Y/N’s bare fridge. Two days later, he brought a myriad of containers of food, all labeled of what they were and smiley faces next to the messy kanji.

Y/N has always been thankful for the meals Osamu makes him, because he knows it does take time out of Osamu’s day, (also Osamu will not let him pay him for the food—was actually insulted when Y/N mentioned it) but he’s really thankful for those meals right now. All he wants to do is shower, put on some warm clothes, and heat up some food before watching the newest J-Drama he’s found on Netflix. The rain hasn’t put him in a cozy mood, but a mood that requires a cozy atmosphere to fix.

Lightning strikes across the sky, and Y/N really should find somewhere dry, but he’s so close to his apartment. There’s no point in stopping now. In roughly five minutes, he’ll be walking up the most likely flooded steps to his apartment. That’s what he tells himself when thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet.

For the first time in 10 minutes, a truck drives by him. Well, the truck actually slows down and matches his pace. It’s really his luck that he’s going to be killed in the pouring rain. It’s probably karma from not stopping. It’d really help if he could make out what the truck looks like, but it’s raining too hard to get a clear look. However, he faintly hears the truck window roll down slightly.

“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’?” Atsumu’s familiar voice yells over the rain. Relief crashes over Y/N because that means he’s not going to be kidnapped or killed.

“Walking home,” Y/N yells back so Atsumu can hear him, and he wonders how Atsumu knew it was him. The rain is coming down too hard for Y/N to make out the faded red truck Atsumu refuses to give up. It doesn’t matter that it’s quickly becoming a piece of shit with how terrible of a driver he is, he’s attached to the damn thing. “What are you doing?”

“Lookin’ for ya, obviously,” Atsumu says, and Y/N’s heart races a little. It must be because lightning makes an appearance once again, lighting up the gray sky. “Ya’ve not been answerin’ anyone’s texts or calls.”

Y/N rolls his eyes, even though he doubts Atsumu can see him. “I’m being rained on. Why would I get my phone out?”

“Why are ya lettin’ yerself get rained on?” Atsumu asks, as if that’s the real question. “I would’ve come and gotten ya if ya just texted me.”

It’s not a confession of anything, because Atsumu tells him that all the time. He tells Y/N how he doesn’t need to be so independent and can rely on him whenever he needs to. Atsumu is just like that, though. He’s so dedicated to the people and things he cares about, and really, Y/N is amazed he’s part of the small list of people Atsumu likes enough to consider his friends.

“It’s not that far of a walk,” Y/N says, and it thunders again. A sense of reality washes over him because if he stays out in the rain much longer, he’s going to end up sick. Being sick will make Atsumu fret over him by trying to take care of him while insulting him at the same time. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thought if Atsumu wasn’t so terrible at taking care of sick people. “Or at least not far enough that I thought to bother you.”

Atsumu stops the truck, and Y/N stops as well. He could just keep walking, but he doesn’t know how Atsumu will respond to that. Maybe driving up on the sidewalk to actually stop Y/N from walking away.

“You’re such an idiot,” Atsumu snaps, and Y/N flinches a little. “Get in the damn truck so I can take ya home.”

“My clothes are soaked,” Y/N says, and he wishes he could see Atsumu. It’s hard to fully know what Atsumu is thinking when he can’t see him.

“And? Get in the truck.”

“I’m going to get your truck all wet if I get in,” Y/N says, but he’s walking up to the door now.

“It’s already gettin’ all wet with the window bein’ down, so hurry your ass up,” Atsumu says, and Y/N grabs the door handle. His grip on it isn’t great because of how wet his hands are, but he manages to open it without issue.

Atsumu is soaked as well, which explains why he doesn’t care about Y/N’s clothes being wet. He really looks like he was nearly drowned, as if he was out in the rain for a while, but Y/N doubts he looks any better.

“Why are you soaked?” Y/N asks as the door closes. Atsumu’s hair is plastered against his head, but he still runs his fingers through it, and excess water runs down his wrist.

“I had to get out to my truck somehow,” Atsumu says, and the rain comes down harder, making the truck shake a little. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself, cause if ya get sick, I ain’t takin’ care of ya.”

It’s unsaid, but they both know Atsumu will take care of him as he always does. Y/N does the same when Atsumu isn’t feeling well—physically and emotionally. They’re just there for each other in a way that doesn’t translate across the board. Because Osamu may meal prep for Y/N and Y/N may help him out in the restaurant sometimes, but they wouldn’t do the things Y/N and Atsumu do for each other. Y/N wouldn’t go over to Osamu’s house when he’s sick to take care of him, sleeping in the living room so he’s not alone for too long.

(Although, Atsumu does have Osamu. He doesn’t really need Y/N, but that’s never been talked about. Osamu just lets Y/N in and says he has to go check on his restaurant before leaving Y/N to care for Atsumu. Really, it’s a strange thing, but it’s somehow understood without saying anything.)

“Worry about yourself,” Y/N says as he rolls his eyes. “You’re more likely to get sick out of the two of us.”

“Am not!” Atsumu says as he starts driving toward Y/N’s apartment. “I’m an athlete, which means I have the strongest immune system ever.”

Y/N chuckles because Atsumu is the one who gets sick more often out of the two of them. “I’m pretty sure Sakusa-kun is the one with the strongest immune system.”

“We ain’t talkin’ bout Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and his accent is coming out just a little more. It always does when they have these small, meaningless arguments. He’s always been one to get worked up over small things, even when he says he’s not. “We’re talkin’ bout ya and how you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

“I think you’re getting me confused with you,” Y/N says as he presses the back of his head against the headrest. A shiver runs up his spine, and he realizes Atsumu has the air on. “Why the fuck do you have the air on? Do you want us to get a cold?

Atsumu glares at him as he turns the air off. “Is it to yer likin’ now?”

Y/N hums. “Yes, thank you.”

His apartment appears in the window, and excitement rushes through him. All he can think about are the things that motivated him to even walk in the rain, and Atsumu is an added bonus. Atsumu can take a shower too since he has clothes at Y/N’s apartment, and they’ll watch that J-Drama and eat some food together.

Atsumu’s sudden silence has Y/N look over at him, and Atsumu’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly it’s concerning. Y/N just stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what’s suddenly brought on this behavior. Atsumu has always been someone who just says what he’s thinking or feeling, and when he doesn’t, it still shows. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve; he wears it proudly on his chest for everyone to see. Y/N just catches on better than most.

“Do you want to come in? I still have meals Osamu-kun made,” Y/N says, and Atsumu’s grip on the steering wheel loosens.

“Really?” Atsumu asks, and he sounds like an excited child.

Y/N chuckles. “Yes, really.”

Atsumu’s smile is bright and warm as they pull into the parking lot. Y/N smiles with him, and the familiar warmth he associates with Atsumu blooms in his chest. When Atsumu looks at him, it only grows to burn a little. It’s when Atsumu unbuckles his seatbelt Y/N realizes that part of him would’ve been crushed if Atsumu had said no. He would’ve understood, but having Atsumu with him will improve his mood better than any J-Drama will.

They look each other in the eyes, and Y/N gently tilts his head a little. “You didn’t get soaked just running out to your truck, did you?”

Atsumu’s smile falters slightly, as if he’s been caught, and his cheeks turn a gentle pink. Y/N nearly laughs, but he holds it in, just like he holds in the urge to run his fingers through Atsumu’s soaked hair. The brassiness in it has Y/N making a mental note to buy Atsumu more purple shampoo. After a moment, Atsumu chuckles a little.

“No, I didn’t,” Atsumu confesses before unbuckling his seat belt. “I didn’t realize the math buildin’ was so big.”

Y/N actually laughs this time. “Yeah, but next time I’ll make it easier to find me.”

Atsumu’s blush only grows to cover his entire face. “Ya better.”

#haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x male reader #haikyuu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x male reader

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medicinemane · 2 months

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#this isn't to brag; this is just me being reminded by someone saying 'being to paralyzed to hand a pair of socks to the person next to you'#in regards to internet activism; and being so caught up in the horror of it all that people become unable to help in real world ways #anyway; only remembered cause of the specific choice to talk about giving socks #once at my apartment when I was getting a pizza delivered; it was snowing out... just a real wet day #driver comes up; and he says his feet are just soaked through; and is there any way I could give him some socks #and it was like... you know what? sure; why not?#so I just went and grabbed some socks and gave em with his tip #just a memory that very specific phrasing choice brought back to me #mm tag so i can find things later

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sluttywoozi · 23 days

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Starry Eyed | kmg x reader

Ten months together and every moment still feels brand new.

Rating: T | WC: ~2.6k | Genre: romance, fluff | Pairing: kmg x reader

Warnings: kissing, food

Reader Notes: wears a dress, gets lifted by mingyu, referred to as ‘miss’ (forgot to add before, my bad!)

You’re not always ready when Mingyu rolls up to your house and knocks on your door, but on nights like tonight, you are.

You’ve got your prettiest dress on, the one that he said makes your eyes sparkle, and you have a small container holding the cake you baked him just this afternoon. There’s a blanket, some battery powered fairy lights, and a bluetooth speaker in your bag, and as soon as you hear his timid raps on the wood, you’re on your feet and across the room. You don’t bother to slow yourself down as you open the door, long past pretending you do anything but sit on the couch waiting for him on nights like these.

Especially since it’s his birthday. Well, almost.

The smile that lights up his face when you appear has you fighting a swoon, though you know he would catch you before you hit the ground, his clumsiness absent when it comes to protecting you.

“Hey baby,” he says softly, already leaning in for a kiss. You happily grant it, pressing your lips to his and feeling that familiar spark in your stomach, the one you’ve only ever felt with him.

“Hi Mingyu,” you whisper, feeling oddly shy as he looks you up and down, taking in the bag on your shoulder and the box you carry. Normally, you’re empty handed, content to spend the hours just listening to music and talking about everything and nothing, like you always do.

But you want him to feel special tonight, to feel the love that you foster for him, to see the roots of the flowers that grow in your heart, watered and fed by him and him alone.

“Ready?” He asks, holding a hand out and waiting for you to take it, as if you could ever deny him.

“Ready,” you grin, giggling as he pulls you through your garden gate and around to the passenger seat of his truck. He opens the door for you and holds your waist as you climb up, making sure you’re securely inside before closing your door and running around to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going tonight?” You wonder, resting your head on the back of the seat and gazing at his profile, his sharp jawline and perfect nose and adorable ears.

“I thought I’d take you to the lake, the stars are crazy this time of year,” he glances over at you, laying his hand palm up on your thigh. The corners of his lips quirk up when you lace your fingers through his and he brings your joined hands to his mouth for a kiss, like it’s just instinct by now.

After ten months together, maybe it is.

This will be the first of Mingyu’s birthdays that you’ll get to be with him for, and you’re honored and slightly nervous that he wants to spend the time leading up to it with you. It’s barely 9 pm, there’s still three hours until it’s actually his birthday, but he was adamant that he wanted you with him for the transition and you’ve never been one to tell him no.

So here you are, driving down backroads and nodding along to the soft music playing on his radio, soaking in his lovely singing voice and stifling a smile at his lisp. He squeezes your hand when your song comes on, the one you decided together best matched your relationship, and you feel his ivy in your heart grow just a bit denser, just a bit greener.

It’s not long before you pull up to the lookout, Mingyu parking on the gravel with not a single other car in sight. If you were with anyone else, you’d be nervous, scared of every shadow and the dark lake stretched out in front of you, but with Mingyu, you know you’re safe.

He turns the truck off and unweaves his fingers from yours, jogging around to your side to open your door and help you down. You hold tight to your bag and the box of cake as he wraps his hands around your sides and helps you step down. You don’t mean to but you end up in his space when your shoes touch gravel, and there’s a split second of tension, one where you’re sure he’ll kiss your lights out. He just pulls away and takes your hand again, though, and you take in a deep breath and hold it long enough to blank out the dizziness he evokes.

Mingyu is quick to unlatch the tailgate when you get to the back of his truck, and even quicker to hoist you up into the cargo bed, his hands respectful and his handling of you utilitarian. You know it’s just because he’ll get distracted if he lingers, but you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to dawdle a teeny bit more, not that you’ll ever tell him that.

He hops up into the bed with you, walking over to the large metal storage box and pulling something out with a flourish.

“Look, baby,” he grins, his eyes somehow brighter than his smile.

You can’t quite tell what it is he’s holding, but then he unravels it and you realize with a gasp and a skip of your heart that he’s brought a bedroll. He must have packed it just for you, after you told him your back ached the last time you laid in the bed of his truck for hours.

“You’re so sweet, I could cry,” you beam up at him from where you sit, rising to your feet so he can arrange the padding. You take the time to set up your own things, winding the fairy lights along the inner edges of the truck and powering on your bluetooth speaker, starting your mixed playlist at a volume low enough for you to talk over. The blanket was meant to go under you but now it can go over, and you’re even more grateful for his thoughtfulness when you feel the chilly spring breeze ruffle your dress.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most practical choice of clothing, but you wanted to dress up for him a little bit, and you can’t fault yourself for that.

“You look so pretty, I should have told you earlier,” Mingyu says as he settles on his back on the padding, reaching out for you with open arms. You kneel carefully and curl up next to him, grabbing a corner of the blanket and drawing it over both of your bodies as you lean back and rest your head on his outstretched arm.

“Thank you,” you smile and tilt toward him for a kiss, your lips pressing against his softly before you pull away and snuggle into his chest. You feel a pressure on the top of your head and know he must have kissed you there too, eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

Ten months together and every moment still feels brand new.

You turn your eyes to the sky and take in the blanket of stars above you, their light striking on such a cloudless evening.

You know the visible constellations in this area thanks to countless nights spent like this, but you let him point them out to you anyway, just because he gets so excited to tell you about their stories.

He can summon them from memory by now, having lived in this small town his whole life. You moved here only two years ago, and met Mingyu before you even moved in.

After hours of driving, your sweet little car broke down a mile from the city line, with all of your earthly possessions packed in the back. You were close to tears, sitting on the side of the road trying to get in touch with your insurance when he pulled up behind you and hopped out.

You were nervous at first, he’s such a large man and he has such a large truck, but then he smiled at you and asked in the most gentle voice you’d ever heard, “Need some help, miss?”

You, obviously, fell in love immediately, but you were sure a guy like him would be taken already so you kept your feelings to yourself and tried not to let your eyes linger on his muscles as he loaded your things into the bed of his truck.

You had to look up your own address when he asked, and offered to give him directions but he just turned to you and said softly, “No need, miss, I know how to get there.”

And he did. Fifteen minutes later, he was parking in front of your new home and offering to bring your belongings in if you’d run ahead and get the door. All of your city-bred instincts told you not to let him into your house, but you decided then and there to put your faith in him, and to this day, he’s never made you regret it.

Mingyu asks you a question, pulling you out of your reverie, and you feel your cheeks heat as you realize you drifted off in thought while he was speaking.

“Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?” You ask, looking up at him with your most apologetic eyes.

He just grins and shakes his head, knowing you get lost in your head sometimes.

“I asked if you believe in soulmates,” he repeats in a nonchalant voice, the circles he swirls on your back the only sign that he’s nervous about your answer.

You hum, contemplating carefully. You never believed in fate or destiny growing up, and the concept of soulmates always seemed to be so far-fetched, but you have to admit that Mingyu has made you think differently.

He hardly ever leaves town, what were the odds of him being sent over to the city for a one day carpentry workshop? What were the odds of him coming back right after your car broke down? What were the odds of you even moving here in the first place?

There were hundreds of small towns to pick from, why did you choose this one?

And how in the hell was he single when you finally worked up the guts to ask him on a date?

“Baby? You don’t have to answer, I know you don’t really believe in that stuff,” he forces a laugh, shifting under you.

“I didn’t until I met you,” you confess, looking up to face him because you can feel his eyes on you.

He searches your face, hope and nerves warring on his own until his gaze clears and his lips stretch in a shining, ardent grin.

“I love you,” he whispers slowly, the words carrying more weight than they usually do. You know he always means it, but this time feels different, more like a promise.

“I love you,” you send him a wobbly smile, your feelings bubbling up in your chest until you fear they’ll spill out of your eyes as tears.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, drawing you toward him just as you start to lean in. You’re happy to meet him in the middle and even happier to feel his lips on yours, to feel him breathe his love into you.

You kiss for what feels like hours, always keeping the gentle, languid pace. There’s no urgency, no blaze of desire, just a warm, comforting feeling overtaking you, something like sinking into a hot bath after a long, freezing day.

When you finally pull away, it’s because an alarm goes off, one that you completely forgot you set in the first place. You reach into your bag for your phone and you’re shocked to discover it actually has been hours since you started kissing him, your sense of time completely skewed when it comes to Mingyu.

In just five minutes, it will be his birthday, and if you didn’t have the forethought to set an alarm for 11:55, you would have kissed him right through midnight.

This gives you just enough time to get everything ready, and though he pouts when you peel yourself off of him, you know he’s excited for what you have in store.

“Close your eyes,” you instruct him softly, waiting for his eyelids to flutter shut before springing into action.

He didn’t ask you to do anything but spend time with him, and while you’re happy to do that, you still couldn’t stop yourself from preparing just a little something.

You dig through your bag again to find the utensils, birthday candles, and lighter buried at the bottom before grabbing the container you stashed by the tool box. Wishing, hoping, praying the cake hasn’t been ruined, you take off the lid and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of unmarred frosting.

Mingyu is no stranger to your baking, but this is the first cake you’ve specifically made just for him, and you want it to be perfect.

With the clock ticking, you carefully push the 2 and 7 candles in, setting the container down next to him and lighting the wicks just as your second alarm goes off. There’s only one minute till midnight now, and you leave your phone clock on so you can watch the time go from 11:59 to 12:00.

“Okay, open,” you tell him, kneeling a foot from where he lays, your lips bitten between your teeth and your hands clasped together in excitement.

When he blinks his eyes open and you see his face in the candlelight, the sheer love and devotion that floods your chest takes your breath away. You couldn’t exactly hide the cake container so you know he was aware you were planning something, but his eyes still grow wide in joyful shock, the beam that spreads his kiss-swollen lips enough to send your heart galloping away.

“Baby, you did all this just for me?” He asks, his voice just a bit watery and his eyes only slightly glassy.

“Of course I did, Gyu, I love you. Now, make a wish and blow out the candles, it’s almost midnight!” You urge him, watching as his eyes squeeze shut and his lips move, like the wish won’t come true if he doesn’t actually spell it out.

You don’t try to decode his words, even though you’re sure he won’t tell you what his wish was. You’ll let him keep it, you think, and make your own wish that his will come true.

His eyes open before he purses his lips and pushes out a breath, extinguishing the candles and grinning up at you with a secret in his smile. You can only surmise the wish involves you, and curiosity sinks its claws deep into you, down to the bone.

“You’re not going to ask what I wished for?” Mingyu gleefully teases you, reading you like you’re a book he’ll never put down.

“Nope,” you shake your head magnanimously, faking serenity even though you know he can see right through it.

His face softens into something fond, and before he can even reach for you, you’re leaning down and pressing your lips to his. It’s just a chaste, loving peck this time, mainly because you can tell Mingyu is itching to taste the cake. “Happy birthday,” you murmur into his lips before pulling away and pushing the cake closer to him.

“Have at it,” you giggle as you hand him a fork, watching as he digs in with gusto, his eyes closing and his face scrunching in delight at the flavors you chose.

He lets out a pleased hum, then garbles through a mouth full of cake, “Thank you, baby. Best birthday ever.”

You won’t even beg him to swallow before speaking like you usually do - it's his day, after all.

AN: happy birthday to the darling boy! sorry i'm a day late 💖

For mingyu and @bbychocolat

thank you for cheering me on @the-boy-meets-evil 💖

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trashmouth-richie · 3 months

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𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

love sick! eddie x fem reader

eddie comes to your house in the middle of a rainstorm begging for something you can’t give him

hurt no comfort, reader is kinda a fuck girl in this situation, eddie is sweet, smut 18+ only mdni

Rain pattered loud against the windows, thunder clapped and rumbled in before the lightning rode behind and brightened the midnight sky. His hair was sopping wet, dark waves drenched to silky ropes. You didn’t know how long he was knocking before the repetitive noise had woken you.

He was soaked.

Soggy Reeboks squished against the doormat as he chattered his teeth unwillingly through the threshold of your front door.

Water pooled around his feet as you counted the slow drops of rain falling from his fingertips onto the carpet. A steady rhythm— anything to keep your eyes from seeing the hurt etched into his face.

A fling was all this was supposed to be. Nothing serious. No feelings. You kept your side of the bargain but Eddie fell for you before he could stop himself. He thought if he kept his feelings hidden you wouldn’t catch onto them, or maybe he silently hoped you also had feelings for him.

It wasn’t until he noticed your car parked outside of Steve Harrington’s house, on the way to work one morning. Dew slicking your windows, that he realized you had been there since night, having spent the evening tucked into a king bed with Steve, of all people.

He ignored his aching heart, shook away the hurt. The smile he put on when you stopped by his work to have a quickie in the bathroom, was practically believable, award winning.

Your car showed up in other driveways, and he wondered if you’d always been there— under his nose, or if this was new for you.

Eddie wanted you all to himself. But that was not part of what this was. Months went by and he never once turned down your midnight calls. He ignored hickies that weren’t from him, earrings with initials that weren’t his or yours. He wouldn’t dare lose you because he couldn’t handle how he felt. But one night he messed up.

The night was like any other, he was buried inside of you, as you rode him in the tub. Soapy water was splashed all over the floor, his tattoos looked alive beneath the shimmery smears of body wash. As your tits bounced in his face, your fingers were curled tight at the back of his neck, wringing the wet from his curls.

And it slipped.

You felt so good, your perfect body full in his hands, delicious curves and smooth skin he could never get enough. He’d never forget the tangy lick of cherry on your lips, the way your eyes closed as you came.

Three words fell like a prayer from his lips, a spewed string of murmurs that stung his eyes from relief, finally letting it out. And as he came you stopped cold.

And that was it.

It had been a month. Arguably the worst month of Eddie Munson’s life.

A month spent drunk and high, only to find out that the demons couldn’t be deceived. The reality of you telling him it was over hit him over and over again. Your face, the tears you wouldn’t allow yourself to fall, blinded his dreams, tortured his sober hours. He was a wreck.

Arms crossed tight, socked toes working into the carpet you haven’t stopped staring at the water running from his rings.

“Eddie… what are you doing in the rain?”

He couldn’t tell you that he walked here from The Hideout. That he just needed to see your face.

“Are you drunk?” You reach for the keys on the little hook shelf he had put up for you after it sat in a plastic bag on your table for weeks. He teased you about knowing your way around a screw driver, put the wall stud meter on himself and told you it was broken when it didn’t beep.

He didn’t say anything and you sighed clutching the keys in your palm and reaching for a jacket, “c’mon, let me drive you home.”

He held your arm before it could grip the cotton of your jacket, bringing it down to your side.

“Please..” he begged, a cold hand moved to your cheek and you finally looked at him. Almost taken aback by the purple circles of agony coloring his under eyes, his skin was sickly ghost-white and pale, “I wanted to see you.”

You breathed his name as his fingers curled around your jaw, sighing, closing your eyes, “I can’t… I can’t be what you need.”

Love wasn’t for you. It never had been, and he understood that… until he didn’t, until he told you he loved you, until he swore you felt the same. But you didn’t, you couldn’t.

He felt insane coming here. The guys tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen.

“I know, I just…” what he wanted was you, wanted to feel your body pressed to his, wanted to taste your lips as you desperately unzipped his pants— giggling in the empty hallway to his bedroom.

He wanted to hear your pretty sighs as he nipped at your thighs, feel your knees buckle when his fingers pushed past your warm slick lips under your skirt.

“..didn’t get to— I know you can’t change how you feel but..”

“Eddie…”

“…lie to me.”

You’re stunned, staring back at him at his wild eyes filled with so much hurt you could feel it in your soul. “I… don’t understand.”

He wets his lips then, and you can taste the bated breath on them, the intoxicating essence that Eddie always filled you with, and you yearn for more.

He’s so close to you now, pressing your back firmly against the shut door. his wet hair beading onto the thin strap of your tank top.

“Please sweetheart,” he whispers, moving the strap down your arm, “.. lie to me, tell me you love me.”

You hang your head, murmuring out a plea that’s formed with hot staticky lust and pain, “I don’t want to hurt you Eds.”

A finger hooks under your chin bringing you back up to him and he smiles with tears in his eyes, “you won’t baby, you never could.”

You say it and his lips find yours in a heated squish of flesh and teeth. The gasping breath echoing along the walls as Eddie hooks his arms beneath your knees and carries you tight against his chest to your room.

Your arms untangle the leather jacket from his shoulders, and when he sets you down like a dainty flower on your mattress he finishes the hasty job of wrestling his arms out from the destroyed fabric and it slaps to the ground.

Clothes are everywhere, yours dry and his completely soaked, he shivers in his nakedness, skin bitter cold to the touch. He seethes when your warm hands pull him down to you, your body practically a furnace against his.

His mouth is hot against the column of your throat, sliding his tongue around the silk of your skin. His hips roll into your body when he smells your shampoo, fuck he’s missed you.

You’ve missed him. Nobody in Hawkins could compare to the way Eddie made you feel.

He intertwined your fingers like lover’s would and you let him. Easy to pretend that you were both on the same page of feelings, everything with Eddie came easy. He’s murmuring nonsense into your neck, tongue swirling, teeth biting, marking you up the last time.

He wanted to be yours. Wanted you to want to be his. But he had to let you go, and tonight he would spend as much time as he could bringing you over the edge of the peaceful shattering of pleasure.

He moves down your body kissing between the valley of your tits, lapping up your honey sweet nipples like they were made of nectar. Never getting enough.

Your pitiful moans dance like dandelions around your room and he nearly cums on your blanket when you pant his name as his tongue licks up your cunt.

He’d missed your taste, the way he’d fuck you stupid and hours later he could still taste you on his lips. You wrap your thighs around his head like he knew you would.

A peek up your body and your fingers were fisting the comforter, and he smirked into your clit.

Whoever you were fucking now must not be doing it right because you had come fast on his tongue not once, but twice, and his heart swelled with pride.

When he climbed back up the bed, your eyes were shut and you looked drunk, ragged breathing making your heart skip beats.

He lays beside you, kissing your bare shoulder, working a path to your cheek, waiting patiently for your strength to come back, whispering how he’s missed you, how beautiful you are, and you hold back tears.

You said it again when he stretched you open, gasping and crying out from his size, “..fuck, so so so big.”

He chuckled into your neck, pistoning his hips with a jerk causing you to moan, “don’t want you to forget about me pretty girl.”

Your reply is snuffed out into his neck, slurred out with moans and murmurs of his name. He fucked you hard then slow, a lazy rhythm with his forehead resting on yours, collecting your lips with his whenever he could, swallowing each others groans.

He’s close, and so are you. You can feel his arms beginning to shake, and his breathing picks up in racing tandem with yours. “where’d you want me?”

Your eyes are rolled back and you’re arching your back from the bed, babbling a plea of how you don’t care where, and your orgasm snaps.

Eyes pinched and huffing you both come at the same time, tangled in sweaty sheets and frizzy hair. It’s pure bliss, no matter how ignorant you may both be in the moment.

—

Hours pass. Eddie’s light snores keep you company with the hum from the dryer filled with his clothes. Your fingers slide through his curls, working knots out with your fingernails as he lays heavy on your chest. His lips are red from the night, maybe a bit swollen.

Pushing back his bangs you get a good look at his features. The bulby nose, the silver scar on his forehead that you never thought to ask where it came from. The thick sweep of black lashes contrasting to his porcelain skin. He was beautiful.

And you were a liar.

Saying it a third time tonight, you say the three word lie Eddie begged you to tell him.

He was fooled, and you’d keep doing it to protect him from you. Because saying you loved Eddie, never was a lie.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie imagine #eddie blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie x you smut

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suuuupernovaaa · 10 months

Text

Taxi Cab

Hobie Brown x f!Reader

She would never hurt anyone. He would hurt anyone for her.

Before Hobie, nothing very eventful ever happened in my life. I grew up in a happy home, went to a good school, and decided to become an art teacher. I got good grades, I made life long friendships with people similar to me, and I kept my head down and minded my business.

Though it's been nearly half a year since he came rocketing into my life, I still can't put my finger what exactly drew Hobie to me. We don't have a lot in common. Where I am passive, Hobie is active and fierce. Where I am lenient, Hobie is harsh. Until Hobie, I had never listened to punk music, considered anarchy, or pierced a single thing on my body.

Well, I still haven't done the last one. Besides my ears. Needles are too much for me. Sometimes I get nervous that the spikes on Hobie's wardrobe are going to stick me.

Hobie is a force. He's dangerous, he's passionate, he's larger than life. Being near Hobie is addictive. He has a gravity around him that draws people in, but it tends to spit them out at much the same rate.

For some reason, I've been able to hang on. Sometimes it feels like clinging for dear life, until he reminds me how much he cares.

Even though he can do that in odd ways.

Like tonight.

Ever since I met Hobie, trouble seems to follow me around. I've been mugged twice, had my tires slashed, and even had to move because someone broke into my apartment and trashed the place.

My parents are becoming increasingly alarmed, only satisfied in the fact that Spider-Punk always seems to be nearby. They don't necessarily approve of Spider-Punk (I mean, most don't), but they do at least appreciate that he seems to be looking out for me.

Which is so weird! Hobie can't figure it out either, but he says Spider-Punk is a narcissistic asshole who only saves people to get attention for himself.

He might just be mad that I said I thought Spider-Punk seemed like he'd be cute, under the mask.

I was hoping my luck had turned around and I wouldn't need to run into Spider-Punk again for a while, but I guess that was just silly optimism. On my way to Hobie's with two large bags of groceries in hand, I'm stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk when a taxi cab crashes directly into a fire hydrant.

The fire hydrant lets loose a typhoon of water in my direction, and I scramble to the right to get out of the water, but it's too late. I'm soaked.

"Oi!" I hear the unmistakable sound of Hobie yelling. He was heading my direction after I told him the bags were getting heavy, and arrived just in time to witness the crash. He wrenches open the door of the car and pulls out the taxi driver. He seems unharmed, a little shaken up, with heavy bags under his eyes and a wobble in his step.

Drunk or high.

"You could've killed someone!" Hobie is shouting, looking over at me and then back at the driver. "I ought to kick your fucking arse." He pushes the man against the side of his cab as the water continues to spray. I drop the groceries, mostly ruined now, and approach Hobie.

The man is muttering something under his breath, and as I reach them, I can smell the liquor coming through his pores.

I grab Hobie's arm. "I'm okay. Come on."

"No, I saw it, he nearly killed you, Y/N. Just a few feet over, you'd be gone. Then I'd have to fuckin' kill him!" Hobie slams him against his car one more time, and I pull on his arm harder.

"But he didn't. The cops are on their way. Let's go. I need help carrying the groceries, and it's too cold for me to be all wet."

Hobie looks at me finally, really looks at me, and then with one more burning glance at the inebriated taxi driver, gruffly releases his collar and turns to me.

Effortlessly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal-style, and I gasp. He strides with ease over to our drowned groceries, and bends down, picking them up in his hands.

"Jesus, have you been working out?" I ask.

His face is too tense for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Despite my protests, he carries me into his building and up three flights of stairs, only setting me down once we are safe inside the walls of his apartment.

Without me asking, he goes into his room and brings out a pair of leggings I've left here before, and one of his t-shirts. I change in the bathroom, drying my hair as best I can with a towel, before going back to the kitchen to see what can be salvaged of the groceries.

"I think I can still do something with this! The bread is gone but, homemade bread crumbs aren't like, necessary. They're just fancy." I turn to see Hobie leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, still scowling. "Uh, or I can go to the store, if the homemade bread crumbs were like, important."

I let out a yelp of surprise when Hobie pushes himself off the counter and strides towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me to him for a rough, passionate kiss.

In moments, I meld into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as his fingers find their way into my hair, and his tongue enters my mouth.

This kiss feels different. Urgent, feverish, desperate. He holds me tightly, pressing me so close to him it feels like he wants us to be one person, like he would climb right into my skin.

I pull away for just a moment, gasping for breath. "Are you okay?" I say on an exhale.

Hobie stares down at me intensely, his hands still in my hair, his eyes wild and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he says flatly. "There's no limit to what I'd do."

I bring my hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, nodding. "I know, Hobie."

"I would have killed that man if you hadn't stopped me."

I know he's exaggerating to make a point, but a chill runs up my spine a the way he says it so calmly, with no hint of irony. I remember his chest heaving, the wild look in his eyes as he held that drunk man up against his own car.

He looked out for blood.

"I'm okay, Hobie. So are you."

"Move in with me. You hate that new place. Stay here."

We've only known each other six months. We're barely adults. I make no money as a new teacher and I honestly haven't figured out how Hobie seems to make so much money off the gigs he plays. It's too soon to move in together. It's not smart.

But I love him. And he loves me. We haven't said it yet, but I don't know that we need to. I can see it in his eyes, feel it while he holds me, taste it on his lips.

He loves me.

"Okay."

"Today. Like, we can get your stuff later, but don't sleep there anymore. Stay with me."

I nod and lean forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. His hands finally leave my hair, and wrap tightly around my shoulders. I listen to his heartbeat - rapid at first, but as we stand there, silently clinging to each other, it begins to slow down.

He's pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, humming quietly, and I've never felt more in love.

I've never felt more cared for, more loved in return, more safe.

Six months or sixty years. I don't think it matters.

#hobie brown #Hobie brown x reader #Hobie brown x you #Hobie brown fluff #Hobie brown fic

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kkongdakz · 6 months

Text

“ ONE BED. ” ft. park gunwook

gunwook x gn!reader, genre : enemies to potential something, neutral but kind of fluff, warning : use of the word die once, wc : 1k>

« this can't happen. » you say defeatistly, letting your bag fall to the floor and staring at the room's only double bed. why the bus driver had to decide to stop for the night, letting you run around in the downpour turning into a flood to this shabby little hotel. only to discover that the hotel has fewer rooms available than expected, and on top of that, you end up sharing a room with the one person you can't stand.

and obviously, this room has only one bed.

not wanting to deal with your bad temper, your teachers quickly slipped away to their respective rooms, locking their doors, leaving you soaked to the bone, staring at the bed in front of you.

« there is no way i'm getting in a bed with you. » you declared, pointing a finger at the mattress, your gaze pivoting towards gunwook, who rolled his eyes and sighed. the boy didn't care about your reaction, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he walked around you, infiltrating the bathroom, « you're welcome to the floor. »

with a fake, provocative smile, he finally slammed the door of bathroom, locking it, only for you to hear the shower running a few minutes later. a long sigh left your lips as you decided to leave the room to find something to munch on until you can warm up with a nice hot shower. wandering around the motel, you finally came across a vending machine, taking the time to observe what it was offering. after a few moments of reflection, you simply took a packet of bear jellies and a can of coke, before dragging your feet back to your hotel room.

opening the door, you came face to face with gunwook, who had just come out of the shower room. as he wiped his hair with his towel, you placed your purchases on the bedside table before grabbing your bag to take his place. there's no feeling more satisfying than throwing off your wet clothes for a hot shower — which you did without further ado.

after long minutes of enjoying the warmth, you put on your pyjamas and made your way to the main bedroom. unsurprisingly, gunwook was on the bed, scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring you. you didn't wait long before sitting down at the end of the bed, looking around you — there was really nothing to do. on top of that, it probably didn't have a heater because of the way the hairs on your arms stood up from the cold. « woah, it's really cold. » you whispered, pulling your legs up to your chest.

until something hits you square in the back.

ready to turn around and howl at him like a ferocious beast, your fingers came into contact with the object he had thrown at you : a sweatshirt. probably his sweatshirt. frowning, gunwook gestured to you to put it on silently, just then returning to his own business on his phone. without bothering to thank him verbally, you slipped it on without further ado, enjoying the softness and warmth of the fabric against your skin.

not mentioning the fact that his scent on it appealed to your nostrils.

swivel for crawling on the mattress to get under the blanket, your gaze landed on him, attracting his attention. lying down as far away from him as possible, you put on a falsely threatening face before speaking : « touch me and die. »

a scoff leave his lips, probably due to the nerve you showed, when he had just sacrificed the warmth of his sweatshirt for you. paying no further attention to him, you turned your back on him and closed your eyes, praying that sleep would come to you as soon as possible.

which obviously didn't happen.

a long sigh left your lips as you didn't dare turn over in bed, pulling as hard as you could on the blanket to cover your frozen body. which drew yet another long annoyed sigh from the boy next to you. moving slightly to stare at the dark ceiling, you nibbled your lower lip as you pondered. should you talk? perhaps the best idea for you both is to have as few altercations as possible, but it was going to be a long night if you kept getting cold like that.

so you decided to talk, « you're not sleeping? » you asked, trying not to turn your gaze to gunwook, but simply glancing out of the corner of your eye, « nope. »

his voice seemed to fade into a sigh, though his answer was short. « why? » you continued, wrapping your body a little more tightly in the warmth of the blanket. « don't want you to stab me the second i close my eyes. » he declared in an amused tone, which gave way to a small smile at the corner of your lips, as you rolled your eyes. so you decided to look in his direction, just for a few seconds, without thinking that your pupils would be planted in his.

« i won't. » you finally whispered, trying to ignore the cute smile that had just appeared on his lips when you said those words. the moonlight passing through the thin curtains of the motel room illuminated his face, which you noticed had just softened.

suddenly, gunwook's hand came out of the blanket and slipped around your waist, drawing your body closer to his. you looked at him incredulously, unsure of how to react — but the warmth of his hand against your back made you want to snuggle up to him. « you're cold right? » he said in a whisper, pulling you completely against him, and in an instant your body felt warm again. nodding slightly and muttering an inaudible reply, you pulled yourself up against him, keeping your arms against your chest. finding a comfortable position, you ignored the acceleration of your heartbeat as you closed your eyes, praying that the sandman would pass quickly to put you to sleep.

« this never happened? » you say softly, camouflaging yourself a little more against him, seeking the slightest ounce of warmth from his body. « deal. » he replied, tightening his arms around you, placing his cheek against the top of your head while closing his eyes, ready to fall from exhaustion.

maybe in the end, this night wasn't going to be the worst of all.

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nyoomfruits · 3 months

Note

"I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me" for the ask list? maybe landoscar or any pair you feel inspired by! <3

“i think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me”

It’s started to drizzle when Lando pushes his way through the front doors of the hotel, runs out into the street. Oscar’s only a few feet away, standing on the curb looking at his phone, clearly waiting for the car to come pick him up. His suitcase is next to him, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Oscar,” Lando breathes out more than says, way too relieved to find him still here, rushing in his direction.

Oscar hears him anyway, looks up a little confused, even more confused when he spots Lando. “Lando?” He asks. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, you fucking bastard,” Lando says, puts his hands on his hips. “Not anymore. A letter, really? Not even. A fucking letter?”

Oscar has the decency to look at little ashamed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Bullshit,” Lando says. “That’s and you know it. I just want to know why. This whole week we’re having a great time together and I thought, you know. And then you leave me a fucking letter confirming that great time, and then you fucking end it with ‘I’m sorry to leave but I can’t be what you want me to be’. What does that even mean.”

“I don’t do casual, Lando,” Oscar says. He looks a little tired around the eyes, a little sad. Lando gets it. He’s not a driver, doesn’t even work for F1, but he’s lived near Silverstone all his life. He knows how hectic shit gets. How taxing this whole week is for someone like Oscar. “I can’t- Not with you.”

“Okay,” Lando says, a little confused. “That’s nice? For you? Then why didn’t you just, I don’t know. Leave your phone number? You know, like a normal person. Or you could’ve woken me up. Even normaler person behavior.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Oscar says, and when Lando merely glares at him he shrugs, a little bashfully. “You just. I just didn’t think that’s something you wanted. You gave the impression you know. That this was just a one week thing to you.”

And. Okay. Maybe Lando did keep talking about how F1 feels like this one-week festival every year. How it comes and goes and feels like transporting yourself to another universe for a week. How he’s made friends he only sees once a year. How he’s made friends that felt like the best he’d ever dad for the duration of that one week and then never saw again.

He’d never considered that, with Oscar. Oscar had felt. Permanent. All encompassing. Inevitable. From the moment Oscar had gotten out of his stupid bright orange McLaren down the road from his parent’s farm to ask for directions because he’d found himself horrible turned around, Lando had felt this. Connection.

Which is stupid, because Oscar is a world famous F1 driver and Lando is a farmer’s son from a small town in the middle of the English countryside, but still. They’d clicked, immediately. Oscar somehow being perfectly equipped to deal with Lando’s slightly chaotic energy in a way no one in this town ever really had, giving as good as he got. He’s charming, in a very understated way. Sweet.

And they had fun, this past week. A lot of fun. Fun Lando hoped they would be able to continue, after.

But then this morning had happened, and the letter, and he’s started doubting that maybe-

“It wasn’t,” he says, earnestly, honestly. Because if he only gets one shot at this, he’s taking it with both hands. Worst case scenario he’ll never see Oscar again. Best case scenario… Well. He’d love to find out. “Just a one week thing for me.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, and he’s smiling, and the rain has started to pick up so his hair is starting to stick to his forehead, but neither of them really cares. “Me neither. If you want, yeah. Me neither.”

“Good,” Lando says, nods. His shirt is getting soaked. He wishes he’d grabbed a jacket during his mad scramble to catch Oscar in time. “Right. I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” He says, only half-jokingly, when there’s a sort of awkward silence between them.

Oscar however, doesn’t waste a single moment, reaching forward like he’s been waiting for Lando to say that all his life, his fingers sliding over Lando’s wet cheeks as he pulls them closer. It’s really starting to pour down now, but for a moment, when Oscar’s lips touch his, Lando feels like the sun is shining just for them.

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble #two in one day??? who am i #anyway still getting through the kiss prompts v slowly!!!

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stealanity · 6 months

Text

“ ONE BED. ” ft. eric sohn

genre & warnings : cliché one bed trope, classmate ! au, kind of enemies to temporary heating, fluff, one die joke

word count : 1k>

author's note : THIS ISN'T STEALING. i already posted this writing on my zb1 blog, but decided to write it for eric as well. hope you'll enjoy my new work !

and obviously, this room has only one bed.

not wanting to deal with your bad temper, your teachers quickly slipped away to their respective rooms, locking their doors, leaving you soaked to the bone, staring at the bed in front of you.

« there is no way i'm getting in a bed with you. » you declared, pointing a finger at the mattress, your gaze pivoting towards the one and only eric sohn, who rolled his eyes and sighed. the boy didn't care about your reaction, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he walked around you, infiltrating the bathroom, « you're welcome to the floor. »

opening the door, you came face to face with eric, who had just come out of the shower room. as he wiped his hair with his towel, you placed your purchases on the bedside table before grabbing your bag to take his place. there's no feeling more satisfying than throwing off your wet clothes for a hot shower — which you did without further ado.

after long minutes of enjoying the warmth, you put on your pyjamas and made your way to the main bedroom. unsurprisingly, eric was on the bed, scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring you. you didn't wait long before sitting down at the end of the bed, looking around you — there was really nothing to do. on top of that, it probably didn't have a heater because of the way the hairs on your arms stood up from the cold. « woah, it's really cold. » you whispered, pulling your legs up to your chest.

until something hits you square in the back.

ready to turn around and howl at him like a ferocious beast, your fingers came into contact with the object he had thrown at you : a sweatshirt. probably his sweatshirt. surely his sweatshirt. frowning, eric gestured to you to put it on silently, just then returning to his own business on his phone. without bothering to thank him verbally, you slipped it on without further ado, enjoying the softness and warmth of the fabric against your skin.

not mentioning the fact that his scent on it appealed to your nostrils.

which obviously didn't happen.

so you decided to talk, « you're not sleeping? » you asked, trying not to turn your gaze to eric, but simply glancing out of the corner of your eye, « nope. »

suddenly, eric's hand came out of the blanket and slipped around your waist, drawing your body closer to his. you looked at him incredulously, unsure of how to react — but the warmth of his hand against your back made you want to snuggle up to him. « you're cold right? » he said in a whisper, pulling you completely against him, and in an instant your body felt warm again. nodding slightly and muttering an inaudible reply, you pulled yourself up against him, keeping your arms against your chest. finding a comfortable position, you ignored the acceleration of your heartbeat as you closed your eyes, praying that the sandman would pass quickly to put you to sleep.

maybe in the end, this night wasn't going to be the worst of all.

taglist ( fill out this form if you want to be added ! ) : @invuwrld @kimsohn @kyusqult

networks : @deoboyznet @kflixnet @bluesia

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

Text

Keith wakes up with terror turning to ice in his veins and his brother’s name clawing its way out of his throat.

He takes a moment, chest heaving, to orient himself. The details of the dream quickly fade, dark caves and towering footsteps, leaving only an impression of fear and the memory of Shiro, falling, crying out for Keith to save him, and Keith being just too late. He peels the sweat-soaked sheets off himself in disgust, tossing them haphazardly on the ground in front of him. Grunting, he forces himself upright, placing his feet on the cold tile floor of his bedroom to force himself fully awake. Sunlight streams through his window, assaulting his bleary eyes, making him grumble as he walks over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for the day.

Not unusually, his nightmares have woken him hours before he really needs to be awake. He only has one afternoon class, today, and it's frustrating to have one of his few mornings off spoiled so early. As he spits frothy toothpaste into the sink, he tries to rework the whole situation in his mind. Waking up too early sucks, but with the extra time this morning, he’ll have time to wash his sheets. That’s a net neutral, at least.

It doesn’t take him too long to gather up a load of linens and clothes, tossing them into the machine, sipping a coffee as the old thing chugs on. He hangs them to dry once the cycle is over, tossing some overdue marking into his messenger bag and scarfing down a bagel before hopping onto his bike.

His bicycle, that is. He would never take his precious bike to class. The one and only time he had, it had been vandalised by angry students. Never again.

The ride to the school is uneventful, normal, boring. Even the asshole drivers who refuse to give him space on the road, coming within inches of crushing him, are par for the course. He wonders if he looks particularly dead-eyed, or if that’s just how he feels.

“Hey, Pidge,” he says to his lab assistant, nodding at her as he walks into their lab. She shouldn’t even be his lab assistant, really. She’s more brilliant than he’ll ever be, and it’s insulting that she has to answer to him. But she’s only twenty, and whip smart as she is, their field is ripe with rich old white guys who smile condescendingly at her and call her sweetheart. No one will give her a tenured position. So while not ideal, their situation is the best both of them can come up with: Pidge gets total freedom in his lab, any resource that she wants and he can get his hands on, and he’ll publish any finding she discovers with her name as a second on the paper. That way she’ll be credited with dozens of peer-reviewed papers before she even has her doctorate, and once she’s finally got a lab of her own and every intellectual around the globe is interviewing her, she can tell them all where to stuff it and get all the credit she deserves.

“Bad news, Kogane,” Pidge says, glancing up at him with a furrowed brow.

Keith grimaces. If Pidge is looking up from her computer screen, then he’s fucked.

“Is the building on fire?” he says hopefully. That’s a slightly less miserable conclusion than the one he knows is happening.

She huffs sadly, shaking her head. “Nah, check the douchebag waiting in your office.”

Sighing, Keith does. James Griffin, head of the geography department and the resident jackass who’s been trying to shut Keith down for years.

“Keith!” he cries, grinning at him like they’re friends.

Keith doesn’t even pretend to smile at him, staring at him blankly.

“Good to see you, pal,” James continues, either oblivious or uncaring. “Thought I’d drop by and personally deliver the news. I’m getting a new office!”

The absurdity of the sentence makes Keith blink, looking at James in confusion. “Pardon?”

James ignores him, pulling out a tape measure and holding it against the cabinets and counters, barely even making any real effort to measure anything. Keith finally starts to notice the smugness to his department head’s grin, and something like dread builds in his stomach.

“See, progressive volcanology just isn’t what it used to be. Ten years ago it was breakthrough science, today it’s an ancient relic of the past.” He snaps the tape measure closed, turning back to face Keith. He no longer makes any effort to hide his smirk, placing a falsely pitying hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith shrugs it off immediately. “They’re shuttin’ ya down, bud. I’m taking the space. I’m sure you myriad of adoring students will be devastated, but budget cuts are budget cuts, and this is a decision the department has to make. For the good of the university, you understand.”

Keith knows that pleading is useless. In all likelihood, this decision was made months ago, and he’s only hearing about it now because it’s been finalised. No way would James be so confident otherwise.

But there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from trying.

“You can’t shut us down,” he pleads, throat unfathomably dry. “We’re – we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, James, I can feel it, shutting us down would be spitting in the face of progress –”

“How many of your sensors are even still active?” James interrupts. “One? Two?”

He sounds so smug that Keith can’t bear it. “Three!”

“Right,” James says, snorting. “Three whole sensors.” He turns away, patting one of the overhanging shelves of the wall, crowded from front to back with dozens and dozens of rock samples slowly collecting dust. “It’s not worth the money it takes to keep them going.”

“You can’t do this,” Keith begs, voice quiet and small. He hates himself for his weakness in front of James, of all people in the world, but his hands shake and his blood rushes in his ears and the only thought running through his mind is save the lab save the lab save the lab. “It’s all I have left. Of him.”

To James’ credit, that gives him pause. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.

“It’s been ten years, man,” he says softly. “The lab isn’t going to bring him back.”

Keith says nothing. He stares at him, eyes hard, hatred and pain alike building up in them and spilling over.

Shiro’s sensors. Shiro’s work. Shiro, all over the lab, in every way, the only pieces Keith has of him that are still going, that are not stagnant, and James is taking them away. Whether or not it’s James’ fault directly is irrelevant – Keith hates him for any role he plays.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” James says, and he almost sounds sincere before disappearing out of the lab and down the hall.

Keith sits down heavily in his – in Shiro’s – rickety old office chair as he goes, elbows on the crowded desk, fingers clenched in his hair. Pidge puts a gentle and awkward hand on his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter.

— — —

His classes pass in a blur. None of his students even pretend to pay attention, but that’s not unusual. He can’t remember the last time someone came into his classroom and gave even one eighth of a shit. Hell, the last person in his class to care might have been Pidge.

By the end of the day, he’s exhausted. He dreads the bike ride home, knowing it will take more energy than he has, but he tries to convince himself that the fresh air might make him feel less like the world is collapsing in on itself.

He fails.

By the time he stumbles through the door, late afternoon light spilling over his messy coffee table, he feels like a used battery from 1996. He slides the scattered change he’d found on the road today into one of his near-filled collection bottles and collapses on the couch, face-first, groaning as loud as he can into a scratchy pillow. He blindly flails one arm around until it hits the beeping answering machine, letting it play its onslaught of messages, preparing to delete whatever spam calls have made it through while he was gone.

“Keith, hey. It’s Adam. Just calling to remind you that today’s the day! We just left, we’ll be there around quarter to six? Hopefully. See you soon.”

With a gasp, Keith yanks himself upright with so much force he nearly throws himself off the couch.

Adam.

Adam!

The next message plays automatically. “Hey, got your answering machine again. Getting a little worried. We’re halfway there, and we can’t wait to see you. Right, kiddo?”

A much younger voice mutters something unintelligible, but the tone makes their enthusiasm – or lack thereof – abundantly clear.

Keith sweeps a bunch of junk off his coffee table, frantically searching for his calendar. He finds it under a stack of half-finished books, praying to himself that what he’s hearing is wrong somehow, and today is not the day he thinks it is.

In bold red ben, in the tiny square of the 28th of June, is his niece’s name written in capital letters and underlined no less than five times.

“Hana,” he breathes, and looks in horror at his watch just as the answering machine beeps and plays the newest message.

“Alright, well, we’re ten minutes away, so I hope everything’s okay. Please be ready.”

“Fuck!” Keith shouts, jumping up off the couch and catapulting into action. He can’t believe he forgot! It’s so easy for all the days to blur together, for dates to lose meaning, when everything is so mundane. He’s been thinking that Hana’s visit is ‘months away’ for half a year now, completely forgetting that time is, in fact, linear.

Adam is going to kill him. And worst of all, he is going to be justified.

He starts scooping random shit off end tables and random surfaces, sticking it wherever there’s space. Adam is a neat freak, always has been, and if he looks through that front door and sees the mess he is about to leave his only daughter in for ten whole days he is going to take it out on Keith’s hide. Keith shoves a random stack of cereal bowls into a drawer, stuffs a cabinet full of old newspapers, kicks a pile of discarded sweaters into a corner and throws a blanket over them. His answering machine beeps again, and he whips his head to his clock, watching in horror as the big hand ticks to the 9 – it’s five forty-five on the dot.

“Hope you’re home, Keith, because we’re pulling up to your place.”

A silver car slows to a stop across the street.

“Fuck!”

Keith increases his half-assed cleaning tenfold. He dumps every dish he sees into the sink, hacks up a lung from trying to blow away the accumulated dust, glances in the fridge to see what expired food he needs to toss. Is Adam going to search through his fridge? Probably not.

But there’s a chance.

He sees his brother-in-law approach the front door as he’s holding a stack of greasy car parts and freezes, slowly backing away as the man turns and makes a face at the car. Keith hears the doorbell ring but ignores it, figuring he has about three more rings to panic-clean before Adam gets fed up and picks the lock. He rushes to his bedroom, grabbing the truly gigantic quilt Pidge’s brother had made him, and throws it over his couch, coffee table, and armchair in a half-assed attempt to make the room look less like Keith has not cleaned in several weeks.

It does not work.

The doorbell rings for a third time, followed by rapid knocking.

“Keith? You home?”

Keith takes a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face.

Fine. This is going to be fine.

“Hey, Adam!” he greets, opening the door. Adam glances behind him, taking in the mess, so Keith quickly closes the door as much as he can without squishing himself.

Unfortunately, Adam has always been quick. He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You forgot, didn’t you.”

“Forget?” Keith laughs nervously. “Of course I didn’t – I didn’t forget! Been looking forward to this for weeks, counting down the days, just been prepping like you would not believe –”

Adam takes off his glasses, cleaning them slowly while making direct eye contact.

Keith sighs.

“Yeah, I forgot.”

“Come on, Keith,” Adam sighs, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “We planned this months ago. Ten days. That’s all I ask. She’s your niece.”

“Just because I forgot doesn’t mean I wasn’t looking forward to it!” Keith says defensively. “I haven’t seen her since she was what, nine?”

“Seven,” Adam corrects flatly.

Keith winces. “Right. Seven.” He follows his brother-in-law to his car, forcing himself not to drag his feet. He is excited. He is. He loves his niece, and besides, it’s only ten days. What can happen in ten days?

“Hana,” Adam says, knocking on the roof of the car. “Say hi to your uncle.”

“Hi to your uncle,” deadpans a young girl, pulling her beanie further down over her eyes and sinking into her seat. Adam sighs, heading to the trunk to dig out some bags, and Keith has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. He probably shouldn’t laugh when teenagers are being little shits, but that was kind of funny.

“Hey, kid,” Keith says, in the same semi-awkward tone he used to talk to Pidge in until she started decking him every time he did. He inclines his head at the device in her hands. “Whatcha got there? One of those ePod thingies?”

The look she gives him is so dry and judgemental that Keith almost feels the need to both apologise and pull out a fiver to pay for the stupidity of his sentence, which is honestly an insanely powerful look for a thirteen year old to pull off.

Only Adam’s kid, honestly.

“It’s a PSP,” she says, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world and Keith is a dunce for not knowing. “And ePods aren’t a thing. The word you’re looking for is iPod.”

Lordie, this is going to be a tough ten days. Keith should have researched how to make teenagers like him.

Well. Maybe not. That would probably get him on a list somewhere.

“It’s good to see you, Hana,” Keith says, switching gears. He smiles slightly, and it's genuine, because he really is glad to see her. “You wanna head inside? Door’s open, I’ll meet you in a few.”

“Come see me first, baby,” Adam calls.

Hana huffs and walks over to see her dad. He hands her a duffel bag, which she shrugs over her shoulder, and then cups her face tightly, leaning down to kiss her head.

“Ten days, okay?” he murmurs. “Then I’ll meet you in the Ottawa airport.” He squeezes her in a hug, which she returns, if slightly reluctantly. “This move will be good for us.”

“Right,” Hana says, so bitter that Keith actually physically winces. “I am so pumped to leave behind everything I’ve ever known and go live in a new country. Thank you so much for doing this for me.”

Without so much as a backwards glance at her father, she pulls away and stomps inside to Keith’s place.

“Yikes,” Keith says, grimacing at his brother-in-law. Adam isn’t looking at him, gaze following his daughter with an expression Keith can only describe as pained. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just staring at the house, eyes far-away and deeply sad. Keith’s chest starts to ache, right under his sternum, because he gets that look, too.

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam says softly. “I’m just — I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.” And it’s been months since they’ve talked anything but surface level pleasantries but they will always be the same, Keith thinks, and he reaches over and squeezes Adam’s hand because he will always be family. Adam squeezes back, smiling tightly.

“I’ll take care of her,” Keith promises. He swallows against the sandpaper roughness of his throat and tries to stand up straight, to make up for his crumpled shirt and messy hair. The attemlt makes Adam roll his eyes, which makes Keith grin. Adam can never stay mad at him for long.

“I know you will, brat.” He cups Keith’s cheeks identically to the way he did Hana’s, tipping over to kiss his forehead. Keith’s eyes close and his hands come up to grab Adam’s wrists. “I trust you. I just wish you would take better care of yourself.”

He pulls away and Keith lets him go, watching the easy way in which he composes himself, clearing his throat and straightening his jacket and pushing up his jacket, putting himself back together in front of Keith’s eyes. The process has fascinated him since he was little; the way Adam can always pull himself back to full height.

“Besides,” he adds, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and heading for the passenger side. “You have my daughter to look after, now. If she comes home to me in ten days complaining about doing the dishes because Uncle Keith just eats pasta out of the pot, I will fly back here just to smack you.”

Keith snorts. “Noted. Drive safe, Adam.”

He waves as he shuts the door and starts the car. Keith watches him go, then turns back towards his house, peering through the door, looking for a glimpse of the kid. He doesn’t see her, but he can hear the muted sounds of a video game from outside.

“I have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” he mutters to himself, and walks inside.

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if-mirrormine · 8 months

Text

i'll always save you

summary: grayson is called out on a case involving the mc.

pairing: grayson x mc

word count: 8029

based on the request: i was wondering what would happen if grayson got a call while on duty that mc crashed into a river somehow, and when they get there, mcs body isn't in the car, but there's evidence their body was there, like blood or broken glass, but mc happened to get out of the car and swam to the bank/shore of the river? like mcs just laying on the shore, soaked, out of breath, and kinda injured👀

**unedited//me? writing a drabble at 1 a.m.? it's more likely than you think.**

request a drabble here!

grayson sits idly at his desk, his leg bouncing up and down as he flicks in his pen between his index and middle fingers. he's bored. it's a slow night, which he should be grateful for, but the lack of crime means only one thing: paperwork. mountains of it. taking up the entirety of his desk and blocking his view of the other half of the precinct. perhaps if he didn't put off the task until last minute he wouldn't be here now but even with nothing else to, he can't bring himself to do it.

he's just about to convince himself to get to work when kelsey comes into view. he didn't even hear her get up from her desk across from his and walk over. but now that she's in front of him, he's happy to have something else to do.

"i'd ask how its going over here but given that you've been staring into space for the last half hour, i'd say that answers my question." she sits on the edge of his desk, her arms crossed over her chest as she glances down at the files behind her.

"can you blame me?" he sighs before tossing his pen on the desk, leaning back on his chair as he drags his hands through his hair. "i'm this close to blowing my brains out."

quirking up an eyebrow at him, she smiles. "do i need to take your gun and put it on a high shelf somewhere?"

he grins. "aren't i taller than you?"

"semantics," she says, waving him off. "you want something to do?"

resisting the urge to bolt out of his chair and out the precinct, he sits up straighter, entirely more alert at the prospect of getting to put off doing paperwork slightly longer. "why didn't you lead with that?" he questions and she rolls her eyes playfully. "what is it?"

"got a call while you were daydreaming," she says. "some idiot drove their car off a bridge. my money's on drunk driver."

at that, he stands up, whipping his jacket off the back of his chair and pulling it on. "it usually is." looking at his partner, he gestures to the exit. "what are we waiting for? let's go."

sliding off the desk, she rolls her eyes again and follows him out.

the bridge has been cordoned off, the night illuminated by red and blue flashing lights. there's an officer waiting for them when they arrive, explaining what happened without so much as a hello. there had indeed been a drunk driving, swerving in and out of lanes before throwing themselves out of their vehicle and into traffic. they currently sit in the back of an ambulance, mostly unharmed, and their car still sitting on the bridge.

"i though the call was about someone driving off the bridge," kelsey says, confusion twisting her features.

"someone did drive off the bridge, ma'am," the officer says and she narrows her eyes at him. "probably to avoid killing the guy. though they're probably worse off now than if they had run him over."

"probably?" grayson questions. "you mean no ones gone down to check?"

the officer pales slightly, shrinking back into himself as he avoids looking at him in the eye. "n-no, sir. it's really difficult to get down there, we were waiting for more experienced personnel."

"unbelievable." taking a deep breath, grayson fixes the officer with a look that would be sure to kill. "we'll go check. make yourself useful and get the witness statements."

"yes, sir!" the officer runs off quickly, nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to get away from them.

"do i really look like ma'am?" kelsey asks as they begin walking over.

"what would you have preferred he called you?"

"oh, i don't know... detective montgomery maybe?"

"he probably doesn't know any better," grayson grumbles. "he barely looks old enough to be a highschool student, let alone fresh out of the academy." kelsey snorts as they come to a stop at the side of the bridge. the ravine falls off into darkness at a near ninety degree angle and when he shines his flashlight down, rocks and mud pave the way down to the water. looking at kelsey, he finds she's already looking at him.

straightening her back, she salutes him. "godspeed, soldier."

he sighs at the thought of having to go down there by himself but he doesn't argue the matter. "at least there are paramedics on standby," he says. "i imagine i'll be needing one by the time i get to the bottom."

kelsey grins at him. "on the bright side, you won't have to do any more paperwork."

"because i'll be dead? yeah, i'd sure hope so."

"i'll tell your mother you loved her."

he rolls his eyes in amusement as he begins his descent. his shoes slide slightly in the mud and he has to slow his pace to not fall but after what feels like forever, he makes it to the bottom. the river is oddly calm, the waves lapping softly at his feet and he shines his flashlight over the water in search of the car. in the middle of the river, somewhat under the bridge, black metal sparkles under the light. the tail end of the car stick out of water, the window of the backseat just barely visible and he swings the beam of flashlight around to look for the licence plate.

"how's it looking, gray?" kelsey calls down to him and he glances up at her briefly to see her standing with her own flashlight.

"well it's not great," he calls back. "im looking for the plates."

as soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes latch onto the sequence of numbers and letters and he quickly realises its one that he's got memorised. his blood runs cold, his heart damn near stops beating and he's filled with all the same dread and panic he felt ten years ago.

mc. it always come back to the mc.

he's in the water before he even knows it. kelsey is calling him again, demanding to know what the hell he's doing and why but he can't think of anything else but his best friend. he has to get to them, he has to save them. nothing else matters.

his own name is the last thing he hears as he dives below the surface, the ice cold water shocking his system that he almost exhales all his oxygen. weighed down by his clothes, he forces his limbs to work even harder and before long, he sees the vague outline of the car in the murky water.

confusion takes over when he presses his face to the passenger side window and sees that the car is empty, the drivers door hanging open. empty. they mustve been able to escape before the car went under. relief begins to take over as he swims to the surface. oh, his brilliant mc.

gasping for the breath when he breaks the surface, he thrashes around, attempting to search for them in the darkness. he dropped his flashlight somewhere between seeing the licence plate and diving in the water, and he regrets not holding onto it a little tighter. he screams their name, hoping with everything fibre of his being that they're nearby and can hear him.

"grayson!" kelsey calls to him and he looks back to see her standing where he did just moments before, having made her way down the ravine when he dived in.

"it's mc!" he calls back. "they made it out; look for them along the shoreline!"

he doesn't wait for her response, instead swimming as fast as he can to the other side of the river. pulling himself out and wiping the water from his eyes, he takes off running again. his panic comes flooding back in full force, the relief he felt dwindling fast the further he goes. he screams their name, over and over again, only to be met by silence each time. not again, he thinks. please not again.

he skids to a stop when he sees a body lying on the shore and he stops breathing for a moment before he's moving again. dropping to his knees beside them, the pale light of the moon illuminating their face and he cries in relief upon seeing its mc. they're bruised and cut up, blood drying on their face but their chest rises and falls ever so slightly and that's enough for him.

"i'm here, mc," he says, pulling them into his arms and eliciting a groan from them. "you're okay." he rises to his feet, holding them close to his chest as he makes his way back to the bridge. he hates the thought of almost losing them a second time but he tries to focus on the positive, of them alive in his arms. pressing a kiss to their hair, he makes a vow to himself to do whatever it takes to keep them safe, no matter the cost.

#not the greatest title but i feel it gets the point across #is this any good #i dont know #but im just proud to have completed something #:D #enjoy #mm: grayson #mirror mine

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reyna-obsessed · 4 months

Text

𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓮?

genre: fluff with a hint of angst word count: 633 pairing: pip x ravi (a good girl's to murder) setting: set after the events of as good as dead tw: none as of now (please lmk if there is one) just spoilers if you haven't read as good as dead

The verdict was read. Max Hastings was found guilty.

Ravi Singh was on autopilot. His hands rummaged through his pockets, desperately searching for his phone. He pulled it out, scrolling through the contacts lists until he reached the one named 'sarge<3'. He paused, his fingers ghosting over the keypad. Does she miss me? Would she remember me? Self doubt consumed him, but the longing for Pip won. He messaged her.

He waited

Pip's phone lit up; the text she awaited the most had finally arrived. The contact named 'ravishing<3' had messaged her. Finally. She clicked on the notification, the hollow pit in her heart was filled for a second, when she saw the message.

Pip took the first taxi home, making a mental list of all the people she had to apologize; all the people she had left. The drive wasn't long; only 2 hours long, but to her it felt like a eternity. She decided to practice the apology she would say, but no apology was perfect. The anxiety was eating her up, but as soon as the she heard the driver say that they had reached, all was forgotten.

Pip stood in front of her family's home. Not hers; she had ghosted them, she had left. She wondered if they would still welcome her; whether her dad remembered his 'pickle'. How her mom was, how tall had Josh grown? She swallowed all her feelings and pressed the doorbell.

She waited

Her dad opened the door; eyes widening and mouth agape, clutching the door handle tightly. He stood there frozen; not even making a sound. Pip tried for a 'Hey dad' but her own voice was gone. Just then, Josh came running; pushing her dad aside.

"MUM, PIP IS HERE!", he screamed and he hugged her, breaking Pip and their dad out of their trance. Josh's face was buried in her chest; he had grown taller. Her dad reached out and kissed her forehead mumbling about his pickle coming back home. Her mum came into view, and broke down into tears; her knees giving out. Pip kneeled down and hugged her; her mum's tears soaking her top.

Pip took a deep breath, and pushed the café's door open, the bells jingling overhead. As soon as she inhaled the smell of coffee and all the sweet memories, she was engulfed in a embrace. Nat DaSilva, she recognized and hugged her back. She hugged Jamie and Connor and went to the counter of the café.

"Can I get a best friend- no, sister with some extra sweetness and craziness on the go, please", she said in a stoic tone. Cara recognized her voice and turned to face her, her eyes wide.

"PIP?!", she whisper-shouted, not believing her eyes. Pip grinned and nodded, and Cara stepped forward.

She punched her.

She hugged her.

They both sobbed, holding each other close.

Ravi was still waiting for a text from her. His afternoon was supposed to be free, and he could march over to Cambridge to see her. But something in his heart told him to stop.

The doorbell rang. Ravi wondered who was ringing the bell, since there was nobody to be visting; no package to be delivered. He opened the door.

Pip's heart did somersaults when she saw him. Ravi's mouth was agape. She tried for a greeting.

"Hi?!", she muttered timidly, her voice barely reaching her own self.

Ravi took one long stride, and hugged her; firm and tight, which lifted her off her feet. He pulled away, and Pip closed the gap this time; placing her lips softly on his. The hollow pit in her heart was filled; all she felt was pure bliss.

She pulled away, resting her forehead on top of his. He flashed her his signature smile, the one that she adored.

"Hey Ravi, remember me?"

©reyna-obsessed | Not to be reposted or copied on any platform

credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers

taglist: @aylin-hijabi @summersblooms @owocontroversy @full-on-sam

#mini writes—◈#pipravi #a good girls guide to murder #good girl bad blood #as good as dead #agggtm #ravi singh #pippa fitz amobi #original story

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heich0e · 10 months

Text

[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]

Who the hell are you?

Megumi can't shake the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stares down at you. He watches as you quickly compose yourself, pulling your expression into something a little less shocked, a strained smile appearing on your face instead. You can't quite meet his eyes.

You're shaking a little bit, with a windbreaker wrapped around you that's much too big for your frame—the logos and insignia on the coat belong to the police precinct Nanami works at, and he suspects he must have loaned it to you. You're soaked through beneath it, just like Kota was when he showed up earlier, and Megumi wonders how long you were out in the rain looking for him.

"Thank you for taking care of him," you say quietly, your hand still on Kota's back. He watches as your eyes trail across Kota's sleeping face, a glimmer of something distinctly sad behind your eyes. You move to take him from Megumi's arms, and without thinking his grip tightens on the little boy's frame. You look up at him curiously. "I can take him now."

Megumi swallows and nods, handing the child over with a quiet, unnecessary "Careful."

Kota looks completely at peace in your arms, nuzzling his little face into your neck the moment you take hold of him. He doesn't wake at all. Doesn't even stir.

It makes Megumi sad for a moment, that he won't get to say a proper goodbye.

He shakes that sudden, unwarranted thought from his mind as quickly as it appears. But there's something else lingering in the back of his mind, more distantly, that begs for him to pay it attention. To acknowledge it.

You turn your back to Megumi.

"I'll take you two home," Nanami says, nodding down towards you. He's still in his uniform, still on duty as far as Megumi knows, having come from the police station when Yuuji called him. This seems a fairly low-priority task given Nanami's rank as an Inspector with the prefectural police, but given that Yuuji was the one who contacted him it doesn't altogether surprise Megumi that the man took it upon himself to see the job through.

Yuuji fetches Kota's rain jacket from the coat rack, laying it over the sleeping boy's shoulders to keep him dry in the quick walk from the clinic to the police cruiser. Then Megumi watches as he carefully slips his little yellow rain boots back onto his feet. You face him once he's done, bowing as deeply as you can with your son in your arms.

"Thank you so much for all your help, I'm so grateful to you," you say to him, still bowing. You stand, glancing over to Megumi next, though you don't let your eyes linger for long before looking away again. "To both of you."

"He's a really sweet kid," Yuuji assures you. "Don't get too mad at him for taking off like that, he was just trying to do what he thought was right."

You smile a little, looking down at Kota's sleeping face. You brush a tendril of his dark, unruly hair away from his eyes.

"I know," you murmur. "I'm just happy to have him in my arms again."

"You should keep a closer eye on him."

Everyone freezes when Megumi speaks, his tone fairly flat.

You don't meet his eyes. You nod. "Sorry, Fushiguro-san."

"We should go," Nanami says, cutting into the conversation and shooting Megumi a look that makes him feel like a misbehaving child.

You nod towards Nanami, and allow him to lead you out through the sliding front door of the veterinary clinic.

It's still raining outside, though not quite as heavily as it had been earlier in the evening. Yuuji and Megumi stand in the doorway watching as you leave, Yuuji waving one hand up over his head when Nanami casts one last look back before slipping into the driver's seat.

It's only once the car finally pulls away, that feeling of molten lead still churning in the pit of his stomach, that Megumi comes to a realization.

He turns to Yuuji, and his friend looks at him a little bit strangely at the abrupt movement. His brow furrows when he sees the bewildered look on Megumi's face.

"Did you tell her my name?"

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing #mini megumi #tw parenthood #tw pregnancy

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and-claudia · 1 year

Text

Just Wait in the Truck (Rip Wheeler x Dutton! Reader

Based on the song "Just Wait in the Truck" by HARDY

Yellowstone Taglist

Warnings: mention of abusive relationship (not with Rip), gun violence, death (let me know if I missed one)

A/n: this is my first time writing for Rip or anyone in Yellowstone. I just started season 2

Word count: 744

Rip’s PoV

I was driving through town, heading back to the ranch for the night. There was a nasty storm out and I could barely see 10 feet in front of the truck. I had just made it to the outskirts of town when something had me hitting the brakes. Someone was walking along the side of the road. I threw the truck in reverse and carefully backed up.

It was a girl. Shit, it was Yn. I reached over and opened the passenger door for her. She looked terrified.

“Climb in.” I said gently, trying not to scare her any more than she clearly was.

She got in and sat silently. She had bruises appearing along her arms and her face and her nose was bleeding slightly still. Her shirt had a tear in it and blood stained it in a few spots but I couldn’t tell if it was all hers.

“What happened?” I asked.

“What do you think?” She said quietly, before turning to look at me, “Please don’t tell my dad. I don’t need him worrying about me.”

I gave her a single nod before putting the truck in drive but keeping my foot on the break as I looked at her.

“Where is he?” I asked.

She told me his address and I started driving that way. The rain had soaked through her clothes and she was shivering, so I carefully reached behind her seat to grab the jacket I had tossed back there before handing it to her. She took it and covered herself up with it, tucking her knees to her chest trying to make herself as small as possible.

When we pulled up to his trailer I put the truck in park before grabbing my pistol. The rain had let up a little and I opened the door and got out.

“Wait in the truck.” I told her.

She looked at me, the fear had returned to her eyes slightly.

“What are you going to do?” She asked, though, I knew she knew the answer.

I took a deep breath and sighed, “Just wait in the truck.”

With that, I shut the door and made my way up the steps to his front door. I banged on his door. Nothing. I did it again. Nothing. So I kicked it down and walked in. He was sitting in a beat-up, old recliner with a bottle of whiskey hanging from his hand.

“What the hell man?” He slurred his words as he yelled at me.

“What’d you do to her?” I asked.

I didn’t hide the fact that I had a pistol in my hand, I didn’t need to. But the moment he saw it he was reaching for his rifle. Before he even got to it, I raised my gun and shot him. His body fell with a thud. I took my phone out and got some backup to come and help me with the body so I could get Yn home. I stepped over his limp body and into his kitchen, over to his fridge. I grabbed two beers before leaving and going back to the truck.

Reader’s PoV

I heard the gunshot from inside and flinched. It felt like years passed as I watched the door waiting to see who walked out. A breath of relief fell from my lips as I saw Rip walking out. He came around the other side and climbed back into the truck. He didn’t say anything just offered me a beer he had clearly stolen.

“Gotta wait for help to come.” He said and I knew what he meant.

I took the bottle from him and opened it.

“Thank you.” I said, though it wasn’t for the beer.

He nodded.

Not too long later, headlights pulled up behind us. It was my brother Kayce. He got out and so did Rip. I stayed where I was.

Rip’s PoV

“Is she okay?” Kayce asked.

“Bruised and bloody. I didn’t load her down with questions. Give her time.” I said.

He nodded and glanced into my truck to check on his sister, “Did she see anything?”

I shook my head, “I told her to wait in the truck.”

“Good. Get her home. Take care of her, Rip. We’ll handle this.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” I tilted my hat at him before getting back into the driver’s seat of the truck.

I looked over to Yn, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Rip Wheeler Taglist:

#yellowstone #rip wheeler #rip x reader #rip x dutton! reader #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x dutton! reader

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clusterbuck · 1 year

Note

dancing in the rain + resting foreheads together 🌧️

the day is long, the shift even longer. it’s been raining on and off all day, just enough to ensure that buck hasn’t been dry since he stepped out of the house over twenty-four hours ago.

the shift has been long, and more than that it’s been boring. routine call after routine call, false alarm after false alarm, the movement of piling into the engine and out again the only thing keeping buck awake through most of the night. now they’re in the final stretches, and all buck wants to do is find eddie and climb into the jeep, eddie’s hand on his thigh squeezing at regular intervals to keep him awake long enough to drive home.

the final minutes drag by like they’re shackled to the floor, until bobby finally takes pity on them and lets them go five minutes early. buck shuffles into the locker room like a zombie, and finds eddie sitting on the bench staring blankly into the distance.

“hey,” buck murmurs, sitting next to eddie facing the opposite direction and dropping his head onto eddie’s shoulder. eddie hums, leaning his head against buck’s, but no words come out.

“yeah,” buck mumbles. he opens his mouth to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn.

buck means to get up and change back into his street clothes, he really does. but he leans against eddie, and fifteen minutes later he wakes to bobby shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“go home, boys,” bobby says. “you’ll sleep better.”

buck blinks, slowly picking himself up off eddie’s shoulder. eddie turns to look at him, and a soft smile spreads across his face.

“you’re all—crinkly,” he says. “from my uniform. here.” he reaches out to run his thumb along the indents on buck’s cheek, and buck leans into his touch.

“home?” buck asks, and eddie nods, his thumb brushing buck’s bottom lip and the corner of his mouth.

eddie heaves a sigh and gets to his feet, then turns to hold a hand out to buck. “come on, then.”

getting changed feels like it takes years. the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but it picks up as they drive until buck pulls into the driveway pelted by raindrops so large they bounce off the windshield.

buck whines. “we’re gonna get soaked.” he drops his head to rest on the top of steering wheel. “i just wanna go to sleep.”

eddie’s silent for a moment, then buck hears his door open. by the time he picks his head up to look, eddie’s already opening the driver’s side door.

“take your phone out of your pocket,” he says. he’s drenched already, rivulets of water running down his face, the deep blue of his henley turning into navy. he’s drenched, but he stands in front of the door and holds his hand out and buck doesn’t think, just does what he says.

“leave the phone in the car,” eddie says. “just—so it doesn’t get wet.” so buck puts his phone in the cup holder and takes eddie’s hand, following him out into the pouring rain.

“what are we doing?” buck asks, letting eddie pull him to the little patch of grass in front of their house.

“we’re dancing,” eddie says, as if it’s just that simple.

buck frowns. “why—”

“we were gonna get soaked anyway,” eddie says. “at least this way we get something out of it. and besides—” he looks down, hiding a sheepish grin like he’s embarrassed somehow.

“besides what?” buck asks, stepping closer and winding his arms around eddie’s neck. it’s still raining, but the longer he spends touching eddie the less he notices. it’s a beautiful morning, the sky painted pink with hints of the rising sun, and he’s standing next to the man he loves. their son is sleeping inside, and soon they’ll go in and shower off the cold rain together, then fall asleep together with all their limbs intertwined.

it’s still raining, but buck’s stopped caring.

eddie settles his arms around buck’s waist, pulling him closer. buck’s not sure if the way they’re swaying counts as dancing, but he can’t quite make himself care.

“besides—” eddie starts, then takes a deep breath, looking up at buck. “i’ve been talking to frank about—i want to be better at—” he pauses, lifting a hand to cup buck’s jaw. “i love you,” he says. “i want to show you.”

“eddie,” buck breathes. he leans in, letting his forehead rest against eddie’s. “you do show me. you’ve been showing me long before i ever knew what it meant.”

“yeah, but—” eddie says. “i don’t know, i mean—smaller stuff. you’re always doing all this spontaneous romantic shit, and i—”

“hey,” buck says, cupping eddie’s jaw and kissing him, slow and careful so he gets his meaning across. “you don’t—you know i don’t expect that from you, right? i love you. with or without the dancing in the rain. i don’t need you to be anything other than who you are.”

the corner of eddie’s mouth lifts in a smile, and he squeezes buck’s hip. “but what if i want to?”

buck grins. “i’m not saying i’m opposed to the spontaneous romantic shit,” he says. “just that—i already love you. everything else is—it’s like when you order takeout and they throw in extra fries, you know? you didn’t need them, you don’t expect them, but you’re definitely gonna take them.”

eddie blinks at him, then bursts out laughing. “are you comparing me to extra fries?”

“maybe,” buck says, laughing a little. “do you still love me?”

and he’d meant it as a joke, but eddie gets serious and takes a step closer, his hand warm and solid on buck’s hip. “yeah, buck,” he says. “i do.”

little romantic gestures 💘

#911fic #buddie #buddie fic #ask emma #queerbuck #emma writes

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reinerispretty · 2 months

Text

astronomically.

satoru gojo x f! reader. sequel to best of luck. and pause technique. third installment of the heart beats series!

masterlist

ok, this one is my favorite hehe. also wrote this back in 2022. please enjoy!

SUMMARY:

You get very, very drunk. Thankfully Gojo's there.

tws: throw up (for drunk reasons)

Nanami Kento is too good at drinking. One might not think it just by looking at him—he seems very reserved and orderly, the type that sticks to a strict routine to keep himself at optimal performance. And those things are all true, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from tossing back shots like nobody’s business.

You, however, are not very good at drinking, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. When Nanami orders another shot, you order one too, because you don’t want him doing it alone. You’ve never liked the burn going down your throat, but they get you drunk fast , especially at the pace you’re going. Nanami probably doesn’t feel much, what with science and tallness and muscle mass and all that, but you’re hammered. Stumbling over words and feet type hammered.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t really drink, and for good reason. He’d tell anyone who asks that he’s a massive lightweight, since he never developed much of a tolerance, what with being the strongest sorcerer and all. And that’s true, sure, but the larger reason is you. You, who is so adamant about keeping up with your friends and proving yourself that you’re willing to be your own downfall.

You don’t need to keep up with Nanami, god knows he doesn’t expect you to, but you’ve always had a sort of…inferiority complex. You want to prove to other people that you’re strong before they have the chance to doubt you, even if you’ve known said people for over a decade. You’ve gotten better since you’ve grown up (you used to be an aggressive little thing), but at times like these when emotions run rampant due to alcohol content, you start to fall back into old habits.

Tonight’s your birthday, and it’s probably the only day of the year you’ll allow yourself to act like this, so carefree and unbidden. You’re sipping on your cocktail which is arguably more juice than liquor, thanks to a quick exchange between Nanami and the bartender. You’ve got one hand propping up your head, and you’re looking between Gojo and Nanami as they talk.

From behind dark glasses, Gojo’s eyes flash to meet yours. He gives you a wink that has you blushing before he turns back to your friend, and his large hand rests comfortably on your knee. Your fingers wrap around his, and you hum along with the song playing through the speakers.

Gojo likes you like this. He likes you all the time, but drunk you is a favorite of his. You’re a lot less careful about what comes out of your mouth, so you’re far more likely to compliment him. Mostly though, you seem relaxed, and he knows it’s because he’s there. You don’t worry about anything because you know he’ll take care of you, and it makes his heart swell that you put so much trust in him. He wants to soak in every moment, so Gojo always offers himself up as the designated driver.

“I like your tie,” You interrupt their conversation to tell Nanami for the seventeenth time that night.

He doesn’t miss a beat, sending a relaxed smile your way and saying, “Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate it.” You grin so widely at him your eyes squint, then return to your people-watching.

The bar is crowded, has been since you all arrived, and you aren’t normally someone who enjoys crowds but you’d insisted on coming. You like drinking with your friends. It reminds you of a time when everything wasn’t so complicated and serious. It was a long time ago.

You know you’ve reached the bottom of your drink when your sips become loud, the straw bringing up absolutely nothing. You pout, and turn to Gojo to ask him to order you another drink, when suddenly his face is inches from yours.

“How’s a burger sound?” He asks, and your eyes sparkle at the prospect of food. You don’t even realize it’s being used as a distraction.

“Okay!” You nod eagerly, and you turn toward Nanami. “Are you comin’ with us?”

“I think it’s best if I head home,” He tells you, and your bottom lip wobbles just slightly.

“But Nanamin,” You say, and they know you’re absolutely wasted if you’re using his nickname. “Ish my birthday .” Sober you would respect your friend’s wishes, but drunk you just wants to spend time with him! Nanami is a busy person who keeps to his routine, leaving little room for the two of you to actually hang out. If it isn’t scheduled in advance, he won’t be there. (Ironically, if it is scheduled, it’s unlikely Gojo will show up. It’s a good thing your birthday is so important to them.)

“I’ll walk with you,” He offers. “But once you arrive, I’m going home.” Nanami checks his watch. “It’s already past one. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“I think he’s calling us old,” Gojo whispers loudly to you, and you gasp.

“Nanamin! Don’ disrespect your elders!”

Gojo pays the tab and the three of you leave the bar, which is still thrumming with the vibrancy of night life. Your hand firmly holds Gojo’s, swinging it back and forth as you pour your heart out to Nanami.

“I’m really thankful you came tonight, Nanamin,” You say. “I mish you a lot. We used ta spend soooo much time together, ‘member?” If a representation of your heart was inaccurately drawn by Gojo, ninety-five percent of it would belong to him while the other five percent would go to Nanami. Although you’d met Gojo first, you’d been actual friends with Nanami for longer. (These timelines blur and coalesce depending on who’s telling them.)

Nanami hums. “Yes, back when we attended the same school and didn’t have full time jobs.”

You groan. “I think we should jus’ quit an’ make Gojo take care of us!”

“Gladly,” He says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Nanami would never allow it and neither would sober you, but he’d spend all of his money on you if he could.

You lean into his touch completely, something you would normally only do in the privacy of your home. You’re very reserved when it comes to intimacy, which Gojo respects, but he also lives for these moments.

You’re talking animatedly to Nanami but Gojo isn’t listening. He’s too focused on how the neon lights shine against your hair and how small but right your hand feels in his. How your laugh rises above the noise of the city but still sounds more melodic than any song he’s ever heard before.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. What did his students call it? Down bad? (Astronomically, Kugisaki would add later.)

They finally reach the burger place and Nanami departs, but not before you give him a bone-crushing hug. Gojo laughs as he sees the surprise on his friend’s face. He hadn’t been expecting your strength.

Before you can get too sad over Nanami’s departure, Gojo steers you inside. There’s a bit of a line, since other drunk people also had the same idea, but he doesn’t mind. Just means more time with you.

“What d’you want?” He asks. You hum, finger tapping against your chin as you think.

“Cheeseburger, large fry, an’ a milkshake, please.”

“Got it, but I feel like I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re lactose intolerant.”

“Ish my birthday ,” You grumble up at him, but you rest your head against his arm. “If I wanna shit my brains out later, I should be able to.”

He snorts. “You know technically, it’s not your birthday anymore. We passed midnight a long time ago.”

You look up at him, eyebrows drawing together. “We celebrated your birthday for a whole week!”

“Well, yeah, but that’s me.” You scoff at him but he catches the smile on your face, and presses a kiss to your rounded cheek.

He orders (and pays) for you, and the two of you claim a booth as you wait for your food. He takes advantage of your lack of inhibitions and sits on the same side as you, enjoying the way your thighs touch against his. Such a simple thing, and yet when it comes to you, it’s everything.

Gojo can feel eyes on him, hear friends whispering to each other about how hot he is (a fact, not a personal opinion), but he’s only looking at you. You, who’s decided that now is a good time to type out a thank you message to everyone who made your special day so special.

The bar was more of a close friends event, but the guest list for dinner had been much broader. Shoko and Mei Mei were in attendance, and somehow you all wound up at the same restaurant as the students. It might’ve been a smidge inappropriate, but you’d looked so happy to see everyone there that Gojo didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t planned.

Utahime was there as well. She’d shot him a death glare which immediately faded into a bright smile as soon as her eyes landed on you. The two of you had always had a grumpy girl club thing going on that he’d never understood. Aside from himself and Nanami, Utahime is your other best friend. He has to admit it makes him a bit jealous, especially because he’s certain she’s trying to steal you away to Kyoto.

“How do you spell ‘extracurricular?’’ You ask him.

“What are you even writing?” He snatches your phone out of your grasp. His eyes skim the message to find that it’s entirely incoherent and riddled with spelling errors that you’d be mortified to find in the morning. He deletes it all and slips your phone into his pocket. “You’ll thank me for that tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes but don’t object, which is a win in Gojo’s book. After a moment, you speak again. “Do ya think people had fun tonight?” Your voice is soft and he can tell you’re a little lost in your thoughts.

“Doesn’t matter if anyone else had fun. All that matters is whether or not you did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Did you ?” You tap your fingernails against the table. “I know I’m not…” You deflate, some sort of criticism of yourself lost on your lips, and Gojo needs to rectify this.

He slots his fingers between yours. “Of course I’m having fun! Wouldn’t be here with you if I wasn’t.” You smile because you know he means it. He’s not the sort of person to waste his time.

“Order eighty three!” The cashier calls out, and Gojo’s hand slips from yours as he stands to get your food.

The girl at the counter’s face goes pink as he approaches. She hands him the paper bag and asks, “Need anything else?”

“A few napkins, please.” You’re a messy eater when you’re drunk.

The girl pulls napkins out from under the counter, but before she slides them over, she takes out a pen and scrawls a phone number on one of them. Gojo’s used to this sort of thing. He flashes the girl a smile as he takes the napkins and heads back to you. He has no intention of calling her.

Still, all it takes is one look at your face and he knows that you’ve seen the whole exchange. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and you stare angrily up at him. He ignores you as he pulls the food out of the bag.

When he’s sitting back down again, your hand snakes behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss. It’s loose tongues and bumping teeth and perhaps a little inappropriate for such an establishment, but it invigorates him. Electricity rumbles through his veins, setting his body alight. He’d known kissing you was going to be dangerous—even pressing his lips to your cheek or forehead fogs his mind for a few seconds, but it’s a drug that only gets better and better.

You pull away first. The kiss couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but he can see the flush on your face and how swollen your lips look from his teeth nipping against them. He grins. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” You protest, shoving french fries into your mouth. “Ish just annoying, you know? How hard is it to make the educated assumption that a man an’ woman sitting together in a burger place at almost two in the morning are dating?”

Drunk you is far more outward with her jealousy, and he loves it. Thrives off it, in fact.

You bite into your burger. “Wish we had rings,” You say, more to yourself than him. “That way everybody’d know.”

He stiffens. Is this something you’ve been thinking about? The two of you had only been officially dating for a few months, but he’d considered himself yours for years. The thought of marrying you crosses his mind at least once a day, but he’d kept quiet for fear of spooking you. You’re someone who works through things in their own time. See the last thirteen years as an example.

Gojo ignores what you’ve just said, more for your sake than his, but he files it away. The two of you will come back to that later. Preferably when he’s had time to stop by a jeweler.

Faces stuffed and bellies full, you leave the burger place and head back down the street to Gojo’s car. He’s got a hand wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling as you walk. You’ve become rather quiet, drifting into that sleepy drunk phase now that you’ve eaten. The night is drawing to a close.

Gojo helps you into his car, buckling you in because your hands keep fumbling. As he slides into the driver seat he asks, “Your place or mine?”

Your answer surprises him. “Can we go to your house, please?” You slump in your seat so you can lean into him. “Your pillows smell like you.”

“Anything for the birthday girl,” He says as he pulls onto the street, and you give a tired cheer.

You don’t come over to Gojo’s house very often. Not because you don’t like it, but because he’s never there. He’s usually at Jujutsu High or traveling, so he only really sees his place when he’s going to sleep. And since you got together, he’s been choosing to do that at yours.

Although it’s smaller than his, he likes your place a lot more. It’s lived-in, curated with care, and it feels so wholeheartedly like you that even before you admitted your feelings for him, it felt more like home than his own.

You’re nearly asleep by the time he pulls up to the building. He helps you inside, greeting the late-night doorman with a nod before guiding you into the elevator. “Seventeenth floor,” You say, proud of yourself for remembering, and he smiles at you.

“You stalking me or something?” You giggle as his arms encircle your waist, his fingers playfully tickling your sides.

Gojo’s home is a penthouse apartment, so the elevator opens directly into it. It’s private, which means that even though the rest of his building is filled with wealthy elites, his floor can only be accessed by a single elevator with a passcode. It fills you with pride that you’re one of only two people that know it.

You slip off your shoes and toss your coat on the rack like you own the place, but before you can make your way towards the bed, Gojo drags you into the kitchen. He fills a glass of water for you and takes a bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet.

“Drink,” He orders as he presses it to your lips. You try to take the cup but he won’t let you, so you’re stuck staring up at him as he force-hydrates you. Once you’re finished, he fills it up again and makes you take the painkillers.

You’re onto the bathroom next. “‘M not letting you give me a bath,” You tell him.

“Of course not,” He scoffs. “That’s a tomorrow activity.” And despite your glare, there’s still a hint of a smile on your face.

He opens a cabinet and pulls out makeup wipes, and you spot a multitude of other feminine products. They’ve likely been left here over time, or he purchased them to make sure his guests were more comfortable. It doesn’t send off warning bells to see it. Instead it just carves a little into the darkest part of your heart, where the regret of not doing any of this sooner lives.

“Did it make you sad, too?” You ask as he gently wipes the makeup from your face. He raises an eyebrow. “When I’d sleep with people who weren’t you.”

Gojo’s always had a bit of a reputation for being a manwhore, and it had always confused you how he could declare his undying love for you and then bring random hookups back to his house. It wasn’t until you accepted your feelings for him that you realized he was doing the same thing you were: searching for each other in the embrace of strangers. You can’t even count how many times you’ve had to hold your tongue to avoid calling out his name when sleeping with people you pretended were him.

Gojo’s smile wavers slightly, and he clears his throat as he avoids your gaze. His eyes hold infinity and all of his emotions, and he knows that nobody can read him better than you. “Yeah,” He agrees, his voice just a bit hoarse. “Yeah, it made me sad, too.”

He lets you finish scrubbing the last of your eye makeup, and stands in the doorway as you wash your face and brush your teeth. He brings you one of his tshirts to wear as pajamas (he is a man, after all), and once you’re all clean he brings you to his bed. It’s not nearly as comfortable as yours, unfortunately, but Gojo enjoys the way you sigh happily once you have his comforter wrapped around you. You’re asleep within seconds.

He doesn’t go to bed just yet, though. You don’t have any clothes at his house to wear the next day, so he does a bit of online shopping. You’re going to hate him for spending so much money on you. However will he endure it?

It’s a few hours later and Gojo’s just finished checking out at the third store when you start to stir. He pauses, waiting to see if you’ll fall back asleep, but then you’re standing up and wobbling into his ensuite bathroom. You slam the door shut behind you, and it’s the clicking of the lock that indicates to him that something’s wrong.

He knocks against the door, calling your name. You’re quiet, but he can hear your sniffles. He imagines that you’re crying over the toilet. “Can I come in?”

You unlock the door for him and his heart melts at how absolutely pitiful you look. Tears are welling in your eyes and streaking down your cheeks, and you try to wipe them away as he sits down next to you but they just keep coming. “I can’t—” You hiccup, “I feel so sick but it won’t, I don’t want to—” You shake your head.

“I think you’ve got to force it this time,” Gojo says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. More tears fall at the prospect. You hate throwing up. You don’t like doing it, and if you didn’t feel so horrible right now you’d probably just ride through the nausea until it passed. Sadly, it was so uncomfortable that it woke you. “Do you want me to help you?”

You frown at him. “I’m not going to ask you to stick a finger down my throat.”

“I’d do it for you,” And that makes you laugh. He presses a kiss to your temple and gathers your hair in one hand. “Come on, you can do it,” He encourages. “I’m right here.”

You inhale a deep breath and reach your finger as far back as it’ll go. Your gag reflex triggers and suddenly you’re throwing up into the toilet, and more tears start streaming down your face. You hate this feeling. Hate it hate it hate it.

But Gojo’s there, as promised, and his large hands smooth over your shoulders to soothe you as he keeps your hair out of your face. “Let it out. You’ll feel so much better once it’s over.”

You stay there for a while, and once you’re certain there’s nothing left in your stomach, Gojo helps you clean up. You’re tired and still a bit drunk, so you cry as you apologize to him. He shushes you and wipes your face with a damp washcloth, and makes you brush your teeth again.

He doesn’t have to, but he carries you back to bed. He doesn’t let go as he turns off the lights, nor as he settles between the sheets. He holds you firmly to him and you don’t protest.

“Do you feel better?” He says into the darkness, and you nod against his shoulder.

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

The next morning, you regret absolutely everything .

As much as you’d have liked to spend the day sleeping, at precisely six in the morning, Ijichi calls to tell the both of you that you’re needed at Jujutsu High. You let Gojo handle most of the talking, since you can’t be bothered to leave the shroud of blanket you’ve surrounded yourself with.

“No need to call (Y/N),” Gojo says, “She’s right next to me! I’ll let her know.” With that, he hangs up, and uses a finger to lift the blanket just slightly so he can see you. “Ijichi said we need to go to the school.”

“I heard,” You say. Gojo had been kind enough to put him on speaker.

“He said Yaga would like us there in an hour.”

“I heard .”

“I told him he didn’t need to call you since you spent the night.”

You huff, flinging the covers off of you so you can stand up, which only exacerbates your headache more. “If this is your way of annoying me out of bed, you’re doing phenomenally.” You storm off, slamming the bathroom door shut and locking it. You turn on the shower and Gojo’s at the door, knocking.

“Hey! I thought you were gonna let me give you a bath!” The handle rattles. “I have to get ready too, y’know!”

“Use the guest bathroom!” You shout back as you step beneath the sweet relief of hot water.

If you’re with Gojo, you’re going to be late anyway, so the both of you take your time getting ready. His online purchases are carried up by the staff, clean and ready for you to use, and you only snip at him a teensy bit for spending money on you. You’re thankful that you don’t have to greet your peers in last night’s outfit.

You fix yourself a cup of coffee to drink on the way, but as soon as you and Gojo step outside, the bright, sunny day blinds you. Had you become a vampire in the middle of the night? You scowl, raising your hand to block out the sun’s rays, but it’s no use.

Gojo maneuvers around you to block out the light, but his teasing grin is just as annoying to look at. “Something wrong?”

“Shut up,” You grumble. “Why’s it so goddamn bright?” You don’t think you can last another second in this light.

Gojo snickers. “All these years and you haven’t learned your limits.”

“I can still kick your ass, hungover or not.” You pull him back into the shadows. “Give me your sunglasses.” He raises an eyebrow from beneath his blindfold. “It’s not like you’re going to use them today, anyway. Let me borrow them.”

He pulls them from his pocket and you unfold them, placing them onto your face. You exhale as you step back into the light. “Much better!” You toss him a smile over your shoulder. “Ready?”

Gojo needs approximately five seconds to gather himself. He knows he looks great in his glasses, but he’d vehemently argue that they look even better on you. Seeing you wear his stuff always does something to him, but the sunglasses?

He thinks of cold showers, grandmothers, and sour foods to keep himself from imagining how you might look wearing his sunglasses and nothing else.

#writing #fluff #romance #silly gooses #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen

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vamossainz55 · 2 years

Text

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts | Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader | Drabble (1k)

A.N: Small drabble that I wanted to write because I am sleepy but not tired, just fluff really. Hope y'all have as much fun reading it as I did writing it <3 ps. might write more drabbles in the future so feel free to suggest ideas (im also down to do other drivers, i just need inspo really).

warnings: mention of alc (+ drunk carlos) but overall just fluff. love all around really <3.

and btw happy race week <3 (even though carlos has a grid penalty)

Summary: You and Carlos recently started dating and he finally tells you how he really feels. And he's drunk.

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"Come on babe, you're too drunk" The ache in your feet was killing you from the heels that you were wearing, and you knew it was your own fault for picking your black stilettos, but you really didn't expect to be at the party for so long.

It was almost five in the morning- and you and Carlos were at Daniel's house. The Australian driver had decided to throw a big birthday bash for himself- and Daniel didn't take his parties lightly.

He had rented a whole villa in Monaco, offering to fly out whoever was down to come (thankfully for him, most of the boys already lived in Monaco- so he really did only fly a few people over). Not only that, but in classic Daniel style, a party only meant one thing: an open bar with unlimited drinks.

It was hilarious to see all the boys get loose after a few drinks and relax. You had recently gotten together with Carlos so you hadn't met many of his friends- especially the ones in his F1 world. Sure, you had met Lando, Charles, and talked to Checo- but apart from them you usually saw the others on track and you usually did your own thing and stayed at the side. Sure, you had a conversation with some here and there- but they usually looked so tense and focused that most conversations were quite cordial and short.

This night had definitely made it worth the wait though. One thing that Daniel definitely knew how to do was to get people drunk and loose. Your ears were still ringing from Checo and Lewis belting out I Want It That Way, and your dress was still soaked from when Pierre had picked you up and thrown you in the pool before shoving Carlos (a lot more aggressively) to follow you suit. You were also currently witnessing Max with Daniel laying on the ground trying (and miserably failing) to count the number of stars in the sky. Who knew drunk F1 drivers could not count past eight?

Carlos on the other hand was sprawled on the couch with you and Lando who was practically almost sober but also half asleep. He had taken a few shots with you but it was clear that seeing everybody pretty much gone had sobered you both up. "We should go to bed babes, everyone is sleeping," You say softly, trying for what felt like the tenth time to get Carlos off the couch and back to your room. You rubbed his scalp gently before gently playing with a few strands of his hair. You're looking down at him and you can't help but smile fondly at how sleepy he looked. His head was laying on your lap, eyes blinking slowly as the Ferrari driver attempted his best to not yawn.

"Cariño, I'm not sleepy," He says- although fails to prove his point as a yawn racks through his body. He covers his mouth in aims to be polite but he ends up resting it here for a bit as his eyes fall shut.

"Babe," You say with a soft laugh.

"I'm just resting my eyes," He murmurs, but soon you hear him take a deep breath, the ones he usually takes right before he falls asleep.

To Carlos' misery, you're getting up anyways. Your boyfriend groans, murmuring a soft joder before slowly sitting up.

"Vale, vale, vale," He says, stumbling to get up. He struggles to find the balance with the sleep and drinks clouding his judgment so he almost tips over towards Lando. You instantly grab his arm to help him steady and he smiles.

"Sabes que?" He asks before blinking slowly because right, you didn't speak Spanish. "You know what?" He repeats in English.

"Mhm?" You ask, slowly getting his arm to wrap around your shoulder.

"You're so beautiful," He says with a bashful smile.

"Gross Carlos, get a room." Lando quickly comments (and you're surprised he even heard him since he was half asleep), throwing a pillow from where he was sitting. Carlos lets out a dramatic cry before throwing the pillow back to Lando.

"Go to sleep!" He says and you quickly hush him as a few of the others were scattered around the house. Carlos murmurs a sorry before he continues rambling under his breath. You smile to yourself telling Lando goodnight and sleep well before slowly guiding Carlos into your shared room. "Where was I?" He slurred once you placed him on the edge of the bed to sit. You slowly take off your heels before you head to your bag, looking for something to change into.

"I don't know bab-"

"Ah right!" He says, sticking his finger in the air before dramatically laying on his back. "I was saying- you're so beautiful." He sighs out and you try your best to stifle a laugh. "No, no, no," He says before sitting up. He looks you in the eye before pointing at you to prove a point. "You're so so gorgeous. Have you seen yourself?" He asks and this time you have to look away, feeling a heat begin to settle on your cheeks. "How the hell did I get so lucky?" He asks himself out loud.

"I don't know babe, how did you?" You tease, deciding to change into one of Carlos' shirts that were laying on the chair since you were too tired to dig through your bag. You turn around and expect to find Carlos tucked in bed, but instead, you find him in boxers with half his shirt off his body. "I think I'm stuck." He says, shirt wrapped around his head and his arms up in the air.

You bite back a laugh, going to him before helping him out of his shirt. "How did you manage to take off your pants but get stuck with the shirt?" You ask, shaking your head as you help him take it off. "It's time for us to sleep don't you think?" Slowly, you fold it up and put it on the chair, only looking over him when you hear him gasp.

"Oh my god. You're telling me I got to go to bed with you last night and wake up to you this morning and I get to do it again tomorrow?" He asks, eyes wide open and in shock. This time you can't help but laugh at how genuinely surprised he sounds.

"Babe, calm down." You say coming close and standing between his legs. You gently cup his face as you look down at him and lean close, gently rubbing his cheek. "I can't believe I get to sleep next to you tonight and wake up with you next to me still. I'm so lucky to have you." You tell him softly, leaning down to kiss his lips. The kiss is soft and gentle and Carlos wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

"You're so nice- and so kind- and everyone loves you. My parents do, my friends do, everyone just loves you." He says once you've both pulled away. You continue to rub the side of his face soothingly with your thumb. "I want to be the best person I can be- I just want to be someone you deserve."

Your smile softens and you can't help but kiss him again. "You do deserve me babe," You say softly. "You make me the happiest person in the world." It's barely a whisper and your eyes meet Carlos'. He's looking at you and you can feel the mood in the room shift. Suddenly the music outside sounds ten times quieter and you can hear Carlos' breathing and feel his heartbeat through his chest. The moment feels so intimate and you're scared to break it.

"I think I love you," Carlos says back quietly, eyes suddenly shifting down. You feel your stomach do a little swoop as a feeling in your chest swells. "I think I'm in love with you." He says a bit louder this time, before looking up at you. "Is that okay?" He asks, and his brows furrow to create his confused face that you've always found endearing.

You feel your cheeks begin to burn, quickly tinting pink as you look at him, eyes locked with his. The smile on your lips are hurting your cheeks and your heart is beating loud. So loud that you're not quite sure if it was Carlos' or yours all along. "Do you want to know a secret?" You say very quietly, leaning closer to him.

Carlos nods, instantly whispering, "yeah?"

"I love you too," You promise, giving him a kiss before pulling him into bed.

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