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a-b-riddle · 3 days

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Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #angst #angst with a happy ending #john soap mactavish

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arieslost · 1 month

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the other papaya | op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader (brief pato o’ward x fem!reader)

summary: something something the first five times you hear the name “oscar piastri” and the one time you say it

wc: 3,165

warnings: mention of covid lockdown, a wee bit o’ angst, drinking

masterlist — join my tag list here!

The first time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was said in contempt.

You knew your boyfriend didn’t hate him, but you also knew that Pato could practically hear the phone ringing with the offer to drive for McLaren in F1 right up until he found out that the seat was going to someone else. To Oscar Piastri. The “kid,” as he so aptly referred to him.

“He’s only two years younger than you,” you admonished him one night, soon after the announcement was made public.

“Exactly. A kid.”

“I’m two years younger than you.” You said, and that made him wrinkle his nose.

“Point taken.”

You would describe your relationship with Pato O’Ward as puppy love. Things between the two of you escalated a little too quickly, as many things in 2020 did. You went from going on a whopping four dates by the end of 2019 to living together for the foreseeable future when everything went on lockdown. Your mother had voiced her concern about it, but if you didn’t live with him you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Besides, you liked each other so much that it only made sense that you continued to build your relationship in the comfort of his spacious apartment. The two of you settled into a decent rhythm, and you took the time to learn more about motorsport. When he was finally able to hit the track again, you went to every race you could, decked out in papaya, cheering him on no matter what. And you continued to do so even though he lost his chance at driving in F1 to “the kid.”

The second time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it came from the man himself when you ran into him at the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.

It was the first time you felt rather hesitant about going to a race with your boyfriend. Pato was welcomed to the McLaren F1 team as a reserve driver, and that was how you found yourself feeling extremely out of place in the McLaren garage. You met Oscar’s girlfriend before you met him, and while she was kind enough to get you a pair of headphones and offer to sit with you during the race, the entire interaction had you feeling like you should’ve just stayed back at the hotel. All the other WAGs were dressed to the nines, looking effortlessly beautiful, and you were wearing ripped jeans and a jersey with Pato’s number on it, like you always did, even though he wasn’t racing. With Pato busy in a debrief, you were busy just trying to stay out of the way and not stick out like a sore thumb.

“Excuse me,” someone said, and you assumed you were in the way, so you apologized and started moving when the person grabbed your arm to stop you. “No, sorry, I just– hi. You’re Pato’s girlfriend, yeah?”

Your eyes widened when you recognized the man talking to you. “Um… yes, I am.”

“I’m Oscar. Piastri,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, accepting his handshake and telling him your name in return. “Are you here to tell me I need to leave?”

“What? No, of course not. Pato told me you were here, so I wanted to come say hi.”

“Oh.” You could feel your face starting to grow hot, because you really weren’t sure what to do in this situation.

Pato lost a chance at a seat to this guy, and you remembered his disappointment well. But you didn’t expect Oscar to come up to you in a million years.

“That’s really nice of you,” you continued, trying to smile without looking too awkward. “Congrats on getting the seat. You must be pretty talented.”

“Ah, thanks.” He looked at you for a moment, and you looked back. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi.”

You giggled in spite of yourself. “You said that already.”

“Right, yeah. Well, it was nice to meet you,” he said, hesitantly tacking your name onto the end of his sentence. “Thanks for being here.”

“Nice to meet you too, Oscar. Good luck today.”

Two races later, Pato messaged him to congratulate him on his podium, and you mentioned wanting to thank and congratulate him yourself. You got Oscar’s number, and after his quick response, the conversation died out, just as you expected. You didn’t have anything else to say to him anyway, but soon after, you got a follow request from him on Instagram. You accepted without a second thought– just one papaya supporting another.

The third time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was when a TikTok showed up on your feed talking about the “shocking split” between him and his girlfriend. You were reasonably surprised; his girlfriend was beautiful and kind, and from an outsider’s perspective they seemed quite happy with each other. The video went on to discuss speculation that his girlfriend was the one who had ended the relationship, and there were pictures of him looking visibly upset at the latest race. You closed the app, feeling like you were massively invading his privacy even though the first thing you saw upon opening Instagram was a statement on his story confirming the breakup. You couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

“Ah, so you saw, too,” Pato said, adjusting his workout clothes as he leaned over your shoulder.

“It’s terrible,” you sighed, shutting your phone off. “They seemed so happy together.”

“High school sweethearts, too. That makes it worse.”

You gave him a look. “You can feel bad for him, y’know.”

“I do!” Pato raised his hands with a laugh. “But if he wants to sit out of a race because of this, I won’t be upset.”

“You’re terrible, get out of here.” You shoved him playfully, and he left with a kiss on your forehead.

The last race weekend before summer break brought you a taste of the heartbreak Oscar went through only a couple months prior.

Pato had been in one of the older cars running some tests, and came home a little later than usual. He didn’t even answer your question of how his day was before he was sitting you down on the couch and looking anywhere but at your face.

“Pato, what’s going on? You’re kind of freaking me out,” you laughed nervously.

“I think we should break up.” He said, face stony.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a little while,” he began, “and I think it’s for the best.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” You asked, shifting away from him as you felt your heart begin to pound.

“Ever since I became a reserve driver.” He confessed, and you scoffed.

“Are you serious right now?”

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a F1 seat.” He said, like that made breaking up logical.

“Yeah, I know. And you know how I know? Because I’ve been around for years.” You hissed, standing up and walking towards the bedroom. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Pato protested, following close behind. “This is my career. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Right. Of course.” You nodded, moving about the room to collect as much of your stuff as you could with shaking hands.

The rest of the week went by in a blur. You packed up all your things and took the soonest flight to Australia to try and forget about the fact that Pato had just thrown away years of being together for a fleeting chance at driving a stupid race car.

The fourth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s on the other end of the phone.

The two weeks following your breakup are uneventful and entirely consist of you, the warm Australian sun, and the spare bedroom in your aunt and uncle’s house. You haven’t deleted any of your IndyCar posts, nor have you posted any more. In fact, you haven’t posted anything since the last time you were in Australia, only a few months ago. Your Instagram has become stagnant; a reflection of your real life. You haven’t told many people about your breakup, so you’re surprised when your phone rings. Even more so when you see who it is.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Oscar. Piastri,” he adds his last name like an afterthought, just like he did when he introduced himself in the garage.

“I know,” you say, pushing yourself into a sitting position on your bed. “Caller ID. Although you’re probably the last person I’d expect a call from.”

“Listen, are you not around anymore?” He asks, evidently not in the mood to beat around the bush. “I haven’t seen you, and you haven’t posted about IndyCar or anything.”

“Ah, um, yeah, no, I’m not.” You clear your throat uncomfortably. “Actually, Pato and I broke up. Well, he broke up with me. So, no reason for me to be around, I guess.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, his loud sigh crackling through the microphone. “I figured something was wrong. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I’m uh… I’m sorry too. Seemed like you had a good thing going.”

“Thanks. Seemed that way for you, too,” he mumbles. “So… I guess things have really been sucking for both of us lately.”

“Pretty much.” You laugh.

“This is a terrible idea,” he begins after a moment of silence, “but are you in Australia right now?”

You debate lying to him, because it is a terrible idea, and you have a feeling you know what he’s going to say next. You don’t care. “I am.”

“Alright, well, it’s summer break for F1 right now, and to be honest you’re the only person I know that understands what I’ve been going through.”

“Are you asking me to be your wallowing buddy?” You ask.

“Something like that. My plan was pretty much along the lines of drowning our sorrows in alcohol.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and for some reason that does you in.

The fifth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s through a cheap karaoke microphone.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve spent with him, and you feel like you’re still a little drunk from the night before when he breaks open a bottle of champagne.

“What is this, a celebration?” You ask, stretching your arms and legs out so you look like a starfish where you lay on the living room floor.

“It’s whatever the fuck we want it to be.” He takes two glasses and pours the champagne out.

You giggle at him while he dramatically sets them both down on the coffee table at your side. “You definitely pregamed before you got here.”

“I did not,” he protests, but you shake your head.

“No, no, you say curse words like that when you’re drunk.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘oh my God, this champagne is so fucking good.’” You mock him after taking a sip, and he starts laughing too.

“Fine, you caught me.” He throws his hands up. “I pregamed. But, I walked here, so who cares?”

You’re glad that your aunt and uncle are out for the night, because a few hours and countless glasses of champagne later find the both of you in the attic, discovering a karaoke microphone without a machine to match.

“Screw the machine, we don’t need the shitty machine,” Oscar rolls his eyes, watching you put batteries into the microphone. “We’ll just find something on YouTube. Does it work?”

You flip the switch and hold it up to your mouth. “HELLO? It works.”

You regret putting fresh batteries into it as soon as Oscar gets up to sing. You think that he might not be half bad if he’s sober, but drunk, his singing is absolutely insufferable. You would care if you weren’t equally as drunk as him. He pulls up a karaoke video of Last Friday Night by Katy Perry, only after getting you to swear on the lives of your entire family that you won’t tell anyone what you see or hear. You consider secretly recording him, but the second he starts, you’re practically folded in half from laughing so hard at his antics and the fleeting idea is gone.

He’s so dramatic with every lyric, like he’s trying to act all the words out while he’s singing about a stranger in his bed and pink flamingos in his (nonexistent) pool. When he gets to the part of the chorus talking about taking too many shots, he gestures for you to hand him the champagne bottle. You hand it over immediately and watch as he stops singing entirely to take a long drink straight from the bottle, ignoring how attractive he looks the whole while. You actually think that you’d really like to kiss him. You’re drunk, and you’re heartbroken. You just want to laugh and forget about it all. So when he chokes on the champagne for a moment and flounders to find where he’s supposed to be in the song, you do just that.

The song ends both too soon and not soon enough, and you give him a round of applause, chanting, “Encore!” a few times as he takes a bow.

“I’m Oscar Piastri,” he yells, “and I fucking hate relationships!”

You cheer loudly. “Speak on it!”

“Except I have a problem,” he says, all of a sudden dejected as he flops onto the couch beside you, still speaking into the mic. “I have a biiiig, huuuuge problem.”

“Tell the all-knowing, and she shall answer,” you turn onto your side to face him and reach out to… you don’t remember what you wanted to do. Maybe touch his cheek. Or his nose. Or his lips.

Your hand ends up resting on the top of his head, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair.

“I think I might really like you,” he whispers, his words muffled by his lips smushing against the top of the mic. “Which is not good. I mean, it’s good, like, I think you’re amazing, but it’s not good, because I broke up and then you broke up, so we both broke up, but not with each other, with other people, and–”

You cut him off by taking the mic from him with your free hand and switching it off.

“Sorry.” He says, blinking at you slowly. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“We do,” you begin, petting his head. “Eventually. But not now. I am way too drunk to talk about this.”

This makes him start giggling, so you start giggling, and then you’re both cackling and clutching your stomachs.

You want to laugh, and forget about it, and you want to do it every single day with Oscar.

The first time you say the name Oscar Piastri, it’s while you’re laying in a hospital bed.

You’ve always been notorious for getting easily bruised, but breaking a bone is a first. Especially when it happens in the public eye.

You were only trying to make a cute, aesthetic TikTok showcasing your first race weekend as Oscar’s official girlfriend when you tripped and fractured your ankle in front of half the McLaren team. Not to mention the throng of fans mere feet away.

The two of you didn’t start dating until half a year after his drunken confession, and when you first started going out you had to be very discreet so fans didn’t expose the both of you before either of you were ready. Most of your dates ended up being at your aunt and uncle’s, which had become your home too once you got a job and started really getting yourself together after your breakup. He flew out to see you all the time, and as soon as he suggested that you come with him to the race of the season, you jumped on the opportunity. You didn’t think you’d ever go to a race again, but here you were. You were both happy, and you were both ready.

And now you’re fuming, mentally cursing yourself as you look down at your boot-covered ankle that has now effectively ruined your entire weekend.

Oscar comes rushing into the room, and you hold up a hand.

“Don’t tell me. Do not even tell me.” You shake your head. “Just tell me if it’s somewhat safe to go online or if I should just throw my phone out.”

“What?”

“I know people are talking about it. Oh, no.” Your eyes widen. “No, no. I’ve become a public embarrassment for you. I knew it. It only took me a few hours.” You cover your face with your hands. “Oh, my God… I am so sorry.”

“Again, what?” He asks, prying your hands away. “Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, aside from that,” you gesture to the boot, glaring at it before your eyes shoot back up to him. “Wait a second, how did quali go? Did you do your media stuff already?”

“I’m starting P5. I came here right after, no media.” He rushes out, pulling up a chair so he can sit right next to you and hold your hand. “They’re letting you go, right?”

“Yeah, just have to do some paperwork and get a prescription– why didn’t you go to the media?”

“Because they told me you got hurt? And you needed to be hospitalized?” He says, like it’s obvious.

“Oz, you get fined for that!” You exclaim. “Oh, no, this is so bad! First I embarrass you– no, not just you, probably the entire team, and now you’re here and not there and you’re going to get in trouble… fuck, what if you get fired?!”

“Baby, baby,” Oscar laughs, grabbing both of your hands now. “I’ll get fined, but I’m not gonna get fired just because I skipped media one time. Zak was fine with it, if that makes you feel better.”

You’re still worried, and he can see it in your eyes.

“What’s got you so worked up about this?” He asks softly.

“I just… don’t want to be a risk towards your career.” You say, feeling ashamed that you can still hear Pato’s words from the day he broke up with you. Oscar knows immediately.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, leaning in and kissing you on the lips, and then your nose. “None of this means anything if I don’t have you.”

You’re still taking it slow, but this is the closest either of you have come to saying “I love you” without saying it, so you pull your hands from his and cup his cheeks to pull him into another kiss.

“Oscar Piastri, you are my whole world.”

Ten minutes later, Lando comes bursting into the room with such aggression that he almost faceplants, and he makes so much noise that a nurse runs into the room looking highly concerned.

So, you laugh, and you forget about it, and you do it with Oscar at your side, where you know he’ll stay for the rest of your lives.

note: this was a bitch to write. also i was gonna make a layout for this but i really wanted to post it tonight so it is sans layout and was edited like a half hour before it’s scheduled to post. all that being said, i hope u enjoyed!!

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever

#request #full fic #op81 week #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff #op81 x reader #op81 x you #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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folkloresthings · 9 months

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TOLERATE IT / FA14.

in which the older sister of lando norris finds herself teetering dangerously towards the precipice of her brother’s, significantly older, colleague.

( fernando alonso x norris!reader )

track one: gold rush. track two: delicate. track three: labyrinth. track four: false god. track five: happiness. track six: the 1. track seven: daylight. track eight: lover.

✩⡱ warnings: age gap! reader is 25, fernando is 41. some cursing and sexual references.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by pierregasly, christianhorner, and 938,847 others

f1 We are so delighted to announce our new F1 x Red Cross Ambassador, Y/N Norris! Y/N went straight from Oxford University into the world of charity work. She has worked with the Red Cross for over 4 years and will now be working alongside Formula 1 in our ongoing support of the charity’s campaigns. Keep an eye out for our future fundraising events, auctions, and other exciting things!

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landonorris go sister that’s my sister!!

danielricciardo does this mean more y/n in the paddock? because that will make race weekend so much more enjoyable

⤷ yourusername indeed it will honey badger 🫡 if you ever need a sub to drive for you, i’m in

user nepo baby job. she’s only working with f1 because her brother’s lando norris

⤷ user it’s f1 we’re talking about, they’re ALL nepo babies. at least y/n has been working with charities for years, it’s not completely random

fernandoalo_official great news!! see you on the paddock yourusername

comment liked by yourusername and 849 others

hungary was warmer than you had expected, that humid sort of heat that made you feel yucky no matter how many times you’d showered. but amongst the sea of sweaty drivers and mechanics, it could have felt much worse. lando had given you the grand tour of the paddock and track but duty called, and with your brother called off to some interview, you were left trackside.

there were no cars due to be on the track, so you were able to get as close as possibly. for years you’d gone to your brothers races, listened to his fanatic rants, and tried so hard to understand why he loved the sport so much. but now, standing and looking out at the quiet track, you started to understand the beauty.

“hello, again.” you jumped a little, the voice cutting through the peace. when you turned, you found fernando on the other side of the pit wall, looking at you through the gap in the fence. you chuckled, feeling caught, looking up at him.

“hi there,” you greeted, blinking innocently. but behind those eyes were little innocence, same as his own. you hadn’t slept with the driver, you weren’t that quick, but the night he’d spent in your apartment was long. wondering kisses, stolen touches, hesitance to leave. you both wanted more, but neither wanted to give in.

“you’re tagging along for the season, then?” he asks, eyes gleaming with possibility. you nod, humming quietly. as excited as you were for this job, another kind of excitement came knowing you’d be seeing fernando every weekend. “first time in hungary?”

“no, second. i travelled with some of my girlfriends during uni and we stopped in budapest for a few days — though i don’t remember most of it,” you admitted, cheeks turning red at the memory. he laughed, head thrown back with pure delight. it made your stomach twist endlessly.

“well, let me refresh your memory. i’ll take you to dinner tonight,” he offers, charming as ever. your brows raise, trying to differentiate his flirtations from his sincerity. “consider it a congratulations on the new job.”

you’re getting ready to refuse, knowing how lando would react and the complications it would bring, when fernando’s hand slipped through the pit wall railing, brushing over yours until it rests on top. you look down, noticing just how much bigger his hand is than yours. stronger, too, with more defined knuckles and much more worn down from years of driving.

“please say yes,” he whispers, even though there’s no one else around, and squeezes your hand softly. you sigh, meeting his deadly gaze once more.

“alright. but i want italian food.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_official, and 877,153 other

yourusername how’d you turn it right around?

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user A MAN’S HAND

lilymhe literally the prettiest girl ever

carlossainz55 hermosa 😍

⤷ user is carlos the mystery man ??????

landonorris i let you out of my sight for five minutes JEEZ

landonorris now who is he so i can break his hands

TWITTER.

IMESSAGE.

writers note: lando stop cockblocking. also that b&w pic of flo is one of my favourites ever i can’t stop staring at it

#formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 instagram au #formula 1 imagine #fernando alonso instagram au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lance stroll x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader #esteban ocon x reader

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quirklezz · 4 months

Text

Rumor has it (Part 3) | Tom Blyth

pairing: Tom Blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary: Ever since the premiere of tbosas fans of yours have been shipping you with your costar, Tom Blyth. Is it all just rumors or were they right all along?

a/n: I’m loving all the support I’ve been getting with this mini series so here are the links to part 1 & part 2 if you haven’t been caught up! As always feedback is appreciated and requests are open!

ynusername Say hello to my nephew, Lenny 🐶 @rachelzegler @tomblyth

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user1 not YN calling Lenny her nephew I CANT

↳ user3 I mean her and Rachel are practically sisters at this point 🥺

↳ user1 true

user4 I never wanted to be a dog so bad in my entire life until now

↳ user2 BARKBARKBARKBARK

↳ user5 why do I relate to this comment so bad 😫

user6 I guess that makes Tom the uncle

user2 Didn’t Tom say he’s getting a dog in an interview and the breed he mentioned is YN’s favorite

↳ user3 they’ll make great dog parents

rachelzegler come back Lenny misses you two 😭

↳ user5 Lenny is a real one

↳ user4 If YN and Tom left me I’d be missing them too

↳ user2 we need more Lenny content from them pls

tomyndaily It’s the way he’s looking at @ynusername in this pic for me 😫

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user3 Idk who to be jealous of YN or Rachel?!

↳ user1 same

↳ user6 I’m jealous of Tom tbh 😤

user2 He looks at her with so much love and admiration

↳ user4 men take notes ✍️

user5 can’t wait to see more of them on the red carpet soon

↳ user2 I just know they’re going to slay

ynusername Coryo may not be a gentleman, but @tomblyth sure is. Tbosas is out now in theaters everywhere!! 🌹🎶🐍

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user3 the Taylor Swift reference!!

↳ user1 she’s not wrong though

↳ user2 not mother quoting mother

user4 I wish Tom Blyth was real 😭

↳ ynusername me too 😔

↳ user5 OMG YALL SHE REPLIED

↳ user3 she’s too funny

tomyndaily I love how she took this while Tom picked her up from the airport

↳ user6 proof?

↳ tomyndaily posted in stories

rachelzegler did you just Mike Wazowski me? 🙃

↳ ynusername I just realized I did after posting it sorry not sorry 😆

user1 YALL TOM LIKED HER POST

↳ user5 as he should

yntomsources A old pic of Tom at @ynusername house back in 2022 while they were filming tbosas taking from her insta stories

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user4 I never seen this pic before

user2 buzzcut Tom for the win

↳ user3 agree to disagree

↳ user1 it’s not that serious

user5 I went to her stories but I don’t see it anywhere 🤔

↳ yntomsources she deleted it

↳ user6 I guess she wasn’t a fan of the buzzcut 🫢

↳ user4 team flowing locks is better

user2 we have to spam her now to see which she prefers skskskskksksks

↳ user3 BET

taglist: @bada-lee-ily (lmk if anyone else would like to be tagged in future projects)

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction

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kaciidubs · 7 months

Text

Open Heart

❣ Summary: When you don't know what to say or do, when life starts living you, you can always rely on Chris to bring you back. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 3.2k ❣ Warnings: Mental breakdown, existential crisis, implied panic attack, angst, fluff, comfort, crying, Supportive BF! Chris, Reader is a mess mentally and emotionally, discussions of family, careers, life, and the future, self doubt, self deprecation, mentioned disassociation ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Christopher, and Christopher Bahng [wowie], Reader is referred to as Princess, Baby, Love, Sweet Girl, this is the one that's personal so I'm sorry if you can relate but also you're not alone ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Yeah, dad, I know... Mhm... No, I haven’t heard back from them yet, but it’s only been a week since I applied so... Yeah, I know…”

You paced the living room of your apartment, holding your phone to your ear as you did your best to tame the headache brewing in your head.

“I know you do, it’s just - there’s so many things I can do with my degree, I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do... I know... Yeah... Okay... Talk to you later... Love you too, bye.”

Ending the call, you tossed your phone onto the couch with a heavy sigh - the weight of the world piling on top of stress already weighing on your shoulders.

Everything sucked - almost as if the world was out to get you for simply existing; years of doing what was right, doing what you were supposed to, only for you to still feel like you weren’t doing enough.

People pleasing.

A wave of guilt made your stomach turn, tears stinging behind your eyes as you stood in the silence, yet it still felt so loud.

You knew your dad meant well, your parents meant well, your family meant well, but every question, every poorly veiled nudge of ‘What’s your next big move going to be? You’ve been stagnant for so long.’ ate at your psyche at every turn. You felt like you did everything; you graduated high school in the high percentage of your class, you went to college, you graduated as a first generation student after five excruciatingly long years - yet through all that they still wanted more from you.

A pleasure to have known. You have so much potential.

If you had a dime for the amount of times you’ve heard those words, you would’ve been a millionaire by now.

A shaky breath rattled in your chest as you sighed, your hands rising to cup your rapidly heating face. “Fuck... F-Fuck.”

Your vision blurred, salty tears stinging your eyes before burning fiery trails down your cheeks with no signs of stopping.

When was it going to be enough? When were you going to be enough?

Your breath hitched, choking on a sob that your body refused to let go - not now, not right now. You were still young, you had so much potential - so why did it feel like you were being rushed? Why did it feel like everyone saw some invisible clock above you, counting down the days until you’d become useless?

Wasted potential - those words always used to scare you, the famous buzzwords of any educator wanting to instill proper work ethic in their students; the future of the workforce.

Wasted potential - that’s what you were beginning to feel at your 9-5; a quaint little job you kept throughout your final semester, something that got the bills paid and kept a little more in your savings.

Wasted potential - that’s what you felt when your days began blending together, when you realized disassociation was your coping mechanism until your mouse hovered over ‘clock out’.

You wanted to do so much, so much, but there was never enough time in the day - they were never ideas that would earn you a proper living wage, a career path your family wouldn’t agree with.

Your body shook as a sob finally tore through your silent cries, your head throbbing as air tried to force its way into your lungs - crying never used to hurt like this.

Your world spun, it felt like time froze while speeding up, but all you could do was cry - stand in your living room and cry like a reprimanded child because you weren’t doing what you were supposed to.

“Princess?”

Your eyes snapped open behind your fingers, quickly registering a bigger, warmer pair wrapping around your wrists.

“Baby, can you hear me?”

Guilt.

Chris was home early, and instead of relaxing like he deserved, he now had to tend to you - crying over the same thing you cried over four months ago.

He felt you tense, he could see the spiral of overthinking, and his grip tightened, “Hey, hey, it’s just me - it’s just me, princess.”

You sniffled, biting back another sob as you shook your head, “’M s-sorry-”

“Shh, don’t apologize - you don’t have to apologize, not to me, not for this.”

Understanding - he was always so good at that, making sure you knew you weren’t the problem of anything; he always joked he got better at it from you.

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips.

“I- It’s- I can’t- And- It’s just so-”

Chris pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other cradled the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing circles just behind your ear. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay - I’m here, you’re okay.”

He blinked away his own tears, the sounds of your cries breaking his heart when he entered the apartment, and now the feeling of your body shaking against his like a fall leaf utterly tearing him apart inside.

You weren’t sure how long you both stood there, him whispering words of comfort in your ear while you stained his black hoodie with your tears, but you slowly came out of your breakdown with uneven breaths - your hands holding onto his hoodie as if he was your lifeline.

He was your lifeline.

“Can we go to the bedroom, princess? Can we manage that?” He cooed softly, a soft smile settling on his lips as he felt you nod. “Okay, we’ll go slow, yeah?”

True to his word, he slowly led you into the bedroom with shuffling steps, noting how you clung to him like a baby koala, as if you separated from him at any point you’d float away into space.

Sitting on the bed first, he scooted toward the middle of the mattress and you quickly followed suit; crawling toward him before laying your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his while he pulled you into his side.

It was quiet, save for the occasional hiccuped breath and sniffle, the sound of his heartbeat slowing the thudding in your own head, the rise and fall of his chest reminding you how to breathe again.

“Love?”

You hummed softly, your free hand nonchalantly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie.

“Wanna talk about what happened?”

Dropping your hand to lay flat on his chest, you took a deep breath to fight back another round of tears threatening to come out. “I... My dad called to check in, see how we were doing and all... He wanted to know if I found a different job yet, one that uses my degree, and I told him I hadn’t.” Swallowing thickly, you squeezed your eyes shut as you continued, “He’s worried that I’m not using my full potential, that I’m not getting paid what I should - and I don’t blame him, really, I went to college for a reason and everything, but it just feels like I'm being rushed into making another decision I’m not ready for."

“Another decision like picking your major?” Chris chimed in - he’d remembered you telling him about your realization of wanting to switch majors in your junior year, but ultimately choosing not to since you were close to graduating at the time.

You nodded, “I know he means well, I love my dad, I love my family, but it just feels like they don’t understand that I'm just...tired. I’m so, so tired that the idea of getting a new job - when I’ve only been at this one for just over a year - makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Fuck, the fact that I’ve been at this job for a year makes my skin crawl because this isn't what I want.”

Picking mindlessly at a few cotton pills collected on the fabric of his hoodie, a heavy sigh escaped you, “I feel like all I’ve been doing my whole life is performing for other people, catering to other people, to the point that I don’t even know who I am. I’ve always been told all these great things about myself, but-” A hot tear rolled across the bridge of your nose, “I don’t believe them, at all. Everyone sees all this potential in me and it drives me crazy because I don’t see potential in myself.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue softly, with so much care and gentleness that it made your heart hurt more because he’d been part of the crowd singing your praises and you practically confessed that you didn’t believe him.

“Princess, my sweet, sweet girl…”

“C-Chris, I’m-”

“Please,” he cut you off with a gentle squeeze, “you already know what I’m gonna say if the next words out of that pretty mouth of yours are ‘I’m sorry’.”

Sighing softly, you accepted that fate as his right hand slid down your arm to take your hand in his, another gentle squeeze to remind you that he’s right here.

“I just... I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well,” Chris hummed softly, taking in the way your smaller fingers threaded between his own, “what is it you want to do?”

It was almost as if you stopped breathing, guilt and shame swirling around in your head at his question - the golden question everyone had, but never got the full answer to.

“...open heart?”

This time it was Chris’s turn to falter, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your tear stained face. “Open heart, princess, always.”

Open heart, something you’d both established years ago in your relationship as a way of asking for full attention - reestablishing that you both were in a safe space with zero judgment, remaining heart to heart with one another.

“I-” You paused, fighting against the will of your mind wanting to keep yourself protected, from being seen. “I... I don't want to do anything…”

Before he even had the chance to breathe, you jumped into the defensive, “A-And I know that’s stupid- I’m in such a position so early on in my life and there’s so much I can do, but, baby, I’m at a point right now that I can’t see myself working a 9-5 for the next month, let alone another 40-or so years of my life!” Panic quickly began to set in as your thoughts ran a mile a minute, your brain begging you to stop but your heart pleading for you to get rid of this weight. “I can’t be a girl boss, I don’t want to be independent, I-I just wanna be taken care of and loved and supported - I wanna take care of all the things at home and be the one helping you reset after those stressful days. I wanna learn about myself and my hobbies and discover what kind of person I really am underneath all of these learned traits. And I’m sorry, I know, it’s pathetic, it’s shameful, it’s selfish to want to put all of this onto you-”

The sound of your name falling firm from his lips stopped you in your tracks, your blood running cold as you laid as still as you could be against him.

“Open heart means we can’t speak for each other, remember that rule?” His tone was softer, light and teasing, quelling the tinge of fear spoiling every word you spoke as you nodded. “Okay, good - now, can I say something, or would you like to continue?”

“Please say something, Channie.”

“Alright, first and foremost, don’t ever, ever call anything you want ‘stupid’ - your desires are what make you you, and that includes wanting that 24-inch green matcha squishmallow.”

He felt your body shake - short laugh, a huff of air, a sign that he was breaking through.

“Second, I don’t think you wanting to be provided for is pathetic or shameful or selfish - it takes a strong person to admit that, and at the end of the day I think that’s what everyone wants in their own special form; somewhere they feel safe, cared for, loved. And, you’re not putting it all on me,” he felt you tense, but his hand held firm to yours, “because I want to be that for you. I want to provide for you, take care of you, handle all the things that are too big and scary for you to figure out on your own. I want to give you the freedom to explore and be yourself, pursue what you want and don’t want to do - and if that makes you ‘selfish’ then, princess, I’m the most selfish person of them all.”

“You-” your voice cracked, throat raw and sore, “You don’t mean that, baby, please-”

“C’mere.” He huffed, pulling you up with him as he sat up before tapping your thigh, signaling for you to sit on his lap - and once you were situated, he cupped your face in his hands, “I would never lie to you, you hear me? Since the day we met I knew I wanted to do everything in my power to care for you, even when we were just friends and you would join the kids in teasing me about how old I was even though you weren’t too far off yourself.”

Your pouted lips morphed into a sad smile and he had to stop himself from cooing over how cute you looked, even with puffy eyes and an even puffier face.

“Plus, I’ve been taking care of seven other people for the better half of five years, what makes you think I don’t want to do the same for the love of my life?”

Teary eyes searched his for any sign of dishonesty, but all you found was overflowing truth and love, a fresh breath of acceptance cooling your lungs like drinking ice water after eating a mint.

“Open heart?” You murmured softly, taking his hands in your own before pulling them off of your, embarrassingly sore, face.

He nodded, ducking his head to press a fleeting kiss to your knuckles.

“I was always a little jealous of you, you know that?”

“Me?!”

The shocked squeak in his voice made a giggle, a genuine giggle, bubble up inside of you and you nodded in earnest.

“Yeah, you. I always felt like I was so far behind everyone around me when it came to having their passions in order, having their lives in order, and when I met you all I could think about was how sure of yourself you were - how you were able to follow through and actually do what you love for a living not only because people around you supported you, but because you believed in yourself.” Dropping your gaze to your entwined hands, you traced your thumbs along his knuckles, “You always knew what you wanted and you worked toward it - I always wished I could be like that, I still do.”

“Baby, you know you can’t-”

“-compare my life to yours, yeah, yeah, I know.”

He didn’t miss the lilt of playfulness highlighting your words, a smile finding its way to his face as he shot you a lighthearted glare, “No mocking! But, really, you shouldn’t - we come from completely different backgrounds, and if anything I’m more jealous of you than you are of me; there’s so many things you’ve done that I haven’t had the chance to experience.”

You let out an incredulous scoff, tilting your head inquisitively, “Like what? Work a draining part time job in the food industry?”

“Yes!” Though he was laughing, you could still hear the serious notes in his voice, “You got to work retail, you went on family vacations whenever you wanted, you fucking graduated college before I did!”

“Okay, first of all, all of my horror stories should deter you from ever wanting to become a retail employee in your near future!” Dropping his hand, you poked him in the chest with a faux glare, “Second, I guess you’ve got me there - between how often I’ve seen my family compared to you, I do win that spot… But that last one you definitely have over me, Mr. Double Major!”

“Oh shut up - you’re a graduate, I’m still in classes; you didn’t have to go from having practice at 8 but an exam due at 8:30, while still needing two demo tracks ready for the first listen at 10!”

The two of you dissolved into a mess of giggles and smiles, whatever tension remained melting away with each melodic sound that escaped you.

“Princess?”

You hummed, a soft smile settling on your lips, “Yeah, Channie?”

“Open heart,” Chris started warmly, deep brown eyes sparkling with a love only you could know, “I want you to know that I meant every word I said - I do want to take care of you, physically, mentally, financially, whatever way you’ll let me. And - not to sound cocky or anything, but I definitely make enough to support the both of us with no issue. Aside from that, I want to build a life with you - so if that life includes you being the hottest stay at home wife then it’s the best life I could’ve ever asked for because you’re in it.”

A wave of heat rushed over you as butterflies erupted in your stomach, “Stay at home wife, hm?”

Of course, you paid attention to everything else he said, but you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything on it without bursting into tears again.

“Would you prefer stay at home mom? I mean, you’ve already got seven kids calling you it anyways - and I can’t lie, it does have a nice ring to it.” He grinned, releasing your other hand to wind his arms around your waist, scooting your body closer to his.

Rolling your eyes at his less than subtle tease, you snaked your arms around his shoulders, nails playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, “Let’s just start with stay at home girlfriend and see where we go from there, yeah?”

“So you’ll quit tomorrow?”

“Christopher!” You stood no chance in holding back the burst of laughter that escaped you, narrowly avoiding knocking your head against his as you shook with unabashed giggles, “Tomorrow? You sound like you’ve been waiting for this confession to come!”

“Baby, I was one more angry rant of your supervisor ‘springing last minute work onto you’ away from quitting for you.”

Reeling yourself back in, you leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss, your world finally feeling like the pieces were slowly falling into place - or, at the very least, revealing themselves to you. “I love you, Christopher Bahng, wholly and truthfully, there’s no words in the entire galaxy to express how much you mean to me.”

He held you tight, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft sigh, “I love you more, more than you ever know, more than all the stars in this universe and the next. Whatever you decide, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you - just say the word.”

“Does that include ordering takeout for dinner tonight so we can keep cuddling?”

“Find a menu while I change?”

“Order it while I wash my face?”

“Deal.”

Everything sucked, sure, and there was still much left to figure out - but with Chris by your side, you realized that things could get better with an open mind and an open heart.

#stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bang chan angst #bangchan angst #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #tw mental health #mental health tw

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

Give In

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: suicidal thoughts, pining possibly one sided, ANGST (just a large angst piece, i wanted some joel angst so I made it), description of depression, emotional dependency on a person, arguing, fluff sprinkled in, implied age gap not specified, reference to pregnancy, mentions of substance and alcohol abuse, joel is lowkey toxic and uses reader

a/n hi loves I wrote this after the first episode aired, so if anything contradicts anything in the future in this story that is why. also, i didnt know how to end it so im sorry if the ending is a bit choppy. happy last of us sunday!

summary Y/N has feelings for Joel that she can’t control anymore

Part 2 here

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 8 min 33 seconds

The harsh chill of the autumn afternoon swept your hair off your shoulders. The ration line was as long as ever, but seemed to be moving quickly. A stray dog barked as others murmured on the street. Staring down at your boots, you bit at your chapped lips.

“You’ve been avoiding me,”

His voice sent chills up your spine. He was behind you, must have slipped in line without the other person noticing. Of course now was the time he decided to confront you. And he wasn’t wrong.

Straightening your back, you turn towards him.

“Have I?” you asked, raising your eyebrows slightly. The line moved forward and so did you.

“Tess said you weren’t feeling well.”

She was partially right. It was the blatant lie you were telling the very few who were close to you. You were physically fine.

“I’m fine, Joel.” you said promptly, turning a cold shoulder to the older man.

“If you need any meds or anything…” he began. You knew Joel had anything you needed. Quite literally.

“Next!” The FEDRA soldier called, motioning for you to get in the final line. You gave Joel a tight lipped smile before disappearing in the crowd.

Back at your sad excuse for an apartment, you poked your fork at your stale meal. You tried to think about todays’s job but the thought of Joel Miller consumed you.

How his hands felt on your skin, how soft his hair could be, how much he respected you in private. Flashbacks of previous nights where he had snuck over and stayed with you burned in your brain.

You never thought the hookup would turn in to feelings. Especially in this world. Feelings you were sure he wouldn’t reciprocate. Joel wasn’t a very emotionally available man. And he had Tess- rumors of them being together had been going on for years. Sure, they deny it. But you see the way he looks at her sometimes. His eyes burn with the lust you want from him, but there staring at her.

Tess was friendly and all, you got along quite well with her in fact. Jobs worked with Tess usually went better than others. But the knowledge that she goes home to him every night almost ate you alive. You felt used every time you would watch her turn the alleyway to their apartment.

Roommates my ass.

It had been over a month since the last time you saw Joel.

He was right, you were avoiding him. Taking the jobs you knew he wouldn’t dare go by such as childcare. Taking a different route home to avoid any run ins. Leaving your lights off and sitting in the dark to possibly deter him away from your place. All your little queues worked.

And the pain grew day by day.

You layed in your mattress with your face buried in your pillow. It stopped smelling like him weeks ago, but you liked to pretend it still did.

You couldn’t live like this anymore.

Pills weren’t numbing enough. Alcohol wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The constant state of depression in this damned district was enough to make you want to end it.

But seeing him across the alleyway talking to a group of people or in the line for rations was enough to keep that tiny spark lit inside of you.

There wasn’t much else to look forward to in this world besides others. Living the same day your whole life is miserable without your spark of joy in it.

Sleep was close, you could feel it. Your thin blankets were just cutting it for the night. As the dreams began to dance in your head, you were awoken by a quiet knock on your door.

“For fucks sake,” you groaned, flipping over in bed. You ignored the knocks. They became more persistent.

The old doorknob then dropped to the floor, startling you awake. You didn’t even have to guess who it was. The door slowly creaked open as you heard him curse to himself.

“I’ll fix it later,” he sighed, picking it off your floor and placing it on your countertop. He pushed one of your folding chairs next to your table up against the door to keep it sturdy.

“So your just breaking into apartments now?” you snapped, sitting up right in bed. “I needed to see you.” he protested.

“I never knew Joel Miller to need anything.”

He sighed and rested against your countertop. “I need to know,”

“Know what?” you asked, wrapping a blanket around your exposed shoulders. A tank top wasn’t ideal to sleep in, in these conditions.

“What’s wrong.” he said bluntly. “I said there’s nothing wrong. What the hell are you doing walking around freely at night?” you yelled, realizing the time was way past midnight. The sounds of soldiers a few floors down outside your apartment began to yell. How did he move past them?

“You sick?” he asked in a more hushed tone, walking towards you. “Respiratory? Head pain? Joints? You pregnant?” he somewhat joked, looking over you in bed.

“Shut up.” you said coldly. “Can you please just go?”

You knew Joel wasn’t a good listener. “What is it?” he said sternly, sitting down next to your body in bed. He grabbed your wrist ever so slightly. Your pulse was shaking in his grasp.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You looked at the other side of your apartment, out the window. Rain had began to slowly plague the window. Ignoring Joel’s touch, you watched as the few drops raced to the bottom of the window.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” Joel sighed, not letting go of you.

“Stop, please. J-just stop talking to me.” you said, lying through your teeth. He could sense the pain hiding behind those eyes. “I’m not leaving.” he protested.

“Look at me.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were locked on yours. A genuine worried look was on his face. He looked softer, nothing like you had ever seen before.

It was almost as if someone asked you if you were okay when you were very obviously not. Silent tears rolled down your face as you tried to catch your breathe.

The man who you couldn’t love was staring in to your soul. There was no way you ever could love him. He was too mean, too stern, too old, too angry for you. The two of you were polar opposites. But as the saying goes, ‘opposites attract’.

Joel was unsure on what to do. Tess never cried. Hell, you never cried. He racked his brain for something, just something to soothe you.

He offered out a hand. Against your better judgement you took it. Connecting his other hand to your cheek, he tried to wipe away the streak of tears silently leaving your eyes. He held you tightly in your bed, stroking your hair as your head quickly made contact with the crook of his neck.

“I wish I didn’t have these feelings,” you cried into his embrace. Joel was confused on what you were getting at, but he ignored it. He tried to shush you in a soothing way.

“No, please. I wish I didn’t have these feelings… but I do.”

Joel froze. “What?” he asked, holding you in place.

You pulled back and looked at him. It felt like the first time over again. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel a thing.” you hiccupped.

“I…” Joel sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting a breathe of air go.

“Say it.” you demanded.

The silence in the room was deafening.

“I can’t.” Joel said quickly. He looked down at his knees on your mattress.

“I think you should go.” you sighed, laying back on your side and facing the opposite wall.

He listened. Finally, Joel caught a hint. The sound of him walking away made you long for him more than ever. But it was good. The feeling of him leaving, knowing you were right. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who could love. At least not anymore.

Your sudden pride stopped when you heard his boots thud against the floor. Then the all familiar zip of his jeans followed by the hit of him placing them on your wooden chair next to your bed.

He rested a hand on your thigh as he peeled up the blanket that was stuck to your legs. Slowly, he moved down next to you in the tiny space you were leaving him.

“You don’t listen.” you huffed, still not giving him enough space on the bed.

“When do I ever?” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Fuck it. You gave in.

You allowed his arm to move closer to the underside of your breasts. Scooting over in bed, you gave him more space for his legs to entwine with you. His boxer’s material rubbed against the back of your thigh. It smelt like him; Wet grass and expired generic soap scent had never smelt better.

Sleep kindly greeted you once you felt his breathing slow. Trying to match his, you fell into the deep sleep you had been yearning for, for what seemed like weeks.

The absence in the morning was startling.

You struggled to move, hoping that the previous night was just a horrifying dream. A sigh escaped from your lips when you saw his boots sitting against the wall where he placed them last night.

The clanking sound of tools made you turn. On the other side of your small studio apartment, there he sat at your doorframe attempting to fix your door handle.

The overcast sky stayed, but you could tell it was early morning by the chatter outside.

“Shit!” Joel hissed, grabbing his finger in pain. “Damn fucking…”

He looked up and noticed you watching him.

“You alright?” you asked, watching him in amusement as he attempted to fix your door.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, sucking the tip of his finger. “Haven’t fixed a door in a good twenty years.” he muttered, wiping off the excess blood on his already dirtied jeans.

“Go back to bed, It’s still early.” he suggested, going through the tiny tool kit he had given you as a previous gift.

“This is more entertaining than sleep,” you chuckled, placing your feet on the cold ground and getting out of bed. “You want any breakfast? I don’t know if I have anything good here but…”

“Nah. Tess’l be expecting me.”

The sheer thought of Tess waiting at their home for him was enough to ruin the whole night you had before.

Joel looked up to you after your lack of a response. He noticed the demeanor change in your face. “Everything okay?” he asked, turning back to the doorknob he was almost finished fixing.

“You seem to go sour every time I mention Tess.”

“I wonder why,” you muttered under your breathe, attempting to open a tuna can for breakfast. You tried not to dry heave as the scent of the old fish met your nose. Tuna was never a favorite meal, especially for breakfast. But, it’s all you had.

Joel pretended like he didn’t hear you, but he heard you loud and clear. “We have a run to do today. You understand that, right?”

A bitter ‘mhm’ came from your lips as you shook the prepackaged coffee in your hand before ripping off the seal.

Joel sighed and placed the screw driver down dramatically. Joel’s knees cracked as he got up from his position. “You always gotta fucking act jealous. Don’t you? Ruinin’ a nice morning.”

“Jealous?” you said, raising your voice.

“What the hell do you even want from me?” you scorned, on the brink of tears. He could see through you like glass. You hated to admit it, but he knew you like the back of his hand.

Joel wished he could shout out the answer, but his ego kept it in.

You froze with your back turned to him and set down the brittle coffee mug. “Your always leaving me to go to her…”

“Because we’re business partners, Y/N. Don’t you get it? Don’t you hate livin’ the same damn day over and over again? It’s why I come to see you.”

“Stop,” you whispered, now face to face with him. “Stop yelling. Please, it’s too fucking early to get into that shit.”

“Really? Tell me you don’t loose your mind living the same day, same drama for years!” he yelled. “Always you being jealous. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

Anger consumed you. Proof that the two of you would never work. He’s just a bitter old man.

“You know I would give anything to leave this damn QZ! To live a normal life, not fucking be here.” you yelled, with a finger now pointed at his face. You were avoiding the original accusation. Jealousy.

“Tell me.” you said, with a quieter but angrier tone. “Am I really just your fuck toy?”

Joel stepped back for a moment, stunned at what you just said. Guilt seemed to wrack his nerves as the realization hit him.

You were in love with him.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, approaching you with a sorrowful more soft look. “What else am I supposed to think? You come here, use me, and leave and go back to her.”

The feeling of letting go of all that emotion felt healing. The sudden aftermath of realizing what you just had accused him of made you feel somewhat guilty.

“No,” he sighed, grabbing your hand. “That- no. Absolutely not Y/N.”

His other hand reached for your chin, and brought your face up to his gaze. You could feel his heat on your skin.

“Understand…” he began to say. “Understand what?” you whispered back. A sly smile came to his lips.

“Give in,” he whispered, dropping your hand and wrapping his around your waist.

You melted into his grasp as he kissed you. Joel hadn’t kissed anyone in years. The hesitation from him only brought out the dominance in you.

As the two of you mutually pulled away, you wanted nothing more as to be back where you were just seconds ago.

“Understand that it’s hard.” he said, still holding you close. “I…”

“I know.” you said, cutting off his words.

You were an anxious, sorrowful over-thinker and he was the bitter, closed off introvert.

“I’ll be back,” he said, with a slighter more chipper tone. “Tonight. We have to get this damn car battery and…”

“Stay safe,”

“I promise.” Joel said. He really did not want to leave you. The thought of the two of you spending today lazily in bed was very tempting.

“But please believe me Y/N when I say, you are and never have been just a ‘fuck toy’.”

He squeezed your hand once more and then dropped it. Silence filled the apartment after he left.

The thought of how you tasted haunted Joel Miller’s mind the whole day.

Part 2

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25

#peterparkersnose #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller headcanon #joel miller one shot #peterparkersnosework

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steviewashere · 3 months

Text

Perfect Timing

Rating: General CW: References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Marriage Proposals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Dialogue Heavy

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is having hope for the future together."

💕—————💕

Steve was sitting at the dining table, hands spread out on the surface, staring down at a piece of mail when he heard Eddie clamber through the front door. Based on the string of things being dropped and Eddie not reacting negatively, just sighing a little bit and picking things up, must mean he was having a good day.

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air.

And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

See, Eddie was out playing a demo tape for a small record company based here in Chicago. A little indie place that’s been looking to expand their music catalogue from contemporary to a broader lick of alternative genres. Which, it turns out, includes thrash and heavy metal. Which, Steve adores, Eddie is amazing at performing.

But, Steve? He’s been anxiously waiting all day for the mail to arrive. Biting down on his fingernails, chewing them up so much they bleed and he has to run his fingertips under lukewarm water. Pacing the carpet of the living room. Pushing down and peering through the eggshell blinds. Biting his fingernails, again. And then it came and now he’s at their dining table and now he’s waiting for Eddie to careen around the corner and kiss his hair and ask in his greeting Steve voice, “What’s this, baby?”

“What’s this, baby?” Steve hears from above him. He jumps a little bit. Maybe he should have put on music or something, try to get himself to stay grounded in the present. “Stevie?” Eddie calls.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stutters. “It’s a letter I got in the mail, but I—I wanna hear about your demo tape.” Eddie gives him a sidelong glance. A little furrow to his eyebrows, a frown. “The letter isn’t anything bad, I read it already. But I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Eddie hums, nodding in slow understanding. He slides into the dining seat across from Steve. Mirroring his position. Then, he realizes, based on whatever face Steve makes, that it’s only anxiety inducing. He sets his chin in his right palm, stretching the other onto the table for Steve to take. Waiting patiently. And says, when Steve actually grabs back, “It went really well, sweetheart. They offered me a contract.”

“That’s great news, Eds! What did—Did you sign it? Please tell me you signed it.”

Then, Eddie sighs. And Steve shrinks a little. “I did,” he tells slowly, as if testing the words for the first time. “I signed it. They’re keeping me based here. I’ll start recording next Saturday.” He squeezes at Steve’s hand.

“What’s the long face for, then?”

“I’m not making a face,” Eddie feebly argues.

“You are!” And Steve mocks him. Frowning, eyes distant to the surface of the table, bunching his eyebrows impossibly farther down his face. His shoulders slump. “That’s what you did! What happened? Were they pieces of shit to you or something? Did they like—Are they underselling your music prowess or something? Do I need to kick their—“

Eddie chuckles. His laughter like honey. “Babe, breathe for me,” he whispers. “My only issue is that—“ But he cuts himself off there. He leans in across the table. Eyes down at the letter in front of Steve. “That’s a letter from the community college, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls his hands back, laying them palm down on the paper. He swallows thickly. “It is. Why?”

“Did you get in?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You telling me determines whether or not I have a genuine problem. So…Did you get into the college that you’ve been looking at forlorn every time we drive by it? Or did you not and I need to go kick some old people ass?” His eyes are large in earnest. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. His hair curtaining his face, making his facial features impossibly darker, shadowed by something tricky.

Steve chews on his lip. “I got in,” he mutters. “I got into their English literature program. And once I’m done with that, I transfer. And once I transfer, I start classes at a four year. I’ll be studying English literature and secondary education,” he rambles. His fingers tap over the letter. “Is that…Does that ruin your whole music dream? I don’t want to be the reason that you chase something else.”

For a moment, the room goes scary still and silent. Eddie’s facial features soften. And Steve’s heart rabbits against his ribcage. Hard enough that he slides a palm over his t-shirt, massaging at the rapid beating, hoping that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the third floor of their complex. That would suck, he thinks bitterly. And my future would be done for.

He sits back in his chair. Anxiety thrumming under his skin when Eddie still doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him like he’s…Like he’s planning an entire five lifetimes with Steve. Like he’s about to sweep Steve off his feet, chuck him over the side of their mattress, give him hickeys until he’s a mottled lovesick mess, and then get down on one knee and surrender his heart to Steve’s hands. Like he’s gonna propose something wonderful like marriage. And, maybe, Steve lets himself believe something crazy like that.

“Remember when I told you that I consider marriage as a possibility?” Eddie asks abruptly.

And, goddamnit, if Eddie does something crazy and stupid like propose right now, Steve may just throw up out of excitement. How embarrassing, he thinks. And he chuckles despite that.

“I do,” he finds himself whispering. “What does this—“

“And I considered it with you. And I held you close and you cried against my lips and we made love like we were the only people in the universe? Remember all the times that you’d lay on top of me out of contentment? All the times I’d hold you close to my chest? All the times you kissed over my heart, like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to the moment?”

Nervously, Steve laughs. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I remember all that. What is your point with—“

“Fucking margarita nights. You’re a sweet drunk, d’you know that? Like almost unbearably sweet.” Eddie scoots his chair around the table. Setting it next to Steve, on his left. And his hands come into Steve’s field of view. Gathering Steve’s palms in his, squeezing and caressing the skin. “All the times in which we thought that this apartment was all that we had.” He shakes his head, smirking, snickering like this intense reaction he’s having is something funny to Steve.

Fact of the matter, Steve is scared shitless right now. What if this is his way of breaking up, he can’t help himself from wondering. Cruel. He swallows against the lump in his throat. Words escaping him.

“I want to marry you so bad,” Eddie swears. “Wanna do the whole ceremony. And the paper signing. And the honeymoon, but in some little cabin on a mountain. Where we load the fireplace with wood and we huddle in for warmth and we sip at rich cups of Uncle Wayne’s hot chocolate. And then, in a few years time, when we’ve financially recovered from the wedding, we’ll buy a house.

“We’ll buy a house and paint it yellow,” he promises. Steve begins to cry, something silent, but can’t pinch his nose to stop himself. “It’ll be yellow because that’s your favorite color. With white shutters. And a big backyard for a dog or two. Wrap around porch so that we can sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets.” He takes a deep breath that sounds a little nasally. “I’ll make you breakfast every morning,” he continues, “serve you a fresh bowl of strawberries, ones that you grow under the big front window of our house. I’ll kiss you all over the face, like I do now, and you’ll grumble that it’s too early and then you’ll smell the bacon and you’ll give me your stupid sleepy smile that makes my heart do funny little flips and you’ll kiss me on the mouth and it’ll be disgusting because you haven’t brushed your teeth.

“And I’ll be a very happy man.” Eddie’s breath trembles in his chest. He swallows hard. Steve wonders if he can hear his own shaky breath. Or if he’s too involved in whatever this is. “I’ll be so happy,” he whispers, “And I’ll find myself thinking, how did I ever get so lucky? But it isn’t luck. And it isn’t fate. It was trauma that forced us together and I’ll laugh about it. But then I’ll sigh because who the fuck cares how we started all of this?

“You’ll be a funky middle school English teacher. With your nicely done hair and a sweater vest and some khakis. I’ll be a musician, hopefully. But, every day you’ll have a small lunch; an orange that I made you peel but I removed the pulp from, a tuna salad sandwich because you’re my fish loving dork, and a bottle of water. I’ll leave you a note everyday telling you how proud I am because I’ve never stopped being proud of you.

“I’m proud of you, Steve, d’you know that? So much.” He laughs wetly. His eyes staring down at their interlocked hands. “All this to say that I’m proud of you. That I’m happy. We’ve got a future, sweetheart. And I want to be your husband. Will you—“ He swallows once more, thick and heavy and almost painful looking. Can love hurt when it’s this sweet?

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes glistening and his cheeks wet and his skin tinted pink. His eyelashes stuck together. Nose dripping only slightly. He’s a messy crier, but Steve doesn’t fare any better. “Will you marry me, Steve? Stay by my side and we’ll accomplish our dreams together?” His voice is soft. Enamored.

Unbelievable, Steve swallows back. Because how did he get somebody like Eddie in his life? How did he manage to find love and have it promised back at him?

“Yes, Eddie,” he gasps out. “God, holy shit.” He drops his hands from Eddie’s hold, instead wrapping them around his torso. Muffled into Eddie’s shoulder, “All this just because I’m finally figuring my shit out? God.”

Eddie cackles, burying his own face in Steve’s hair. They sway a little. “I just—“ Eddie begins whispering. “I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. Every time seemed right, but this one? Baby, this one was perfect.”

Steve sighs into the embrace. Content to not say anything else. Except, “I’m proud of you, too, honey. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too, love bug. God, Steve, I love you, too.”

For the first time since 1983, Steve allows himself to truly settle in for a future. A future, he knows, he’ll be especially proud of.

💕—————💕 Fun fact, I accidentally deleted this whole ficlet when I was copying and pasting. Hit the spacebar and watched it disappear in front of my eyes. But I figured out how to get it back, not before almost throwing up on myself out of anger. Love y'all <3

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 12 #fluff #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #<3

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allyeardepression · 2 months

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@jegulus-microfic | march 7 phase | words: 644

tw: transphobia, anger issues, swearing

When Walburga finally passed away, Regulus and Sirius took their partners to check if there was anything worth keeping in the house they grew up in.

As they entered a shiver went down Regulus spine, all the horrible memories coming back. He wanted to leave as soon as he saw the family portrait hung on the wall across from the entrance. There were four figures painted on it - Walburga, who looked terrifying even in a painting that was supposed to warm her image; next to her stood Orion, haughty, with a mustache covering his mouth; they both had one of their hands each on the shoulders of their children - Sirius and someone Regulus never was.

"Love, you're shaking," a soft whisper came to his ear as a hand reached his back, squeezing lightly in a comforting gesture, calming him down a little. "They're gone, nothing's going to happen, I've got you," James murmured into his hair, kissing him there a moment later.

Feeling a bit less stressed Regulus nodded and smiled at his fiancé, taking his hand. James smiled, too, squeezing the hand lightly.

As they went through the Grimmauld Place lots of expensive, mostly useless shit was found - some swords, ancient piano, silverware made of real silver, Dior plates (why? just… why?) and paintings by famous painters such as Rubens, Monet and some others. Reaching second floor Regulus immediately went to scratch off the name tag on his old room’s door.

"This bitch! She could have just left it, but of course not! It would be too much of a disgrace to the family if anyone noticed!" he yelled, as the tag fell to the floor piece by piece. Regulus started banging on the door, angry to the point that tears of frustration started streaming down his face. "You could’ve just tear it off and not put another one on, but of course you’re too envious for that! I hate you! Do you hear me?! I!" bang. "Hate!" bang. "YOU!" Regulus may have acted a bit psychotically, but who wouldn't in his situation? His own mother was being transphobic towards him even from her grave.

When he calmed down few minutes later, James approached him, kneeling by his side and whipping the tears away. "Better?" he asked Regulus and he responded with a small nod. At that James pulled Reg to his chest and held tight, whispering sweet nothings to him.

***

A few hours after Regulus' breakdown, they had packed up all of their old clothes (most of them were to be sold and the rest would be given to their future children), grabbed some of the nicer things their parents had left behind, and sat in the living room with tea and an old photo album. As they flipped through the pages there were comments like ‘Don’t you have any normal pictures? Like, from a bathtub or a playground or something?’, provided mostly by Remus.

When Regulus turned another page James gasped and Remus whistled. In the photo, he sat at the Christmas Eve table with freshly cut short hair, wearing a black suit and matching tie.

"Your inner Sirius awoke that year, huh?" his brother-in-law asked with amusement.

"Oh, his inner Sirius awoke to the point he even wore a binder to piss them off further. And I, as an ally, acted like I didn’t know who they were referring to anytime someone used his deadname. Mother told me to stop then, remember Reggie?" his brother asked, turning to him. "She said that it was just a phase" they both laughed at the memory. Yes, Walburga almost had a stroke as Regulus walked down the stairs in one of Sirius’ old suits and a new haircut. She was so stunned she forgot to punish him after everyone went home.

"Well," Reg said, smirking smugly "I guess it wasn’t just a phase, mother."

#jegulus #starchaser #dead gay wizards #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #marauders #the marauders #trans regulus

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liveontelevision · 2 months

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Midnight Snack / Alastor x OC!Reader

This is my first post and story, so any advice for the future is appreciated!

Summary:

In a successful attempt to tease you, Alastor helps you prepare a quick midnight snack to help you sleep.

Tags: (very off brand Alastor) Fluff, Slightly Suggestive?

♡♡♡

Alastor recently picked up a filfthy habit of referring to you as your full name. Everyone called you Jax, a nickname that you decided to use at a young age. It was used to the point that most of your friends didn't even question your full name. But Alastor went through a few weeks of not having much to do. And without any real trouble to enjoy, he simply had to make up his own. For multiple days, any interaction or conversation you had with the others was interrupted by Alastor attempting to guess your full name.

"Hello dear Jackson!"

"Ah, lovely to see you, Jackie~"

"Oh, Jasmine! A favor?"

It went on and on, Jenna, Josie, Janelle, etc. It was painful.

Talking to Angel at the bar one night, you hear radio static slowly surrounding the room. You don't even turn around, groaning and laying your head on the bar. It was sticky. But this was much more preferable than having to make eye contact with that hot-headed red head. Angel stifled a laugh, hearing the thud of your head hit the wood. The static suddenly stops, and you let out a sigh of relief. Finally, you turn head to peak at the seemingly empty room. You were shocked by an unfortunately familiar face, smiling at you devishly. His neck was snapped in an unnatural way to make eye contact. And probably to startle you more. You shoot up, nearly falling from the barstool. Angel catches your back and pushes you forward to face alastor nearly nose to nose. He was unflinching as his eyes squinted into yours from such proximity.

You yelp and willingly stumble out of your chair.

"Angel, remind me to kill you later. I'm going to my room." He enjoyed your frantic composure, as well. You quickly begin to stomp to the stairs before being stopped in your tracks. The shadowy figure appears in front of you and matierlizes into the hotelier's familiar face.

"Oh hoh, my dear. I seem to have you all flustered! Now don't you worry, you must have known I meant no malice." He takes a step back, acting as if he was the victim. He swooned, his palm pressed dramatically to his forehead.

" I thought perhaps we were becoming aquintances, even! You've hurt my feelings, truly."

He goes on theatrically, sighing heavily. Your arms are crossed against your chest, weight shifted to one leg. You tap your foot, waiting for him to be finished making such a scene.

" Are you done? You big baby."

You roll your eyes and scoff at him, moving past him.

" Be nice... Jacqueline~"

He sings out and turns towards you to note any reaction from you. And a reaction there was. You froze in place, squeezing your arms as your face turned a bright pink. For some reason, hearing such a personal phrase, you became incredibly flustered. You snap out of your unfocused state and quickly continue to move up the stairs.

" Ha! You got it, Smiles! Well, this was fun while it lasted. I gave her a run for 'er money, that's for sure. " Angel revels in your embarrassment just as much as Alastor does. It's probably in a more friendly way, though.

" Ah ah-" he tsks, "- i'm not quite done with our dear rabbit." His sentence was finished out, even as he disappeared into the shadows.

You were face down in your bed, stiffling a scream into your pillow. You sit up for a moment, grumbling something angry to yourself. You've always felt indifferent to people hearing and using your full name, but hearing it from Alastor pissed you off.. or... no. Maybe it embarrassed you? Or.. made you feel.. you shake your head of any further thoughts, pulling your pillow into your face and muffling another frustrasted scream. You stand and brush the wrinkles off your nightgown, needing something to calm your nerves from the ridiculousness of the whole situation. It was late, so you slip on some cozier socks and leave your room, careful to silence your door closing.

You decide to head to the small kitchen that was set up. It was almost silly to have one at all, considering demons dont exactly need to eat. But for some reason, the fruits, made available by Charlie, were amazingly sweat and juicy. It might not have been the best midnight snack, but it was a comforting food to have available at all times.

Once in the kitchen, you slowly shut the door before turning on the harsh lights. You flinch and rub your eyes as you silk to the fridge. You pull out the small container of kiwis you set aside.

Maybe it was the nostalgia of the snack? You remember eating kiwis with your mother; she'd cut them in half and sprinkle cane sugar over the top of each half. The sweetness soaked into the flesh of the fruit, making each bite bitter and sweet. You would take each half and scoop out the greens with a small spoon.

And so, even after dying and wandering hell for years, you continued to prepare the snack in that fashion.

As you set a small spoonful into your mouth you hummed happily, finally calming a bit. You turn your back to the counter and leaned against it, finally seeing a dishoveled radio demon in the same room.

" Ahh, such a sweet display of nostalgic bliss, dear Jaqueline." He hummed. His leaned against a counter, his elbows propped up, and his head resting in his hands. He wasn't wearing his usual pinstripe coat, just a red button-up with a black cross centering his chest. His bowtie was nowhere to be seen, and his neck was slightly more visible, with the top few bottoms being undone. His arms seemed to fade from solid black into his skin tone, which you wouldn't have noticed if his sleeves weren't rolled up to his elbows. As your eyes wander his outfit from curiousity, you also notice his hair pulled back into a small ponytail that revealed his undercut. It was sloppily done, probably a temporary solution to keeping hair from his eyes, but it still left some pieces framing his face.

You tilted your head for a moment to fully take in this new appearance before snapping back to an alert state.

" Fuck off, Al! You got my name right, so your game is over. Leave me alone, i'm trying to.. i'm just... I-" you stop your angry rant, as the tall figure slowly moved over to tower over you, far too close for your liking. He placed his hands on the counter behind you, caging you in.

" Well this game gave me some vital information on you, bunny. You may be surprised to know, that I find your name quite.. appealing. It's music to my ears." He spoke softly, his radio static ringing around you.

"S..Stop! No! You're just trying to make fun of me!" You pushed his arm out of the way, breaking away from his close proximity. He was quick to grab your wrist, the kiwi still in your hand. The juice squeezed out and onto your palm for a moment, leaving you unpleasantly sticky. Alastor took note of the fruit and plucked the spoon from your other hand, deciding to take a bite for himself. His eyes widened for a moment, his teasing smirk curling into an almost geniune smile.

"Quite sweet! A good choice for a midnight trip to the kitchen.. but not as sweet as you, my dear Jaqueline." He continues to tease, and drops the spoon to the counter. He licked the juice from his lips, before making a bold decision.

He pulled your wrist to his lips, carefully tracing his tongue across your palm. He continued to clean the juice of the fruit off your hand, the warm sensation leaving you breathing heavily. Your eyes, half lidded, stared at the transaction in disbelief. He looked up occasionally, just to gauge your perplexed face. He released his grip from your wrist after licking his lips, satisfied.

" Quite a treat, lovely Jaqueline."

Your brain finally caught up to the present, you yelped and looked at your hand. Your mind ran through every emotion; confusion, curiosity, disgust.. enjoyment?

You were tired.. let's blame your next actions on being sleep deprived.

" S-Stop it, Alastor.. don't call me that, it's embarrassing.." You mumble out. He looked up at you, licking the remainder of the fruits juice from his fingers.

" Oh, Is that so? You should appreciate your gifted name, Jaqueline, it's quite unqiue." You groaned at the sound of your name again. You attempt to pass him, simply wanting to leave the kitchen after the strange interaction. Alastor let you pass just enough for him to grab your waist and lift you up onto the counter.

"Lovely Jaqueline~" He hummed, his hands still planted on either side of you, caging you in yet again.

You sit on the counter in shock, not expecting such boldness from this sadistic bastard. Even propped at this level, you have to look up to find his eyes. Your face was quick to turn red, finally catching up with his actions.

" Alastor, please! This is ridiculous, you're just trying to work me up.. well you did it! I'm offically flustered," you wave your arms sarcastically," please.. let me go to bed, this is too much.." You bashfully admit, looking down at your lap.

He lifted his hand, to lightly graze your chin and tilt your head up to look into his eyes again. His smile seemed.. sweet?

He looked into your eyes, " Oh Lovely Jaqueline.." then looked at your lips.

There it is again, him admiring your name. It made you flush even more and look away from him. He barely had a grip on your chin, but pulled you in just enough for you to willingly move towards him. His lips lingered over yours for just a moment, feeling your shakey breath against his mouth. He shut his eyes, and licked the base of your chin up to the corner of your mouth, before pressing a light kiss to your lips. You pulled away, startled by his traveling tongue.

He licked his lips again, humming satisified.

" You must be neater while you snack, sweet Jaqueline. Your mess had to be taken care of, so I kindly handled it for you." He stated, as if he was doing you a favor. " Although, i could say it was a pleasure for me as well.. Ah, but dear, your face still seems a mess to me! How sloppy." He grabs your face softly after speaking. You grab onto his shoulders, for some reason, not wanting to stop him. He leads his tongue across your jawline, ending each trail with a small kiss. After a moment, his hand dropped to the top of your thigh, his tongue tracing your lips enticingly. Your body was shaking this whole transaction, but you reveled in the rare affection. You finally gave in, pressed your lips to his in a soft yet desperate kiss. Alastor pulled away instantly, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Lovely Jaqueline~" He hummed as he drew you back into the kiss. Your hands laid on his chest as he pulled you in closer.

"My darling, Jaqueline~

Sweet, lovely, Jaqueline~

Dearest.. Jaqueline~"

He spoke sweetly into your lips as your breath became heavy, melting each time he muttered your name into the kiss.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, your head following his as he swayed slightly with each movement.

He pulled away for a moment, a small line of saliva still connecting you to him. He looked into your glazed over eyes, as he ran a hand through your hair, trailing it down your back. Once at the small of your back, he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, kissing you quickly, but pulling away far too soon.

"Jaqueline, cher, let's get you to bed. This should suffice as a midnight snack, wouldn't you agree?" Still quietly processing this transaction, you simply nod. He let's out a satisifed sigh, lifting your torso into his with ease. Your legs dangled behind his back as he lifted you by your thighs to keep you close. You sleepily lay your head in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, wanting to keep him close.

He opened your door without touching it and easily placed your already sleeping body into your bed. He planted a soft kiss on your forehead, pulling the blankets up over your shoulders. Your unconscious mind, simply trying to get comfortable, held onto his arm as he covered you. He looked at you, almost with sweetness in his eyes, but moreso a victorious pride.

×××

You shot up out of your bed that following morning, fully believing you had a nightmare. You pressed your hand to your lips, and noticed the faint smell of kiwis.

"... Fffuck.."

You got dressed and went down to the bar, already needing a drink after just waking up. Angel looked you up and down; he didn't need to hear a damn word from you to know something happened. Meanwhile, Alastor sat on the couch across the lounge. He pulled his book from his face with a cheeky smile," Oh, Jaqueline~ Good morning, bunny!" He said overly chipper. You groan before letting your head smack the bar counter again.

♡♡♡

Please let me know what you think! And if you like this character and want some more content with her!

#hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you

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dottores · 1 year

Text

ROMANTIC HOMICIDE | IL DOTTORE

pairing: dottore x reader; implications of future tartaglia x reader

summary: in which you’re with dottore’s youngest segment when he makes the deal with the dendro archon.

warnings: heavy angst, character death (dottore’s segments), very heavily implied breakup but it’s not made explicit, dottore does not know how to deal with emotions, the youngest segment (referred to as iota segment) was literally like reader’s son, was very liberal with what little we know of dottore’s lore/background.

notes: wow this was the most emotionally intense thing i’ve written in a hot minute. ever since i learned that dottore had a 10 y.o. segment i’ve been distraught—he is my son #real keeping dottore in character for his pov was honestly a rlly big writing challenge n i had a lot of fun w it. i think i did pretty well. as always, rbs for boost are appreciated! praying that this stays in the tags n it’s only the tighnari tags glitching again

wordcount: 7.3k

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you murmured, a small smile pulling to your lips as you watched a familiar pair of eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep and exhaustion. Dottore’s Iota segment only let out a noise of complaint as he rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. You hummed quietly, running your fingers through the soft curls as his expression slowly went lax again, drifting back off to sleep. “You have to wake up sooner or later, I told you not to stay up all night reading that book.”

“I choose later,” his voice was muffled by the pillow, thick with sleep and you tried to bite back a laugh, not wanting to encourage his behavior. Instead, you leaned down to press your lips against his temple.

“I made you breakfast,” you tempted, watching as one of his eyes immediately peeked open, watching you curiously. “Strawberry crepes,” a recipe you had learned to make during the few months you had been stationed in northern Fontaine, on the Snezhnayan border, a recipe that Dottore and his segments particularly enjoyed even if the Iota Segment was the only one that was obvious about it. Their fondness of sweets was something they liked to keep hidden.

“... Fine,” he finally agreed, pushing the blankets off and sitting up. You watched, a fond smile pulling at your lips as he stretched, yawning and rubbing at one of his eyes until he froze mid-yawn, catching sight of you watching him. “Don’t look at me like that,” his voice was sharp but he was flustered, cheeks pink as he turned away from you.

You rose to your feet, holding a hand out toward him and you turned away before he could catch your smile as he reached out and took your hand, small fingers curling around yours as you led him from the bedroom.

Your relationship with Dottore’s segments varied widely--from the Theta Segment, who could barely stand to look at you but would still throw himself in front of danger for you if it came down to it, to the older segments, Beta, Gamma and Delta, who were as adoring and obsessive as Dottore himself was. You liked to think that you didn’t play favorites, but you knew it was a lie--how could you not have favorites when the Iota Segment was just right there.

The youngest of all of Dottore’s segments, the Iota Segment was frozen in time at the age of ten, why Dottore had felt it necessary to create a segment this young was a question in itself. But you were not one to cut your blessings short, so instead you took advantage of the situation, being able to dote over a far younger and more vulnerable Dottore, before he had become cold and sharp and cruel.

No one was born evil, you liked to believe, and the Iota Segment of Dottore was surely proof enough of that. Dottore never told you much of his past, but you knew enough to figure out exactly when this one had been made--the scar crossing over his nose and the top of his face was fresh, so he had to have been frozen in time right after he had been run out from his village, hailed a monster and heretic and scarred by his parents the night they chased him out.

Sometimes, you wondered what Dottore’s life would have been like had he not been shunned and kicked to the streets by the people that were supposed to love him. You spent enough time with the Iota Segment to know that his interests back then were nothing like the older Dottore’s. But Dottore had been from a devout and traditional village down south in Sumeru, so the moment that he had sparked interest in ruin guards and comparing humans to archons, it had been his downfall.

It was only after the first rejection in his hometown, from the people that were meant to love him unconditionally, did Dottore’s mindset begin to spiral into the one he had in the present day--uncaring of human life, ruthlessly ambitious in pursuit of his goals, sadistic and cruel and tunnel-visioned onto his research.

But the Iota Segment had yet to be cemented in that mindset--and maybe that was why Dottore had created one so young. He was still hurt and stand-offish after the events in his hometown, reluctant to get close to people but he was not cruel or sadistic, he was young enough to still be able to see the aranara of Sumeru but old enough that he could still devote himself and focus on research.

Curious and clumsy, the Iota Segment usually was found following after the older segments like a lost duckling, with them watching over him to make sure he didn’t find himself in trouble, as he usually did. But the older segments were all busy these days, with three down south with Dottore himself in Sumeru, overseeing the God Creation project, the Theta Segment continuing Dottore’s research into Irminsul until he could take back over, and the rest scattered throughout Teyvat still trying to advance the Archon residue project after the setback from two years back.

So it was up to you to keep an eye on the Iota Segment, and as much as you loved the boy, you swore you were on the verge of pulling your hair out. The amount of times you had to go out in the freezing winters of Snezhnaya to go searching for him, having to warm the both of you up with fire and blankets and hot cocoa, was too many to count.

It was both a blessing and a curse that Tartaglia had come back to Snezhnaya because he was willing to keep you company while you watched over the boy but the Iota Segment despised Tartaglia, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because the older segments were whispering in his ear about the fellow Harbinger. It was very much common knowledge that there was no love lost between the older segments of Dottore and the Eleventh Harbinger.

“Do you think Master Dottore will let me work with live ruin guards when he gets back?” the Iota Segment asked as he sat down at the counter to shovel the crepes into his mouth. Your stomach lurched at the question, very much aware of the dangers that came along with working with live ruin guards. Dottore had been hesitant to let the Iota Segment anywhere near the live ruin guards. He didn’t like to restrict the curiosity of his segments but he was young and there was little reward and too much risk if something were to happen to him.

But the Iota segment had been working overtime while all of the other segments were gone, studying all of Dottore’s notes, reading over the research papers that Epsilon wrote on ruin guards and ruin hunters--if there was a piece of research on it, the Iota segment had read it to the point where he could recite it word for word if asked.

“With all your studying?” you smiled, nudging him gently with your shoulder as you passed by him. “How could he not?”

“He never stops the other segments from doing what they want,” he complained, and you watched as he twisted his food around with his fork, resting his chin on his palm. “Only me.”

“Mmm, that’s not true,” you said off-handedly, not even really processing it before you spoke, thinking back to the many times Dottore had put a stop to the Beta and Delta segment trying to get it on with you when they thought he wasn’t around.

“Yeah? Well what did they get stopped from doing?” he demanded, turning to face you and you froze, realizing what you had said.

“You know I don’t care to listen when they prattle on about their experiments,” you tried to blow off the question. “I don’t remember exactly what it was.”

But your chest tugged when you watched his shoulders slump over again, a frown pulling at his lips. You pouted softly, moving to stand closer to him, you cupped his cheeks in your hands and lifted his face so he was looking at you and you hated how frustrated and upset he was. “You’re young, s-”

“And I’ll never get older,” he snapped, trying to look away from you but you only smoothed your fingers over his cheekbones, tracing the lower half of his scar. “I don’t even know why he made me. I’m useless compared to the rest of the segments.”

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his forehead before letting out a soft sigh, “You are not useless,” you said, smiling as he huffed, hiding his face in your shoulder. “In fact, I think you’re the most useful of them all.”

“Now you’re just lying,” his voice was muffled into your shirt but you could hear the way it cracked.

“I would never lie to you,” and it was the truth, not that he would ever believe it, having been burned too many times by the people that were supposed to love him.

He made a noise, barely even acknowledging your words before he tilted his face up, and you forced yourself not to coo, catching the way he blinked up at you through his lashes, cheek still pressed to your shoulder, red eyes wide and searching your face.

“You’re so strange,” he murmured, and you raised your eyebrows, not sure if you should be offended or not. You could feel him shrug. “You just are. Nobody chooses us.”

You swallowed thickly, playing with one of the thick curls laying against his ear. “I’ll always choose you.”

“I just don't understand,” he finally spoke louder, pulling away from you, staring down at the plate, and you cocked your head to the side as you waited for him to continue. “I’m not stupid, you know? I know the Jester has been coming here, offering you a high ranking position in the Fatui—why do you keep turning him down?”

And you smiled, cupping his cheeks and tilting his face up, pressing your lips to his temple once, then twice, and then a third time. “Now why would I ever want to become a Harbinger when I can simply spend my days with you, silly boy? I told you, I’ll always pick you.”

Your smile softened when you noticed that his red eyes had welled with tears—and it really was a reminder that the segments were stuck in the mental state Dottore created them at. No matter how many times you told the Iota segment how much you cared for him and that you would never leave him, he would never believe you or understand it—too stuck in the betrayal of his mother and father. “Do you mean that?” he asked, voice wavering.

“Of course I do.”

His bottom lip trembled and you hummed quietly, reaching out to pull him to your chest. He flung thin arms around you, pressing his face against your skin and you could feel his shoulders shaking and you could feel the way he was desperately trying to blink away tears. The words that had slipped out when you had woken him up from a particularly bad nightmare rang through your head:

“Father said I’m not allowed to cry.”

“S’okay,” you said softly, cupping the back of his head and holding him close, remembering how he had been shaking, terrified at the prospect of crying that night because of what he thought waited for him after. “You can cry.”

The noise that escaped his lips was caught between a sob and a wheeze, you could feel his hands clutching at the back of your shirt, blunt nails digging into your back. You did your best to soothe him, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing soft circles against his back--he was reaching the end of the cycle again, where he fought back all of his emotions until they exploded. It was something that every version of Dottore dealt with--the Theta segment was prone to bouts of rage at the end of his cycle, Epsilon and Delta tended to close themselves off, and Dottore himself got cold and sharp, to the point where it was hard for you to convince yourself that he didn’t mean some of the particularly harsh words he spoke.

You could hear the muffled apologies against you as he tried to calm himself down. The Iota segment had yet to compartmentalize and funnel his emotions in the way the older segments did, so instead of being able to force the emotions into one that was easier to handle--like cold or hot anger, which was how Dottore frequently described it--he was forced to deal with tears that only made him more anxious and frustrated, a spiral that he couldn’t control.

“Hey, look at me,” you said, waiting for him to look up at you, and he did--lashes wet, eyes rimmed red and bottom lip wobbly.

“Come,” you said, holding out your hand for him. “How about you come tell me about the research you stayed up reading last night? So you can get ready to show Dottore how much you have learned while he was gone. He’ll be impressed if you’ve taught me some, that’s a feat that not even he’s been able to achieve yet.”

His eyes were still welled up with tears even as he perked up, taking your hand and all but dragging you in the direction of the library. He was already waving his free hand around, voice still cracking as he explained something about cores and autonomy that made little sense to you, but he seemed to be pulling himself out of the spiral before it could worsen, and you supposed that was worth the headache that was bound to come from trying to understand what he was talking about.

---

“You need to bathe, why must this always be an argument?” you were exasperated calling him for the hundredth time, hands on your hips as you paced up and down the hall. This was the third time this week that he refused to interrupt his studying for basic necessities and you were tired of chasing him around to haul him into the tub or force feed him.

“I will in a minute!” he shouted back from down the hall, locked in his room. “I just need to finish this page.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” you told him loudly.

“I did not! It was five minutes,” he argued.

“Check the clock then.” You could practically see the way his brows were furrowed, searching for the clock in his room, and you couldn’t help but notice that he did not, in fact, talk back this time. “Well?”

“... it was nineteen minutes ago,” he said, rather petulantly before going quiet again. “Just this last page, I mean it this time.”

You sighed heavily. “The water is running. Get in there before it goes cold. I’ll be in the other room.”

You turned on your heel to walk back down the hall toward the library, intent on curling up on the sofa and reading that book that Dottore had left behind for you, claiming you would enjoy it. You hadn’t got the chance to look at it since he left, too caught up in handling little Iota--but you knew if you didn’t at least get through a good portion of it before he got back, he would be disappointed. Not that he would ever show it outwardly, but his gaze would linger on the unmoved book in a way that you knew was him second guessing himself if the way his fingers tapping steadily against his thigh had anything to say about it.

And you didn’t want him to think that. Dottore was never the best with verbal or physical displays of affection but he was phenomenal when it came to things like that---thinking of you and things you might enjoy, and bringing them for you to appreciate. He was observant and attentive unlike anyone you had ever met before when it came to figuring out what you like and don’t like.

He had been hesitant about it during the beginning of your relationship, but as the years went on, he became more and more comfortable bringing you stuff. But Dottore, as much as he would deny it, was rather sensitive when it came to his emotions. Or maybe sensitive wasn’t the right word--he was closely-guarded, and one little thing like you brushing aside something he had gone out of his way to bring you because he thought you would enjoy it could set him back quite the distance.

You smiled softly, shaking your head as you looked down at the ground as you reached the end of the hall. You didn’t even get a step into the library before you heard the Iota segment’s door slam open.

Familiar footsteps dashed toward you and alarm began to shoot through you, turning around just as he barreled into you. You let out an oof, stumbling backward as you wrapped your arms around him, cupping the back of his head. Panicked, you lifted his head, turning his face up toward you so you could search it, make sure he was okay.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, throat closing up at the way his red eyes were glassy with tears and you worried if something set off the spiral again--anxiety eating at your stomach because you thought you had averted it and couldn’t think of anything that would have sparked it again. He buried his face into your stomach. You stroked his hair as soothingly as you could, trying to calm him down and keep your own voice steady. “Are you okay? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“He’s getting rid of us,” he cried, voice catching on a sob. “He’s getting rid of us, he’s killing us for the gnosis.”

Your world stilled and shattered at once, hand freezing midstroke against his head, “What?”

“He’s getting rid of us,” he was repeating it over and over again but you simply could not comprehend what he was saying because it just couldn’t make sense to you.

Why would Dottore ever do that? The segments were difficult, nigh-impossible to make now that some of the resources were all but inaccessible and Dottore was strong, obscenely strong, he was the strongest man you knew and you knew that the Dendro Archon stood no chance against him, why would he not just take it by force?

You wanted to assume that the Iota segment was wrong, that he had just misheard something, but the way he was clinging to your shirt tightened and his weight went dead in your arms.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he gasped. “I can’t feel them, I can’t move my legs.”

You eased the two of you down to the floor, arms shaking, barely able to process what was happening as you cradled the boy in your arms holding him to your chest. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, trying to stop your voice from shaking, pressing your lips to his forehead, “It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to die,” his voice cracked. It was happening too fast. You felt sick to your stomach, nauseous as you noticed how his fingers were no longer clutching at your shirt, arms limp next to him. “He’s going to regret this, he will, I don’t want to die. I can’t feel my legs or my arms anymore, I can’t-I’m scared-”

“It’s okay,” your vision was blurred, and this time you couldn’t stop the way your voice wavered as your arms tightened around him, as you buried your face into the top of his head holding him tight. “Everything’s going to be okay. Don’t be scared, I’ve got you, Zandik.”

“I don’t want to die,” he repeated, more desperately this time, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand, why is he doing this? He’s going to regret this, he’s-”

The following silence was louder than his cries. You stared at the wall in front of you, praying, begging, for him to speak up again but he didn’t and you could barely even process what had happened. Not even two minutes had passed since you told him to get in the tub before the water ran cold and now-

Now, he was limp in your arms, the weight felt obscenely heavy compared to the amount of times you had carried him around when he got himself hurt--it was a different sort of weight, you couldn’t feel him toying with your hair as you propped him up on your hip, you couldn’t feel him squirming in your arms as you held him bridal style, you couldn’t feel his chin resting on the top of your head as you carried him on your back around the house while he was immersed in whatever book he was reading.

It was deadweight in your arms now, and it crushed everything within you all at once. You wondered how the night had turned so fast--how you had been chasing him through house as he screeched at you to leave him be to him using his last moments to rush into your arms; how he had been excited at the prospect of actually being able to study live ruin guards to crying against your chest afraid to die.

You wanted to cry but everything felt cold and empty and numb and you thought, just for a moment, that you might hate Dottore.

---

He half thought that he would come back to the estate and you would still be sitting there holding the youngest segment’s body. You were not. And he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried that he came home to an eerily empty and cold house.

His throat had been tight when he had first arrived, the book he had left you untouched in the library and the halls of the estate absurdly uncomfortable when he realized you weren’t there. A bit of anxiety pooled in his stomach at the thought of you leaving without a word but your clothes were still in your shared room. There were still mementos on your dresser that you wouldn’t leave behind, so he figured you were just busy doing something else.

A grave had been dug, was the last thing he had noticed looking out the window of his bedroom, before Pierro had called him to the Zapolyarny Palace for a status update on what had happened down in Sumeru. The soil was still fresh, and Dottore considered, just for a moment, digging up the grave and trying to scavenge whatever materials he could from the segment’s remains--it wouldn’t be enough to create a new one, but it would be a start at least.

He ended up deciding against it as he twirled the familiar blue earring inside of his pocket--you had left it on the dresser for him to see as soon as he had noticed the grave. An offering, he supposed, asking him not to disturb it. He figured that he could acquiesce to that much at least.

The more time he had alone to think about it, the more perplexed he became--he had been certain that he would come home and you’d still be there, clutching the Iota segment to your chest. He had been prepared for the tears, he had been prepared for the anger; he steeled himself for the sharp words and shoves against his chest when he tried to draw close. He had expected it and it didn’t happen, and all of the walls he had built up to brace against the aggression crumbled in confusion.

Dottore didn’t like being wrong. It threw him off when he was prepared for something to happen and then it did not, in fact, happen. His mind was running at the speed of light, bouncing around all of the other options as to what might happen next. You didn’t leave, you weren’t there to yell at him, you weren’t there crying, so where were you? Were you planning something sneakier? Revenge?

No, he shook his head, revenge wasn’t your way.

He paused, or maybe it was, you had always been cold and spiteful, just never to him.

Would him killing the segments really change that?

He didn’t like that he couldn’t be confident in his answer.

Dottore inhaled slowly, keeping his gaze trained forward and his lips pressed tight, fingers tapping steadily against the side of his thigh, a tactic he had learned while at the Akademiya to keep himself calm and thinking straight when he found himself in a predicament that had him second guessing himself.

It was something he had to worry about later. For now, he had to get to the debrief before he had to waste time listening to Pierro make snide comments about him being late again, as he had the dozens of times he or one of his segments had gotten caught up in research before a meeting.

He tried to push you out of his mind--a difficult task, he realized as he approached the meeting room and you just would not leave the forefront of his mind. Questions and options raced behind his eyes as he tried to figure out where you were, what you were doing, and what he should expect when he inevitably ran into you.

He did not have to wonder for long.

He entered the room while Pierro was talking with one jab in his direction at his lateness, as he predicted, but the words didn’t fully process through his head. Dottore could hear him but Pierro’s voice sounded distant and muted even standing next to him. He couldn’t focus on his words--not on what he was asking, not on what he was explaining, not even when he was being addressed directly because he was too focused on you.

You, who was standing right between Pulcinella and Sandrone, eyes iced over and unfriendly in a way that Dottore had never expected you to direct toward him.

You were angry over the segment, that much he could put together from the cold fury in your eyes trained solely on him. He knew you would be angry. He expected that. But what were you doing here? In the meeting with the Harbingers?

Pierro had mentioned bringing people up to replace Signora and now, he supposed, they would have to replace Scaramouche too, but-

But you?

Shouldn’t this have been something mentioned to him? At least in passing? When was this even discussed? How long had Pierro been trying to get you to join--why hadn’t you said anything to him?

What was going on?

“Dottore,” the voice was harsh and sharp, Dottore’s eyes dragged from you to land on Pierro, who was watching him with a frustrated expression. Rather absently, Dottore noticed that all of the Harbingers were looking at him, and he played back the last few minutes in his head trying to figure out what he had missed.

Ah. The debrief on the events in Sumeru.

His voice sounded empty and robotic even to his own ears as he recounted what had happened down in Sumeru from the beginning of the God Creation Project, to the arrival of the Traveler, to Scaramouche’s developments and progress in the experimentation, to the interference from the Traveler and that group, to the meeting with the Dendro Archon and the two deals that were made with her.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Tartaglia’s eyes had drawn toward you when Dottore mentioned his segments, the way his body had twitched to move toward you. What was that? He was still looking at you, even though Dottore knew that Tartaglia knew he was staring right at him. Tartaglia’s brows were knit together in concern, and instead of meeting Dottore’s gaze, you looked at him. Tartaglia. A silent conversation that Dottore couldn’t understand—something green and ugly tugged at his chest, he forced it away.

Pierro wasn’t pleased with the loss of Dottore’s segments or the information he had offered up to the Dendro Archon, but he was more focused on the successful attainment of the two gnoses so Dottore was able to redirect his attention toward you.

You weren’t looking at him anymore, gaze trained on Pierro as he delved out orders to the rest of the Harbingers. He was angry--well, it was more than anger, but he couldn’t place what the second emotion was yet. He didn’t understand why you hadn’t consulted him about Pierro’s offer before taking him up on it, he didn’t understand why you hadn’t even mentioned it to him, and he did not like the way that Tartaglia was watching you, completely tuning out all of the discussion around him.

Hot anger. Dottore liked to differentiate different types of anger between hot and cold, it was easier for him to digest and figure out how to handle that way. Hot anger needed coolness, otherwise it would blow up into an explosion. Cold anger needed warmness, otherwise you would freeze each other out. Dottore was more adept with handling hot anger as he himself was rather cold.

And with him, you had always been hot anger, like his younger segment--Theta. You had been hot anger, he had been cold. A messy situation for when the two of you got into arguments, but not as messy as it could have been otherwise—you worked well with each other even when arguing. Why were you cold now? Where was the shouting and the aggression? The pushing at his chest and telling him to leave?

Dottore did not know how to handle your cold anger. He needed your warmth to balance out his cold. Once again, he felt anxiety yanking at him. He pushed it away. He had until the end of the meeting to figure out how to approach you and fix this mess before it escalated too far.

But the end of the meeting came too fast for him to process. Logically, he knew it had been a decent amount of time, but it had only felt like seconds had passed between him giving the rundown of what had happened and Pierro dismissing everyone. You were going to Fontaine with Arlecchino, that’s what Pierro had said right before ending the meeting. Fontaine, not to the outskirts but instead deep into the court of the Hydro Archon who hated the Fatui and everything they stood for.

Another unfamiliar emotion--more intense this time. He couldn’t push it away.

He didn’t have to ask you to stay. As all of the others left, you lingered. You were looking at him again but Dottore was more focused now on Tartaglia, who hadn’t left, and was staring at you, hesitantly. Rage. He funneled the unfamiliar emotion into rage as he turned his head to the lowest-ranked Harbinger, who had the audacity to raise his chin and meet Dottore’s gaze head on--or meet his gaze as best as he could, at least, with his mask on.

“Ajax,” it was your voice that drew him from the anger, but only momentarily. The familiarity that you spoke Tartaglia’s name had Dottore’s blood boiling, his delusion rattling against its mold. Since when- “Go.”

Since when was Tartaglia, ‘Ajax’? It had taken Dottore months to finally tell you what his real name was—an act that had been one of the most difficult decisions of his life considering it meant reviving a part of him that he had killed off years before.

It had taken him months to tell you and it had taken you months to get used to it—how were you saying Tartaglia’s real name so casually and fondly like that?

Tartaglia only listened to you when you looked at him, nodding once before turning and walking out of the room. He didn’t go far, Dottore noticed, he was lingering outside, ready to step in as if Dottore would do something to hurt you. As if he would ever, Dottore thought, trying to bite back the rising anger. And even if he did, it wasn’t like Tartaglia could hope to stop him.

“What was that about?” Dottore asked, voice tenser than he intended for it to be.

“What business is it of yours?” your voice was sharp, icy in a way that it hadn’t been with Tartaglia. That green feeling returned, ugly and intense, along with something else—something that had his chest feeling heavy.

“What business is it of mine?” Dottore questioned, tone laced in disbelief as he stared at you. “You’re my-”

“I’m your what?”

He didn’t like how you cut him off, how you were waiting for him to say something. He had heard you take that tone with associates of the Fatui before--associates who had gone back on their word and you were often the one sent to whittle the answers out of them before one of the Harbingers, usually a segment of Dottore, was sent to remove them. This was the tone you took when you had won, waiting for them to deliver the sentence that would damn them.

Dottore stayed quiet, only for a moment. Instead of answering the question, he asked another, “When did you and Tartaglia become so close?”

“He has been around the past three months. You have not.”

Dottore especially did not like that. He stared forward, mind whirring as he tried to process what you had said and the implications of it. Dottore had never made anything explicitly clear between the two of you but he had figured-

“Not like that, Dottore.”

Any other thought he might have had was gone, mind focusing on how you had addressed him. By his Harbinger title, you had never addressed him by that. It was always Zandik, you were the only one allowed to call him that, you were the only person he would revive that part of himself for. The name was dead to everybody else in the world except you.

“Why did you call me that?” Dottore asked before he could stop himself. The coldness, the way you addressed him, your familiarity with Tartaglia, Dottore didn’t know what was going on. It couldn’t just be anger over the lost segment--it was just a segment, a piece of him but he was still there, there had to be more that he was missing.

“Because Zandik is dead,” you said, and yet again, Dottore was grateful for his mask because his brow was furrowing and his eyes were squinted as he tried to figure out what you meant. “You killed him.”

Were you referring to the segment?

Dottore’s lips parted, he shut his eyes briefly as he shook his head, trying to clear his mind before speaking. “I am Zandik,” he spoke a sentence that he hadn’t spoken in years, and the forced acceptance ripped open a part of him that had long since been sealed away. Dottore tried to keep his breath steady, trying to split his attention between clearing up whatever this misunderstanding with you was and trying to close the reopened wound before it could cause serious damage.

“No, you’re not.” It was like you weren’t even listening to him and Dottore could feel the frustration seeping onto his face.

“I am,” Dottore snapped, but his anger would only fuel yours--he knew that from experience--so he tried to calm himself down. “I am Zandik,” he said it again. The wound ripped open more, too much for him to try to put back together while at the same time trying to figure out what he was missing. He would fix this with you, and then he would fix the wreck that had become his mental state. “What is going on? Why-”

“You killed him!” Your hands slammed down against the table, your voice a shout so loud that it echoed across the chamber the two of you stood in--outside the room, he heard Tartaglia draw closer to the door, alert. Dottore paused, staring at you--there was the anger, the hot anger that Dottore had expected from you, but he couldn’t find himself relieved at it. Instead, he only found himself even more stressed.

“You are talking about the segment,” he realized quietly, and your eyes flared at his words, angrier. But Dottore was lost because he expected you to be angry but he didn’t expect it to be like this. He didn’t expect it to-

“You killed him, Dottore,” your voice cracked over your words, and Dottore tried to step around the table toward you but you drew back as soon as he started to move. His throat felt tight at the rejection but he tried to ignore it--impossible, the wound tore more, gaping and open.

Dottore shook his head again, slowly this time, as he tried to figure out what to say to calm you down. “The segment was me,” he tried to keep his voice soft, but Dottore was not a soft man. “I’m still here. He was just me, but younger, and-”

“He was not-”

“He was-” His voice rose, anger and frustration, and maybe just a hint of desperation to get you to listen to him as he realized what exactly the issue was. You had never considered the segments as extensions of him. They had been individuals, separate people. He should have realized it from the way you spoke about some of them but he was never around enough when you were talking to the segments to have the pieces to put it together and he was so set in his own mindset that they were simply extensions to realize you felt differently. “He was me. I’m him. Let’s-”

“He was you before you turned into this,” your words were sharp and venomous, acid dripping into the open wound. Dottore drew back, not speaking for a moment as he watched you, waiting for you to elaborate on what you meant.

You did not, chest heaving and eyes welled with tears as you stared at him. If Dottore wanted an explanation, he would have to ask but he didn’t even know if he wanted an explanation.

“And what is ‘this’?” Dottore couldn’t stop himself from asking, time seemed still around the two of you as he waited for an answer.

“Look at what you’ve turned into, Zandik. All of these odd experiments and heretical ideas, you’ve become a-”

“A monster.”

Dottore stared at you and internally he was scrambling, trying to get control of all of the unwelcome emotions before they could become visible on his face. The wound that had been opened had torn past the point of being able to close back up, it had torn through all of the other closed wounds and ripped all of them open too, leaving him bare and vulnerable and bleeding out and there was nothing he could do. He had to leave, or he had to get you to leave so he could get himself under control.

“I see,” he said, his voice was colder than he intended for it to be, maybe that was for the best. “I never should have let you get attached to them.”

Logically, he could rationalize it—how you had managed to get so attached, that is. Parts of Dottore had died over the years, the parts of him that had been softer and vulnerable. Or he supposed they hadn’t died if the reopened wounds he was struggling to patch back up had anything to say about it, but they had been locked away so deep that they might as well have been dead.

Segments like the Iota segment, and even the Zeta and Theta segment, to some extent, did not have the same high walls that the older segments of Dottore had. You were able to access a part of him through those segments that you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to through himself. Dottore had been hesitant about the idea at first but it had kept him from having to open up his own old wounds so he figured it was for the best.

Logically, he could rationalize it but he simply could not understand it. Because if it was just a matter of being able to access that part of him, Dottore would figure it out. He would, for you, if it meant this argument would end.

But it didn’t seem as if it was just a matter of being able to access that part of him. It was deeper. It was the segment itself, not its connection to Dottore. And Dottore couldn’t understand how an artificially made clone of his younger self was causing this to happen. He didn’t understand why you had gotten so attached to it when he was right there.

Right there? His mind flew back to all of the times he had left you with the Iota segment, or the Theta or Zeta segments. Separate bodies, almost completely different personalities from him—you didn’t have the same mental connection that he had with his segments, was it really so hard to believe that you started to view them as individuals rather than extensions of himself?

You scoffed almost instantly at his words, drawing him back to the conversation at hand, and he knew he had spoken wrong but he was already overwhelmed piecing together just how much he had misunderstood between you and your relationships with his segments that he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the mistake.

Dottore was not a master of deciphering emotions, he was far from it in fact. But he remembered the nights he’d come home late from the labs to find the Iota segment curled up asleep in your arms, how you would dote on him in a way no one in Dottore’s life had ever done before.

The pieces had been laid out for him but Dottore just hadn’t realized it.

“I can think of a lot of things you shouldn’t have done,” snide and derisive, Dottore’s jaw tightened at your words, and you were watching him. You were searching for something but Dottore didn’t know what it was--Dottore had never been the best at reading people, but he was usually able to make up for it just by using sheer logic. This would not be the case here with you. He didn’t know what you were looking for, and he didn’t know how to make this better--not for himself, and not for you, or the two of you together.

Evidently, you did not find whatever you were looking for and Dottore’s lips finally parted from the thin line he had them pressed in as you shook your head and walked away without another word. He tried to force the words past his lips but they got caught in the back of his throat.

Dottore had always been a prideful and arrogant man but he thought he’d be able to set it aside for you, just this once. But maybe it wasn’t a matter of pride or arrogance, he realized, because his heart was erratic in his chest as you walked away, eyes wide beneath his mask. It was a matter of not knowing what to say.

Dottore had never been someone who found himself at a loss for words. One way or another, he would always be able to talk his way out of a situation—but now, staring at your back as you made your way out of the room, not even bothering to shut the door behind you, his mind was blank. Numb.

He felt numb.

Your words mixed with his parents, his parents mixed with the other villagers in his old town, the villagers mixed with the students at the Akademiya and the students mixed with the scholars. And then it was your voice again, loud, damning, finally calling him for what he was after all of the years you had spent with him.

He was not Il Dottore in that moment, he was Zandik--the child that was run from his hometown and scarred by his own parents for showing interests that were considered heretical to the traditional village elders; the student at the Akademiya who had tried, at first, before giving up and throwing himself into his research when he was faced with the same rejection again and again and again and again; the student who had decided if he couldn’t be accepted, then he might as well go to whatever lengths necessary to at least be successful.

He watched as Tartaglia peeled off the wall to walk with you, he watched as his fingers grazed your back--a sort of reassuring gesture that seemed too natural to be of any comfort to Dottore, and he watched as you turned your head to the side to look at Tartaglia, speaking quietly before the two of disappeared down a different hallway. You didn’t look back once.

And when he finally looked away from where you had left, eyes falling on the dark window that led to the palace courtyard, Dottore swore that it was his youngest-self staring back at him, vindictive and satisfied, his last words echoing in Dottore’s head louder than all of the rest of them.

#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #dottore angst #genshin angst

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2knightt · 4 months

Text

「 you are—unforgettable.」

IN WHICH—you’re them and they’re you!♡ ໋֢ 👒✧

🍵ヾFT. THE GREASERS࿐ྀུ ♡

⌗ 👒 notes !𖥔༌ ᰷ ﹅ people in this fic refer to two-bit as ‘keith.’ who cuz who the FUCK says ‘he got his two-bits in🤓’ NOBODY! but in the descriptive parts he will be two-bit. ALSO IF U DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING LOOK IN THE TAGS!

Ponyboy Curtis ;

his class was gonna watch this movie before reading a book. ‘the outsiders,’ or somethin’.

it was made in the ‘80’s—he didn’t want to even watch it. watching movies in class was the worst!

ponyboy sat at his desk, head in his arms. he heard the music and looked up, chin resting on his arms.

when ponyboy seen you writing down and narrating, he could’ve sworn he died and came back to life. LIKE WHEN HE HEARD YOUR VOICEEE HE GOT A LITTLE BLUSH ON HIS CHEEKS.

his friends beside him noticed, snickering to themselves. they shoved him, asking if that was his future partner. he just pushed them off, quietly telling them to fuck off.

when ponyboy seen you covered in the soot??? phew—he questioned his morals, man. and THEN HE SEEN YOU BEAT UP?? he was getting FED.

ponyboy came out of that school a new man.

his ears were hot, his cheeks were red, and he was already looking up edits of you. ponyboy shoved those almost broken wired apple headphones in his ears and tuned everyone out.

when he got home he ignored any questions darry and soda threw at him and immediately went to his room. ponyboy quietly closed the door before hopping into bed, pulling out his phone, and going on tiktok.

spent like a solid 30 minutes tweaking over edits of you. like full on screaming into his pillow—i’m so serious.

“darry, what the hell is that noise?”

“i dunn—ponyboy?”

“AHHH!!”

when he found out that, outside of the outsiders, you’re decades older than him he was SO HEARTBROKEN.

the gang seen him looking at photos of you and immediately started teasing him. he absolutely tried to back himself up with stutters.

“they’re how much years older than you, bro?”

“NONO HEAR ME OUT, PLEASE! KEITH, BRO, PLEASE.”

reads fanfic. look at me in the eyes and try to tell me that ponyboy motherfucking curtis doesn’t read fanfiction.

you can’t.

like bro he’s so desperate for more content of you to the point where he writes the fics he yearns for—got pretty popular to.

“why the fuck is your phone blowing up?”

“PLEASE don’t ask me any questions about it.”

he’s a freak. he knows everything about you. ponyboy’s even began to watch your interview’s about the movie. and your other movies.

literally a teenage girl.

“THEY’RE SO FINE THOUGH, PLEASE!”

“nuh-uh.”

“FUCK YOU MEAN ‘NUH-UH’?”

Johnny Cade ;

seen you when he was watching random movies at the curtis house. at first he was like, ‘wait!! they’re so me coded😛.’ it never occurred to him that you could be so cute.

he seen you crying and something in him like actually snapped.

“wait….am i getting a crush? they’re kinda…”

when he seen the equivalent of ponyboy in this universe snuggled up to you in the church he was soooo jealous.

yk that one audio where it’s like, “how long is he gon’ be talking to my WIFE.” that’s literally johnny cade when he seen that person kiss the top of your head.

“what the fuck?”

“…what do you mean?”

“nothin’. it’s just kinda bullshit that they swoop in and steal my chance😒.”

“you never had one.”

“okay, pal😐.”

heart broke when he seen you in the hospital bed btw. like was full on gripping onto a pillow with tears in his eyes.

johnny was in such denial when he seen you die😭. ‘bro, no. they literally aren’t dead.’/‘guys!! it’s just a prank!!’

when he got to the scene he was in SHAMBLES. HE WAS INCONSOLABLE. ripping his hair out, screaming, crying, allat.

“stay gold…”

“NOOOOOOO-“

was so pissed when you didn’t come back. was even more pissed when your letter was read out loud.

“HOW COULD THEY KILL THEM OFF?? THEY DIDN’T DESERVE IT!”

“johnny, it’s a movie.”

“this is so unfair. i hate movies.”

gets nervous looking at photos of you. like to the point where he tries to look up your name on pinterest before bailing mid sentence and giggling. like full on throwing his phone across the room, kicking his feet.

will talk for hours about you. thinks your the coolest character ever!! defends you like his life depends on it.

“they killed someone?”

“so?? you’re acting like you wouldn’t do it to🤣🤣 fake ahh friend.”

—

“they legit can’t stand up for themselves. you want someone like that to be out walking them streets?”

“oh, god for bid a person has trauma. and YES I DO🗣️. i hope they walk right into my arms, HO.”

all said online btw. he would never ruin his ego by speaking like this. i am a strong believer johnny cade puts up a strong front online.

johnny literally thinks you’re the cutest person he’s ever seen. like his cheeks get so hot when he thinks about you and he gets a silly little smile on his face.

he looks at photos of you and his friends think he has a little girlfriend.

“who you textin’, johnnycakes?”

“nobody-uh!”

“c’mon—we see that smile!”

and it’s literally just you with blood dripping down your face.

Dallas Winston ;

caught a glimpse of you at some girls house he slept at. literally stopped dead in his tracks as he seen you light a cigarette before mumbling, ‘nothin’ legal, man.’

“i-uh, what movie’s this?”

“huh? oh, the outsiders. pretty good movie.”

he thanked her and threw on his jacket before speed walking to bucks place. he had to watch this movie or he’s actually lose it.

imagine buck’s bar is actually a house, kay? dallas sits his pretty little ass on that couch, flips to whatever streaming service, and turns on ‘the outsiders.’

thought it was all boring until he seen you walk into frame—mocking the main character. at that very moment he was all, ‘wait that’s kinda hot.’

seeing you help the two younger ones run away while still acting tough was so attractive to him. dallas felt like he was losing his mind.

seeing you run in after the two into the church kinda made his knees weak.

“BAE NO!”

“what the hell are you screamin’ ‘bout?”

“nothin’, buck…”

he was so scared that you’d die in the fire. (little did old dallas know am i right fellas!!!!) like i swear to god he was so scared you’d end up like the johnny in this universe.

WHEN HE SEEN YOU FIGHTINGGG. he went feral. dallas was like so flustered. he was trying so hard to hide his blush to the ghosts around him with his hair.

his flush was short lived however. seeing you cry and then literally point a gun at a cashier was lowkey whiplash for him.

“what the fuck is happening?”

dallas figured out what was gonna happen early on and started kinda tearing up. like one tear formed in his eye before he blinked it away. but he was still devastated.

WHEN DALLY HEARD SOMEONE SCREAM “they’re just a kid!” he lost it. like actually. he went limp on the couch and spaced out. like damn…his fiancé, who doesn’t know they’re his fiancé yet, really WAS just a kid.

nobody knows he likes the outsiders OR that he has a crush on you. and they CAN’T know, it’s way too embarrassing. like actually.

when he’s with the gang and he’s just casually scrolling on tiktok and he sees the tags with your name, he immediately favourites it and scrolls. he saved it for later when he’s alone.

also defends you like there’s no tomorrow.

“they were hitting on someone who had a partner??”

“okay?? fucking live a little jesus.”

—

“THEY’RE A FUCKING CRIMINAL?”

“i’m into it tho lmfao”

swears up and down that if you and him were in a room together—you’d have a crush on him. top tier delusion.

like if he gets drunk with keith, he will rant about it.

“no—hear me out. put me in a room with y/n l/n and i swear to god they’re gonna be madly in love with me.”

“no they won’t, dallas.”

“yuh-huh.”

looks at photos of you and probably has you as his pfp on his spam. includes you in every other photo dump.

Sodapop Curtis ;

seen an edit of you on tiktok and audibly gasped. full on went, “WHO IS THATT😜” went to the tags and just scrolled under it for a good long while.

he seen a angst edit of you and made up his mind that he had to watch the movie.

for the while that you weren’t on screen, he was trying to push through. he really was. but deep down—in his head he was screaming, “BORING! SHOW ME THE PRETTY ONE!!”

when sodapop seen you tending to your younger sibling he could’ve sworn he was on cloud 9.

“my turn when :/.”

WHEN SODA SEEN YOU GET OUT OF THE SHOWERRR😭😭. he lost his BREATH like was full on gripping his imaginary pearls.

had to take a breather to walk around the house before unpausing the movie. had a blush across his cheeks, i can’t even lie.

when he learned that you were described as, “movie star attractive,” all he did was nod. like,

“mhm. i always knew my fiancé was good looking.”

SODA WAS APPALLED WHEN HE FOUND OUT THAT YOUR PARTNER CHEATED ON YOU. like jaw was on the FLOOR.

“I COULD TREAT THEM BETTER🗣️🗣️ THEY KNOW WHERE HOME IS!!”

he is so open about his little crush in you—it’s so cute :(

“steve, look at ‘em.”

“i see them—get your fuckin’ phone outta my face.”

“aren’t they so perfect??🤭🤭”

“i guess.”

“well, BACK OFF. we’re already happily married.”

“in your dreams maybe.”

“oh my god.”

soda has you as his pfp on at least two platforms. his name on one platform is “y/n’s boyfriend (REAL!)”

seeing you run out on your siblings after they grouped you into your argument made him just wanna hug you so bad. like he just wanted to tell you it was all gonna be okay.

has a album in his photos where it’s edits of you and photos. giggles and twirls his hair as he looks at it.

Darry Curtis ;

his parents used to watch the movie all the time and you’ve always just been a life long crush of his.

like when younger darry seen you walk into frame, comforting your kid sibling, something in his head snapped.

suddenly everything was in slow motion, there were hearts everywhere, he had rose coloured glasses on, and for some reason—harps play in the background.

as darry grew up it literally never went away. whenever the outsiders comes on when he’s home he always still goes, “woah.😍😍”

like he thinks you’re so fine.

he doesn’t like watch edits, read fanfic—none of that🗣️. but if he gets asked who is celebrity crush is—your name is coming out of his mouth ASAP.

“so, darry, who’s your celebrity cru-“

“y/n l/n.”

“but they’re a character?”

“Y/N L/N.”

he has like ONE printed out photo of you in his room from years ago. he knows exactly where it is and where to hide it, but he still keeps it.

at least once every two months, when everyone’s asleep and he has no work the next day, he’ll stay up just to watch the movie.

he’ll have a budlight in his hand as he watches you absolutely DEMOLISH at the rumble.

“i always knew they’d win.”

“you’ve watch this movie a thousand times.”

“PONYBOY?!”

the gang eventually found out his little crush on you. only light teasing ‘cause they’re so scared they’ll get that darry smoke if they push him further😭😭.

“oh my god! look, darry! you’re little crush is on screen!”

“steve, i will beat some sense into you if you don’t shut up.”

“…okay, bud.”

—

“when’s the weddin’?”

“after your funeral, keith.”

“wow. hater.”

Steve Randle ;

his dad fell asleep on the couch one night with this old movie playing in the background.

steve was about to turn it off before he caught a glimpse of you offering this half naked person some cake. he was all, ‘WAITTTT🙈🙈!!’

like he seen you in that sleeveless jacket and immediately fell in love. literally was on a mission to figure out who you were.

when he did? all he wanted to do was watch the outsiders. WHEN HE SEEN YOU SCOLDING THE MAIN CHARACTER HE SOO KNEW YOU WERE HIS TYPE

“wish they’d scold me like that…damn…😞✊”

was TWEAKING SOO HARD WHEN HE SEEN YOU ALL BLOODY WITH YOUR HEAD THROWN BACK.

“…you think i look tuff?”

“YES BAE!!!”

making his name on like insta or something, “y/n’s HUSBAND.” he puts emphasis on the husband because he believes that you want him so bad.

like actually. he’s fucking delusional.

“guys…they like cake…and I LIKE CAKE! do you see my vision??”

“no??”

“man, fuck you.”

photo dumps on insta of pictures of you with the caption, “from our honeymoon 😍😍😛😛!” his friends are ripping him apart in comments btw.

WOULD GO FOR WAR FOR YOU.

“they’re actually so gross what.”

“YOU’RE GROSS!🗣️ KEEP THEM OUT OF YOUR MOUTH YOU FOOL!!”

—

“they have 0 depth.”

“0 depth to YOU. to ME they’re the love of my life.”

Two-bit Matthews ;

seen the outsiders when he was drunk. he didn’t remember anything that night but the cute lil’ actor who was laughing after flirting with some rich lookin’ kid.

the only thing he remembers saying that night was,

“damn—when is it MY TURN😩😞”

WENT ON A FUCKING HUNT TO FIND THIS MOVIE ISTG. he was looking up shit that didn’t even matter to the plot—so he got different movies each time.

‘cute actor flirting’

‘cute actor in old ass movie’

‘mickey mouse shirt’

‘when was mickey mouse created’

‘who is walt disney’

he got a little distracted but that’s not the point. two-bit found the movie and cried tears of joy. fell to his knees and all😭.

he immediately turned the outsiders on and waited to see you. HE WAS SOO SAD TO FIND OUT YOU HAD LIKE SUCH LITTLE SCREENTIME.

but he worked with it. he was taking SO MUCH PHOTOS OF HIS TV WHEN YOU WERE ON SCREEN LMFAO. they were all so shaky too😭😭.

doesn’t shut the fuck up about you.

“they want me so bad🤣🤣😂😂.”

“they wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, keith.”

“what if i killed myse-”

—

“they’re so find i won’t ‘em.”

“what the fuck are you saying?”

“what are YOU SAYING? back up.”

saves edits of you. he is ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE OF PERSON TO SAY THE MOST OUT OF POCKET SHIT ABOUT YOU IN THE COMMENTS LMFAOOO

‘they could beat the shit out of me and i thank them :3’

‘WHAT?’

‘omg who said that’

you are his profile picture everywhere. and anywhere.

genuinely believe you’re the love of his life. i swear to god he does. KING OF DELUSION ABOVE ALL ELSE!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader #two bit matthews x reader #steve randle x reader #LUV THIS CONCEPT!!!#like you’re the movie character and he’s the real person #like idk you’re the dallas and he’s the real person giggling over u.#feels so good to write like this again!!! teehee!!

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kompaktcat · 9 months

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Sasha here!

CW here for references to hypnosis;

With the recent vibe of robot girls being The Thing on here lately I thought it might be fun to share a related thing of mine that's been an ongoing project for a while. While I have not had the drive or capacity to really work on new updates for it for a long while (I just kinda came out of a bit of a dormancy which does not help), this project was the collision between my enjoyment of machine/robot/pet play, hypno stuff, and a l o v e for prop making that we don't get to indulge nearly enough.

The goal with this was to make something that looked like it was plucked straight out of its universe and plopped into ours, and while not perfect, I'm proud of the work that went into it. It's intended to carry the vibe of an old software manual binder, but in a retro future sorta way.

The other goal was "Imagine if a robot girl had a manual to mess with her firmware" because let's not dance around that.

Please note that within the context of this project, where "System" appears, is meant to convey "operating system," as this project was conceived prior to RealisationsTM

Presenting the Firmware Operator's Manual

Neofelis Integrated Systems is imagined to be a prominent industry leader in the electronics integration and cybernetics field, that is rumored to dabble in biosynthetics and synthetic intelligence development, but these rumors are unsubstantiated outside of the company. In reality they're a Bit Fucked beneath the surface.

Opening the cover, numerous post-its are scattered on the interior, to help sell the idea that this manual existed in a real working environment. An extra LOTO tag is included in the manual, Just In CaseTM

The interior title page mirrors the outer cover, but with some additional information. Numerous pages within this project are also dotted with UV reactive EUrion constellations to depict anti-duplication measures.

Contents 1/2. The second half won't be shown here because Reasons. EPM here refers to Elevated Permissions Mode -wiggle eyebrows-

You can't just design and construct synth prototypes without proper regulation. That just won't do. Everything is definitely above board here.

These pages are just such a vibe. I can't help but add them between sections.

There are a few graphics that were made and sprinkled into this project to really fuel the software manual vibe. The chassis diagram in the print copy is now out of date, slightly. Also, never miss an opportunity to hide memes in a creative kink project. We like easter eggs.

Beyond this there's complete sections regarding ethics and safety (some of which is genuinely important SSC/RACK info, because that's important), and the sections containing various hypno commands, which will not be shared openly for obvious reasons. There's also the Error Codes page at the back, full of error codes I really have not bothered to memorise admittedly.

Anyways, that's all to share. Questions are encouraged though!

#synthgirl #robot girl

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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Yay request are open!!! How do we feel about a one shot where König constantly refers to the reader with German pert names without telling them what they mean? After a while they start to think König is making fun of them in German because whenever they confront him he gets all flustered. Maybe a fluffy ending where König confesses his feelings after the reader confronts him and asks what she did to make him make fun of her!

Ahhh this is so cute!! I love it!!! (tagging @konig-is-bbygrl bc könig is in fact bbygirl)

You were acting as a liaison between the 141 and KorTac in an attempt to get the two teams to cooperate on the field in the future. They chose you because you had good interpersonal skills, you followed orders well, and you met and exceeded expectations. That and you pulled the short straw. It was either that or send Ghost and that would’ve made matters worse, you love him but it’s the one department he lacks tact.

You were a little nervous, sure, but the team was pretty welcoming. Particularly the veiled giant, who you learned was König, he stuttered a bit at times and maybe spoke too fast when he got a little nervous or enthusiastic but you thought it was cute.

And then you’d get sent out together, and for a while you felt like you worked well together, communicated clearly and efficiently, and you were able to complete your missions with little to no incident. You’d fire off a joke or two over comms, exchange stories while waiting for evac in a safe house, you had a good thing going. But the more you got sent out together, the stranger his compliments became;

“Good shot, liebling.”

You laughed hesitantly at the compliment, it was a compliment, right?

“Keep your head low, schatz.”

You thanked him but the word turned over on your head over and over, was that an insult? It was at this moment you regretted taking French in college instead of German, you have yet to even see a French word in a context not involving food. When you met up at the RV point, the question has been sitting on your tongue for a while now, tainting the peaceful symbiosis you’ve created with König. You were in the safe house waiting for your next orders, he was sharpening his knives and you stood by the window. It was now or never.

“Hey, what do those words mean?” Your question cut the silence,

“Hm? Sorry?” He looked up at you from his seat at the table,

“It’s just, whenever you’ve told me something, you end the sentence with a word in German.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you watched his eyes widen for a split second before he quickly looked back down at the knife in his hands,

“Oh! Ah, well that, um, don’t worry about it, süße.” You’ve heard him stutter and occasionally trip on his words, but he was still direct with you. This was different, and it put a bad taste in your mouth. To add insult to injury, he’d used another word in German. He’s not… making fun of you, is he? It made your chest ache painfully, you suddenly felt like a fool for thinking you were actually getting along.

“Oh, ok, I guess.” You mumbled, turning your attention back to the window. The tension was palpable, you felt like you were drowning. You shook your head, focus, dumbass. This isn’t the time for that. It wasn’t too long after that, thank god, you got your orders and went to your posts. It all kept running in loop, all your interactions, all your jokes, all the laughs, all the quiet moments together, was he just being nice? Is he getting fed up with you but he doesn’t know how to tell you and he’s just casually adding insults to every sentence?? No, come on, that’s ridiculous.

“I’ve marked two soldiers on your path, maus.”

Did he just fucking call me a mouse?

Petty bastard. You clenched your jaw, the dread settling in your gut had quickly turned into anger. As soon as you were finished here, you’d pack your bags and head back to your boys, but not without giving the giant asshole a piece of your mind (and Price but that’s beside the point). The thing is though, you couldn’t wait until you were back at base. As soon as the chaos had died down and you met back up at the safe house, you let him have it,

“Good work out there, liebling.” König praised as you walked into the safe house, that was the final straw. You threw your gear on the table and leveled him with a glare, heart racing, adrenaline pumping through your system,

“Ya know, you’ve got some nerve, König.”

Not good.

“This entire time, I thought we were getting along really well and I don’t know what happened or what I did… I mean, fuck for a moment I…” the words died in your mouth, too scared to breathe life into them because then this confrontation would hurt all the more. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves,

“If I did something wrong, I’d rather you tell me instead of insulting me in a language you know I don’t understand.”

Oh fuck.

“Insult you? Schatz, never, I- they’re not insults, I would never.” His heart was pounding in his ears, hands becoming sweaty, his veil suddenly too warm,

“Then what are you saying, König? What do the words mean?”

Oh fuck.

“I-I can’t say…” His eyes were darting everywhere but yours,

“Either you tell me right now, or this is the last time I’ll ever work with you.”

Fuck.

“It’s- they’re not- scheiße- they’re not insults, liebling, they’re-” he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, “terms of endearment.” He said the last part so quietly, you almost didn’t hear him.

“Oh… well, that’s different. Why didn’t you say so when I asked the first time?” You walked to him, approaching him slowly, your tone significantly more gentle. His eyes flicked to yours for a split second before darting away again, and then it hit you. “Oh. I… think I understand now.”

But because König was so focused on looking away from you, he didn’t see the grin that split your face, or the blush that dusted your cheeks, or the beautiful sparkle in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, lieb- sergeant, it’s incredibly out of line and horrifically inappropriate, please try to put it out of your mind. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was so rude-”

“König, hey, please stop for just a second.” He didn’t realize you were right in front of him and almost died of the fright, lest his humiliation take him first. You stood up on the tips of your toes and held the sides of his face, angling him to look at you, giving him no room for escape,

“What if I don’t what to put it out of my mind?”

“Schatz, what are you saying?” His voice was trembling ever so slightly, his large hands coming up to encompass yours,

“I’m saying, maybe you can keep calling me terms of endearment because maybe I’d like to do the same for you.”

“Are you sure?” He was breathless, his heart was a booming thunderstorm in his chest as his hands so delicately took yours held them. His thumbs stroking over the knuckles, already committing every scar and every bump to memory. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, lightheaded and dizzy in the most beautiful way possible.

“Never been more sure in my life.” Your smile was as blinding as the sun, and he’d never been more sure that everything in his life lead up to this exact moment. It didn’t matter that you were with the 141 and that eventually you had to go back, it didn’t matter that you were out in the field hunkered down in a safe house, nothing else mattered but you.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig cod #könig modern warfare #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod one shot

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aquagirl1978 · 4 months

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A New Day - Chevalier Michel x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Day 7 of my 12 Days of Christmas. Also part of my New Year, New Celebrations follower celebration.

Pairing: Chevalier Michel x Reader

Prompt: clinging to the other

Requested by: @melodiousramblings

Word Count: 595

Tags: fluff with a hint of spice

It was a new day and a new year.

You woke up feeling refreshed despite staying up late last night with your beloved to ring in the new year. Today marked new beginnings. A fresh start. Your body buzzed with excitement, the prospect of new changes bright on the horizon.

As you sat up in bed, your gaze drifted to the body sleeping next to you.

Some things never change.

Sighing, you envied Clavis for a moment. Only for a moment. Clavis, who no longer bore the unenviable task of waking Chevalier. Clavis, who smiled with glee when you moved into Chevalier's bedroom. Enjoy your new job, he said as he bid you goodnight before your first night sharing a room with the king.

At first, it didn't sound all too bad. In fact, it was fun – in the beginning. You would tease him with new nicknames, seeing how far you could push the envelope with cutesy names. Chevalie, sadly, did not receive the king’s approval. But as time wore on, it was becoming quite the difficult task to wake the sleeping tiger.

“Wake up, Chevalier,” you said softly as you gently shook his shoulder.

No answer. What a surprise.

“Chevalier,” you called to him in a sweet, sing-song voice, “Happy New Year.” After brushing a kiss on his cheek, you pulled back and peered into his face. Hoping to see some sign of alertness.

But there was none.

Time to try a new tactic.

Stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb, you lowered your voice to a soft whisper in his ear. “Chevalier, my dear. My beloved. I thought you should know Clavis is in your library. He could be defining your precious books as we speak.”

With bated breath, you awaited his response; surely this idle threat would wake him up.

Instead, you were greeted with perhaps the most elegant snore as Chevalier rolled over on his side away from you.

“I know you heard me,” you muttered under your breath. In a moment of frustration, you picked up a nearby pillow, contemplating taking a page from Clavis’ book and throwing it at your lover's head.

“You're lucky I love you so much to go through this every morning.”

“I am lucky,” he finally spoke. He turned on his side and gazed at you with a deep affection that tugged at your heart. “And you'd never throw that pillow at me,” he added with a smug smile.

There he went again, reading your mind.

You had half a mind to take that pillow and prove him wrong, but before you could do so, he reached out and grabbed you roughly, pulling your body atop his, your knees straddling his hips.

His smug smile turned soft, instantly melting away your frustrations. He looked so beautiful, lying there on the bed with his pale hair splayed across his pillow like a halo. His pink lips parted, begging to be kissed.

And who were you to deny him?

Pressing your hands upon his chest, you brought your face to his and kissed him. Short and sweet. A tease of a kiss really.

When you tried to pull away, he wrapped his long arms around your shoulders, keeping you near, just how he liked you. He tilted his face up, his mouth capturing yours in a passionate kiss. One that ignited a fire in your belly.

“For future reference,” he whispered between kisses, gently rolling your body so that he was now on top of you, “I wouldn't mind being woken up like this again.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @lancelotscloak @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @portrait-ninja

#12 days of christmas #new year new celebration #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 5 months

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Wash Away the Pain #1 - Echo

Returning to Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions after Anaxes, Echo receives the news he never wanted to hear.

Pairing: Echo x gn!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: whump, reference to Fives death, Echo has self-esteem issues, mourning and grief, hurt and comfort, you and the boys rally around Echo, bittersweet ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is part of a mini-series where each of our boys will get their sad/angsty shower time, but they can be read as standalones.

Check out the whole series: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair.

The sound of falling water drowned out everything else in the fresher, the water temperature so hot it should’ve been uncomfortable, but after years in cryofreeze, Echo welcomed the heat.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

“I’m sorry, Echo. I really am. He should’ve been stunned. I still don’t know why it went down like that.”

Rex’s voice as he’d broken the news still rang in his head. Echo had received a message from him only an hour ago, after you’d all landed on Kamino following a string of back-to-back missions following Anaxes. He’d thought they would just shoot the breeze like old times. He hadn’t expected this.

Echo’s eyes drop, fixating on the metal legs the Techno Union had attached to his body. The scomp on his right arm, the ports littering his body. Self-loathing coils through him.

Why did he get to live? Why was he turned into a machine while Fives died, lost in panic, in a dirty Coruscant street? The only saving grace was that Rex had been there to hold him.

So lost in his thoughts, Echo misses the sound of the fresher door opening, of you slipping inside and shutting it behind you.

Echo might’ve only been with you and the boys for a few weeks, but you’d quickly grown fond of him. So much so that when he’d returned to the barracks 10 minutes ago, crest-fallen, clutching a bucket painted in the colours of the 501st, and then promptly headed for the fresher without so much as a word, you’d known something was wrong. Your datapad had pinged a few moments later, a message from Rex filling you in, asking you to keep an eye on Echo – as if you wouldn’t have done that.

Physically, he was fine, albeit still getting used to his new body. As the squads nat-born medic, called in because of the inability of your boys to get along with regs, it was your job to look after their wellbeing. And now it seemed Echo needed some care.

You step into the shower behind him, not caring that you’re still clothed, and slowly press a hand to his back. Echo jolts at the touch, caught off-guard, turning in place to meet your gaze. With space tight on the Marauder and sharing barracks, seeing the boys in various states of undress had become commonplace. Heck, half the time, they had to be stripped out of their ruined blacks when injured. The nudity no longer bothered any of you. Echo had adapted to it quickly, too.

“Echo…” His name falls from your lips quietly, hand rising to cup his face. His head tilts away from your gaze, taking your hand with him. Thumb smoothing across his gaunt cheek, you watch as a myriad of emotions flit across his face.

Echo’s eyes were now clouded with grief and guilt. The water from the shower mixes with the tears streaming down his face, creating a bittersweet cascade that mirrored the turmoil within him.

“I should’ve been there,” Echo mutters, his voice strained and filled with regret. “I should’ve protected him. He’s gone because of me.”

Your heart aches for him, and you rest your free hand on his waist, pulling him closer. The prosthetic attachments on his body feel cold against your skin – even with the shower’s heat – a stark reminder of his sacrifices for the Republic. “Echo, you couldn’t have known. You’ve been through so much. Don’t blame yourself.”

He shakes his head, a mix of frustration and sorrow in his eyes. “I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him. And now I’m just a machine, a reminder of everything we lost.”

You gently trace the contours of the implants on his arm, your fingers dancing over the hard surface. “You’re not just a machine, Echo. You’re a survivor. You’re still here.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, he searches your eyes. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but you let him take his time. “I don’t know how to be here without him.” He finally admits.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Grieve, remember, but don’t forget that there are people here who care about you, who want to help you through this.” You tell him softly, the water continuing to pour down around you both.

Echo’s shoulders slump, and he leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence starkly contrasting with the cold metal that now makes up a significant part of him. The weight of loss and survivor’s guilt hangs heavy in the air, but your steady support gives him a small anchor in the storm of his emotions.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” He admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“You never will be.” You assure him, fingers continuing their gentle exploration of the cybernetic enhancements that have become a part of him, wanting to show him that it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with his new body. “We’re all here for you, Echo. The boys, Rex, and I.”

He nods, a silent acknowledgement of your words. The water washes away not just the physical grime but also some of the emotional turmoil that has gripped him since Rex delivered the devastating news.

As the two of you stand in the warmth of the shower, Echo may feel like a machine, a remnant of a past he can’t forget, but your touch, your empathy, reminds him that he’s still human beneath the prosthetics.

Eyes flitting towards the counter just outside the shower cubicle, Echo lets out a small sigh as he looks over his brother’s helmet. Memories of them painting their armour together surface, of the multiple attempts it had taken to get the lines crisp, of Fives dipping his hand in blue paint to reapply the print on Echo’s chestplate.

Following his gaze, a sad smile passes over your lips. “Remembering him doesn’t mean you must carry the weight alone.” You say, voice a gentle murmur. “We’re all here to share the burden. Fives will always be a part of you, and you’ll carry his memory forward.”

Echo's gaze lingers on the helmet. The loss of a brother is a wound that cuts deep, but perhaps, with time and support, the injury could heal into a scar - a testament to the strength it took to endure.

As the water cools, you guide Echo out of the shower. The small space feels intimate and comforting, a refuge from the harsh realities of the galaxy. You hand him a towel, and he begins to dry himself off on autopilot, his mind still processing the emotional whirlwind.

Over the following days, the barracks become a place of healing. The boys rally around Echo, offering support and understanding. When Echo’s new armour is finished – having undergone some modifications courtesy of Tech – they paint it in their colours while you distract Echo in the medbay. You’d also procured some blue paint from Rex, and they make sure to add a small Aurebesh ‘5’ and a fine-line domino to the back of the chestplate.

The tears that had clouded Echo’s gaze as he’d been presented with his new kit and had turned it over to find the hidden tribute were a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. The pain of loss still lingered, but each stroke of the brush, each carefully applied detail, was a silent affirmation that he was not alone.

In the quiet moments, you still find Echo gazing at Five’s helmet, stored securely on the Marauder. But now, there’s a small smile playing on his lips. The pain may never fully fade, but Echo carries the memories of Fives with gratitude for the time they shared, and the squad learns that even in loss, there’s strength in unity.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb echo x you #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo #arc trooper echo x reader #echo the bad batch #echo x reader #the bad batch echo #arc trooper echo #clone force 99

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