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transvampireboyfriend · 1 year

Text

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him. They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry. Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

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mixvyu · 11 months

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★彡Parfum d’étoile

Scaramouche x reader smau

Y/N always considered Scaramouche as her rival, and grew to dislike him but her hatred for him can’t help but grow when they find themselves in the same group project. How will they be able to push through despite the fact that one detest the other and the other’s words are sharp and unfiltered ?

disclaimer ! - this is my first smau ever pls be mindful and i’m also open to constructive criticism

tags - college au, modern au, academical rivals to lovers, romance, scara is kind of a dick but that makes him hotter tbh

warnings - reader is refered using she/her pronouns, mature themes, swearing, sexual jokes, kys jokes, kind of kazuha x reader but it’s jst a little flirting at the beginning

status - on going [03.06.2023] (day-month-year)

playlist - music i listen to while writing

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist <3

CHARACTERS -

- Y/N’s side

- Kuni’s side

EPISODES -

- episode one

- episode two

- episode three

- episode four

- episode five

- episode six

- episode seven

- episode eight

- episode nine

- episode ten

- episode eleven

- episode twelve part one

- episode twelve part two

- episode thirteen

- episode fourteen

- episode fifteen

- episode sixteen

- episode seventeen

- episode eighteen

- episode nineteen

- episode twenty

- episode twenty-one

- episode twenty-two

- episode twenty-three

- episode twenty-four

- episode twenty-five

- episode twenty-six

- episode twenty-seven

- episode twenty-eight

- episode twenty-nine

- episode thirty

- episode thirty-one

- episode thirty-two

- episode thirty-three

- episode thirty-four

- episode thirty-five

- episode thirty-six

- episode thirty-seven

- episode thirty-eight

- episode thirty-nine

- episode forty

- episode forty-one

- episode forty-two

- episode forty-three

- episode forty-four

- episode forty-five

- episode forty-six

- episode forty-seven

tba??

- epilogue I

- epilogue II

★彡 Taglist [open!]

@gekkow

#scaramouche #genshin #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fanfic #genshin x reader #scaramouche x y/n #idk what tags to use #this is my first time tagging please help #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smau #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin smau #kunikuzushi smau #★彡 navigation #★彡 parfum d’étoile

1K notes · View notes

seventh-district · 7 months

Text

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

#astarion x reader #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #my writing #man. this may be the quickest turnover/turnaround whateverthewordis on a fic that i've ever made happen #i usually sit on an idea and then a draft for ages before posting smthn. so given that it's only been a couple days #between the initial idea and the finished posted fic. wow. groundbreaking speeds for me #the power of hyperfixation (and love)#y'know. i've noticed a trend #why is it that nearly every time i write for a new character the first scenario i place them in involves crying #and having Reader hold/comfort them #i did it with Eddie i did it with Venti i'm doing it with Astarion. who's next. who's next in the Reverse Comfort lineup huh #idk why that's my go-to scenario it just is. maybe i do have a type. (characters that need to have a good cry in their beloved's arms)#or maybe perhaps it is i that needs the good cry and i am projecting. who knows. 'tis a mystery (it's both)#anyways i know this fic is a bit short but i just. had one little specific scene i wanted to write and that's it!#i do plan on making more for him though. i've already got another idea brewing in my brain #also sorry if 'honey' and 'love' aren't your go-to pet names. or if you wouldn't call him Star #my own style of speech heavily influences what i have Reader say in my fics and i can't help itttttt. everything i write is self-insert lma #*lmao (i’m on mobile rn i’m not retyping all of that just to add the last letter)#(yes i’m posting this from mobile cause i took a nap and overslept and missed the time i wanted to post this at. so now i am In A Rush #smthn smthn self imposed deadlines smthn smthn ‘i know the guy that made the rules and he’s a total pushover’ anyways it’s fine. post draft

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pixlokita · 4 months

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I feel like ? I gotta remind people it’s ok to unfollow a blog when it upsets you in any way >> like if I ever do that sure, you can let me know if it was anything I did personally I’d appreciate it but if you just don’t enjoy something it’s ok to unfollow ;w; can’t stress enough how important it is to put your mental health first 👌

#pix habla #fnaf #✨💖 even if you don’t like frogs and I post about frogs does that make sense #i see some yall not liking some of the stuff I draw and just kinda wonder ? why you still follow lol #i won’t take it personally #even if it’s a mutual heck I’ve even told my friends to unfollow if they ever need a break from my blog =w=👌#because It’s nothing personal >>#i used to ok so funny story xD I used to follow a friend in middle school on social media #and we were good friends but had nothing in common in what we posted about =w=#like she loved Beatles fanfics (don’t ask do not ask idk I didn’t read past the titles)#and i loved sonic :v #and like #thats aigh ? you don’t gotta ? follow a blog that doesn’t bring joy no matter if you’re close or not #i would honestly hate it if I’m making anyone upset or unhappy #so yeyeyeye I’ve said this before in other fandoms but like >>)✨✨💖 put 👏 your mental health 👏👏👏 FIRST ALWAYS👏#Stay safe y’all ✨👌 have fun be free #we’re all just… sitting here… online 😔 ain’t nothing to it

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

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in which steve is sick, eddie is in love, and floor time is being had

Eddie is in the kitchen when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching him. The smile is on his face before he even turns around to catch a glimpse of Steve, gloriously disheveled from all that sleep he’s been catching up on. He’s wearing one of Eddie’s big, fuzzy sweaters that Steve always hogs when he’s sick — which, thankfully, isn’t all that often —, a thick pair of sweats and mismatched socks.

Sickness is the time to wear mismatched socks without judgment, Edwin Munswin, Steve had huffed the first time Eddie saw him with a runny nose and ridiculous socks that definitely didn’t belong together. It had been the first time he admitted to himself that he was absolutely gone for Steve Runny Nose Harrington.

And so it doesn’t come as a surprise to him that his heart stumbles in his chest and the smile on his lips widens. Steve might hate being sick, but Eddie can’t really help but love him even more when he gets like this. When Steve allows himself to be a little weak and for Eddie to take care of him.

“Hi, sunshine,” Eddie says, turning down the heat on the stove to go over to his Stevie, wrapping his arms around the blanket Steve still has around his shoulders. “Sleep well?”

“Mmh.” It’s nothing more than a raspy grunt, a pathetic little noise as Steve cuddles further into Eddie, seeking out his warmth and comfort so freely that Eddie presses a kiss to his slightly sweaty forehead. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” he promises, running a hand up and down Steve’s back. “Just made you tea while the soup is warming up. Because you’re gonna have to eat.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, sounding solemn as he does, and Eddie wants to laugh. Gods, he’s so in love, it’s disgusting. Ridiculous. Absolutely laughable. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” A whisper, another promise, another kiss. He unwinds his arms and looks back at the giant pot of soup he made yesterday. “Do you wanna go back to bed or stay here?”

“Here,” Steve sighs and promptly sinks down the counter until he’s sitting on the floor, looking up at Eddie with those beautiful brown eyes, so big and and full of love that Eddie can’t resist ruffling his hair, which earns him a little giggle from Steve.

Oh, right, he’s had the good stuff prescribed from the doctor. This is going to be fun in a few hours.

“You ridiculous man,” Eddie murmurs, trailing his hand from the crown of Steve’s head down across his cheek all the way to his chin in a gentle caress.

“Go back to your soup, you most ridiculous of men,” Steve says in retaliation, but he reaches for his hand to hold as Eddie returns to the stove.

“Technically it’s your soup.”

“That’s what I said.” Eddie looks down to see the most adorable of frowns on Steve’s head, and his heart explodes a little in his chest.

He snorts and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Sure is, baby.”

“See? I’m smart sometimes.”

“No argument from me there,” Eddie says, and he means it.

A hum comes from Steve and then he leans his head against Eddie’s leg. “You’re so nice to me, Eds. I like that you’re nice to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then it’s quiet, and the weight of Steve against his leg becomes heavier by the second to the point where Eddie is pretty sure Steve’s fallen asleep again. He doesn’t dare to move, but dear God he wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to scream at the world how much he loves this ridiculous, adorable, possibly delirious and high on cold medication man who is wrapped in his blanket on their kitchen floor.

“Stevie,” he whispers at last, the soup hot, the tea just cool enough, and cards his hand through Steve’s hair to wake him. “Sunshine, wake up, I have soup for you.”

“Soup?”

“Soup.”

“But I love soup.”

“Then I have great news for you,” Eddie laughs and tilts Steve’s head up so he’ll meet his eyes. “It’s plenty, it’s warm, and you can have some. It’s right here.”

“You made me soup?”

“Yeah, babe,” Eddie chuckles, his heart tearing itself apart at the way Stevie looks up at him with such wonder and awe and love. “I made you so much soup. All for you.”

Steve nods, thinks for a moment and then looks up at Eddie again. “Can we share?”

“You wanna share your soup with me?” Eddie says, crouching down so he’s on eye level with Steve and can brush a kiss to his forehead again.

Steve nods again and reaches for him, clinging to Eddie’s sweater — well, it’s Steve’s technically. “Wanna share everything with you.“

“Even your blanket?”

Steve smiles and nods again, lifting one arm to invite Eddie in, which earns him a laugh. “Alright, let me just…”

He grabs two bowls of soup, Steve’s large mug of tea, two spoons and two pillows from their chairs so they can eat the soup on the floor without uncomfortable heat in their laps.

Later, when soup is but a distant memory of half an hour ago, Steve lets himself fall to the side and slumps into Eddie, head nestled on his shoulder.

“Sleep time again?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Steve slurs, definitely already on his way to half asleep. “Just. Just love you.”

Eddie hums and leans into Steve in return, warm underneath their blanket, surprisingly comfortable on the floor, backs against the counter. “Just love you, too, sunshine.”

And if Eddie closes his eyes, too, lulled into a sleepy state of comfort and warmth, then that’s just one more thing that happens with a sick Steve around.

In sickness and in health, he thinks with that same smile on his lips.

for @seidenbros, i besmooch your forehead with this 🌷🤍

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #y’all wick MediMait has like 600mg paracetamol and 18% alcohol and idk if y’all ever had it but it can leave you In A State #so here you have some ridiculous delirious ‘high’ steve and an eddie who couldn’t be more in love #i had meant to write more floor time but it felt forced so i left it where it is #dio words #this is my first sickfic ever idk how this works but them being ridiculously sweet is okay right?#my brother used to be ridiculously sweet on me when i was sick. and i on him. idk there’s just love all around when anyone’s sick #idk how else do deal with this??

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aurae-rori · 13 days

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TIMELOOP AVENTIO AU SNIPPETS

so i did it

#aventio time loop au #time loop au #time loop fic #time loop #aventio #ratiorine #honkai star rail #dr ratio #aventurine #dr ratio x aventurine #hsr #snippet #fanfic writing #im so normal and sane #EAT UP MY CHILDREN #this may be the first chapter idk #who knows but here it is

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timdrakescoffeecup · 3 months

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(Updated Sometimes) Tim Drake Fanfic Masterlist

cw's will not be included, so make sure to check the tags. also might include some jason fics too

Bang, bang by Ididloveyou_once

Tim asks Jason to teach him how to use a gun. (One shot, funny)

The Long Way Home by itsnatalie

Tim and Jason get trapped in a labyrinth that shows their worst nightmares. (Multi, angst, hurt/comfort)

like falling water by naheka

Dick crashes at Jason's place, hopped up on fear gas. (One shot, funny)

Bet on it by Lysical

Damian needs Jason's help to hide something from Bruce. (One shot, funny)

Deliver Yourself by forestgreen

Jason adopts his younger self. (Multi, angst)

Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)

Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.

When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.

But most of all, Tim is alone. (Multi, angst)

Home by sElkieNight60

Tim forgets who he is. (Multi, angst)

Late Night Langoustining by whaleofatime

Jason adopts a lobster. (One shot, funny)

two against the world by carolinaa

While following Batman and Robin, Tim finds a puppy. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by Ultrageekatlarge

Tim blackmails Batman into helping him arrest his murderous uncle. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

See Life As a Worthy Opponent by TriviasGhost

Tim goes to a universe where he never existed. (Multi, incomplete)

The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks

What the comics neglected to cover after Bruce returns from being lost in time. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Obedience by Sohotthateveryonedied

Something is seriously wrong with Tim—Jason just knows it. Ever since the Mad Hatter incident, Tim has been acting completely different, and the worst part is that no one believes Jason when he tells them so.

But when the truth is eventually revealed, the whole family comes to realize that the situation is far worse than anyone could have ever predicted. (One shot, angst)

To an Athlete Dying Young by SonoSvegliato

A series detailing Tim’s ascension to Robinhood, with angsty Red Hood vigilantes in the background. (Multi, angst)

Matters of the Heart by DM (Nyerus), Nyerus

Kon need's Tim's help with an investigation in Metropolis. Feelings ensue. (Multi, Timkon)

It Wasn't Real (But We Were Happy) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

“Everyone’s fine. You don’t need me anymore. I told you, Bruce. I told you I’d stay until you didn’t need me anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I stayed too long. I should have... I shouldn’t have waited so long." (Multi, angst)

occam's razor by Beatrice eagle

An in-universe reddit thread about Jason's death. (One shot, funny)

To Try, To Err, To Try Again by theLiterator

Tim knits Damian a present. (One shot, wholesome?)

let's get mischievous by CreamofTomatoSoup

Tim's friend gets possessed by Dionysius. (One shot, angst)

Whoopsie by MichaBerry

Tim forgets to tell that he lost his spleen. Oops. (One shot, angst?)

Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim Drake is thirteen, runs the famous BatWatch blog that has spiraled hilariously out of control, has absentee parents that suit his purposes just fine, is training himself to run the streets at night, and is doing absolutely peachy, thank you.

Alfred and Jason disagree, and get Dick and Bruce involved in figuring out their weird nextdoor neighbor kid’s life. Everything goes uphill from there. (Multi, hurt/comfort, this is a MUST READ for timfics)

Trouble Magnet by strikeyoucolors

"It's like you've been synchronized into passively hostile acts against Tim. Did he do something? Were you brainwashed? Because I now have a son who has been crushed, had his face broken, and been shot. All incidences of friendly fire. " (One shot, funny)

Echoes of You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

Milk white skin beneath the mud, black hair hanging in muddy clumps around his ears. Blue eyes staring back at him, animal-bright and dilated in the brief moment before he flinches back from the light with a cry of pain that stabs through Jason to the soul. (One shot, angst)

A Simple Life by RenaRoo

Tim Drake is living a simple life in one of the worst parts of Gotham. He makes the best of it, though. He makes for himself the only life he's ever known...

He thinks. (One shot, angst)

The Wound Begins to Bleed by audreycritter

Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around.

Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother. (One shot, brotherly bonding)

Hey, Lawman! by dinolaur

Tim goes MIA during lunch. (One shot, funny)

Gotham Banksy by LananiA3O

After finding out that he remains unavenged, Jason returns to Gotham, but instead of deciding to kill Bruce, he decides to channel his rage into a more creative endeavor: spray-painting Gotham until the message is loud and clear to everyone: fuck Batman. (Multi, angst)

Breaking News: Local Teen Given Intervention For Normal Behaviour by yellowrooster

Tim ends up in an alternate dimension where he's considered a drug addict. (One shot, funny)

Bay Through Hell by GordandV

Tim is mermaid. (Multi, AU)

Hot Dog, French Fries by eggmacguffin

Damian tries to hide that he's been hit with a truth serum. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once

Tim and Kon get married in Vegas, while drunk. (Multi, timkon)

Quarter past midnight by Aaren

Instead of being found by Talia after crawling out of his grave, Jason becomes a nurse. (Multi, canon divergence)

(Un)Wanted by Mika-chan (mikarin)

Tim gets kidnapped. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Midafternoon Beetdown by whaleofatime

Jason cosplays as a organic farmer. (One shot, funny)

Liminal Space by Calamityjim

Bruce's habit of collecting strays isn't limited by dimension. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Can't Stay Down (a Documentary) by SonoSvegliato

Tim gets his tonsils removed. (Multi, funny)

Surveillance by smilebackwards

Tim is a civilian who contributes to crime fighting by taking surveillance photos and leaving them on the desktop of the Batcomputer. (Multi, found family)

Chemistry of a Car Crash by anthologia

Tim gets into a car crash. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

Bet It all On Red by centreoftheselights

Instead of becoming enemies, Robin and Red Hood form an alliance. (One shot series, canon divergence)

False Dichotomy by heartslogos

Red Hood calls Red Robin's bandoliers "super convenient idiot handles". (One shot)

don't take you guns to town by kreestar

batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne. (One shot, angst)

Stubborn by audreycritter

When your butler mom calls and says, "Go check on your brother," you don't argue. You just do it. (Multi, sickfic)

I'm Just Fine by girlgeekjf

After rescuing a group of kidnapped children, Tim reflects on what he could’ve done better. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Christmas Miracle by Mithen

Damian and Dick go undercover to bust a child-kidnapping ring whose members dress up as Santa Claus. (One shot, funny)

Confidence Lost by C_R_Scott

Everything about Neal Caffrey’s past prior to his 18th birthday is a mystery, even to him. However, when someone unexpectedly recognizes him by a name that he has never used as an alias before, he learns that the biggest con of his life is literally his life. (or, tim is neal caffrey from white collar) (multi, crossover)

Exit Wounds by incogneat_oh

Did you hear this one? A vigilante walks into a warehouse and kills the joker. (One shot, angst)

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

Five times Jason saved his siblings, and one time they saved him. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Normally People Pass Out After by WriterfromGotham

Tim donates blood. (One shot, angst and fluff)

In Living Memory by DangerBeckett

Jason remembers why he stays out of other people's business. (One shot, angst)

Set My Mind To Wandering by Tabithian

Tim goes on a vacation. (One shot series, angst)

A Little Bit of Sunshine, A Little Bit of Rain by ohwhatevrewhatevr

For once, Tim is happy with his life. (One shot, fluff?)

American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Tim hires a ninja intern. Jason becomes concerned. (One shot, funny)

The Wrong Boy is Breathing by heartslogos

Tim visits Jason's grave all the time. (One shot, angst)

Jason Todd: The Not-So-Outlaw by GoAwayOlivia

Jason Todd isn't what Batman made him, he isn't what the Joker made him, he isn't what the League of Assassins made him, and he isn't what the Lazarus Pit made him. He's his own person and he's taking himself back, one home renovation at a time. Also he might just make friends with the people who are supposed to be his brothers while he's at it. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

The Art of Conversation by glassgoblin

Robin needs to talk to a friend, but everyone is a little busy. (One shot, angst)

Road Rage Robin by heartslogos

"I’d be doing humanity a favor.” Tim grinds out, “And I would get away with it. I could totally get away with it. I’ve done worse.“ (One shot, funny)

How to be a male Batgirl by Blackjay27

There are many ways to help Batman and Robin, but no matter which universe he's in, Tim's method will always end with him in a costume on Gotham's rooftops. (Multi, canon divergence)

I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus by pupeez4eva

It’s Christmas time, and Damian is on a mission - to stop this ‘Santa Claus’ fellow from molesting his older brother. (Multi, funny) (this fic is so funny it made me cackle out loud)

Favourite Strangers by SpiritsFlame

It's been six months since Bruce's actions led to the death of Superman. (One shot, crossover with the movies?)

show me yesterday, for i can't find today by indent

Then: The year is 2013. Jason Todd is alive, fourteen years old, and about to follow Sheila Haywood, his birth mother, into the hands of the Joker. All he wants is to save her life.

Now: The year is 2018. Jason Todd was dead. But now he's a nineteen year old vigilante about to take down the latest C-Lister rogue. Unfortunately for him, its a rogue that specialises in time-travel technology. And what starts as an easy takedown...ends as a time travelling phenomenon.

The two Jasons swap places. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Retrograde Motion by Lysical

All Jason wanted was a case that was simple, clean, and far away from the latest mess in Gotham. Magic wasn't the Outlaws' area of expertise, but they soon found themselves investigating a dark wizard with a penchant for organ harvesting.

When an accident on the case leaves Jason as a clueless seven year old with a memory that's spotty at best, what else can his team do but go to his family for help? (Multi, hurt/comfort?)

anglerfish by envysparkler

Robin was having a horrible night even before the Red Hood showed up. (One shot, angst)

Tso'ape Mumbichi by keeptogethernow

Tim is Talon. (Multi, AU)

Kodokuno Shoujo (A Lonely Girl) by C_R_Scott

A tale of two Robins wrapped up in an Asian-style horror story. Tim Drake goes to Japan for business, both for Wayne Enterprises and Batman Incorporated. However, when he returns to Gotham City, it's Damian Wayne who discovers he brought along more from his trip overseas than just his luggage and mission report. (Multi, horror)

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Help by Loxare

Jason never went to Gotham after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit. Instead, he went to Bludhaven to begin his reign of terror. (Or Jason adopts all the children of Bludhaven.) (Multi, fluff)

Lean on me by Musingsofthesky

Tim just wants to hang out with Bruce. Too bad his cold has other plans. (One shot, sickfic)

The Ol' Switcheroo by AutumnHobbit

Damian takes a bullet for Tim. (One shot, angst)

Meant to be by protagonistically

Tim takes a bullet for Bruce. (One shot, angst)

Juneberries by MichaBerry

When Tim is taken, Damian has to come to terms with his own insecurities, and how he really feels towards his older 'brother'. When he does, it might be too late. (Multi, angst)

though the sun continues to stand by metropolisjournal (TKodami)

Tim in the movie universe. (Multi, angst)

The Time We've Got by DawnsEternalLight

While on an emergency Redbull run, Tim tries to talk to his adopted father. (One shot, fluff)

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scrollonso · 28 days

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First Kiss (Race 3)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.5k words, angst, hurt/comfort) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I was worried I wouldn't have motivation to write this but i got it done in one sitting LMAO}

last part - masterlist - next part

Thankfully Mark listened and stayed far away from him while the drivers were getting interviewed, leaving the rookie to just have to answer a few questions from smaller journalists.

It was nice to not be swarmed and just asked questions about his dad but he did wish he could've spoken to Fernando again before quali, seeing how much fun he seemed to be having with Mark.

Quali was decent, he got 7th so it wasn't anything spectacular but it was in the points. All he had to do was keep his spot or better and he'd count it as a good race

Before he could even reach Nico's side of the garage he heard a voice call him, though it wasn't the one he expected

"Alright, Stroll, you're the only one left" Mark announced, earning a groan fron the younger

"Mark please" He begged, not entirely serious but also not wanting to get interviewed anymore

"Fernando will but you dinner if you let me interview you" Lance wasn't one to turn down free dinner.

"What am I doing?" Fernando asked, finally reaching the garage

"Sure" Lance laughed, neither him nor Mark answering Fernandos question as the three of them left the paddock

By the time they reached a restaraunt Fernando had pieced together what exactly he was doing but he didn't really mind, the three of them had paid about the same amount while going around Australia together so it wouldn't kill him to treat the two to a little dinner.

They got seated not long after entering, Fernando and Mark in chairs while Lance sat across from them in the booth

"So, Lance. You ready for your interview?" Mark asked, having no plans on really interviewing him

"Shh," He said, bringing his finger to his lips "After Nando pays" Lance laughed, hoping Mark wasn't serious because the last thing he wanted to do after his second favourite part of the day, eating dinner (talking to Nando is first), is be interviewed.

Last nights dinner went well, Lance liked having friends, Karting had kept him from having too many growing up so having friends in F1 was a nice feeling, it gave him something to look forward to outside of the car.

Today was race day and all Lance wanted was to keep himself in the points.

He walked out of his drivers room, race suit tied around his waist (he couldn't be bothered to keep pulling it up), as usual Fernando somehow managed to completely ditch his garage and get away with it just to wish him good luck.

"Lancito, good luck today, let's see if we can get you on that podium, eh?" He smiled at him, elbowing him slightly

Lance loved seeing Fernando away from Media, he was completely different when the cameras were off, by this time in the season Lance had read the articles, seen the blogs, watched the interviews, people were convinced Fernando was some mean winning machine, he was a winning machine, yes, but the last thing he was was mean (at least to Lance.)

"Thank you, Nando, but don't be too hurt when I beat you" He flashed Fernando a cheeky grin, he wanted to beat him of course, all racers want to win, but a part of him knew that wouldn't happen

The cars all lined up and then started the formation lap, as it ended someone had already spun. Lance knew this was gonna be a hectic Grand Prix and it hadn't even started yet.

Lance stared anxiously at the lights ahead of him then everyone took off, the Australian Grand Prix had begun.

Nico was involved in a minor collision on the first lap with two other drivers, causing him to lose his rear wing, Lance was told over the radio that he was fine so he wasn't too worried, the two had gotten used to not finishing by now.

The safety car was deployed then recalled in two laps but then a driver crashed and it was deployed again. Lance was annoyed, why even bother to take it out if it was just gonna be out not even ten laps later.

They got about 20 laps in when cars started to pit and to Lance's surprise he took the lead, he was leading a Grand Prix, he heard instructions over his radio to take care of his tyres, with better cars coming back out with fresh ones he had to defend like his life depended on it.

He wasn't surprised when Fernando took back the lead, he wasnt sure why but he wasn't exactly mad about it either. He managed to build up a decent gap ahead of the driver behind him and asked if he should pit, he was advised not to so he stayed out.

On lap 32 there was another safety car, he took the chance to finally pit, getting into the pit lane first, the race starting behind the safety car again with him just behind Fernando, for the first time he had a chance to be on the podium with him, he was overjoyed at the idea, if his first podium was with Fernando he was sure it would he a memorable one.

On lap 35 the safety car was recalled but literally one lap later it was out again, they might as well have a safety car out all race at this point.

Two more cars retired after the last safety car was recalled and Lance made it to the final lap, he had managed to stay in 2nd for the past 34 laps, it was insane to him, his engineer tried not to say too much but it was obvious how excited he was for him, and now all he had to do was finish.

He had four corners left, then three, then two... then his engine blew. The car right behind him had been covered in oil and the safest thing to do was pull off the track, ten meters away from his first podium.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry, I was almost there, I'm so sorry, I'll try harder in San Marino-" He kept apologizing, wondering if he had made the right choice, wondering if the team would be mad at him

"Lance, It's okay, you're the driver, right? Do what you feel is best, if this is what's best then it's fine." His engineer consoled him, the canadian having a hard time not crying

He finally reached the garage, taking off his helment and his balaclava, his eyes red as he talked to his engineer at the back of his side of the garage, not noticing as the tears began to fall

"Fuck, Brad- I'm so sorry, I feel like i fucked up. I could've kept going, I should've, I almost got us a podium, I was so close." He gasped as he spoke, the Canadian distraught as he thought about his team being mad at him, what if he lost his seat because of this? The media already doesnt like him what would they say now? Was Brad lying about not caring?

"Lance, Lance it's okay, no one is mad at you for keeping yourself safe" He promised, speaking to the boy as if he was a child, which wasn't too far off

Lance couldn't respond, all he could do was cover his face, embarrassed at the reality of him sobbing after a DNF, he didn't care the other times.

Lance got himself together before Fernando came looking for him, not saying a word before dragging the rookie out of his garage

"Nando-" He started, Fernando moving them behind the Racing Point garage "Fernando what-"

Then he hugged him, without saying a word he just hugged him, arms tightly wrapped around the rookie as he sunk into his arms, unable to stop himself from crying again

"Fuck, Nando" He choked out "I feel so stupid"

"Shh, is okay, Lancito" He spoke softly, hand stroking the taller mans hair but at that moment the thing he felt was big. He was embarrassed, trying not to cringe at the reality of him crying in another mans arms but all that mattered was he felt safe in them "You did well, am so proud"

Lance hummed, sniffling as he kept his head in the crook of Fernandos neck "I'm sorry, Nando," He practically whispered "I wanted to be up there with you"

Fernando knew that, he was upset to hear Lance was no longer behind him, all he wanted was to celebrate with him, he was looking forward to it for the whole race and now he's stood there with the younger man a complete mess in his arms, he hoped San Marino would treat him better.

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xo-bug-ox · 10 months

Note

Cuddling with Brian Johnson, please? 💕

Of course my love! Thank you for the request!! Sorry it took so long and is so short my love! <3

Sorry for the mess

Brian Johnson x Reader

Warnings: none that I’m aware of!!!

Your bag hit the floor of Brian’s room sitting next to his own one as the two of you slipped off your shoes. Brian fussed with the sheets on his bed attempting to flatten them a little before sitting on it looking up at you, “you can sit y’know” he said awkwardly shuffling along to leave you space. You nodded gently taking a seat on his bed alongside him. Brian’s eyes flickered across the room looking out for…something. You weren’t sure what.

“Sorry, mind the mess I know it’s a state in here right now” he laughed awkwardly. You looked around confusion. “What mess?” You laugh gently. Brian looked towards you before pointing to a small basket of clothes on the floor, you laugh at him playfully hitting his arm “oh Brian that’s not mess! Just an undone chore” you giggle out. His face flushes as you laugh.

The night went on and you found yourself tangled up in Brian’s arms head resting on his chest listening to his heartbeat as you lay there. “Are you comfortable?” He asked every now and then just making sure he’s not holding you to tight. You laughed replying with a “Yes” every time. “I love you Brian” you mumble tiredly. His heartbeat sped up, cute. “I love you too” he whispered

#WELCOME BACK TO ME #welcome back to me screaming #screaming crying throwing things #fluff #x reader #asks #fluffy #the breakfast club x reader #the breakfast club #brian johnson x reader #brian johnson #is this the end of my break? maybe idk #wow first fic I’ve posted in awhile now #i’m back #i love writing fanfic #screaming

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nightdrawz · 4 months

Note

Not sure if you read fanfiction, but there is also a fanfic on ao3 called Endearing that is Blue/Yellow. Its very cute, and if you end up liking it, then the author has 2 more Blue/Yellow ones posted on their account. I'd love to see your interpretation of any of the scenes in the fics. ⭐ https://archiveofourown.org/works/49479862 <- link to the fic

“Would it be wrong to say endearing?”

This is the only old art request i kept because i couldn’t get myself delete it (T_T)

I love it too much

Actually read the fanfic before they requested

And the other 2 fanfics ofc

#i had 2 sketches back when they first requested but never finished them so now they’re just rotting in my gallery #sadly only one small scene #actually wanted to add their human design into it but struggled bc I didn’t had any designs for them so i gave up #oh lookie its donnies fic #inlove with ur fics mwua #idk why but blues shading is kinda muddy :L #yellow x blue #donnietheterrapin #alan becker #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft #ava fanart #avm fanart #fanfic #art #artists on tumblr #my art #nightdrawz #art requests

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 1 year

Text

#tumblr polls #tumblr poll #polls #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #ffn.net #wattpad #livejournal #i know this must've been done already but idk what else to do for my first poll rip

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itsamenickname · 9 months

Text

Attention all Bowuigi fans and supporters! I come to you with a wholesome Bowuigi idea:

Luigi eavesdrops on a conversation between Bowser and Kamek and/or Kammy, but instead of Bowser talking shit about him, Luigi discovers that the one and only Koopa King is actually talking about how much he loves Luigi and how he thanks Grambi and the Star Spirits every day that someone as sweet and innocent as Luigi wants to date a fearsome and selfish monster like him.

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podiumsitter · 2 years

Text

best friend privilege 🏁 gr

summary; george takes you to as many races as he can, because you're his best friend. but that's not the only privilege you have.

warnings; so filthy i'm sorry. pining, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, kinda praise kink, slooow burn,cocky george obviously, will probably have a part two i think

word count; 5926

You’ve been George’s best friend for a few years new, having met before he even got his seat at Williams. You were friends through it all—supporting him through the harder years, and celebrating with him when he won the F2 championship, when he got his first points for his team, and when he finally signed his contract to drive for Mercedes like you knew he deserved.

There was never any doubt in your mind that you and George would be best friends for as long as you two were on this earth, if you were being dramatic about it, and you had no doubt that George felt the same about your relationship.

You were friends, best friends, it has always been that way.

However, ever since he joined the top team, something changed about him. He was more serious, more determined than you’ve ever seen him (even more so than before his qualifying session in Spa) and that changed something in you, too.

His blue eyes were always filled with a fire, a hunger—one you were so so used to seeing, but now, that fire was burning against your skin every time he looked at you.

Perhaps, you had some sort of feelings for your best friend.

And that was absolutely fine, because feelings come and go—but you knew your friendship with George was forever. So this was just something that was going to pass, it was just because of how close you two were, it was just that stupid black suit.

It must’ve been—because you noticed something similar moving in your stomach that night in Sakhir. That black suit had powers, ‘sall.

And if anything, it was definitely only physical, considering you only noticed a longing for him when you were at the races with him. On those weekend when you couldn’t travel out with him, you felt normal things people feel for their friends; pride, joy, happiness, as you watched him on the podium, or sometimes disappointment when his weekend wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. And then he’d call you after, and the pair of you would discuss the race and his weekend and then your weekend and it was all normal.

It was just that suit—you swore—as you walked next to him all day on the Friday. You were in Barcelona, so the weather was intensely warm, and George pushed that black suit to his hips, as low as it could possibly go, and strutted to the media pen.

You were talking about something unimportant, George asked you to find out the details of your mutual friends’ birthday party, and you told him what your friends had planned, and he was trying to remember if he was free to join, and you were so not listening as he sucked on that stupidly long straw of his.

“Water is important,” you said when the conversation stopped midway as George drank half his bottle in one go.

“It’s so fucking hot,” he complained. As if on cue, his trainer appeared beside him with a towel. George wiped the sweat off his forehead as the four of you arrived to the media pen. His trainer handed him another bottle, and his press officer was telling him something and you were just standing there and, frankly, admiring the view.

“Can I take these fireproofs off?” He groaned, as he tried pulling them away from his skin—but they were clinging onto him for dear life. You remembered a race last year, god knows where in the world you were, with similar weather to today. His white fireproofs were so tight you could see the outline of his stomach and--

“You can’t do the interviews shirtless, George,” his press officer rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure people would love that, though,” he smirked down at her.

“I’m sure they will,” she indulged him with a roll of her eyes, “but you’re on national television.”

“We’ll keep that for the late night shows, then?” He asked with a glint in his eyes.

“George,” she chuckled, shoving him slightly.

George was such a fucking flirt.

“Can you talk some sense into him?” She turned to you with a sigh, the same way she did almost every weekend you were around.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you shrugged. “I think it’s best to wait for a shower before you take anything off,” was the best you could come up with. In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind it if George needed to rid himself from some layers. Who would blame him in this heat?

“Shower!” George said, snapping his fingers and pointing at you as if you came up with the best idea he’s heard all day.

George turned to his trainer, grabbing the second bottle from him, and pouring half of it on his head. He took his towel, drying himself up, and running it over his short hair. Suddenly, you had an urge to tug on those locks, wanting to see them get that messy from your pulling as his face sat in between your---

“Right,” his press officer said, “now that you’ve cooled down, let’s go.”

George nodded, making sure he didn’t look too unpresentable and took his hat from his trainer, placing it neatly on his head as is expected of him.

“We’ll be about an hour,” she turned to you.

“I’ll be in your driver’s room?” You offered.

“Yeah, figure out where you want us to eat tonight,” George said, offering you a thumbs up before walking over to the nearest unoccupied microphone.

You easily made your way back to the Mercedes hospitality, the layout of the paddock staying more or less the same regardless of where you were in the world. It was easy enough to remember, considering it was the first one in the long row of buildings—definitely an upgrade from the thirty minutes it took you to get from the centre of activities back to the Williams hospitality every weekend in the last three years.

Once back inside, you grabbed a can of Monster from the mini fridge at the front and made your way into George’s room.

You settled down, scrolling through your phone and relaxing under the breeze of the AC in George’s room. Once you finished your drink, and you checked your social media, you let your mind wander to where it was a few minutes ago. Where it always went when you spent time with George.

The pair of you doing things that friends don’t usually do with each other. Him using that cocky tone with you, him using his mouth on you, his fingers.

As you let your imagination linger on the way his lips sucked on his straw, you pushed your Mercedes shirt (the one with 63 on the back) up enough for you to have access to your tits. You rolled your nipple in between your fingers, the coolness in the room helping the sensations you were feeling, as you imagined your best friend’s fingers working on you instead.

His lips working on you, wrapping around your nipples as you tug on his short brown locks. How his stubble would feel against your abdomen.

His blue eyes looking up at you as he slid down your body and onto his knees.

You brought your free hand into your skirt, gasping at how definitely wet you were from your imagination alone. And well, maybe it helped that you were sitting on the sofa in his driver’s room that always smelled so strongly of his shampoo.

Your fingers rubbed against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your thighs. You wondered to yourself, as you did many times before, just how cocky George would get when he had you gasping above him. He’d smirk at you constantly, wouldn’t he? And he probably loves hearing how good he is, he probably lets out that little chuckle of his every time you ask for more.

You sped up your fingers, pinching at your nipples as you tried to imagine just how big he was—if that’s what made him so unbearable cocky, so attractively cocky.

You could feel it building up and you went faster, urging yourself (or rather, the imaginary George in your head) to keep going, that you were so close, that please baby, that--

“He’s such a fucking prick sometimes, I swear to god!”

You jumped up, noticing the very real George in front of you and the stunned look on his face.

Holy fuck.

“Who, um, who’s a prick?” You asked quickly, tugging your shirt down and covering yourself up.

George took a moment, or maybe six, to look over you—to confirm he saw what he thinks he just saw. Although your heart was beating incredibly quick, and you could feel the blood rushing to your toes, and you made a very strong point of keeping your legs shut, you weren’t shy under his gaze.

He seemed like he was almost, unbothered at all, but what he saw.

“Will Buxton,” he answered finally. He took the hat off his head, ran a hand through his hair with a huff, and kept talking, “he was going on and on about how happy I must be to be beating Lewis.”

“Well, we both know what he was trying to get you to say,” you offered, and neither of you acknowledged the water George offered you, a very knowing look accompanying his actions.

You took a very large sip as you listened on to what George had to say, and the promise he made to one day mount Will’s head above his fireplace.

“Anyway,” George sighed as he plopped himself on the sofa next to you, “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place that looks nice about twenty minutes from here,” George nodded, “I reckon the traffic is more or less done at this point.”

“Yeah,” George nodded. “Are you gonna change first?”

You swallowed, thinking maybe now was finally the time he’ll talk about what he saw when he walked in and how you were so very clearly touching yourself and how your tits were just out but he just said, “You know I love that shirt on you but it makes us stand out.”

“Bro, I think the Formula One driver is what makes us stand out,” you retorted, grabbing one of the grey pillows beside you and throwing it at his chest.

George caught it with ease, chuckling at you as he flashed you that beautiful smile of his.

“I wanna wear my Georgie merch,” you pouted at him.

“Yeah, um, alright,” he stuttered slightly, before getting up and grabbing a change of clothes. “Shower and we’ll go.”

The dinner was no different than any other dinner you shared with George. Neither of you mentioned what George walked in on and by the time the race on Sunday was over all the pair of you could talk about was George’s phenomenal battle with the reigning world champion.

“Fuck, that felt so good,” he smiled in conclusion, and you reciprocated that smile as he rewatched the race highlights a few hours later. If you saved that soundbite for later that evening, that was between you and your trusted toy.

Canada was too long of a flight, and you only had two days off work that week anyway, and so you decided not to join George for that weekend. That didn’t stop the pair of you from texting each other through the day like you always did, and concluding your night with a FaceTime call. George was frustrating in the sense that whenever he called you before bed he was already shirtless under the covers.

And how the fuck were you supposed to deal with that like a normal person who was definitely not attracted to their best friend?

“So, Mr. Consistency,” you greeted him, trying your hardest to focus on his face or even your face and definitely not the dark curve of his pecs. “P4.”

“Got beat by my teammate though,” George shook his head, that determination you loved so much about him shining through your screen.

“This time, but it’s a close fight babes,” you assured him.

“I know,” he sighed, “just wanted another podium.”

“You’ll get that.”

“If we’re talking about things I want,” George said, licking his lips slowly. Your heart (and your pussy) skipped a beat, “I want that fucking win already.”

You chuckled, hoping your desire wasn’t written all over your face in capital letter.

“You’ll get that too, Georgie.”

George shifted slightly, his hand disappearing from behind his head to somewhere you couldn’t see as he coughed slightly.

“How was your day, though?”

And then the pair of you talked about your boss’ new obsession with performance reports and the new coffee place that opened up by your house and the conversation went on and on and on until you were starting to dose off.

“I think I need to sleep now, babe,” you mumbled, your phone tucked in front of you as you snuggled on your side. George smiled at you.

“Good night, beautiful,” he said, and that’s the last thing you remembered.

Silverstone wasn’t a good weekend. Seeing his teammate on the podium again when it could’ve been him broke George’s heart, and it upset him even more to be unable to even finish the first lap of his home race. Finally he had a chance to do something incredible on British soil, and that chance was taken away from him. It’s been a while since you last saw George crying, and it was your job (and honour) to rub his shoulders as he let his sobs out.

You listened to him ranting about how stupid the FIA is and how scared he was to see what happened and how Toto didn’t even have his back and all you could do was nod and listen.

“There’s next year,” you tried, and George knew that already. All he did was just shake his head.

“Is there something we can do to get your mind off it?”

George’s eyes gaped at you, taking in what you just said. You didn’t think too much of it, really, as you said it but then you realised how close the pair of you were. Your thighs were pressed against each others, and your hand around his shoulder was pulling him nearer to you, and you could see the little stubble on his cheek.

For a moment, you thought you saw George’s blue eyes flick towards your lips.

“How do you mean?” He all but whispered.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy. You brought your free hand over his bicep, squeezing him. “Whatever you need to put today behind you, Georgie.”

George exhaled slowly, eyes focused on you, his breath hitting your skin. You felt warmth spread through your stomach.

“You’ll do whatever I need?” George tried to confirm, and this time you were sure George was looking at your lips. You hoped they didn’t look too dry—you licked them just to check.

You noticed his jaw got tighter for a moment.

You wanted to say something, to tell him that he could ask for anything and you’d give him that—but you didn’t know how to say it, and the more you considered it the warmer your stomach got and you were scared you might actually just stutter and it wouldn’t come out as cool as you thought it would and what were you even going to say that wouldn’t be extremely inappropriate in the very real chance that he didn’t think about you that way at all and what if you just leaned in and kissed him and--

“George!” A knock came from behind the door, pulling the pair of you away from each other. “It’s Seb!”

And then the pair had to go have a lengthy chat about the events of today, as the two heads of the GPDA, and George only came back three hours later. By that point, he had concluded watching a movie would make him forget about today.

You weren’t sure why you thought it would be anything else.

Austria was another weekend to forget, and although still scoring a top five finish—George was outraged. He was so upset he didn’t even want to say anything, repeating the mantra that at least it was good points for the team.

“You don’t have to say the media shit with me, babes,” you tried, but George just shook his head and said it again.

“Let me shower and then we can go check out that club you spotted?” You offered, thinking maybe a dance and some drinks will put him in a better mood. George nodded.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to the club alone,” you joked as you rummaged through your suitcase for something a little nicer than the baby blue shirt George gave you in Silverstone. It was a very nice shirt, the 63 on it your favourite part, but maybe it wasn’t exactly right for a night out.

“I meant in the shower,” George said, his jaw tightening for a moment.

“What?”

Silence took over the room as the pair of you just looked at each other—George’s eyes turned grey. He licked over his lips once, his teeth catching his lower lip for a moment and you could’ve sworn he looked you up and down. You’ve seen George give people this look before, but you were never on the receiving end of it.

Now—you realised that was a good thing, because seeing that look on your best friend’s face had rendered you speechless.

“I, um,” you helpfully said, after approximately twenty minutes. Seconds. One of the two.

George flashed that smile of his, then chuckled. It was empty.

“See you in a bit,” he said, walking away with his head down. You’ve never seen George look… insecure before.

That was different.

You met up with a few other drivers there, and the music was just alright, and so a bit after midnight you decided you were tired and wanted to go back to the hotel. George put his drink down in an instant and grabbed your hand, taking you outside to find a taxi.

“So,” he started, hands tucked into his pocket, “did you find anyone nice in there?”

You were a few shots in, and if you weren’t so concerned about the chance of losing George, you would’ve told him there’s no one you want other than him. You would’ve told him it’s his face you see as you touch yourself at night, you would’ve told him you’d do anything to be able to kiss him and suck him off and ride him.

But you weren’t drunk enough to say anything like that. Instead, “wasn’t looking for that tonight. Just wanted a dance. What about you, racing driver?”

George chuckled, his eyes finding a spot way above your head as his smile took over his face.

“No one I could have really,” he shrugged.

“You? Striking out?” You fake gasped at him, adding a hand to your chest for dramatic effect.

“I didn’t even try,” he confessed.

“What?” You grabbed his arm, shaking him slightly. “Since when do you chicken out?”

“What does that mean?” He asked, eyes gleaming, as you drunkly swayed next to him—his bicep acting as a form of anchor for your body.

“I’ve never met anyone as confident as you are, Georgie, it’s truly inspiring.”

He shook his head, the smile still stuck to his face. “Well, it’s a bit more complex.”

“Oooooh,” you let out loudly. “Tea?”

“Stop,” he laughed, rolling his eyes at you.

“Come on,” you gasped, “you’re not gonna tell your bestie all about it?”

“I will when you’re not this hammered,” he said, bringing a hand around your shoulder. You let him pull you into his chest, finding warmth in his body as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I think you could get anyone you wanted,” you said, rubbing your hands up his back, “you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks,” he said, lightly pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Plus you’re fit as fuck,” you said, speaking in the lower voice you used when you were mocking George and your other male friends.

“You’re fit as fuck, too,” he laughed, and escorted you into the taxi that had finally arrived.

France was good. France was really really good. Not only did George take his first pole position in F1, but he managed to convert it into a win—and the pair of you were out celebrating all night.

George hugged you first as he got out of the car and he gave you the comically large champagne bottle for safe keeping and he wouldn’t keep his arm off your shoulder as the four of you (press officer and trainer included) walked throughout the paddock so George could speak to absolutely everyone that wanted to hear from the new race winner.

The smile just wouldn’t leave his beautiful face all night, and honestly, you weren’t complaining. You’d pay good money to see that smile so vividly on his face—and you were lucky enough to be in pole position of that sight.

You even got a new lockscreen out of it; George’s arm around you as you held the champagne and he held the gorilla trophy, his pirelli hat soaked through from the podium showers.

It was the prettiest picture you’ve had of George, and the fact you looked oddly like a couple in it didn’t go unnoticed by your mutual friends.

But they didn’t comment on it to your face.

You weren’t able to attend another race after that, but George promised you it was alright. It was the summer break soon anyway—and he had planned to spend as much of it as he could with you and your friendship group.

You couldn’t take any time off until Amsterdam, and George was always understanding of that, so you made the most of the time he got to spend back in the UK. Nights out and picnics and beach days and sight seeing and anything the group of you wanted to do, and it was so refreshing to have George there with you guys.

It was three days before he was meant to fly out to Spa and one of your friends was having a house party at theirs.

There was beer pong and shots and Spotify’s Top 40 playing in the living room. Naturally, you and George teamed up together to become unbeatable at beer pong—although truly, it was mostly George that did the work. You just drank if someone scored into your cups.

The night went on and on and at one point a few of you went to sit on the huge trampoline in your friend’s garden.

Without thinking, you rested your head on George’s lap. His fingers found your hair in an instance.

“So George,” one of your friends prompted, “you’re gonna win another one this year?”

“Damn hope so,” he said, and even though you couldn’t see his face you knew his eyebrows jumped up at that.

“You better,” they offered back.

“Wait until Zandvoort though because I don’t wanna miss it,” you said. George soothingly rubbed circles into your scalp.

“You should come to all my races, I could win any of them,” he said. There’s a reason he’s called Mr. Consistency, you thought to yourself.

“Sadly, I have bills to pay, sir,” you huffed.

“If George makes you his trophy wife you’ll be sorted,” your friend pointed out. The fingers in your hair stopped moving.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you managed to say.

The conversation shifted when one of your friends came from inside the house to beg for a teammate in another round of beer pong, and the talks of a trophy wife were forgotten. But you very much noticed how stiff George became after that.

A few weeks (and one Monza podium) later, you were back with George. Maybe all your friends noticed you were attending a lot more races than you did last year—and a lot more than all of them combined. Most of your friends came to Monaco and Silverstone, and sometimes Abu Dhabi. But you already had half a dozen under your belt.

You weren’t complaining though, you loved going to the tracks, and your best friend wanted you there—so what was wrong with it?

You thought maybe you should encourage George to invite a few of your other friends out as often, too.

“Yeah, but your my best friend,” George pointed out once you brought up the subject. “I don’t want a bunch of people around me all weekend.”

“I’m around you all weekend,” you said.

“I want you around me all weekend.” And maybe you didn’t quite hear the end of that sentence, as a blush took over your face.

“But if you don’t want to come so much that’s fine, I know it’s exhausting to travel and you’re using all your time off work to be here--”

“—don’t be ridiculous, Russell,” you threw a hand around.

“Last naming me?” He gasped at you.

“That’s how ridiculous you’re being,” you said, and George accepted that with a meaningful nod.

At that, you got back to your phone, and so did George, and the pair of you sat on the sofa in his hotel room as you spent your Friday night relaxing before George’s big day tomorrow.

You perched your legs on his lap, and at one point or another George moved closer to you so his large hand rested on your thigh.

If he drew circles on your leggings, inching up and down your thigh, you definitely weren’t going to tell him to stop.

“Y/N,” he said, bringing your eyes away from the never ending scroll you were putting yourself through, “can I ask something?”

“Sure,” you locked your phone, bringing your attention over to your best friend.

“Remember Barcelona?”

You nodded slowly.

“Those moves on Max?” You tried confirming, thinking back to that weekend and not remembering much else of note.

“What happened in my driver’s room,” he corrected you. The hand on your thigh had stopped moving, George tucking it in between your legs like he usually did when his hands were cold.

It wasn’t cold in September.

As soon as George said it, you remembered exactly what happened. You must’ve blocked it out of your mind but now it was coming back to you in it’s full glory—reminding you of the terrifying moment your half naked body just sat there as George looked at you.

Why was he bringing this up?

“Um, George, I,”

“I’m sorry I interrupted you that day,” he said, looking at the hand tucked between your legs.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you chuckled lightly, “it would’ve been weird if I kept going, I think.”

“Would it?” George finally turned to look at you, his eyes showing you that same beautiful fire they had before George got in a car on a Saturday. Maybe it was just starting early this week.

“I was in your room, it’s not like I should’ve done that there…” you trailed off.

“I didn’t mind,” he said simply, “I don’t mind.”

“Sorry?”

“If you wanted to do that again in my room, you can,” he licked his lips. You realised his hand wasn’t as close to your knees as it was last time you checked. It sat much higher now.

“We’re in your room now,” you pointed out, your voice catching in your throat lightly.

“We are,” George agreed.

You locked eyes, his stare burning into you as he raised his eyebrows lightly. As if to ask if he can push you any more. You nodded.

George moved his hand down your inner thigh and grabbed it, pulling your leg upwards and disconnecting your thighs from each other. You wondered if there was a visible wet patch—but your leggings were black. You could feel the wetness either way.

“It was a really interesting sight, you know,” George said, watching as you slowly spread your legs in front of him, “you touching yourself in a Mercedes shirt.”

“Can’t recreate it for you,” you smiled apologetically at him, shrugging at your blue tank top.

Before you could even predict his next move, George pulled his own Mercedes shirt off and handed it to you.

You felt your breath hitch.

You nodded slightly, grabbing the shirt from him as you ripped off your tank top.

George was staring, his eyes raking over your skin like a lion after its prey.

It made you feel powerful, and his heavy gaze on your blue bra gave you the courage to reach behind your back and drop the bra to his floor.

“Fuck,” he let out as he looked at your exposed chest.

A twitch in his hand made it seem like he wanted to reach forward and grab your tits, but something stopped him from doing so—and all he did was watch as you pulled his shirt over your head, your nipples poking out against the white material.

“What now?” You asked him, as if to give him a way out of this. But George didn’t want one, and instead he smirked at you in that cocky way of his.

“Touch yourself.”

You never thought you’d hear George say those words, let alone to you, and so how could you deny him that request?

You brought one hand to your chest, glad you freed yourself from the constrict of your bra, and swirled your nipple in between your fingers. Your mouth hung open as you tried to control your breathing—the pleasure already running up and down your body.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” George suggested, leaning back as he took in the sight in front of him, “it’s not like you aren’t allowed to touch.”

As soon as he said those words, you let a moan escape your lips. Maybe it was the words themselves, the implications behind them, or his stupid cocky tone, but it turned you on even more.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out, and George’s eyes sparkled at that reaction.

You scrunched the shirt up, getting a whiff of George’s perfume, and brought both your hands to your chest—the fabric no longer in the way as you pinched and twisted and pulled.

“There you go,” George encouraged, “make sure it feels good.”

“It feels really good, George,” you sighed, gasping as you pulled harder on your nipples.

“Do you wanna touch anywhere else?” He asked, looking you up and down with a glimmer of a lust on his features. It almost felt like he wanted to devour you.

You wanted that, too.

“Yeah,” you gasped.

“Where do you wanna touch, baby?”

“Wanna, fuck, wanna touch my pussy,” you said, your eyes glazing over slightly as you couldn’t quite comprehend you just said that word to George.

“You wanna touch your pussy?” He confirmed. You nodded desperately at him. “Was that what you were doing in my room?”

“Yes,”

“You were touching yourself when you knew I could walk in, huh?”

You knew where this was going now, and you knew how insufferably cocky he was going to get in two seconds, but you didn’t fucking care. You wanted to play whatever this game was—and if it was possible, you wanted to win it.

“I wanna show you how I touch myself, Georgie,” you let out.

It almost sounded like George growled at you, and he quickly nodded his head—leaning forward to get a closer look at your hands.

You brought them down towards your clothed pussy, gasping as you realised you soaked through your underwear and leggings. You felt your face heat up.

“What is it?” George asked, seeing the surprise on your features.

“It’s really wet,” you gasped, rubbing circles on your clit.

“Show me,” George demanded. You dipped a finger inside your underwear, gasping at the contact, making sure to coat it in your wetness before you showed it off for George to see.

He bit his lip at the sight, his hand running over his hair.

“That’s fucking hot,” he praised, palming himself for a moment before he brought his attention back to you.

You kept going, using your fingers on yourself in the ways you knew would send you over the edge, and having George’s tight gaze on you only made it feel better,

You took in his features, how tight his jaw looked, the way his eyebrows scrunched in the middle slightly, the way his chest stood so beautifully in front of you—just asking to be touched and kissed and marked.

Then, you noticed the tent in his sweats.

“Touch yourself, George,” you let out quickly, wanting nothing more than to see George in the exact position he put you in.

George didn’t need to be told twice, and he quickly moved his sweats down to his thighs, a small wet patch on his boxers.

He freed himself, the sight of him fully hard making your mouth water.

“I think I have some catching up to do,” he said when he noticed your breathing got a lot heavier, and your movements much quicker.

You nodded frantically at him, barely able to say anything, as you watched his fist pumping up and down his length.

He definitely had a reason to be as cocky as he was.

The pair of you locked eyes again, each focusing on the movements of your own hands, and the sinful sights in front of you, and before long George was shutting his eyes as he moaned into the room.

That was the best sound you’ve ever heard.

“I’m close,” you said desperately.

“I’m close, too,” he nodded.

“Together?”

“Fuck, yes,”

You sped up your movements even more, the noises coming out of your mouth even more desperate than they’ve been all night, and in a matter of seconds you felt something snap within you and that fantastic curl in your toes.

It wasn’t long after that George threw his head back, a hot white pleasure taking over his face as cum shot onto his exposed stomach.

“Fucking hell, George,” you let out in a chuckle.

All you wanted to do was lean forward and clean his stomach with your tongue, but instead you reached over for a few tissues on the side table by the sofa.

“Thanks,” he cleaned himself off quickly, taking a second to catch his breath. “Can I get you something?”

“Water, please,” George quickly got up and grabbed a drink from the mini fridge, opening the bottle for you and handing it over. You could barely sit up straight, the sensitivity in your core sending tingles up and down your body.

You were almost tempted to ask George if you could go again.

But instead, the pair of you just sank back to your previous position, George shifting your legs so they were back on his lap.

“Want some food?”

And that was that.

George got on the podium that Sunday, and Max invited everyone to go out to his favourite part of Amsterdam, and what happened on Friday night was all but forgotten.

Or at least that’s how you acted. But almost every night, when you couldn’t fall asleep, you replayed the events of that day in your head—your orgasm hitting you just as strongly as the night before.

But it was never as good as when George was right there in front of you.

#george russell x reader #george russell smut #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #idk what to tag this as #is this my first smut here i think it is #gr #myfics #f1 x reader #george russell

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niningtori · 4 months

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see me | chapter one: distance

summary: after another failed relationship, you're ready to give up once and for all. your best friend's little brother, beomgyu, has other plans.

genre: angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, fluff

word count: 3k-ish idk

your eyes watered as the bitter taste of vodka seared the back of your throat, settling uncomfortably in a pool of heat churning in your stomach.

"slow down! you're gonna make yourself sick," your best friend, jia, chastises.

"let her have her fun," beomgyu, her little brother, quietly interjects before you can even finish flushing down the alcoholic aftertaste with your chaser. "she's going through a lot right now."

you nod half-heartedly while sloppily sliding your elbows onto the table, smushing your tear-stained face into your hands and sighing. jia winces at the action before relenting.

"fine. let loose tonight, but this is the last time you're getting this drunk over a piece of shit guy." maybe if she were anyone else you'd resent the harshness of her words, but even in your drunken state you register the softness in her tone.

"wait here, i'll get you some water," and with that she rises and reveals her plain outfit, sticking out like a sore thumb in the strobe neon lights of the flashy bar you're in. you're not looking any better, both of you having come here after having a seemingly normal saturday of running your respective errands and nothing more. that is, until you ended up a few blocks away from your boyfriend of 9 months' apartment and decided to pop in, only to find him absolutely drilling into his girl best friend. the one he claimed you had "nothing to worry about" because "she was just a childhood friend" and you were always so "irrationally jealous" to the point of "borderline paranoia." needless to say, you called jia while booking it to your car. which led you to where you are now: severely underdressed with makeup smudged and eyes swollen.

"are you okay?" beomgyu asks tentatively. you know he knows the answer and he's just trying to comfort you, so your gaze redirects to him and he shifts somewhat uncomfortably under your surveying eye. you and jia may look underdressed, but he certainly doesn't. he blends right in with his band tee and distressed jeans. sitting alone with him probably makes you look even more ridiculous, and though you shouldn't care, you can't help but imagine what others were most likely thinking when they saw you wiping your snot in between shots.

"i'm not," you mumble, and he relaxes a bit now that you're talking again. "i'm sorry, beomie. i'm sorry you got stuck with," you gesture to yourself, "this." and you really were. jia had been with him when you called and once he heard what happened, he insisted on tagging along and scrapping whatever plans he had for the rest of the night.

"do you want to talk about it?" he asks softly. "you don't have to if you don't want to, but i think it would make you feel better."

to that, you smile. despite the age difference, you two had grown quite close in the 8 years you had been friends with jia. In fact, in college it had become a tradition for you to accompany her to her family's once she found out you wouldn't be going home for your first thanksgiving break.

there was nothing worth going to your own home for, you had told her, so she demanded you come to her place instead. as stubborn as she was, you eventually relented after she promised her family was actually excited to meet her dorm mate and new best friend. there you met her parents and beomgyu, and from then on they had accepted you into their family so warmly it had become a given that you would always stay there for any time away from school. that is, until you met your first boyfriend. but you were hellbent on ignoring that part.

"i don't think there's that much to talk about," you sigh. he raises his eyebrows, so you continue. "i thought that maybe there was something going on between him and his best friend, but he convinced me that i was just being controlling. i felt really guilty about it so i dropped it, but i guess i shouldn't have. i just feel so fucking stupid," you choke out.

"it's not your fault. he manipulated you, of course you would want to trust him after he guilted you like that," he says while pushing your hair behind your ear as fresh tears rolled down your face. had you been sober, you might have questioned the intimacy of this, but at present all you could do was revel in it. your phone buzzes again and you immediately reject the call. he had called at least a dozen times and left twice as many text messages. at your rejection, he sends another one, and you read it aloud — more for your own comprehension than beomgyu's —missing the way his stare darkens for just a second.

"baby can we please just talk? i'm so so so sorry it was a mistake. i feel like shit for hurting you. please can you just answer so we can fix this? i love you." you dig your head in your hands before meeting beomgyu's gaze.

"are you gonna answer him?" he asks.

"i don't know, beomie. i just — i kind of feel like at this point i might have to just accept it."

"what do you mean you just have to accept it?" if he's trying to hide his disgust, he doesn't do it well.

"what i mean is that maybe there's a reason 3 out of my 4 boyfriends have cheated on me. maybe it's me? i dunno," you sigh, "i think i might just have to accept the fact that he cheated and forgive him."

"that's bullshit," beomgyu bites out. "you don't deserve any of this shit. not every guy is gonna treat you like that." you smile sadly at his insistence. what he's saying is so sweet, but you're sincerely beginning to think maybe you're cursed to have an unfaithful boyfriend.

"i really think it's just not in the cards for me. is there something so bad about me that this keeps happening to me? actually, don't answer that. i don't think i want to know."

"i'm serious," he insists. "no guy in his right mind would treat you like that."

you want to smile at that, but you physically can't.

"that's easy for you to say, beomie, but you don't exactly treat girls the nicest, either." he balks at this.

"that... that's because i—"

"here. drink this, now." jia cuts in, back with some water. you don't take note of beomgyu's crestfallen appearance.

"thanks jiji," you say with a smile.

"anything for you," she replies.

beomgyu still looks like he's trying to fish words out from the bottom of a barrel, but you leave him be. you're still thinking about your ex's texts and what they mean. he said it's his first, and only, time fucking her, but the betrayal is unbearable. you'd think that after this happened with the third boyfriend in a row, you'd be used to it, but it still feels as fresh as the first time. and this one seems to hurt even more because you really thought this one was going somewhere. he had hinted at moving in together and you were so, so ready to take the next step. so much for that, you guess.

he was 14 when he first met you. his sister had told him her new roommate was tagging along and warned him not to be too awkward around her — a pointless warning, really. at 14 he was still a stuttering mess in front of girls his age, let alone someone 4 years his senior, but he promised he'd do his best nonetheless. when his mother told him to be ready because you two were nearly there his palms were already sweating, but when you walked in, face tired from the long drive but eyes remaining bright, his mind went into full panic-mode and his throat went dry. "hi, beomgyu. it's nice to meet you," you said with the softest of smiles and his heart stuttered with every syllable.

your first night at the choi's was fun; jia's family was determined to make you feel welcome and you spent most of the night laughing and learning more about your new friend. after dinner, mr. choi busted out the boardgames and when you saw just how seriously they all took it, you realized where jia got her competitiveness from. she made a particularly callous move in monopoly, earning complaints from her parents and you had to stifle a giggle as the previously silent beomgyu pouted with a "jiaaaa, how could you do this to me?!?" he quickly came out of his shell after that, and needless to say, you were a little shocked at just how loud the boy could be.

as much fun as you had, you were a little emotionally fatigued after such an eventful night. you had never known families could get along as well as jia's did, and in between smiles and questions about yourself, you couldn't stop your heart from aching just a little. how nice would it be if you had a home like this to come back to? how did it feel to have a family who was truly interested in how you're feeling?

as everyone headed to bed, jia noticed your uneasiness and asked if you wanted to talk about it, but you declined. you could tell she was tired and you didn't want to worry her. in a rare moment of vulnerability, she thanked you for coming and told you her parents were so happy you were friends. you smiled as you watched her fall asleep, making sure her breathing was heavy and slow before tiptoeing out of her room, closing the door, and heading out to the back porch.

the stars looked so much brighter here, you noticed. your hometown was pretty big, so the pollution made it impossible to enjoy the sky like this. you wondered what things were like back home. you had been alone with these thoughts for 15 minutes or so before you heard shuffling from inside the house. when you heard the backdoor open you began to say "I'll be back inside in like 2 min—" before you turned and saw beomgyu there, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. his limbs were awkward and gangly but his slightly rounded face and doe eyes made him absolutely adorable to you.

"oh, hi. is everything okay?" you asked slightly worriedly as he stood frozen, mouth agape.

"i-i... you're cold outside?"

you couldn't stop your giggling that time. "i'm sorry, what was that?" you said between laughs. he blushed and you felt a little guilty.

"i'm- it's cold outside. you're probably freezing. wait here," he said before scrambling back inside. he returned with a blanket and your heart warmed.

"take this. it's freezing and that jacket you're wearing isn't enough. look, your nose is red!" he said worriedly.

"wow beomie," you teased, using his family's nickname for him. "i had no idea you were this thoughtful." and just like your nose, his face flushed a deep red.

"hey, I'm just kidding," you softened. "do you want me to head back inside so you can hang out here?" his eyes widened again and you began to fidget to leave your spot on the porch steps.

"n-no. you can stay here, i'll just go back inside."

"you don't have to do that. why don't you just hang out with me for a bit?" there it was. your breezy attitude that left him stumped. you had been so laidback and charming through every interaction with his family, and with himself even, as painfully awkward as he was. but as unbothered as you seemed, he could see the anxiety in your expressions when you thought no one was looking. a shaky breath here, a bitten fingernail there. you hid it from the others masterfully, but his eyes had been trained on you from the moment you stepped into his house, and even you couldn't avoid the occasional slip up. he desperately wanted to comfort you,

"uh, i-if you're okay with me being with you —i mean like being out here while you are also here — then i'll sit too." he knew you had to have noticed his anxiety, but you made no mention of it and instead smiled and patted the open space next to you.

"so. what brings you out here?" you asked.

"i, uh, like to come out here a lot when i can't sleep. it helps me clear my head, i guess." you nodded and didn't ask any more questions, for which he was thankful. he didn't want to have to lie instead of explaining that you were the focal point of his mind back then, and he wanted to come out there to calm himself down.

"it's nice out here. i can see why you come out so often."

"what about you?" he asked tentatively.

"me? i guess i'm just like you. i'm trying to," you paused to find the words "clear my head and recenter right now."

"oh. why?" you locked eyes with him and noticed that his eyes twinkle even more than usual under the starry sky. he didn't balk at the sudden eye contact, just looked at you earnestly as if he was afraid of missing a single word. to both of your surprise, you actually answered, delving into some of the details of your home life. nothing major, but still personal enough to matter. he nodded when appropriate and asked a question every now and then. after your little venting session, you looked at him and gave him the brightest smile yet.

"thanks beomie, you're a great listener and i really like talking to you. i hope i get to do it more often." i really like talking to you. i really like talking to you. you really like talking to him. you wanted to talk to him again. in fact, you hoped you did. his heart skipped a beat and he gulped in a way he only hoped to god was discreet.

"any time, i swear," and he meant it.

you had just turned 20 when you met him. doyoon was everything you could have ever wanted (or needed) from a man at any point in time, let alone at 20 years old. he was a TA for one of your lectures and from the moment he accidentally spilled his coffee on his laptop when he tried to ask you out, you were smitten. he was 1 year your senior, set to graduate that academic year, but who can stop love once it starts?

beomgyu was 16 when he felt like the world was crashing down around him. he pinched his arm (just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating) and asked jia not once, but twice to repeat herself. still, the words remained the same: "she won't be coming home for thanksgiving because she'll be with her boyfriend."

his stomach ached and his complexion turned pallid. jia watched him with worry. "beomie, are you okay?"

"so she's staying at his family's?" he ignored her question so pointedly that she somewhat doubted if she ever asked it in the first place. "isn't that too fast? and what about us?" about me? if you met him in august, that meant you had only been dating for 3 months. meanwhile, you had known him for 2 whole years!

"i mean, in my opinion, yeah. but there's nothing i can do about it besides support her and hope for the best," she mused. "he actually seems like a nice enough guy," she added off-handedly. if only she knew how her words decimated him. she spread the unfortunate (for him) news to her parents and while slightly disappointed that you wouldn't be joining, they were happy you seemed to be in a healthy relationship.

that evening, he happened to hear a call between you and his sister through the shared wall between their rooms. he didn't happen to press his ear on it, that part was completely intentional.

"did you tell everyone that i'm sorry i couldn't be there this year? i miss them all," and he could hear how much you meant it.

"yeah, they were battering me with questions about doyoon. you'd better be prepared for an onslaught of questions next time you come home." you snorted and whined in response but he can almost see the upturn of your lips at the choi's house being referred to as "home", even through a wall and a phone. "how's doyoon's family?"

"they're so so nice," you sigh contentedly. "i was afraid it might be awkward since our relationship is so new, but they've been nothing but kind and inclusive." beomgyu can't help but feel indignant at the idea that a family could be more welcoming to you than his.

"i'm glad they're treating you well, i was afraid i was gonna have to come rescue you myself. how's doyoon?"

"i've got a really good feeling about him, jia. he's just so... mature? and experienced? " with that, beomgyu's heart sunk to his feet.

"first of all, ew. i don't need to know that," jia teased. beomgyu decided he didn't need to know that either, so he moved away from the wall dejectedly. if he had continued to listen he'd have heard you feverishly denying that you were implying anything sexual, but he already felt like he was being punished for eavesdropping. he knew he was too young for you at present, but in 2 years he'd be 18 and it wouldn't matter anymore. somewhere in the back of his mind he had hoped you would wait for him, unconsciously or not. you could be each other's first everything.

that dream is dashed after 2 whole years of pining, but he'd remember your words for the rest of his life. if you wanted a guy who's mature, he'd be more mature. if you wanted a guy with more experience, he'd get more experience. all you ever have to do is ask once, and maybe not even that much.

"just tell her you like her, man," yeonjun says with a sigh.

"he doesn't like her, he loves her," taehyun cuts in.

"well, tell her you love her then!"

"i can't do that," beomgyu argues defensively. "she still sees me as a 14 year old kid."

"that's tough," kai nods.

"then put it down on her and stop complaining," yeonjun says with a roll of his eyes.

"don't be gross," beomgyu says, smacking the back of his head.

"i'm not! i'm serious."

"he has a point, gyu," taehyun chimes in.

"oh god, not you too," beomgyu groans.

"we're just saying she wouldn't think of you as a kid anymore if you would just act like a man and not a lovesick puppy," yeonjun reasons.

"yeah man, you don't act like this with any other girl. just be normal," taehyun says.

"she's not just any other girl to him, she's the girl," soobin argues out of seemingly nowhere and beomgyu blushes. he's not wrong, though. if he cared less about you, it'd be easier to get with you.

he always said he'd wait until you were single to make a move, but you were with doyoon for three whole years. then joonwoo for 6 months. then seoyun for 8 months. then donghyun for 9 months. at 26, you're nothing short of a serial monogamist, and he was always just on the precipice of gathering his courage to ask you out when you enter another relationship.

jia said you were coping with your breakup with doyoon in your own sick little way, but that didn't really make beomgyu feel any better. to him, that just meant you were still stuck on the man he felt so inferior to. but after seeing how fucked up you were after your last relationship, he was just about done with waiting for you to look at him.

#niningtori #see me #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt beomgyu #txt #txt fanfic #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #tomorrow x together #txt angst #best friend's brother au #this is my first post #i'm sorry if i'm doing something wrong idk how to work tumblr LOL #help me #also #i'm on mobile soooo that should explain everything

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