#longer periods of time. so it's more like 'cut to the point' even if it is ultimately detrimental | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dixons-sunshine · 2 months

Text

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine*

Summary: While hanging out with Daryl, an old friend decided to pay you an unexpected visit. Not wanting to cut your visit short, Daryl offers to tag along to the supermarket. You agree, which lead to the funniest but best shopping experience of your life. And the hangout afterwards turned into a night you'd never forget.

Genre: Fluff, some angst (mentions of Daryl's dad and his scars—reader knows about his home life.)

Era: Pre outbreak

Warnings: Swearing, blood (from reader's period), mentions of abuse, mentions of Merle being an asshole to reader and Daryl, allusions to money problems (reader chooses the cheapest foods while in the store and lives in a trailer park), reader's mom is implied to be a single parent.

Word count: 4.6k (this got way longer than I expected)

A/n: Honestly my second favourite story I've written. It's not great, but I loved the concept very much and writing about Daryl before the apocalypse turned out to be so much fun! I definitely need to write more about pre-apocalypse Daryl.

Requests are open for any TWD requests if y'all wanna send any!

Part two

—

“I'm telling you, you're overreacting. How was I supposed to know that it was gonna go flying in your direction?”

“It wasn't even supposed to go flyin' like tha' in the first place. I've been tryin' to teach ya to fish fer months now, but yer hopeless. Stick to buyin' fish from the market fer yer safety and mine.”

You threw one of the pillows on the couch you were sitting on in his direction, trying to look offended but failing miserably due to the burst of laughter falling from your lips. Daryl easily caught the pillow and chuckled, a boyish grin on his face. He flopped down next to you on the couch, keeping the pillow on his lap as he watched you trying to calm your laughter.

“You're mean, you know that? I'm not hopeless, fishing is just hard,” you said with a smile, looking at him through your eyelashes.

The smile you wore and the sparkle in your eyes made Daryl's heart skip a beat. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance between the two of you—and urge he's had for months now—but he refrained, his father's deprecating words about his 'nonexistent' worth echoing in the back of his mind.

Daryl shook the thoughts from his mind and focused back on you, your smile he loved so much still gracing your features. “Nah, it ain't tha' hard,” he replied, resting his arm on the back of the couch.

“Says the fish whisperer,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in mock anger, but the huge smile on your face ruined your facade.

Daryl couldn't help the amused laugh that escaped his mouth. “Fish whisperer?” he asked, a crooked smile on his face as he looked at you. “Tha's what yer callin' me?”

“Yeah, you're a fish whisperer. Every time I try to catch a fish, you lean down to the water and tell the fish to be difficult so that I can't catch them and you get the satisfaction of watching me fail. I've got you all figured out, Dixon,” you joked, a teasing grin on your face.

Daryl shook his head at your ‘accusation’ and chuckled. “Ya got me,” he responded. “Sorry ya had to find out like this. The fish and I jus' have this unspoken bond, ya know? They do whatever I tell 'em to.”

“I knew it,” you replied playfully, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Apologise right now.”

“'M sorry,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I'll talk to the fish and get them to go easier on ya.”

“Thank you,” you laughed in playful triumph.

“Yer welcome,” he replied with a shake of his head, the crooked smile still on his face. “Now are we gonna watch tha' movie ya promised or are we jus' gonna go back and forth over your lack of fishin' skills?”

“Yeah, I just gotta use the bathroom really quick. You can pick out a movie in the meantime,” you acknowledged, getting up from the couch once you saw Daryl nod.

You headed into the bathroom of your small trailer home and closed the door, heading towards the toilet to tend to your business. However, as soon as you sat down, you saw blotches of blood on the inside of your underwear. You groaned inwardly at the horrible timing of your period's arrival and reached for the box of tampons you kept located near the toilet. However, as soon as you opened the box, you audibly groaned at the sight of only one tampon remaining. You didn't have any pads either due to your mom having used the last one a week prior, so you'd have to make a run to the store.

You finished your business, grabbing a fresh pair of underwear from the laundry basket you had yet to take back to your room as well as a pair of pants, before going back out to Daryl. He patiently waited for you on the couch, the movie he picked out paused and waiting to be watched. He fiddled with the remote in his hands before looking up at you when he heard your approaching footsteps. He gave you a small smile before frowning, instantly noticing the ashamed look on your face.

“Wha's wrong?” he questioned, getting up from the couch and taking a step towards you.

“Nothing! It's nothing, I just...” you trailed off, unsure how to go about telling Daryl about why you needed to cut the visit short.

“Ya jus' wha'?” he asked anxiously, unnerved by your sudden awkwardness. You were never nervous around him, so the sudden awkwardness baffled him.

“I have to go into town. I need something urgently and it can't really wait. I'm sorry,” you apologized sincerely, your tone holding sadness at the prospect of the visit you had to cut short.

Daryl's heart sank at your words. He enjoyed hanging out with you and really didn't want to go home yet. He was sure his dad wasn't passed out from drinking yet and he didn't want to accidentally set him off into another rage and deeply pay the price for it, so he wanted to wait it out here with you. But now he most likely wouldn't be able to.

“Wha' do ya need?” he asked, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

You hesitated for a moment. You liked Daryl, and not just platonically, either. Despite his rough exterior, he was undeniably sweet, kind, caring, affectionate and so much more. He knew how to make you laugh even if he preferred to be serious most of the time and he always treated you with the utmost respect. But you also knew that both his brother and his father were misogynistic pricks. They didn't know the first thing about women and feminine needs, so they definitely didn't teach Daryl about any of that. You didn't want Daryl to look at you differently or be grossed out by you because of your period. You wouldn't be able to handle that.

“Hey, ya alrigh'?” Daryl asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. His eyebrows were furrowed in a deep frown, his eyes flickering between your eyes in concern.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I'm fine. I just zoned out for a second.”

“Ya didn't answer my question from before. Wha' do ya need in town?” he repeated his question.

You swallowed nervously before sighing. “I'm on my period,” you whispered, heat creeping up to your face. “And I'm out of tampons.”

Realisation struck Daryl like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his hands.

In all honesty, Daryl wasn't weirded out by you saying that, but he didn't know how to go about the information you gave him. He only had the tiniest grain of knowledge about women's periods—thanks to the many women his dad brought home—but he knew that freaking out about it wasn't the way to go. You were one of the most important people in the world to him, and by god he would do anything to ensure that you knew that you could go to him whenever you needed anything, even for something like you needing period products.

“Ya want me to give ya a ride to the store?” he asked, completely taking you by surprise.

“No, I don't want to trouble you. I'll just walk,” you declined his offer, nervously hugging yourself in an attempt to appear nonchalant and simultaneously ward off the pain that would soon stab through your lower abdomen.

“I ain't lettin' ya walk, especially this close to dark. God knows what trouble is waitin' if ya set foot outside this trailer park alone. Tha' new motorcycle gang likes to hang 'round here and I dun' want them to get any ideas with ya,” Daryl replied steadfastly, his mind already set on escorting you to the store.

You smiled at Daryl's worry towards you. It was rare to see his softer side, but when you did, you always cherished it. Daryl Dixon truly was unlike any man you've ever met.

“Fine,” you relented, your voice adapting the playful tone from earlier. “You can drive me, but just so you know, I'm taking advantage of your hospitality. I need to buy some groceries anyways, but I never got around to it because it would be too much to carry if I walked.”

Daryl's lips twitched up into a half smile and nodded. “Alrigh',” he agreed. “But yer buyin' me a Coke fer my valiant efforts of simply drivin' ya to the store.”

“Deal,” you laughed lightly, unaware of the effect it had on Daryl. His heart quickened at the sweet sound of your melodic laughter and he had to duck his head to hide the blush that formed on his face.

“Let's go.” He motioned for you to follow him and you obliged after grabbing the grocery list, following him out of your trailer and over to his neighbouring trailer. The two of you quietly made your way over to his beat down truck, a vehicle he was 'graciously' being lent by his older brother. Or as Daryl once told you, Merle simply dropped it off one day after getting his motorcycle and just seemed to forget about its existence. So now the truck unofficially belonged to the younger Dixon brother.

You opened the passenger side of the vehicle and got in, closing the door behind you. Daryl got into the driver's side and started the truck, his eyes glancing around at the wrappers and few empty cigarette boxes that littered the floor. “Sorry 'bout the mess.”

“It's fine,” you reassured him. “It certainly doesn't look worse than my trailer when my mom and I have been too lazy to clean up.”

Daryl quietly nodded and started the drive to the store, pulling out of the trailer park. The drive was mostly spent in silence until about five minutes in when a bunch of motorcycles whirled past the truck in the opposite direction. Daryl visibly stiffened after one particular motorcycle drove past and you frowned, placing your hand on his arm to try and ease his tension. At the unexpected action, Daryl tensed slightly but soon relaxed under your tender touch.

“Who was it? The guy on the motorcycle? You seem to know him,” you questioned, earning a disgruntled sigh in response.

“'S my brother,” he responded after a moment's hesitation. “He's back in town fer a while but I dun' know why. He hasn't bothered to come see me.”

“Merle's back?” you asked, trying to keep the distaste out of your voice, but failing miserably, causing a small smile to fall on Daryl's face.

It was no secret to Daryl that you despised his brother. The few limited interactions you had with the man were enough to fuel your distaste. Merle either made sexual passes at you, insulted you or questioned your intentions with Daryl. When you didn't fall for his advances or insults, he'd take a jab at your friendship with his younger brother, claiming that Daryl was "pussy whipped" and that you were taking advantage of him. Daryl always immediately shut him down, but that never stopped Merle. Each time it took walking back into your trailer to get the man to shut up.

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I think he joined tha' new motorcycle gang. He's a stupid son of a bitch, my brother. Never learns his lesson, but wha' can I do? He ain't ever gonna listen to me.”

“He's a grown man. He'll hopefully learn from his mistakes,” you started, knowing your words probably weren't much comfort for him right now. “If you want, I can punch some sense into him. I've been wanting to punch him for a while now.”

That seemed to lighten Daryl's mood a bit. His lips twitched into a half smile. “Nah, but thanks fer the kind offer. I'll let ya know if I ever need ya to punch him fer me.”

“Please do. I'll practice and everything,” you joked, playfully punching the air in front of you for added effect, eliciting a small chuckle from him.

“Alrigh', Bruce Lee, we're here,” he laughed quietly, parking the car outside the store.

The two of you got out of the truck and moved to the store. Once inside, Daryl grabbed a shopping cart and leaned his arms on the handle bar, looking at you expectantly. “Where to first, boss lady?”

You giggled and took the grocery list from the back pocket of your jeans, unfolding the paper and starting your list. “We'll come back to the period things later. Let's get the necessities out of the way first.”

Daryl pushed the cart as he followed behind you, walking into one of the grocery aisles. “Tampons ain't a necessity?” he asked, curiously watching you search for the cheapest pasta before adding it to the cart.

You shrugged and walked on, hearing the squeaks from the wheels on the cart following closely behind. “It is, but not before food. I can always improvise or ask one of the neighbour ladies for it, but I don't want to ask for food.”

Daryl nodded, although you couldn't see him. “Yeah, tha's understandable,” he said, his eyes scanning over the products in the aisle.

You continued grabbing things on your list, adding them to the cart. You even grabbed two bags of chips and the Coke you promised Daryl, as well as a drink for yourself. After that, you made your way over to the feminine hygiene section and started looking over the various different choices, searching for your preferred items.

“Wha' the fuck?” you heard Daryl whisper behind you, prompting you to turn around and look at him. You giggled at the sight in front of you; Daryl holding a pack of pads whilst his eyes trailed over the different period products, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” you asked with a giggle, gaining Daryl's attention.

“Why the hell do y'all need so many different things fer yer pussy blood?” he asked bluntly, eliciting an amused laugh from you.

“First of all, don't call it pussy blood. That's disgusting. Second of all, it's all about preference. Some women prefer pads, others prefer tampons and other things. And not everyone is the same. Some women have heavier flows and some women need bigger tampons and pads than others,” you explained, amused at the deep frown Daryl wore.

Daryl nodded slowly. “Alrigh',” he started. “But still, it's a lot. Tampons, pads... And wha' the hell is a fuckin' diva cup? Y'all use tha' to make tea fer yer pussies or somethin'?”

“No,” you responded, laughing lightly at the confused man. “I don't know how a diva cup works because I've never used one, but it's for our periods. Like I said, preference. Some women prefer diva cups over pads and tampons.”

Daryl shook his head slightly and turned away from the shelves, focusing his eyes back on you. “Well, ya got whatever pads or tampons ya prefer? Or do ya use somethin' else that wasn't named in yer explanation?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, amused. You grabbed a box of tampons, as well as a box of pads, and added them to the cart. “No, I use pads and tampons, don't worry.”

“Why would I worry?” Daryl asked, pushing the cart as the two of you walked over to pay for the groceries.

“I just meant that you didn't have to worry about there being any more "period product" surprises. I don't think you would've been able to handle it if I told you there was more,” you explained.

“Well... 'S there?” he asked hesitantly, chewing on his lower lip.

“Yeah.”

You walked ahead to the checkout aisle, leaving Daryl baffled behind you. He sped up to catch up to you, and together you started unloading the items.

“This was more than I bargained fer when I offered to come to the store with ya,” Daryl said, handing off items to be scanned.

“I said I would walk,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “Would've spared you the headache you got from looking at all those different brands and stuff.”

“Nah, I'd take the headache over somethin' happenin' to ya. Walkin' alone ain't safe,” he retorted, giving you a stern look.

“I would've been fine.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn't risk it. Still ain't gonna risk it.”

“Ah, young love,” the lady working at the cash register interrupted, startling both you and Daryl. “You two lovebirds are absolutely adorable.”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment, a blush spreading across his face. You could feel your own face flush with heat as well.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, handing the owed amount over to the cashier before moving over to grab a few bags.

Daryl followed your lead and grabbed most of the bags. Together the two of you walked out of the store and over to his truck. You placed the bags in the back of the truck before getting into the passenger side, Daryl getting into the driver's side. He silently started up the vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot, starting the drive back to the trailer park.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said after a few minutes of silence, shifting Daryl's attention to you.

“Fer wha'?” he asked in confusion, shifting his eyes from the road to you and then back again.

“The ride. And for making me laugh. It was nice.”

“My confusion was amusin' to ya?” he asked with a small smile, glancing over to you.

“No, but the things you said were. Especially the thing about the diva cup. Comedy gold right there,” you said with a smile, gaining a quiet chuckle in return.

“Glad I could make ya laugh,” he replied, before a look of realisation crossed his face. “Wait, ain't ya supposed to be in pain? From wha' I know, period's are supposed to hurt.”

At his words, realisation dawned on you. You could suddenly feel a dull ache in your lower abdomen, a telltale sign of a greater pain awaiting you in a few hours. You just hoped that you had some ibuprofen left back at home.

“I'm fine for now,” you reassured him. “The pain's manageable.”

Daryl nodded. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, save for the rumble of the engine and the wind coming through the open windows. You stared outside at the rising moon, the stars starting to light up the approaching night sky. The trailer park soon came into view and Daryl pulled up to your trailer instead of his, putting the vehicle into park. However, instead of getting out, Daryl tensed up as he stared ahead at his trailer.

You followed his line of sight and saw what he was looking at; his father leading a woman into the trailer. His father shut the door behind him, effectively cutting off your line of sight. You turned to Daryl and saw his jaw clenched in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his mind seemed to be in another place. You doubted that Daryl even remembered you were still in the truck with him.

“You can stay over if you want,” you said quietly, snapping Daryl from his wandering thoughts. “My mom's working the night shift down at the bar. I've got the trailer to myself tonight and I wouldn't mind having some company.”

Daryl hesitated for a moment. “Ya sure? I can go home. Doubt the old man would notice me slippin' in anyway.”

You nodded your head at him. “I'm sure. Come on.”

Daryl followed you from the truck and into your trailer, carrying most of the bags so that you could unlock the door. Once you were inside and he placed the bags down, he silently admired you as you grabbed a bowl to pour the bought chips into.

Daryl appreciated the fact that you never pried. He had told you once about his father and what he did to him because you'd accidentally caught sight of one of the scars on his back. However, instead of pity, you offered him comfort and understanding, telling him that you were there if he ever needed to talk to someone or needed an escape. You never brought up his home life or his scars, and only ever talked about it if he initiated the sensitive conversation first, which was rare. Because of that, Daryl was convinced that you were an angel in human form. You understood him in a way nobody did, and he would forever be grateful for the chance he got to know you.

You could feel Daryl's intense gaze on you and you could feel your face heat up. Daring to be confident for a moment, you glanced up and locked eyes with him. “See something you like?”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed in agreement, completely capturing you off guard. You inhaled sharply and tried to slow your racing heart.

Daryl inwardly cursed himself. He hadn't meant to let that slip, but he had gotten so lost in his thoughts and admiration of you that he acted before properly thinking. He blushed for what felt like the thousandth time that day and ducked his head, finding the floor very interesting all of a sudden.

“Well,” you started after clearing your throat, grabbing the bowl of chips and the drinks you bought for you both and walking the short distance into the living room, Daryl hot on your tail. “I'm glad you enjoyed the view. It's my "I desperately need to wash my hair" look.”

Daryl chuckled but said nothing. He got comfortable on the couch, sitting beside you as you handed him the Coke you promised him. “Thanks,” he said, nudging his nose up at you in a nod. “How's yer stomach?”

“Surprisingly okay. I guess the pain decided to give me a break for now. I probably won't be so lucky tomorrow, though,” you responded.

You grabbed the remote and hit play on the movie that Daryl had picked out earlier before you went into town, the opening sequence playing loudly. However, about ten minutes into the movie, Daryl took the remote from you and paused it again, confusing you.

“Can I ask ya somethin'?” he asked unexpectedly, his face conveying how nervous he was.

“Of course,” you replied without hesitation, shifting on the couch until your body completely faced him.

“I dun'... I dun' really know how to ask ya this, and I really hope this won't ruin anythin' between us, but I need to know if ya feel the same,” Daryl nervously said, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

“Daryl, what-”

“Nah, let me finish, please. 'S jus'... Yer so perfect to me, y'know tha'? Yer so kind, so carin', so affectionate. Yer basically a ray of sunshine. Yer the complete opposite of me, and ya could spend yer time with someone who deserves ya, but ya choose to hang out with me. Even though 'm damaged goods and I ain't gonna be nothin' more than a dumb, redneck scum, ya always treat me like 'm this fine piece of priceless art or somethin', and I dun' get why. Yer-”

The sudden pressure of your lips against his instantly shut him up. His eyes widened for a moment before he closed them, his hands instinctively going to rest on your waist. The kiss was slow and hesitant, but loving and sweet at the same time. It was perfect and neither of you wanted it to end, but you soon pulled away, looking into Daryl's ocean coloured eyes.

“You're not damaged goods and you're not a dumb, redneck scum. Don't ever say that about yourself again, you hear me?” you told him quietly, your hands gently resting on his cheeks. After he nodded, you continued. “Where's all of this coming from? I'm not complaining at all, but it's kind of unexpected.”

“I've felt this way fer a while now,” he explained, taking one of your hands off of his face and playing with your fingers. “I never said anythin' because I didn't want to scare ya off, but after tha' lady called us 'lovebirds' and ya offered to let me stay over without question after ya saw my expression earlier... I dun' know, I guess I jus' needed to let ya know how I felt. Didn't know if ya'd feel the same, though.”

You smiled at him and leaned forward to press another kiss to his lips, this one more firm and sure than the first one. “I do feel the same,” you confirmed after you pulled away. “I just never thought you'd like me.”

“Guess we both wasted time not sayin' anythin' 'til now, huh?” he asked, giving you a boyish smile.

“Definitely,” you nodded in agreement, a huge smile on your face.

“I guess we have to thank yer time of the month fer this happenin',” Daryl said. “If it didn't start and we didn't go to the store, tha' lady never would've called us 'lovebirds' and we never would've seen my father and tha' woman enterin' the trailer, so ya wouldn't have asked me to stay over. I probably would've gone home by now if we didn't have to go to the store and probably would've never gotten the balls to say anythin'.”

“I never thought I would be this grateful for my period, but I am now,” you said, leaning your forehead against his.

Daryl closed the remaining gap between the two of you, the two of you descending into a slow, hungry kiss. You brought your arms around his neck and his arms encircled around your waist, bringing you closer into his arms. As the two of you got lost in the moment, you didn't hear the trailer door opening, too caught up in each other to hear anything else. However, the clearing of someone's throat startled you, the two of you practically jumping apart.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” your mom asked with a raised eyebrow, her hands on her hips as she looked over the two of you.

You looked over at Daryl, your face flaming with heat at being caught by your mom. Daryl's eyes widened as fear crossed his face, his breathing heavy from your previous actions. You turned your attention back to your mom and sighed.

“Mom, don't freak out. I promise I can explain.”

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader

407 notes · View notes

sorcerersseestars · 11 months

Text

synopsis: Gojo blames you for the first-years' disaster that the higher-ups caused.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

warnings: mention of death/a corpse, yelling, heavy feelings of self-blame, stuttering (it makes sense here tho I promise), emotionally constipated Gojo, mention of not eating for an extended period of time/being hungry (due to the situation), manga spoilers!! (star plasma vessel arc), indirect confessions

word count: 5.2k

notes: There are some slightly non-canon details. I’m pretty sure that Nanami and Yuji don’t know each other at this point, but let’s pretend they do. Also, I’m insinuating a more seasoned bond between Gojo and Yuji/reader and Yuji - let’s also pretend that they’ve been teaching Yuji for longer at this point, for more angst potential. :) LAST THING - you used to be a very mediocre child/adolescent actor in a few small/bad films. Only relevant for one detail.

Also, Gojo may be a bit ooc here - possibly overdramatic in his wordings - but I really wanted to write a Gojo that loses control of his emotions, since I think it'd be difficult to elicit such a reaction from him. I hope it suits him okay!!

GOJO HAS ALWAYS had a soft spot for you. In high school, he would regularly volunteer himself to take your blame, even though you never asked him to do it and would practically begged him not to. But, he was frustratingly persistent and would do it despite your many protests. If you ever cheated on an assignment, Gojo would claim he copied yours. If you fumbled during a mission, Gojo would lie in the report. If you both snuck out and got caught, Gojo would say he dragged you out with force. Whenever you would have an argument with someone, Gojo would comfort you afterwards, insisting the other person was in the wrong even when they obviously weren’t.

Although he has eventually ramped down this ridiculous treatment over the years, you will never forget this boyish idiosyncrasy from your younger days.

Today, however, it’s like those days never even existed. You don't recognize the person standing in front of you. You can’t blame him for his reaction – it's wholly natural – but it still jars you.

Today, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly that there's a very permanent, unchangeable consequence to your actions – or rather, your lack thereof. The consequence of your stupidity, the result of your thoughtlessness, lies unmoving in this room. The body of Itadori Yuji, separated from reality only by the thin plastic covering of a body bag, rests on a table only feet from where you stand.

His mentor, one sworn to protecting his students, sworn to delaying his impending execution as much as possible, stands before you. His signature blindfold obscures his eyes, and you can only imagine the wild, swirling gaze you would be faced with in its absence.

Yuji’s mentor – your long time close friend, who has never blamed you in any great capacity for anything through the entirety of your friendship – now looks at you scathingly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, tone icy.

He's not looking at you as he rigidly hovers over the operating table, but you can feel the intensity of his emotions despite the distance. Words fall out of your brain, and you struggle to string together a cohesive thought.

“I-" You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “The higher-ups told me not to go with them, I don’t know wh–"

He barks out a harsh laugh, cutting off your pathetic excuse. His head is in his hands, fingers roughly carding through his disheveled hair. He pauses in his ministrations to face you: he is suddenly towering over you, broad frame filling even the corners of your vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He growls. “Did you stop to think for even a second? Why would they ever ask a teacher to stay behind?”

Tears begin to slide down you cheeks. You quickly wipe them away and will your building urge to break down to go away.

He sighs, his breath leaving him loudly and aggressively. “I don’t understand how this happened. You know how this works, (Y/N)! You know how the higher-ups are!”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out quietly, voice stretched and thin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back, (Y/N)!” Gojo shouts.

Shoko and Ijichi are silent. Shoko is looking at the ground, her stony expression difficult to determine. Shoko, your friend who always sticks up for you no matter what, especially when dealing with Gojo. Shoko, who hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you arrived. For once, she agrees with him.

Your eyes land on the black body bag laying on the operating table, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Your legs weaken underneath you and you begin to shake. The sobs you’ve been suppressing rip out of your throat. Ugly, choking sobs.

Nobody moves to comfort you. If anything, Gojo’s scowl deepens, and Shoko turns away at your display of emotion.

“I know,” You sob. “I know it doesn’t. I know it's my fault.”

You take a few shaky breaths. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for it to happen- I- it’s my fault.”

He slides his blindfold down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You are about to blurt something else out, but before the words can leave your tongue, you catch his gaze and you’re immediately frozen. His boiling blue irises steal your breath and leave you rooted to the spot. Never in your life have you seen him this angry or even display this much emotion.

“If you keep standing there and crying, I think I’m going to kill something,” He says lowly.

“Gojo,” Shoko interjects in a warning tone.

Gojo bites back, “Why not? We all want the higher-ups gone. It’d be so easy. Shit like this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

Ijichi pales. Shoko roughly says, “Are you crazy?”

He doesn’t answer, and the determined look on his face isn’t necessarily comforting. It seems a storm is brewing – the most powerful sorcerer is being driven to a point.

You’re reaching a point, too – your breaking point. You feel like you can’t breathe. When you inhale, your lungs refuse to inflate past the shallowest of breaths. It’s all hitting you now, clear thoughts rising past the fog of adrenaline that overwhelmed your mind. The reality is that you fucked up, and it’s not fixable.

You fucked up, and there’s no going back in time to change your decision, to go against orders to stay with your students. There’s no way to bring Yuji back.

“Why are you still here?” Gojo says with an exasperated huff, addressing you directly. “Seeing you only adds to my anger.”

You say nothing, your mind occupied only with your regrets. He frowns and tries again.

"Unless you want to dive further into this preventable death," He says coldly. "Leave. There's still a job to be done.”

You barely hear his words. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to collect them, to interpret them, as it hyper-fixates on the horrible hole forming in your heart. Your eyes are wide, pupils enlarged, and you are visibly quivering.

“Didn’t you hear me? You need to leave!” Gojo growls, frustrated at your lack of reaction, believing it to be indifference.

“They must be in shock, Gojo,” Shoko murmurs. “They’re shutting down.”

Shoko’s diagnosis is indeed correct. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of their mouths; your shoulders and heart have grown heavy, leaden, from knowing the fate you led your students to. One deceased, two severely injured. All because of a risk you did not take, an order you did not disobey.

Yuji’s bright smile burns into the back of your eyes, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the ultimate mistake.

One second, your eyes are on the black body bag, and the next second you can’t see anything, your vision blurred by tears and by speed. You’re running, you realize, legs pumping as fast as they can. Your lungs ache and your legs cramp up, but you can’t will yourself to stop. You can’t think. You can’t catch your breath.

When you inevitably collapse, you don’t know where you are or how much time has passed. It’s just a patch of grass damp with dew, a few maple trees dotting the banks of a small neighboring stream. You’re laying under one of these trees, your arms outstretched so your fingers can comb through the cool, wet blades of grass. You’re vaguely aware the the sun set at some point after you left. Maybe it’s been a hour, or a few more. You have no idea.

You want to scream, you want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t; it won’t come. When his grinning face and determined smile taunt you, reminding you of your sins, you can only screw your eyes shut, willing the torture to end.

Wetness finally runs down your face, and you taste salt. It is oddly comforting. Your hands repeatedly grab the gentle grass, numbing your mind until exhaustion eventually overtakes you.

There’s a buzzing filling your brain. You groan and roll over, reaching out to your bedside table to grab the offending object. You startle at the feeling of sharp gravel under your fingertips – it’s unpleasantly damp, as well, leaving muddy residue on your hands.

The buzzing starts again, and this time you clearly feel the vibrations through your leg. You sit up, scooting back until your back firmly hits the tree trunk behind you, and force your tired eyelids to part. You have to squint, as the sun has already risen and has crossed the sky a fair amount – it must be approaching noon already.

When the buzzing persists, you grumpily rip the phone out of your pocket. It’s not an alarm, as you had expected. In fact, you startle at the caller ID: Gojo Satoru.

You stare at your phone blankly, your brain buffering. You ultimately let it ring out, although your finger hovers over the answer button. Once the screen fades to your usual background, your throat goes dry. Missed calls from Shoko, Nanami, and Gojo fill your screen. You quickly skim the accompanying texts and wince.

Shoko <3: I know we’re all upset, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you…just let me know you’re alright, okay? (10:43 pm)

‘Nanamin’: I heard what happened. It isn’t your fault, (Y/N), no matter what anyone says. Call me if you need anything. (6:26 am)

Satoru: Where are you? (11:34 pm)

Satoru: Pick up (11:59 pm)

Satoru: please (12:03 am)

Satoru: I fucked up. I need to talk to you, please let me (12:05 am)

Satoru: I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but let someone, anyone, know you’re alright… (7:12 am)

Satoru: Megumi just told me he tried to visit you but you still weren’t home. (Y/N), please…say anything…I need to know that you’re okay (11:17 am)

It all rushes back to you: your lethal mistake, the deserved reaction you received from your two best friends, how you shamefully ran away. Fuck. There’s no way you can face any of them, especially not Megumi.

You wish this never happened. Hot tears burn your cheeks again; your eyes flood with regret. Shame quickly floods through you, making you feel hot all over. How can you feel sorry for yourself when it was your fault in the first place?

You roughly wipe your face with your sleeve and stick your phone back into your pocket. There’s no way you can respond right now. It’s bound to die soon, anyway, so there’s no point in trying.

You don’t want to move from where you sit. You want to sink into the ground and stay there until the horrible feeling inside you goes away. But…

“What if it doesn’t?” You whisper those words out into the universe, a sinking feeling in your gut telling you the answer.

You want to cry more, allow yourself to shed more tears, but you don’t. You wobbly stand up, and are surprised at how weak you are. When was the last time you ate – yesterday morning, before the disastrous mission?

You have to go home. You can’t stay here, in the middle of nowhere, neglecting yourself. It’s a thought that rings in your head and won’t leave you alone until you decide to listen. Okay. You will go home. You can manage that.

It takes a while, but you find your way back to your apartment. Last night, you had apparently meandered into an expanse of empty land neighboring the school, as you pass by Jujutsu Tech on your way back. It is a bit off the beaten path – you doubt anyone has ever intentionally gone where you ended up last night.

During your journey home, you have to reference your Google Maps app a few times, but you somehow successfully get back home, despite your directional challenges and weakened state.

Until you step into your apartment, you don’t realize how cold you are. Your feet are numb from being cold and wet, your toes icy when you peel the damp socks off. You cringe at how unaware you have been at your body for the past 24 hours: your mental state ignored all physical needs.

Your stumble to your bedroom, aching body screaming for a rest. You relent easily, collapsing on your bed face first. You’re so grimy and covered in remnants of the dirt bed you laid in last night, evidence of your outside stay covering your clothing. Bits of twigs and leaves invite themselves into your sheets – you couldn’t care less right now, though. You don’t even think about it.

On instinct, you plug your dead phone in without even looking. There’s silence for a minute or two before it whirs back to life, the screen flashing at your tired eyes.

There’s another message waiting to be opened.

Megumi: Come back soon, sensei. He’s getting unsufferable

Megumi:…more than usual

A hoarse chuckle leaves your throat, the first laugh that’s left you since the whole incident. You sigh immediately after though, as you begin to wonder how Megumi has been dealing with everything. If you hadn’t run away, then…

Your head is in your hands again. No matter what path your thinking strays down, you keep returning to your immense guilt over what happened.

You wish you were mad at someone. You wish that you felt angry at Gojo, but you aren’t – you can’t be. In your eyes, he wasn’t wrong; how could you be mad at him when you agree?

You’re not mad, but there’s this other unpleasant feeling. It feels like one of Nobara’s nails has been lodged in your chest, and every time you think about his reaction, the nail twists a little deeper into your heart. He’s never yelled at you before. That hurt.

It’s understandable, but it still hurts.

Gojo…You don’t think you can face him yet, but he may come to you if your radio silence continues. Maybe you should just get it over with and call him. You can just tell him you’re alive and hang up. That should suffice.

Without thinking further on it, you grab your phone and dial his number. Within two rings, the line connects.

“Yo, (Y/N)! Long time no hear!” His chirpy voice booms through your speakers. He’s back to his usual self – overly casual and full of mirth. He sounds way too cheerful; it throws you off guard.

A sharp inhale leaves you as you’re about to tell him that you’re fine and to not worry, so that you can hang up and avoid him. But, nothing comes out. Everything you thought of saying flies out of your brain. You’re left wordless, mouth hanging open.

“You there? (Y/N)?”

You shake your head, coming to your senses.

“Yes,” The single word that leaves you is weak and breathy.

“You good? Are you home now?”

“Yeah. Home now. I’m alive, so no need to bother checking in on me,” You say thoughtlessly.

God, that was lame. You can’t help but cringe at what you just said. It’s what you intended to convey, yes, but that’s not how you wanted to say it.

“Just alive? Sounds real peppy over there!” He chuckles. “I was going to come over anyway, but you’ve really pushed it over the edge.”

“Ah,” You say somewhat panicked, searching for a way out of this. “There’s really no need. I just need rest so there’s no need. I’ll see you later, then.”

“You mean soon!” He chirps before you can hang up. You groan into your pillow; this is exactly what you had been trying to avoid. How are you even going to look at him?

You’ve just put your phone back on your nightstand when there’s sudden footsteps approaching your bedroom. Before you can think further, the door is flung upon and a familiar figure appears before you.

“Ultimate best friend Gojo Satoru has arrived! Everyone applaud!”

A series of small claps ensues, while you just stare on in silence and disgruntlement. A wide smile stretches across his face at your displeased expression.

“C’mon angel, not even a single clap? That’s cold.”

You roll your eyes, but only half-heartedly. The gesture is so pathetically slight that Gojo’s smile falls a fraction. You don’t have much emotional energy to expend on humoring him, it seems. Because of him.

It’s then that he fully takes in your appearance. Tear stained cheeks, dirt caking your clothes and body, scraps of organic material matted in your hair and clinging to all parts of you. There’s even smudges of dirt around your eyes where you’ve attempted to wipe away tears.

He questions your appearance, trying to appear lighthearted, “Was the forest calling you? You really didn’t sleep here?”

You immediately feel self-conscious of your appearance and cross your arms. You manage out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“No, seriously…where did you sleep?” He probes, this time lacking the lightheaded tone.

A weak, sheepish smile appears on your lips, “Ah…the ground? You were right, I guess.”

He blinks. You rub the back of your head and avoid eye contact, softly laughing an awkward little chuckle.

“Seriously?” He asks, but it lacks any judgment. He is truly just in disbelief.

You just nod.

“Hey, are you…are you sure you’re okay?”

You weren’t expecting that. You wish he would stay in his childish mindset – these real questions are worse.

You breathe out slowly, “I mean…yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s not a very convincing delivery, but it was the best you could manage. The corners of his lips turn down slightly, almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on your answer. He knows he should question you further, dig a little deeper, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he excuses himself, “I’ll be right back. Just stay put! I’ll know if you move, so you better not move an inch.”

He raises two fingers to his eyes, then directs them to you, clearly saying ‘I have my eyes on you!’

It’s amusing - he’s always amusing - but when you try to smile, your lips just flatline. You can’t tell if he notices, since he has already turned away and walked into the bathroom, but you hope he couldn’t tell.

When he returns, he’s holding a dampened washcloth.

“Bath time!” He says, shaking the cloth excitedly in front of you. You flinch a little as a few stray drops of water unexpectedly land on you, which he lightly laughs at.

And then he begins swiping away the dirt that has accumulated on your body. He starts with your face. He’s on his knees, one elbow resting on the space neighboring your right thigh, leaning in to have more control with the cloth. You close your eyes when his face comes within inches of yours - too close. Even when you feel as horrible as you do now, your heart won’t stop thumping quickly against your ribs, as if it cannot deny those deeply hidden feelings you harbor.

He hums while he works, gently dabbing all the places where you have visible dirt. It’s comforting, or at least it should be. You heart begins to clench tightly, and you so badly want a hole to appear in the ground to swallow you up.

“Gojo, why are you being so nice now?” You ask, voice small. “I don’t really deserve it. I’d…prefer the alternative. This feels wrong right now.”

He sets down the cloth, wincing at your pitiful words. Is that how you really feel?

He pauses. He’s not good at this sort of thing – acknowledging other people’s vulnerability, lowering his own walls to empathize with others, any of it. He hates it. He hates how emotionally he acted yesterday, he hates how it has affected you.

“No,” He sighs. He speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, “I…shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you force yourself not to cry, “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it. Everyone was thinking it.”

He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is downcast. He ducks, lowering himself to the ground even more, to enter your field of vision.

“Hey,” He says softly. “Do you trust me?”

Your brow furrows; you don’t understand why he’s asking you that. You feel yourself nodding, though.

“Everything I said yesterday,” He starts, but then shakes his head at himself. “No, everything I yelled at you yesterday – it was misdirected. What happened wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing what was about to happen.”

“But now, it’s obvious,” You mumble. “I should have known.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You were following orders. The ones assigning the orders are at fault, not you.”

You grab your sheets with tight fists. You turn your head to the side, away from his invisible gaze, “Orders that were obviously suspect. It’s still my fault as an experienced sorcerer.”

Gojo’s chest constricts. You sound exactly like he did yesterday; the consequences of his actions echo back to him from your mouth.

“I promise it’s not,” He insists, but it falls on deaf ears. “I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve made mistakes, but you never treated me like I treated you yesterday.”

Gojo clenches his teeth. This is hard. He hates bringing up this side of the past, but he’ll do it for you.

“You never judged me for what happened during the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Even though you wanted to leave that night, and I ignored you, you never blamed me.”

“You were seventeen,” You say quietly, shakily. “We were all kids. That was over a decade ago.”

“But you knew how to make it better,” He says breathlessly. “And you never even once insinuated that it was my fault.”

You smile sadly at him, and your next words are sure and immediate, “Because it wasn’t.”

Gojo’s mouth hangs open for a second, still amazed at the understanding and kindness that so easily shine through you even in the darkest moments.

He reaches out for your hands, unsure, and squeezes them when he finds them. “Can I…can I start over ? From yesterday?”

You blink blankly, not completely understanding, but give a hesitant nod anyway.

He exhales deeply and lowers his head to your hands until his forehead brushes your fingertips. It’s completely unexpected, and you freeze upon contact. His head is bowed to you – embarrassment and confusion flood you.

You are relieved when he raises his head to speak.

“What happened with our students isn’t your fault,” He says quietly but with conviction. “It’s the work of the higher ups - it’s their fault, nobody else’s. I’m…”

He pauses. Words he never says need to come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this happened while you were here and I was away, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things out of your control. This was never your fault.”

You are silent. You say nothing. You don’t move. Your expression stays blank.

He panics. He takes your silence as a sign of not being forgiven – which is not what he fears, in fact he doesn’t want to be forgiven. But he doesn’t want to lose you, and that’s exactly what he thinks has happened. Did he completely sever the bond spanning more than a decade?

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, but,” He swallows thickly, the anxious feeling rising. “But I hope this doesn’t…”

He tries again, “I hope our friendship…I hope you- I don’t want to lose you after all we-”

“Satoru – it’s not that,” You say quickly. “You haven’t, I promise. I have already forgiven you. I forgave you from the moment it started.”

You close your eyes, clenching them shut. You don’t want to cry again. “It’s just that…even if I’m not directly at fault, Yuji is still dead. Our student is dead. Despite anything that can be said of the situation, that fact will not change.”

He really shouldn’t tell you this. He needs to, but he shouldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” He says again, voice only a whisper. He’s even closer now, only inches away. A hand raises to ease his blindfold down so that it rests loosely around his neck.

Your eyes on his are so clear, and reveal so much – surprised by his bare gaze, confusion clear in your beautiful eyes he finally can see so clearly up close.

“Of course,” You whisper breathlessly. “Always have.”

“Close your eyes, and hold on,” He says. “Don’t want you getting lost again, angel.”

You know what that means. Teleportation. But where could he be taking you that is so important right now? Maybe somewhere he knows you like to calm you down?

You’re taken aback by the rush of air around you even though you’ve traveled like this many times.

The few uncomfortable moments in the strange vortex allow you to question where be could be possibly be taking you. Before you can decide on an answer, however, the roar in your ears subsides, and you are steadied by his grip around your shoulders. He's so close again, wisps of his soft hair tickling your neck. One of his large hands drops down to clutch yours. You’re ashamed about now nice it all feels in such a situation.

Then all that slips away and you're immediately on guard - there's another cursed presence nearby.

“Gojo-sensei, you’re back? That movie was kind of weird and bad, but I swear that one character was (L/N)-sensei. Do they have a twin or something?”

Your eyes pop open. Your hand falls out of Gojo’s as your grip completely goes slack. That voice…Youthful, full of energy and a kind innocence. It could only be...

Gojo responds ecstatically, dramatically, “Ah, but of course not! I have brought an honored guest! An old time Hollywood star whose home was the red carpet! The famed, the budding talent, (Y/N)-”

He’s cut off by a shriek. He blinks twice, and you’re already far from his side, rushing to the secret he has to keep - the secret he couldn’t possibly keep from you.

You crash into Yuji, binding him in a crushing hug. He's open mouthed and spluttering in surprise, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed right now. You have no idea how, but he is standing before you, living and breathing. As seemingly endless tears pour down your face, you miss now the confusion on his face morphs into a look of grim understanding. He doesn't know what you went through, but he can guess.

And then you're laughing. Crying and laughing. Heaving breaths to accommodate your almost hysterical laughter, standing back to wipe away your tears before hugging Yuji again.

The sight of you hugging your student so tightly, healing with just this action, coaxes a half smile out of Gojo. Only half because he is in danger of faltering himself, bottom lip wavering as a wave of emotion flows over him.

The abandoned blindfold is clenched tightly in his hand as he tries to hold back the emotions welling in his brilliant eyes. He almost wants to put it back on to hide the emotions underneath, but he can’t, not when the whole reason he took it off was to see this with his own eyes.

No words are exchanged for a long while. They don't need to be, and even Gojo can see that.

By the time he is taking you home, your dynamic has shifted back to something more normal. It's raining, but you insist on walking back, citing the fact that his teleportation makes you horribly dizzy. (Or maybe, just maybe, you want a little more time with him. But you'd never admit that to yourself.)

The constant overhead drizzle is a bit annoying, but is bearable despite Gojo's claims of it tainting his very existence. He’s clearly back to his overdramatics - it's comforting.

The streets are dark, with only muted warm yellow lights lining the sidewalks, creating only vague halos of light due to the misty air. Gojo walks close to your side, an arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. At some point through your chatting, it slips down to your waist. You don't notice it right away, but once you do, all you can do is wonder if he's done that before - if it's normal for friends.

You notice something else strange. His blindfold is still loosely hanging from his body, his baby blues on display. It's hard to look at him like this - you feel too exposed - even though you desperately want to get lost in his eyes. Yes, your deep affection for him still rings true, even if he yelled at you, even if he did expose your horrible, cringey child acting.

“I can’t believe you put on that movie!” You exclaim, miming exasperation.

Gojo chuckles, “Scolding me again, that’s a good sign. Even if it’s for an illogical reason – c’mon, ‘Painters in Paris’ is a classic!”

You can’t hold back your wide, devious smile, “I guess you would think that since you literally look like a fucking paint brush!”

His jaw drops, and he looks at you faux-offended as you practically double over in laughter.

“Angel! No, I really should be calling you devil! You- get over here!”

Although you run from him, he quickly catches up to you and you’re in his grasp. He immediately overwhelms you with vicious tickles.

“Gojo!! Satoru, you– stop that!” You say between bouts of laughter. You’re off balance, and his relentless attack isn’t helping. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna–!”

You stumble and begin to topple to the cold cement, but you’re scooped up before you meet your demise.

A small gasp escapes you at your proximity, and at his eyes so clearly looking deeply into yours, yearning burning through them. He's never looked at you like this - has he?

“Woah! That was close, huh, angel?” He smiles, tone nonchalant and voice steady. He seems unaffected by your closeness, but his eyes tell a different story. You don't know what to trust - him or his eyes. But they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul – what answer does that leave you with?

And what answer do you have? Right now, with his strong arms around you, those beautiful eyes glittering as if they hold a sea of stars, that sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies, those lips you can’t help but glance at for too long–

You know.

Without thinking, you give in to your instinct to keep leaning in, and your lips meet his. It's not a passionate crash, but more of a gentle whisper to the soul. A soft brush to his lips, all the sweetness he brings to you returned.

Then, you pull away slowly, almost in confusion. Did you just do that?

You’re horrified. What did you just do without a single thought behind your action?

A gentle chuckle brings you out of your momentary horror.

“So what, you’re a paint brush kisser now?” He chuckles softly, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip.

You take in his expression - flushed cheeks, a soft smile, eyes full of a softness you've never imagined they could have.

"Yes,” You agree, your mouth stretching widely from the excitement and happiness you can’t hold back, “ l proudly am.”

He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, again and again and again until you're both out of breath. You both stay in that moment, feelings that lay hidden for years finally spilling out, until you're completely engulfed by the rain.

note part 2: I have a tendency to be over-detailed about boring/fluff details, so I tried to do that less here. First one shot in a while !! I hope the flow is still okay…I also couldn't decide how to do the ending, so l hope this works?

Also wow I can’t stop writing hurt/comfort and Gojo being an ass! I have another story drafted that’s also Gojo x reader and hurt/comfort as well…

Here’s a hint about that one: 🌸🩸

If you’re looking for more hurt/comfort, here’s my gojo hurt/comfort series: here (more action-y than this though)

Thanks for reading !! :)

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru is a little shit #jjk #ieiri shoko #gojo fanfic #yuji itadori #gojo satoru is emotionally constipated #gojo x reader #gender neutral mc #gojo satoru x you

1K notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

Text

Not A Verstappen: A New World {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Last race before summer break begins. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, team friction, bad language, fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Belgium Grand Prix Doctor Turner didn’t know where to look. She had started off looking at you but once Charles started to speak her attention was turned and then Lando chimed in too. Her poor neck was straining with flitting back and forth between the three of you sitting across from her desk.

“I think it is the stress,” Lando said as he squeezed your hand.

“I think it is the medication,” Charles countered, a familiar argument brewing. “Things started to change after she started taking it.”

Dr Turner hummed as she made her notes and prompted him for more as he fell silent. “Changes such as?”

You zoned out of the conversation. The whole appointment was a result of the family meeting they had called and the information was nothing new to you. You were moody, you were tired, you were hungry. Charles had been the one to suggest it was the hormones from the contraception. He had even gone so far as to unfold the very, very large sheet of side effect information hidden in the box.

“-and her weight.”

“Thanks, Charles. Love you too,” you muttered.

“Not like that, chérie,” he said as he turned to face you, cupping your cheek gently. “You are beautiful and I love your body, but you are training a lot harder with Kristian to maintain your race weight and you didn’t have to do that before.”

That much was true. The team had even stopped putting sandbags in the car for testing since the car was no longer underweight. You had thought your fireproofs had shrunk in the wash when you pulled them on in Hungary last weekend and the sleeves had cut into your wrists. There’s skintight and then there’s skintight.

”Those were all possibilities we discussed at the time,” Dr Turner said with a nod. “They are quite common with hormonal contraceptives so you likely wouldn’t find any change with the alternative options like the injection or the rods.”

“See, told you this was pointless. I just have to deal with it.”

“Or you could stop taking them,” Lando suggested.

“Given the choice…you want to go back to condoms?”

“As much as we enjoy the benefits, it’s not worth it if this is the cost,” Charles answered for the both of them. “Just stop taking the pills for a while and see how you feel.”

You sighed with defeat but you accepted the plan with a nod. “At least I’m stressed enough that there’ll still be no periods. Yay for me.”

Lando snorted a laugh at your sarcasm but Charles didn’t find the humour as he shook his head and thanked Dr Turner for fitting us into her busy schedule. It wasn’t as busy as yours since you needed to get to Côte d'Azur Airport to catch a ride with Max to Belgium, you and half the grid apparently.

“Well that was a waste of time, and now we need to go shopping for condoms,” you muttered as you left her office and got in your car. “Do you think Costco sells them in bulk boxes?”

“I am not buying cheap Kirkland branded condoms,” Lando said with a cringe. “Fuck that.”

“You also said you would never do dry July but here we are,” you pointed out.

“Except for that one night after Silverstone,” Charles added as he started the car.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not risking anything less than Durex. I’d rather trust myself to pull out.”

You looked at Charles in the rearview mirror before you both broke out in a fit of laughter as you shook your heads at the idea.

Lando was offended.

“Hey,” he called as he turned in his seat to look at you. “I could pull out if I wanted to.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you can’t lie to save your life.”

“We both know how it is when you hit that sweet spot, mon cher,” Charles said as he reached across the gearbox and rested his hand on Lando’s thigh. “It’s too good to resist staying buried in her.”

“I said I could if I wanted to, not that I would or want to.”

By the time you arrived at the airport, and hustled your way through security, you found Max, Daniel and Pierre already seated on the plane and pointed to other empty seats. “Are you expecting the rest of the grid or what?”

“At the rate you're collecting them, maybe,” Max joked.

You laughed and dropped into the seat opposite your brother, kicking your feet up on his armrest. “You can’t say shit like that in front of Pierre, he gets far too excited. He might even wet your carpet.”

Pierre looked up from his phone and you could tell from the smile on his face that he had been busy texting Kika before he realised what you had said and his lips pouted. “You make me sound like a puppy.”

“Nawww, I wish you had that level of obedience, Gasly.” Your feet were roughly shoved off the seat and you narrowed your eyes at the culprit as the plane began to taxi to the runway.

“Safety first, zusje, haven’t you read the pamphlet?”

“Why would I do that?” you scoffed as you buckled the belt in. Charles was doing the same where he sat across from Pierre and Lando was next to Daniel. “If something happens at 36,000 feet, bracing isn’t going to save me. Now, are there any stroopwafels on board this thing or do I have to wait another two hours? I'm starving.”

“The last two races have seen a big drop in performance for both you and Lance, and only a few points added to the tally, and now - failing to finish the sprint with that crash. Is this something the team is looking into?”

You wanted to ask if the Sky Sports reporter had a brain cell but took a steadying breath instead and nodded. “Mhmm.”

“So what is Aston Martin doing to get back up where you were competing earlier in the season and what are your hopes for the race tomorrow starting 9th on the grid?”

“We are doing what is always done: look at the data, continue the upgrades, and keep pushing. Same goes for the race, I’ll try my hardest to make up some places and avoid the gravel. I’m usually good at getting off the start line, the car is great for short acceleration so if I see a gap I’ll be going for it. Plus, you know how turn one goes - that might make my job easier if the boys up ahead get greedy.”

“Speaking of boys, this time last year you were heading into the summer break looking for love. What’s the plan this year?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll take Max’s advice and adopt a couple of cats this time.” You laughed as Lando and Charles turned to you from their spots in the media pen. “Is that a yes…no…maybe? Oh, that’s their ‘we will talk about this later’ face. I’m going to go now before I get into trouble.”

The smile you had been holding onto fell away as you stepped into the Aston Martin hospitality building and you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before you navigated your way to your room. You almost made it there with no interactions, until your fellow driver caught up and clipped your shoulder as he passed by to his room.

Still annoyed at the reporter, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and turned to him. “What’s your problem?”

“You almost had points and you threw them away. That’s what.”

“I spun out, Lance,” you sighed, already exhausted with where the conversation was heading. “It’s wet and it’s Spa, it's easy to have an accident. It’s not like I saw you up there earning any of them.”

“It’s not my seat that’s on the line though,” he stated.

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s just the truth.” His lips curved into the pretentious smile you hadn’t noticed when you joined the team, but it had become irksome to see grow over time. “My seat is secure.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be wasting your time hassling me over whatever issue you’ve made up in your head.” You enjoyed watching that smile fade.

“I don’t have an issue with you.”

“Then you feel threatened by me,” you said with a casual shrug. “It’s basic biology, animals attack when they feel in danger.”

“You should do something about that big ego of yours.”

“It’s big like my dick,” you said as you turned the door handle and shoved it open, “so choke on it.”

“Bitch.”

You gasped theatrically as you paused in the doorway. “Lance Strulovitch, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Did I offend you?”

Your laugh started as a tickle in your throat before your lips peeled back and bared your teeth at him. “Sticks and stones, baby, I kind of like it.”

Realising he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted from you, he shook his head and stepped away. “You’re all kinds of messed up.”

“Thanks for the assessment, Freud.” You slammed the door shut before he could give a response and screamed as you threw your bottle at the body that suddenly appeared. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Nope, just me,” Max chuckled as he rose from the chair that had been hidden by the door. “Nice to see you get along with your team mate too.”

“Oh that, that was just a friendly sparring match. Nothing to worry about.”

“I did warn you, zusje.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love to say I told you so,” you drawled as you grabbed your drink bottle from the floor and cracked it open. “Anyway, what are you doing, hiding in here acting like the godfather?”

“Our mothers have been conspiring again,” he said with a fond smile. “Family dinner tomorrow night after the race.”

“Won’t you have a winner’s after party planned?”

“I don’t think my liver could handle another one so soon.”

“Serves you right,” you snickered as he opened the door. “Wait, can Pascale, Adam and Cisca come too?”

“I said family dinner, didn’t I? They’re pretty much your in-laws.” He pointed to your table and you followed his finger to see a box overflowing with stroopwafels. “Is that enough or should I get some more for the flight home?”

You grinned as you grabbed one and tore through the packaging, talking with a mouthful. “I thought I was walking?”

“With those manners, you should be.” He started to close the door but changed his mind and stepped back in to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad you didn’t hit the barriers, zusje. Drive safe tomorrow.”

You nodded against his shoulder as you hugged him back.

It was only two days earlier that you ran the track with Pierre in memory of his friend, Anthione, and only five weeks before that another driver had lost his life on the track too. You hadn’t been thinking about that when you spun out, it wasn’t like it was anything close to what Lando did two years ago.

But your brother would always worry about you.

“You too, Maxy.”

Fifth was the best you could do in the end but for once you weren’t weighed down by the result.

You sat beside Max, sipping from a glass of lemonade that should have been a gin and tonic, and smiled at the story he animatedly recalled from the race. On your other side was Charles, his dimples deepening as Max praised him for the perfect overtake he had made on Lewis to clench third place. Beside him, Lando was grinning proudly and draped his arm over Charles’ shoulder, his fingertips teasing your collarbone.

Your parents lined the other side of the table and you scanned their faces while they were engrossed with the story, not as accustomed to Maxsplaining as you and the other drivers were. No one would have ever thought that the parents of a Red Bull, a McLaren, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin driver would all come together and support them all equally. But there they were. One big happy family.

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc x reader x lando norris #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you

805 notes · View notes

manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

Headcanon: Sometimes Eddie likes it better when you’re asleep

Warnings: 18+ only, reader is at college, unprotected sex, overstimulation, brief cockwarming, eddie’s miracle recovery period, masturbation, consensual somnophilia, drug use ie consensual smoking of weed that makes you sleepy, objectification & degradation. I think it’s fair to say this falls in the perv!eddie category. Smut immediately under the cut.

Word count: ~3,200

A/N: In a tale as old as time, the drabble I had planned is now a think piece.

“It’s like I can’t fucking stop,”

You whimper, legs twitching at the next turn of Eddie’s fingers over your sore clit. Your walls are clenching around him rhythmically with each thrust, each drive towards the peak you’ve reached, how many times now? Five? Six?

You’re already leaking from Eddie’s own high, but letting him stay balls deep and bask in the sticky wet warmth of his cum inside you got him worked up again. Soon his cock was twitching back to life and Eddie’s hips were rolling against your ass.

He groans, low and long into your shoulder, his torso angled over your back. Eddie’s thighs slap heavily against yours. Your ass is up in the air, letting him drag his cock from your walls and fuck back in until his round head meets that spot inside he loves to find and abuse.

You’re sore, the build still pleasurable but edging increasingly into pain now. Eddie can feel it, the way you’re holding on for him through it all. It makes him harder.

“Miss you so much when you’re away, baby,” he says, moaning through gritted teeth. “Fucking my fist constantly thinkin’ about this pussy, about you under me, yeah-” He cuts himself off with a groan when his words tighten your cunt around him. “Come on,” he says, rubbing your clit faster through your pained whimper. “I know, I know, just one more. Just one more, I promise.”

You sob with it, this high more of an aching twitch than a euphoric wave. But your cunt clenches, gushes a little around Eddie’s cock and that’s what he wanted from you. You smile at the sound of that excited laugh he gives you when he comes, like he can’t believe how good you make him feel. Then a masculine groan, the feeling of him swelling inside and the ropes of wet heat that he buries deep in your hole.

Eddie laughs again, and presses his face into the curve of your neck to give you a bouquet of soft kisses for your exhausted body. It feels so good like this, when he’s settled inside of you. The feeling of being full without the slam into your spot or the rubbing of fingers at the top of your sex, it’s perfect. You’d let him stay here all night if you didn’t know he’d start up again before you could let yourself rest.

You wiggle your hips and Eddie sighs, humming into one last kiss at the sensitive point where your shoulder meets your neck before he’s sitting up. He massages your lower back and your ass while he pulls himself from you, comforting you through the gross, dirty feeling of your hole gaping and leaking from what he’s done to you.

“I love you so much,” Eddie says. You glance on your shoulder and those wide eyes are still directed at your cunt. You kick back gently, making contact with his thigh so he’ll look at your unimpressed expression. He grins. “You, too, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but laugh while he settles himself back on his pillows. You stretch yourself out like a cat, flat on your stomach, and groan. “God, Eddie, you’re a fucking animal.”

His smile is somewhere between sheepish and proud, then he looks serious. “I miss you so much when you’re not here.”

“I miss you, too,” you say, leaning a little to kiss his warm shoulder. “But I’m here now. Will be till Sunday afternoon.”

“‘n after that?” He asks, because he wants to hear it, even though it’s been marked on his Uncle’s Big Rigs calendar in the kitchen since you left for college at the end of Summer.

“I have another Friday off at the beginning of next month, then at Thanksgiving I’ll be here a whole week, and even longer over the Holidays.”

“Can’t wait,” Eddie says, sighing happily and closing his eyes at the thought of keeping you in his bed for the best part of a month. When he opens them, your body has relaxed, exhaustion taking over in the few seconds he looked away. It didn’t matter that you were still naked from the waist down, your top still rucked up from his need to paw at your chest earlier. He’s fucked you into a stupor. If he moved just a little down the bed, he’d be able to look at the evidence of it still dripping from your cunt to his sheets.

“Fuck,” Eddie says. His cock, also still wet from your combined release, twitches against his thigh. He breathes out his nose, glancing at your prone body, the gentle rise and fall of your naked back with each tired breath. “Fuck it.”

As you’re drifting, the wet sound of skin rubbing slick skin pulls you back to reality. Your eyes fight the compulsion to open them, but a soft whine voiced into the quiet room connects your brain to Eddie, and then you’re blinking sleepily at him.

“Oh, Eddie.”

He’s flushed pink, hair sweaty and pushed back in a heap from his forehead. His hand fucks up and down his cock, pulling those distinctive sounds from the remnants of your wetness and the new drops of cum dripping from his pink tip. He looks kind of miserable. His eyes are wet, his bottom lip is reddening from the abuse of his teeth. “‘m sorry,” Eddie breathes, half whining. Your heart aches. “Can’t stop, when you’re here.”

You coo sleepily in the back of your throat, hating to see him like this. Settling yourself a little more into the pillows, you open your legs. “Come on,” you murmur, watching his unsure expression like he’s scared the obvious invitation isn’t what he thinks it is. “Just be gentle.”

He springs into action, body crawling to bracket your thighs with his.

“Thank you.” Eddie uses his hand to latch the head of his cock at your hole. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t go anywhere near my clit, Munson,” you tell him with a yawn, trying to relax into the initial aching stretch his cock brings, trying to make your body just take it rather than using the friction to build you up. You adjust the pillows under your head and wiggle your toes before settling down again, heavy eyes closing. “I mean it, I can’t come anymore.”

The position is good for this. With you flat against his mattress, he can only fuck forward, can’t angle his hips the way he likes to do to find your spot. His balls press heavy to your clit, but the slow movements of his cock in and out of your cunt prevent the heavy slap that can get you gushing around him.

“You’re so good to me, baby.”

He only gets a soft hum in reply. The drag of his cock is a pleasant stroke over sensitive skin. It feels good, like fingers caressing your neck. You’ll be sore tomorrow, stretched out and used. But right now, your body is content at the feeling of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Eddie on top of you, Eddie touching you, Eddie deep inside you.

He stops. “Baby, you’re falling asleep.”

“‘S okay,” you murmur, unable to open your eyes even if you wanted to. “Keep going till you cum.”

Eddie’s cock jumps and he returns to the slow roll of his body into yours. You hum, sigh, and drift away.

The next morning, Eddie is restless. You keep glancing up from your breakfast to find him already looking at you before turning away like he never was. It reminds you a little of the early days, when you were in the process of realising that he had a crush on you, back when you were senior’s together in his second year.

“You wanna tell me what’s got you all twitchy, Eddie?” Wide brown eyes fix on yours, surprise at the question turning to the expression of somebody knowing they’ve been caught. “Is it about last night?”

“Yeah, um. I kinda didn’t expect you to let me-” He clears his throat, hand coming up as if to make some kind of explanatory gesture, but what could signal the fact you let him fuck you sleeping? His fingers curl at the realisation he’ll have to say it. “You know, while you were falling asleep.”

“While I was asleep, too. Was gone before you came.”

“Shit, man.” He rubs ringed fingers over his pink face while you giggle.

“You liked it, huh?” Eddie nods slowly into his hands. “I mean, that’s okay. Good, really. I know I make you stop before you’re ready, sometimes.”

A doe eye appears in a gap between his right ring and middle fingers. Eddie lowers his hands, watching you curiously. “You uh, you mean I can-” He licks his lips, eyes jumping to catch each point of your face, any clue that you’re insincere. “You’d let me do that again.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “Felt nice. Got you off. What’s the issue?” He’s twitchy again, and you kick him gently under the table to get him to look at you. “What, Eds?”

“What about if you’re already asleep?”

You consider the little clench inside that drew from you, then shrug again. “That’s cool, too. Kinda hot actually, the thought of you just using me like that.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, still sounding nervous, hollow. “Kinda.”

He does it again that night, after he’s already fucked you tired. You know, because while you cuddle into his pillow on your side, feeling sated and nicely sleepy, his hand starts stroking across your thigh. Excitement runs up your spine in a shiver. “You sure?” He asks, soft in your ear, wanting the final confirmation that you’re going to let him do this to you.

“Yes, Eddie,” you answer. He keeps stroking your thigh, and you realise he wants you gone entirely before he gets started. The thought bounces around your head, settles, then vanishes as you slip into dreamless sleep.

Eddie is relaxed with you, the next day. He spends Sunday morning wincing at your attempts to play his guitar and making his own attempts at impressing you with the number of grapes he can fit in his mouth. You’re giggly and happy until you have to go early in the afternoon. He holds you for the whole ten minutes before you have to leave, face buried in your chest and legs tangled together.

When you’re back a couple weeks later, Eddie greets you at the door with a grin, tells you Rick sold him something new. “‘s called ACDC,” he says proudly, presenting a rolled joint before you’ve even even settled yourself down on his bed.

“I just got here. Are you that desperate to get high?”

He shakes his head. “Wanna watch you.”

Your eyebrows come together and you look at the joint with suspicion. “This gonna make me see God, Eddie?”

“It, uh, it’ll make you sleepy.”

A pause, confusion, then the memory of the last time you were here and the agreement you came to. “Oh.”

He fixes you with a serious look. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I mean- It’s just, the last time, it was after we’d already…”

Eddie nods. “I know. I know but,” he swallows. “I kinda wanna see, you know, how long I can go with you like that.”

The air is thick with tension while your mind runs over exactly what he’s asking you. Eddie’s good at following your boundaries, pushing sometimes to help you realise exactly where they are, but never crossing. If you tell him no, Eddie would just smile and take the joint from you. He’d probably throw it over his shoulder and climb over your body to give whatever’s he’s been saving up. Nevermind that you would still be wide awake and wanting him.

Eddie wants you asleep while he fucks you. Desire moves, heavy and tingling, through your body. “Okay,” you say, reaching out for a lighter.

Eddie’s shoulders slump with a relieved sigh. Then, as if he’d only just realised what you’ve agreed to, they come right back up again. He’s practically bouncing on his feet. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you fucking perv. Give me the lighter.” He does, and watches with dark eyes as you take a long drag. “Is this gonna knock me right out, or?”

“No, got it cause it’s supposed to be kinda gentle.”

He put thought into this. What strain to get to knock you out sweetly before he fucks your passed out body. You rub your thighs together, feeling your panties start to stick to the lips of your pussy under your jeans. You take another drag, then rest the joint in the ashtray by his bedside. You find the buttons of your jeans, working them down your legs and pulling your socks off in the process. Then you reach behind you to undo your bra and remove it from under your t-shirt, grinning when you throw it at Eddie, who jumps like he was in a trance.

“Come rock me to sleep.”

He climbs into the bed and lets you rest your whole body against his chest, settling into the warm fabric of his favourite Dio shirt. Eddie hands you the joint again, watches with intensity as you puff at it for a few minutes. “Starting to hit you?”

“Yeah.”

You feel him, hard and wanting against your back. The thought forms more clearly than before. Eddie’s going to fuck you, cum inside you who knows how many times, and you won’t even be aware, won’t remember the details at all because you’re not even going to be awake for it.

Another drag, then you put it out in the ashtray because your mind is settling into that comfy place that will let you drift off. Eddie kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “So good to me,” he says, his voice a mile away. “So good for me, sweetheart.”

You’re sore when you wake up in the morning, the space between your legs still slick and leaking him. Eddie’s sleeping face is a picture of relaxed contentment, his hair tangled and wild like he’d been pulling his hands through it all night. Maybe he was. You certainly wouldn’t know.

“Hey, pervert,” you say, shaking his shoulder a little until his big eyes are squished closed in protest, then open and blinking sleepily. “You shove your fist up there or what?”

Eddie’s face splits in a grin. “You sore?”

“You know I am.” You also feel the same sated pleasure you normally feel when you wake up in Eddie’s bed. You swallow. “How- how many-”

“Don’t ruin the fun, baby,” Eddie interrupts, reaching out to pull you into his body. “Better you don’t worry your pretty head about it, yeah?”

He eats you out till you’re crying, taking every drop of what he left in you into his mouth before spitting it into yours, face wild and grinning, his hair a messy curtain around you. Eddie fucks you awake the rest of the weekend, doesn’t use your resting body again while you’re there. It only strikes you when you’re halfway back to Indianapolis, fingers tight on the steering wheel, your pussy clenching at the thought-

Maybe he did.

You don’t spend as much time as you wanted with him over Thanksgiving, stolen away by the responsibilities gifted to you by your Mother’s decision to host the whole family at your house. You clean and decorate and prepare dinner for days, all the time waiting till you can steal away and see your boyfriend who whines to you each night over the phone about how much he misses you.

You sleep over the night before you have to leave. He lays you on his bed and presses your legs to your chest, smiling the whole time. “So fucking lucky to have you,” he tells you, face pressed to your neck when you’re done. Eddie wiggles his hips with his cock inside just to hear you gasp and feel you hit his chest. He twitches inside before he pulls out, and it’s all you think about as you fall asleep.

“Did you fuck me last night?” You ask him over Cheerio’s the following day. He crunches his mouthful with his eyebrows together, having to cover his face to stop the huge pile he’d shoved in from falling out while he tries to force it down.

“Uh, yeah,” he answers. “Remember? You squirted all over-”

“No, I mean after. When I was asleep.”

“No,” he says with a simple shake of his head. Queue another heap of cereal that prevents him from continuing for the next ten seconds. “We didn’t talk about it before. Wouldn’t do it without that.”

Your sweet boy. You sigh, unclear in your own mind if it’s because of relief or disappointment.

“Did you think I would?” He asks, eyes wide, a little hurt.

“I didn’t know. I thought I’d, sort of, implied rolling consent.”

“Can’t imply consent, babe.” Another mouthful, his dark eyes set on you. He swallows. “So I have your consent?” You blink. “When you come back. I can fuck you sleeping whenever I want.”

Your head is fuzzy. “Yes, Eddie.”

He purses his lips in a smile, tilts his head. “Can’t wait.”

When school lets out for the Winter, you stay with Eddie in his Uncle’s trailer for a week straight, watching holiday movies and burning four consecutive attempts at batches of gingerbread. Each night, he cuddles you tight in bed to fight against the encroaching cold. You always open the windows at night, liking it freezing in the room, warm under heavy covers.

Eddie hums in your ear. You sink into the mattress, and sleep.

Tonight, when the December air brings an icy draft through the open window, the sweat on your exposed back attracts it. The chill moves along your body in a shivery crawl. You wake up.

“So fucking good like this.”

Eddie, whispering somewhere above your head. His cock is locked inside, his hips moving in quick little thrusts that let him press his heavy balls against your weeping slit. He’s already come in you once. You can feel the warmth of it.

“Can’t believe you let me do this to you. Knew you were a slut but didn’t think-” He groans into the air, pulls his cock from your depths then presses back in to fuck you properly. Still gentler than he would normally, because he doesn’t want you awake. He wants you like this, more submissive than you ever could be with your eyes open. Yours are still heavy, like they’re telling you to drift away, let Eddie have what he wants. “Didn’t think you’d ever let me use you like a fleshlight. But that’s what you are, right?”

Oh.

“Just a cunt.”

Your walls clench tight. Eddie stops.

His heavy breath is the only sound in the quiet room. A second later, you feel his hand massaging gently over your shoulder, your neck. Eddie kisses the back of your head, and whispers into your hair. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Your slipping mind supplies what your body already knows.

Yes, Eddie.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson headcanon #my stuff

6K notes · View notes

comradekatara · 9 days

Note

Genuinely asking—what changes would you make to the adult gaang designs? :)

this is such a fun question thank u for enabling me. i mean i draw them as adults sometimes so also check out my /oldergaang tag if u want visuals (altho i also change my designs a lot because my art is nothing if not inconsistent) but if i was just going with like standard character designs like if i could redesign that hideous “old friends” poster for example…

aang: get rid of that fucking. chinstrap. don’t give him white man features because what the hell is that. and let him wear his off the shoulder monk robes from book 3 because he was slaying with that fit. actually the way aang is drawn in imbalance is basically perfect i would retain that design into adulthood. thank u peter wartman for all that u do….

katara: i don’t mind the older katara design (from the little we see of it) but it’s also not nearly as cunty and slayful as i would like. katara is genuinely interested in fashion and loves experimenting with clothes and hair and makeup, i refuse to believe that as she ages and has more resources to tailor her style to her own personal tastes she wouldn’t get a little funky with it. like she kind of just looks boring and uninspired in her older design, and that’s unacceptable to me because she should be hot. adult katara should be the hottest woman you have ever seen in your life. and she should be buff, also. shredded, even.

toph: any signifiers of copness are obviously unacceptable to me. but even more that than, it’s very important to me that older toph is distinctly butch. i think she would cut her hair the second she realizes that there is no reconciliation to be found with her parents and that there is no reason to adhere to those confucian values. and she would wear a lot of sleeveless outfits (sort of like the shirt korra wears in “korra alone”) to show off her biceps and also space bracelet (spacelet) that is her prized possession forever. and she’s just kind of a hot hippie butch legend . period.

zuko: in the old friends poster he literally looks like a lizard so just like. no. wtf. and i like his long hair in theory but i don’t like that it’s styled after ozai and not ursa, i think his hair would be shwoopier and frame his face more. and his robes should be less spiky and militaristic and more designed for comfort because that’s what makes him feel most like his true authentic self and he deserves that. also weird for a guy who is trying to demilitarize the fire nation to wear an armor-adjacent type of outfit. so mainly he’d just look softer and more like his mom.

sokka: i hate buff goatee whitewashed sokka that is some kind of demon. lok did so little with him and yet said so much (all of it egregiously wrong, ofc). sokka would be fairly tall (although not as tall as aang) and have defined muscle but in a sinewy, lanky way. and despite always having enough to eat he’d still look somewhat malnourished just because he’s constantly overworked and exhausted and never takes care of himself. and his ponytail would be longer but he’d still shave the sides. and the older he gets the darker his clothes get until he basically just wears black all the time because at some point he realizes that it’s more advantageous to remain culturally ambiguous if he’s gonna be a cosmopolitan. and he wears glasses (which were a gift from kuei). and sometimes he uses a cane because he didn’t sufficiently take care of his broken leg after the war ended and now he’s paying the price for it. and his cane has a blade inside too, but he rarely ever even pulls out the blade because he can incapacitate someone with just a wooden stick anyway. so he looks like if a nerd was a shadow was about to collapse at any given moment was secretly ruling the entire world. and he’s not in any sort of front-facing position of power whatsoever but he’s actually pulling all the strings from behind the scenes, and it’s exhausting. his eyebags are visible from outer space.

suki: i don’t even think there is a “canon” adult suki character design besides her in her kyoshi warrior armor and makeup but to me casual suki just starts dressing more like sokka. like the loose baggy sleeveless shirts (except in a lighter shade of blue bc kyoshi island colors) and tight pants and boots. it’s a very dykey look already and they’re basically girlfriend twins so their styles would merge even more than it already has within the show itself. like sometimes people think that sokka and suki are siblings because they dress so similarly and give off such a similar vibe and they’re just like “but we’re literally different ethnicities??? and also we are currently making out????”

okay bonus round bc i can’t just neglect them

azula: she cuts her hair really short and as an adult leaves it to shoulder length for the most part because that’s more comfortable for her. like zuko, she also starts dressing for comfort, and for a period in her late teens stops wearing makeup altogether. she gets back into wearing makeup as an adult, but she stops caring about whether or not she leaves the house with lipstick on, and it becomes more about the process for her than the result. she’s comfy and cute and dykey.

mai: sokka is her lesbian style icon so after her first haircut that was inspired by toph’s haircut to piss off her parents, she gets an undercut and starts wearing her hair in a ponytail like sokka. as she gets older she also gets more confident in her body and doesn’t feel like she needs to wear baggy long-sleeved clothing at all times or she’ll die. and she isn’t rail thin as an adult either because she starts letting herself eat more than a single grain of rice at a time. also, she gets a sword.

ty lee: she becomes a kyoshi warrior so she starts incorporating more blues and greens into her wardrobe, but also more oranges and yellows after she embraces her air nomad heritage. and she just dresses very colorfully and has a vast rotation of different cute little outfits. and i think she’d also experiment with different hairstyles once she has the freedom to define herself outside of the aesthetics expected of her. she looks beautiful always

haru: he finally shaves that thang

#shadowoftheraven15 #asks #the gaang and #postwargaang #oldergaang

159 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 7 months

Text

Lonely This Christmas

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Dark and obsessive behaviour, stalking, smut, dubious consent. Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: On a rare occasion when her and Billy both find themselves home for Christmas at the same time, they admit they've always fancied each other. However, as things develop between them, she soon realises that for Billy it's something much more sinister than a harmless crush. Based on this request.

Author's note: For my darling @heimtathurs. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She walks up the pathway to the front door, the combination of the bitter cold and the handles of the plastic carrier bag cutting into her flesh causing her fingers to sting painfully. The cans in the bag clank noisily against each other as she jostles it from one hand to the other, raising her fist to knock at the door. Her breath comes in hot, cloudy puffs as she shifts from foot to foot, relief flooding through her as she sees the silhouette of her best friend, Lana, appear through the glass in the door.

“Let me in then!” She grumbles, pushing past and handing Lana the bag, once the door is open. “It’s bloody freezing out there!”

It’s December 23rd, and time for her and Lana’s annual tradition of Christmas Eve Eve film night - a ritual that they’ve managed to keep alive since they first met in secondary school, though as the years have passed their taste in films has matured and they can now sit and openly drink beer, instead of needing to sneak a bottle of MD 20:20 back and forth between them beneath a duvet, like they did as teenagers.

The location never changes - always at Lana’s parents’ house - even now that she’s moved out, she always comes home for two weeks over the festive period, and like clockwork the two of them sit on the sofa the evening before Christmas Eve and stare at the TV until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

She shrugs off her coat as she moves through the hallway, into the living room, the warmth from the central heating causing her skin to prickle with the pleasant rise in temperature. Rolling her eyes as she spies the DVD case for Die Hard on the coffee table, she sits heavily down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her.

“We watched this last year,” she says to Lana, who follows a few paces behind, having deposited the contents of the bag into the fridge in the kitchen, “It’s not even a Christmas film!”

“It’s set at Christmas, so it’s a Christmas film,” Lana shoots back, handing her a can of Stella, before flopping down beside her and cracking open her own. “And Bruce Willis in that vest? I’m gripped.”

She snorts a laugh, opening her own beer and taking a deep sip, enjoying the way the coolness of the bitter liquid fizzes against her tongue.

“How’ve you been anyway? Your mum and dad not in?”

Lana swallows and pokes at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Nah, they’re out for the evening, think they could use a break since face-ache moved back in. I’ve only been back here a few days and he’s already doing my head in.”

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of Billy. She’d met Lana’s younger brother when he’d started at the same secondary school as them and, although he was a couple of years below them, she’d always thought he was cute. He was tall, if a little on the lanky side, and his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes instantly attracted her to him. She’d kept the fact that she fancied him to herself though, feeling it was inappropriate to lust after her best mate’s brother, especially a younger brother.

As the years had passed, Billy’s seemingly permanent cheeky smile had faded into a persistent look of misery. He’d done badly at school, left with failing grades and been rejected each time he’d tried to apply to join the army.

Meanwhile, Lana had flourished, leaving school with a handful of As and Bs. She’d enrolled at college, before enlisting in the army and from there her career in the police force had taken off. She’d moved away from home, had a place of her own and had made her parents proud.

Billy, on the other hand, had struggled with chronic unemployment, eventually falling in with an alt right group who had set him up for a potential terrorist attack. He’d barely escaped the explosion on Cranstead Gardens, and had never really pulled himself back together afterwards. His relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Becky, had broken down and he’d moved out of their flat and back in with his parents, where he’d been living for the last six months.

She hasn’t seen Billy since they left school, but Lana tells her all about him whenever they hang out or chat on the phone. She’s always felt strangely protective of him, where Lana and her parents have given Billy a hard time, she has opted for a softer touch, believing he just needs someone to understand him.

“You can’t be so hard on him,” she says, finger pinging against the ringpull of her can absentmindedly, “he’s been through a lot.”

Lana sighs, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not paying any rent, never tidies up, isn’t bothering to look for work. We can’t help him, he won’t let us, doesn’t wanna help himself.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Skulking around upstairs,” Lana nods towards the staircase. “First Christmas he’s not spent at Becky’s mum’s in a long time and he’s taking it…well, I couldn’t tell you how he’s taking it, he never leaves his bloody room.”

She nods sadly, letting the topic go as they settle back into the sofa cushions as the opening credits for Die Hard begin to roll.

“I’m empty,” Lana says around twenty minutes into the film, shaking her beer can. “You want another?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she tell hers, taking her empty and heading towards the kitchen, eager for a break from a film she had no interest in watching last year, let alone again this year.

She chucks the cans into the recycling bin, before opening the fridge and retrieving two more. She yelps as she closes the door, startled by Billy standing there.

“Jesus, Billy–”

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles apologetically, a tinge of pink dusting itself across his cheek bones, as he averts his gaze. “Wasn’t tryna scare ya, just came down to make a cuppa.”

She exhales through her nose, a smile tugging at her lips. “S’alright. How are you getting on, anyway? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” he says uncertainly, filling the kettle from the sink and then flicking it on to boil. “Guessing you heard what happened then?”

She nods, placing the cans on the side and wiping the condensation off of her hands onto her jeans. “Lana told me. I’m so sorry, Billy, I really hope you’re okay.”

He says nothing for a moment, dropping a tea bag into a mug, followed by a generous pour of milk.

Milk first. Ugh.

“It’s been hard, y’know,” he finally says, “tryna find work, but there’s fuck all out there. What are you up to these days? You’re looking well.”

The sudden shift in focus doesn’t go unnoticed by her, he’s clearly not keen to talk about himself, but she can’t help but smile at the small compliment, feeling herself grow bashful.

“Got a job at a marketing agency,” she tells him, “nothing fancy, but it pays the rent.”

She’s actually a high ranking executive, living in one of the area’s most expensive flat blocks and has a tidy sum saved away for a deposit to eventually buy a place of her own. She’s unsure of why she’s downplaying her achievements, perhaps on some level she feels she owes it to Billy to not rub her success in his face when he’s clearly having a rough time of it.

The kettle boils and Billy fills his mug, stirring the tea bag around with a spoon, before squeezing it out with his fingers, making her wince - that has to burn, but if it does it doesn’t appear to bother him. He discards the used bag on the side, before turning to her. She can see what Lana means about him not tidying up now, it would have taken two steps for him to put it in the bin, and he hasn’t bothered. The laziness almost makes her want to laugh.

“So you and Lana doing your film night then?” He asks, noisily slurping his tea, then fixing her with a soft, yet unblinking gaze.

The intensity of his baby blue eyes flusters her, and for a moment she forgets what he’s asked, feeling the same old butterflies from their school days return. She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the feeling.

“Y-yeah…I’m surprised you remember. You were a teenager the last time we did one of those with you here,” she smiles warmly.

He nods, keeping a hand wrapped around his mug, pushing off of the kitchen side towards her and suddenly she’s aware of just how tall he’s grown, her throat running dry as she feels the kitchen counter bite into her back as she presses herself against it.

She deflates slightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware when she’d been holding, a little disappointed when he brushes past her, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“I remember,” he says, a ghost of the lopsided smirk she loved so much from their school days playing upon his full lips, “remember what a racket you and Lana used to make pretending you weren’t pissed on that nasty blue stuff.”

She grins, her gaze dropping as she fiddles with the cuff of her jumper sleeve, thinking back to all those years ago. “Sorry, Billy,” she finally says, looking up at him, “we’ll keep it down tonight.”

“No worries, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her. “Enjoy your film.”

“Billy?” She calls softly after him as he moves to go back upstairs.

He turns, looking at her questioningly.

“You’re looking well too, by the way.”

The dusting of pink that had appeared across his cheekbones earlier now returns in earnest and he gives a simple nod before turning and heading up the stairs.

She deposits his now cold, used teabag into the bin, then grabs hers and Lana’s beers from the side and goes back into the living room.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, her and Lana finish off Die Hard, then move onto Gremlins.

On the couple of occasions that she goes upstairs to the bathroom she can hear the sound of Billy playing Call of Duty through his closed door. She thinks about knocking to invite him down to join them, but figures if he had wanted to do that he’d have asked in the kitchen, so she leaves it.

They’re halfway through Jingle All the Way when she feels her eyelids start to grow heavy. She leans forward, placing her half drunk can on the coffee table and turns to Lana.

“I’m gonna have to push off home, babe, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Lana nods, pausing the film and sitting forward with a yawn. “Yeah, should probably get to bed myself. You gonna be alright getting home? Need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, it’s only down the road, I’ll be fine walking,” she insists as she puts her shoes and coat back on.

“Alright, well, text me when you get home, yeah?” Her friend says, pulling her into a hug.

“Course,” she smiles, hugging her back and heading towards the front door. “Have a great Christmas. See you for New Year’s.”

Lana waves her off and as the front door closes behind her, she’s about to head back down the pathway when the glowing ember of the end of a lit cigarette catches her eye.

She turns to see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a roll up.

“You off?” He asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that’s made larger by the cold that clings to the puff of his breath.

“Yeah. Was good to see you, Billy,” she says, trying to ignore how her pulse races at the way the soft glow of the street lamp illuminates the sharpness of his side profile.

“I’ll give you a lift, if you want?” He offers, crushing his cigarette beneath his foot.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m only twenty minutes down the road,” she says, suddenly feeling awkward, putting her hands in her coat pocket.

“And you could be five minutes down the road if I drive,” he retorts with a smirk.

She sighs, her gaze softening. Not having to walk home in the cold would be nice, actually. “Yeah, go on then.”

Billy walks around to the front door, opens it and fishes around on the key hooks until he has the set he needs. They walk down the road until they reach a red VW Polo and he unlocks it.

“New car?” She asks nonchalantly, having expected to see his old silver Vauxhall Cavalier.

“Nah, this is mum’s. Haven’t had a car since…well…y’know.”

Since it blew up. Fuck, how could she be so thoughtless?!

“Oh god, Billy, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Do you mind just giving me a minute before you get in?”

She nods, keeping her hands in her pockets, watching as feels all around the car’s interior, checking inside the glove box and under the seats.

Checking for explosives.

He finally settles behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, attempting to calm his breaths.

“Honestly, Billy, I don’t mind walking…” she says quietly.

He looks up at her, as though just remembering she’s there. “No…no, it’s fine. I want to do it. It’s good for me, I have to.”

“Can I get in now?” She asks, giving Billy a reassuring smile.

He nods, and she walks around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling her seatbealt.

Billy starts the car and they drive in silence for a few moments before he finally speaks.

“You must think I’m such a loser,” he mutters, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

She turns slightly in her seat, shocked by what he’s said. “I’ve never thought you were a loser. Please don’t say that.”

“I’ve got no job, no car, I live with my mum and dad, can’t even drive without needing to check I won’t fucking blow up first,” he scoffs, “don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!” She protests. “You’ve been through so much, Billy, you need to give yourself a break.”

His lips quirk, he pulls a hand away from the steering wheel to pull at the collar of his t-shirt. “S’not just what happened though, brought it on myself dad says. I’ve always been a loser, ever since school.”

“I never thought you were,” she assures him gently, “I actually really fancied you back then.”

Billy draws in a sudden breath, glancing sideways at her as he pulls up outside of her block of flats.

How does he know where she lives? Lana must have told him.

“And now?” He asks, turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to look at her.

It feels as though all the air has left the car suddenly, as they stare at each other. She isn’t sure what possesses her, perhaps the three cans of lager she’s drunk throughout the evening, but she finds herself leaning over the centre console and pushing her lips against his.

He reciprocates, soft and unsure at first, but quickly gains confidence, his mouth moving against hers with more urgency.

She cups his face, her fingers grazing over the stubble at the corner of his jaw that he always seems to miss when shaving and she smiles into the kiss, enjoying its roughness against her fingertips.

Billy seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and she moans softly as it slides against her own.

Their pupils are wide with lust, the windows of the car fogged up when they finally part for breath, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

He strokes his large hand over the back of her head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I come up?”

She swallows thickly, not wanting to reject him, but knowing it’s not a good idea to rush things. “Not tonight, Billy, I–”

He jerks away, hurt flashing across his features, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, was stupid to think you’d want that…”

“No, no, it’s not that!” She says, reaching over and taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “We’ve waited so long for this, I don’t wanna rush it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Can I text you then?”

“I’d like that,” she looks at him through hooded eyes, “let me give you my number.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Oh. Something else Lana must have given him.

“Alright then. Well, goodnight.”

She leans over and pecks him on the lips, then exits his car.

When she goes to sleep that night it’s with a smile upon her face, knowing that her childhood crush feels the same way that she does. In the back of her mind, she knows that Lana will go mad when she finds out, but that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

She is less than enthused when she awakens the next day realising it’s Christmas Eve and she needs to make her annual visit to her great aunt’s for room temperature sherry, mince pies and questions about why she isn’t married with children yet.

Her face lights up when she sees a text on her phone from an unknown number and realises it’s Billy.

She grins excitedly to herself, calling her great aunt and feigning a migraine, before showering and readying herself for her day with Billy.

True to his word in his text, the buzzer to her flat sounds an hour later and he is at her door a few moments later.

It’s awkward at first, as they both stand there sizing each other up, unsure of what to say or do, until he takes the initiative and steps forward to kiss her.

It all feels so easy and natural, as though it’s something they should always have been doing, and when he takes her hand in his as they walk into town she can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at how perfectly her hand slots into his.

They walk around the Christmas market together, hand in hand, drinking mulled wine. For the first time since they were at school together, she sees Billy laugh, a genuine, happy laugh. He makes jokes, a sparkle returning to his eyes and he looks so relaxed, she is finally able to see his potential again, all that he could be if he wasn’t constantly wallowing in self pity, lurking in Lana’s shadow and taking his parents’ criticisms to heart.

When he walks her home that evening, she doesn’t hesitate to invite him up. Gentle affirmations of “I had a nice time today” rapidly escalate to needy kisses as they tug at each other’s clothes. This is the Billy that she wants, and she sees no point in waiting any longer.

His large hands eagerly grasp at her hips as she pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling his lap.

They are a frenzied clash of lips, teeth and tongue, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling his head back slightly to mouth at his jaw and neck. He groans at the sensation, hips bucking up to meet hers.

When he slides down his tracksuit bottoms and boxers to free the ample hardness that has been pressing against her thigh for the last five minutes, she lifts herself, meaning to remove her tights. She gasps when his long fingers pluck at the crotch, tearing them open and pushing her knickers to the side.

His digits swipe through the wetness of her folds and she shudders against him. “You on the pill?” He asks gruffly.

She nods in affirmation, a whine escaping her as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, slowly pressing into her.

The sounds he makes against her ear as he thrusts up into her are lewd, but with every grunt and breathy moan she clenches around him. This is a purely carnal act of desire, fulfilling years’ worth of pent up animalistic need. There will be plenty of time for gentle lovemaking, but right now she just needs to feel him, and judging by the way slams her down to meet each quick thrust, jaw slack and brow furrowed, she is certain he feels the same way.

The throbbing of him inside of her, as he spills deep within her, drives her over the edge and she peaks with a strangled cry, tightening around him in quick successive pulses.

They remain like that for a long while afterwards, resting against each other on the sofa, in the darkness of her living room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve got no idea,” he whispers eventually, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“I wanna stay, but–”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Billy, it’s alright. You should get home before your mum gives you an earful.”

They pull unsteadily apart, adjusting their clothes, and she walks him to the door.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” she smiles before kissing him softly, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“You an’ all,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug and then walking away.

Christmas Day is uneventful. Presents and a roast at her parents’, followed by an afternoon of board games and films.

She gets a happy Christmas text from Lana, and smiles when she gets one from Billy too - the first he’s ever sent her.

By the time Boxing Day rolls around, she’s already thoroughly fed up with her family and eager to be back in her own space. She grins when her phone buzzes with a message from Billy.

She pulls out her phone, thinking carefully about what to send to her best friend, before typing a message.

She arrives at Billy and Lana’s parents’ house an hour later and is given a warm welcome by everyone. It’s strange not being able to interact properly with Billy, considering how close they’ve become so quickly over the last few days, however, he carries himself with a confidence she’s never seen him have in front of his family before.

He stands a little straighter, actually bothers to make eye contact when he talks to people. It spreads a warmth within her chest to see him no longer looking so downtrodden and defeatist, she can no longer sense the anger that used to simmer just below the surface like she used to be able to.

His eyes find hers whenever no one’s looking and she can’t help the smiles that she directs his way.

The leftovers have been dished up and they’ve been sitting around the TV for an hour when she goes upstairs to use the bathroom.

Noticing Billy’s bedroom door ajar on her way back downstairs, she can’t resist a peek inside. She’d never dared go in when she’d come to see Lana when they were younger. She pushes the door fully open, nose wrinkling at the rumpled bed sheets and assortment of dirty socks and boxers that litter the floor, but smiles as she casts her eye over the Oasis poster on the wall and the acoustic guitar that leans against the chest of drawers.

She twiddles absentmindedly with the PS4 controller, when a box that’s been shoved haphazardly beneath the bed catches her eye. She drags it out, pulling out a scrapbook that sits on the top.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood feeling as though it runs ice cold as she flips through it. It’s filled with old school photos of her, plus newer pictures that have clearly been printed off from her social media accounts.

Rummaging further into the box she pulls out items she’d assumed she’d either lost or that Lana had borrowed on the occasions she’d stayed over - there are scrunchies, old lip balms, even a pair of her underwear. Disgust causes bile to rise in her throat, a mixture of fear and disbelief quickly spreads its way through her body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Billy’s voice says quietly from the doorway, causing her to gasp as she looks up in fright. “Doesn’t matter now though, don’t need that shit anymore, not now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Billy,” she pleads, her voice shaking, “what is all this?”

“I’ve always wanted you, never thought you’d feel the same though. She looked like you, y’know,” he tells her, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him.

“Who?” Tendrils of icy fear spread to her belly, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, yet she stays rooted to her spot on the bed.

“Becky,” he says simply, “she was the spit of you. Only reason I went out with her, to be honest. I was gutted when she ended things, but she doesn’t matter now. Don’t need some cheap knock off, not when I have you.”

“Please, Billy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears pricking her eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Job hunting, the bomb, none of it matters because I’ve got you.”

“Listen to yourself, this isn’t you,” she pleads, backing up on the bed away from him as he towers over her.

“You’ve seen how much better I am with you, you can’t take that away. I need you. And I make you feel good too. Look, you just need a reminder.”

He looms over her on the mattress, his hand darting between her legs and she whimpers.

“Billy, no, please…”

She wants to scream, to cry out and make him stop, but the thought of attracting the attention of Lana and her parents and them coming up here and seeing all of this is more than she can stand. So she lays there, lets Billy slide his hand up her skirt and into her underwear, hating the way her body responds to his trust.

“See?” He murmurs again the shell of her ear. “Only I can make you feel like this. Everything is gonna go my way now that you’re mine, you’ll see.”

Her vision goes watery, a combination of tears and building pleasure causing the poster on the opposite wall to blur.

She tenses as his fingers work her quickly towards her climax and she screws her eyes shut, shuddering with a quiet whine as she falls apart.

“There you go,” he coos gently, “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Billy is a man with nothing to lose. He means it. He’ll never let her go.

#billy washington #billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #billy washington x y/n #billy washington smut #billy washington imagine #billy washington trigger point #ewan mitchell #billy washington fan fiction #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fan fic #trigger point

438 notes · View notes

apollosfavkiddo · 25 days

Note

Hi, I just read your two Jason fics and I love them. Could you write a daughter of Poseidon x Jason and maybe Percy being a overprotective brother. Thanks. Love you

⛧° jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader hcs °⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader, platonic!percy jackson x reader

warnings:

a/n: guys, i reached 100 likes with just two posts omg you're amazing!!! so, i kinda got a few other requests waiting, but they’re TOO good to make just headcannons or to be poorly written, so they’ll take a little while longer to be posted. nothing much, tho (i hope). enjoy!

Protective is an understatement.

Percy is literally the most protective brother ever, even if you're just one year younger than him.

He feels as if he's job to protect you from everything and everyone that could possibly think about hurting you.

So when you started hanging out more with him and his friends, he couldn't have made it more clear to all of them that you were completely and totally off limits.

But did this silly little rule stop Jason to date you?

Of course it did!

My baby is just too obedient and such a rule follower... poor boy

Anyways, you had to make the first move.

Even with that, he was pretty hesitant to do anything such as holding hands in public.

In reality, he wasn't afraid of Percy, he just didn't want the other boy to get mad with him.

So, one day, you called both Percy and Jason to have a very serious conversation in the Poseidon cabin.

Percy was, as usual, completely clueless about anything, so he just babbled with Jason.

Who, by the way, was a complete mess of blushing and stuttering.

You obviously thought it as endearing, cause it really was.

"You're probably wondering why i called you here today." you said, a wicked smile on your face.

Percy was hugged with his plushie (you had matching shark plushies, Dory and Nemo) while Jason wanted to dig a hole in the floor and never come back from it.

"What's up, sis? If it's something to do with missing chocolate, i have nothing to do with it." The dark haired boy said, smiling.

Little did he knew that smile was gonna fade in three seconds.

"Me and Jason, we're dating." You said, quickly.

Percy's face fell.

"W-what?" He asked, his eyes darkening.

"We're dating. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend."

"So... you're dating Jason. Not Leo?" Percy asked.

"No, why would i date Leo-" You were cut off by a grateful sigh coming from your brother's mouth.

"Thanks the gods. As long as it's not Leo, i can handle it."

Jason turned to him for the first time, as if he wasn't even believing the words he just heard.

"Just... break her heart and i'll break your neck." Percy said with a threatening smile and patted Jason's back, leaving the cabin.

Alright, enough of the Jackson drama, back to Blond Superman.

He's the literal sweetest person alive.

He👏🏼learnt👏🏼 how 👏🏼to 👏🏼swim👏🏼 for👏🏼 ya

Bro's whipped

And he took Percy's words as his life rules

He made his best to make you happy whenever you're with him

Like, literally anytime

Once you cried next to him cause a fish didn't talk to you (it was a plastic fish, but you were on ur period, okay?)

He literally took you to the beach so you could chat and gossip with the real fishes

And you were so happy he nearly melt at that sight

That's when he knew he had fell in love with you

Romantic dates EVERY WEEK

He bribes the Demeter kids to give him your favorite flowers every once in a while

He always keeps some sort of physical touch, doesn't matter if he's holding your waist, your hands, touching pinkies

You got the point

He's just too madly in love

For him, you're the most beatiful, unique, hot, perfect, powerful, hot, smart, hot, strong, HAVE I MENTIONED HOT, person in the whole world

Literally, he would kiss your feet if you asked him to

He's glad you don't, actually

He stopped eating anything that comes from the marine animals after you got together.

Like, absolutely anything

Oh, and i've mentioned this on a previous hc, but he literally pays for absolutely ✨everything✨

Like, honey, don't even come near your wallet

Oh, and he buys you lots of gifts constantly

From plushies to books to makeup to sketch books in case you like drawing

And he's totally a languages guy

And with your ADHD and dyslexia, he helps you a lot

And you help him with maths.

Of course, he always has a nickname for you.

"Hey, mermaid?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

#postcards from leah #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #pjo

153 notes · View notes

brnesblogposts · 2 months

Text

Moon boys when you’re on your period!

pairing(s) gn!reader x steven grant, gn!reader x marc spector

warnings just fluff and comfort. mentions of everything a period entails.

a/n i didn’t write for Jake purely because i don’t know spanish and it’s 2am, this took a lot longer than i thought it would and it would take even more time to translate words into spanish to write his pov, BUT if you do want me to do a jake pov let me know and i will! when you know- it’s not the middle of the night :)

Steven

Steven was awoken by you stirring in your sleep, he leaned over to check the time on his phone, 4:14am. He didn’t want to wake you, knowing full well someone shaking you awake when you’re having a nightmare is not a pleasant experience nor does it make it any less scary.

He decided to take a gentle approach, without touching you he just started saying your name in a gentle tone.

Y/n”

“Y/n wake up love, it’s me, steven.” He saw your eyes stirring and continued to softly speak. “Love, you’re okay, you’re safe” Your eyes fluttered open “Steven?” He gently caressed your arm “I think you were having a nightmare” You looked perplexed, as if you didn’t recall a nightmare. “I don’t think I- OW, UGH” You started wincing all of a sudden, Steven’s eyebrow raised “Y/N? What’s wrong?!” A trace of concern in his voice.

“CRAMPS” You screeched out while balling yourself into a fetal position and taking deep breathes, “I must of been stirring because o- of my cramps” You were squeezing your eyes shut in sheer pain. “I’ll get your water bottle!” Steven rushed to get to the kitchen, but before he swiftly got out of bed he made sure to give you a kiss on your temple. He kept looking back at you while he waited for the kettle to boil, making sure you were okay despite the tremendous pain he knew you were in. Steven wished he could take it away, he’d rather have cramps then see you like this.

Steven quickly filled the bottle, wrapped a tea towel around it and made sure to grab two painkillers and some water on his way back. “Here you go, my darling” He spoke with the upmost sympathy as he placed the water bottle on your abdomen. “Thank you, my perfect boy” You replied and watched a tint of red takeover his face. “Sit up a bit for me, yeah?” You obliged and sat up as best you could while not inducing anymore pain, Steven handed you the tablets and you plopped them in your mouth. He held the glass up to your lips for you as you downed them then ever so gently pressed a loving and soft kiss that said “I’ve got you”.

Steven climbed back into bed and rubbed your back for about 45 minutes as you both waited for the meds and heat pack to kick in, and for the pain to subside. He heard your deep breathes turn into content sighs and took that as a sign that the pain was gone or at least mostly to a point where it was bearable. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, “I love you my darling, Y/n” And with that, he too drifted off into a peaceful sleep, still of course keeping an ear out for you, his person.

Marc

Marc was out getting a few food bits in, he’d left you on the sofa where you were reading a book. He wasn’t out ten minutes before he received s text. Can you buy me some pads pls? Off he went to the sanitary towel isle, little did he know just how many options there were. Between all the different brands, sizes, wings or no wings, he was out of his depth.

Which kind do you need, baby? He sent back to you, and within a few seconds you responded with a brand name and size, making his job a whole lot easier. He decided to cut his shopping trip short knowing you’d need these ASAP.

Marc arrived home and walked in to see you that you were nowhere to be seen, “IN HERE!” He followed the sound of your voice to find you in the bathroom. He handed off the pads and decided to surprise you, while you cleaned yourself up in which he had noticed you decided to go for a shower. Marc made you a hot water bottle, a cup of tea and was currently making you a plate of your favourite treats. He set them on a tray on the bed just as you stepped out the bathroom.

“Baby, how are you feeling?” His eyes showed how deeply he meant that, wanting to do everything he could to make you feel comfortable. “My cramps aren’t too bad yet, I have a little headache coming on and am craving sugar.” He could tell you were trying to downplay it, not wanting him to be too worried about you, he could see through you though.

“Oh Marc this is perfect!” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, “I was just about to say I feel like today is a bed day” You smiled, his favourite smile. He helped you settle into the bed, making sure your pillows were fluffed to your liking and set the tray over your lap and the water bottle on your abdomen. As he went to sit on the sofa you called after him “Baby? Can you stay with me? I just want to be with you” He didn’t hesitate a second and was next to you, feeding you grapes quite literally.

After a few minutes he noticed you tearing up “Marc, my sweet, perfect, most handsome boyfriend. What did I do to deserve you?” By this point tears started streaming down your cheeks. “You’re just so perfect, always making sure I feel loved and seen, listening to me ramble about things I know you don’t care about or when I come home from work and I’m in a bad mood you give me my space and don’t question it if I snap at you. I really don’t deserve you” You were in hysterics. Marc looked at you, upset that you’d ever question if you deserved him. Of course you did, you were the most amazing person he’d ever met, the most accepting, loving, caring person. You made sure him and his alters felt safe and if he was having a nightmare you were there to pull him out of it and calm him down.

He kissed your tear stained cheeks, no words spoken but the actions spoke louder, telling you that you did deserve him. Nothing was going to change that. He wrapped his arms around you and you tucked your head into his neck, after a couple minutes you’d seemed to calm down but he still held you, not letting go. Not until you wanted him to. Another 10 minutes passed and you still hadn’t peeled away, and that’s when he noticed you were asleep. Your eyelashes resting softly and your mouth parted. He kissed the top of your head and held you and never let go.

205 notes · View notes

kinkandkreep · 11 months

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

♥︎ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

♥︎ 𝑪𝑾: 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒚, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

♥︎ "__" 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

Having an overall shitty time was certainly not on your daily agenda, but such is life.

‘Could be worse,’ you thought as you sank further into the backseat of your taxi. ‘I could be dead.’

The thought came and drifted just as quickly as it arrived, causing you to sigh. You’d have called Miguel to come pick you up or send someone from his company to escort you, but you didn’t yet feel up to withstanding the barrage of questions that were bound to come from Gigi once he saw you looking worn out, or have the chauffeur go blabbing about the way you looked to him before you even mustered up the energy to do so yourself.

A cab was much safer. Besides, if you happened to break out into tears because of your terrible day, the cabby probably wouldn’t care, let alone ask questions.

As you watched the buildings pass, you unwittingly recalled the events of the day, wincing as the loud harsh voice of your boss played over in your head.

“That’s the second time today I’ve had to give you these instructions, and it’s the second time you’ve proven your incompetence! Do it right or I’ll have you suspended! Do I make myself clear?”

It wasn’t the first time your boss had raised his voice at you, and for as long as you continued to be employed there, you were almost certain it wouldn’t be the last. Normally, you wouldn’t care, and seeing as you were actually the exact opposite of incompetent, you knew your boss wouldn’t have you suspended, but today for some reason, hearing him fuss had been especially hard on you.

After that, you’d had your coworkers drink spilled all over you, your favorite pen burst and the ink made a mess, you got so caught up at work that you missed the window of opportunity to make an appointment with your perpetually booked optometrist, your period came earlier than expected and it felt like you were cramping everywhere, you accidentally cut yourself while using some scissors, causing you to bleed all over an important file and finally, you were beyond the point of hangry because you’d now gone more than 14 hours without eating anything.

In short, you were over it.

The seat of the cab was sticking to your clothes a bit, and you tried really hard to convince yourself that it was because you were sweaty (you weren’t, and it wasn’t).

Eventually, your ride stopped in front of your apartment complex. Tiredly thanking the cabby, who of course didn’t respond, you stepped out, barely having secured your belongings and shut the door before the taxi driver sped off, presumably off to his next passenger.

You took a moment to watch it leave, before sighing and turning to head into your building.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

‘Why did I know this would happen?’

The thought repeats over in your head as you stare at the sign on the elevator reading ‘OUT OF ORDER.’

Unable to muster up the energy to even be pissed about the situation, you simply make your way over to the stairs, trying with every step to mentally prepare yourself for the long, grueling walk up a whopping 4 flights of steps.

It takes you a little longer than it might on any other day to make it to your floor, but once you do, you practically sprint to your door, never having been more ecstatic about seeing it.

Fumbling a bit with the key, you finally insert it into the lock, flinging yourself into your apartment and nearly screaming upon seeing a large man sitting on your couch.

“Jesus! Gigi, I love you, but you really gotta break that habit of not telling me when you plan to come over.” You fully shut the door behind you, putting away your coat and purse.

Miguel, who’d been spread out on the couch, smiled, standing and making his way over to envelope you in a tight hug.

“Aw, but that would spoil the surprise. Aren’t you happy to see me when I visit?” He pouts down at you, thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips.

“Of course I am. But, I’d be even happier if you didn’t almost give me a stroke when I open the door to find my should-be empty apartment already occupied.”

With that, you pat Miguel’s shoulder, easing out of his hold and beginning to make your way into the kitchen. He follows, taking a seat at the island and watching you as you move about.

“So, tell me about your day.”

You visibly cringe, the memories beginning to flood through your mind’s eye.

“Ugh, I’d really rather not.”

Miguel lifts a quizzical brow. “That bad?”

“Worse. But it’s whatever, we all have bad days sometimes. It’s an inevitable part of living.”

You take a sip of your drink, and in any other circumstance, Miguel might comment on the fact that you’re drinking wine directly out of the bottle, but he figures if your day’s been so bad you can’t even talk about it, you probably deserve to be left alone about your questionable drinking habits.

“Well, that’s no good.” Miguel stands, rounding the island to wrap his arms around your waist and gently squeeze.

You chuckle, leaning into the embrace. “Yep, no good indeed.”

The two of you stand like that for some moments, and Miguel can sense the slightest tensing of your shoulders.

“You know, cariño, if you need to cry, that’s perfectly ok.” Miguel speaks in a soft, low tone next to your ear, his chin resting comfortingly on your shoulder.

You smile, about to thank him for the reassurance, when you feel your throat tightening up.

Try as you might, you can’t make the feeling go away, and after a few seconds tears are streaming down your cheeks and your chest and shoulders jump with every hiccup.

“Aw, suéltalo, mi amor. It’s ok.”

Miguel gently turns you so that you’re facing his chest, and immediately you snuggle into him, releasing the day's stress and frustration in salty streaks dampening his shirt.

For quite a few minutes, you both stand there, Miguel lightly swaying you from side to side in a gesture meant to be comforting. He whispers words of encouragement, both in English and Spanish, his large arms wrapped securely around you and offering you some much needed grounding in the moment.

“Thank you Gigi,” you speak, voice slightly hoarse from your crying. “I needed that.”

Miguel chuckles, planting a wet smooch right on your forehead.

“Of course, mi amor. I think we all need to cry sometimes.” He gives you a small smile, rubbing your arms reassuringly.

“Now, why don’t we spend the rest of the evening unwinding, hmm?” He turns, guiding you over to the couch. “You sit right here, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll cook your favorite meal, run you a bath, read you a bedtime story,” he teases, lips tickling your ear and causing you to giggle.

“Don’t worry cariño, I know just how to make you feel better.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

‘If only life could always be like this.’

You sigh, reclining further into the bathtub. Sweet rose and pink peony scented bubbles tingled against your skin, colorful swirls decorating the warm water surrounding you. You were glad to have finally made use of the epsom salt you’d bought before, always being too exhausted from work to find the energy to take a long bath instead of a quick shower.

You could already feel the soothing effect the salt had on your overworked muscles. The lights in the bathroom were dimmed, creating a much calmer ambience that you found did wonders for your nerves. Lightly scented candles were placed carefully around the room, adding to the atmosphere, and a now nearly empty glass of Romanee sat cradled in your hand.

You couldn’t help but feel spoiled. And a little bloated.

Miguel had been serious when he said he was going to make your favorite meal. And by favorite, he meant all your favorites.

What he didn’t have the ingredients to make, he ordered, and once everything was either done or had been delivered, he sat you down and practically hand fed you all manner of hors d’oeuvres and appetizers, a grand entree and finally, a couple of your most favorite, decadent desserts.

“I’m gonna be too heavy to move tomorrow,” you’d complained, rubbing your steadily aching stomach.

“Don’t worry,” Miguel had laughed. “I’ll carry you.”

Now here you sat while he tended to the dishes and cleaning.

Miguel had already firmly told you that you wouldn’t be going to work the following day, and you initially had half a mind to panic about it, but then decided to not and shrugged, agreeing with a simple “ok.”

Everything now felt perfect.

Except there was one thing, or rather, one person missing.

“Gigi!” You called out for the man. “Hurry up and come join me! It’s not as enjoyable without you.”

It was quiet for a few moments, before you could hear his footsteps- and laughter- approaching the bathroom.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, mi amor.” Miguel closed the door behind himself, beginning to strip.

You watched as he did, still in awe of his sculpted figure. The feeling never shook, no matter how many times you’d seen him naked.

Your boyfriend was stunning, and after everything he’d done for you today, you were even more grateful to have him.

Once he was finished, you scooted forward, allowing him to ease into the tub behind you. You slotted back in between his legs, back pressed to his chest and head resting beneath his chin.

“Ah, much better.” You sighed, causing the both of you to chuckle.

“I’m glad. Are you feeling better?”

“Very much, all thanks to you.” The two of you met in the middle for a passionate, prolonged kiss, tongues dancing to a familiar tune.

Finally separating, you turned to lean against Miguel again, and for the next 15 or so minutes, there you sat- mostly in very comfortable silence, but occasionally engaged in pleasant, quiet conversation.

It took about that long for the water to turn cold, and once it did, you both stood and began showering, taking turns washing each other’s backs and generally being silly.

In the back of your mind, you thought about just how much better you truly felt. Miguel had certainly worked his magic and, essentially, brought you back to life. As you stood under the warm spray of water from the showerhead, Gigi teasing you about how funny you looked with your shower cap on, you smiled, taking a moment to feel the soap suds slide down your body and the firmness of Miguel’s own frame against yours.

Once you both were clean and rinsed, Miguel took it upon himself to towel you off, and you, deciding that it wasn’t fair to let him do all the work, towel dried his hair for him, grinning at the mess you made of the chestnut strands.

After you were dry, Miguel wrapped you in your towel before slinging his own around his hips, the two of you beginning your nightly oral hygiene routine. You always kept Miguel’s extra toothbrush and preferred toothpaste brand handy in your bathroom, seeing as he never slept in the guest room.

Well, unless you were mad at him.

Your couch wasn’t big enough to accommodate him and you never had the heart to force the big teddy bear to sleep on it, no matter what he did to piss you off.

It annoyed you to no end, but hey, a dummy though he may be, he was your dummy and you couldn’t have him swinging around with a sore back. He had people to save and a city to protect after all.

As you brushed, a random tune started playing in your head, and seeing as you were in such a good mood, you broke out into a little jig.

Miguel gave you the bombastic side eye, before turning to watch you fully. You paid him no mind, continuing to shake and jive to the beat that was only audible in your head. A moment later, you began humming as you danced, and once Miguel recognized the song, he chuckled around his toothbrush, beginning to hum as well.

It took you a little longer than it normally would to wrap up your routine, but you had fun, so neither of you minded.

Finally, the two of you made it into bed, talking to each other and laughing.

“So, have I successfully helped you to feel better? Seems so if the bathroom is anything to go by.” Gigi chuckles, looking down at you expectantly from where he rests on his raised fist, his other thumb tracing circles on your hips.

You playfully roll your eyes, quickly leaning up to nip at his nose. It wrinkles cutely in response, causing you to giggle.

“Yes Gigi, you have succeeded in helping me feel better. But mock me about my dancing and I’ll eat your nose for real.” You point a warning finger at him.

“No worries, I won’t. I found it cute more than anything.” He leans down, placing quick pecks all over your face.

The barrage is unavoidable, and once you come to this realization, you simply sit and accept your fate.

Once your big beau is satisfied, he flips over onto his back, staring with you at the ceiling.

“In all seriousness though, I’m really glad you feel better __.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, and you squeeze reflexively.

“Me too. Thank you, Miguel.”

“Fue mi placer, mi amor.”

Buy me a Kofi?

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨' 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲/𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞-𝐲/𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐚. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

671 notes · View notes

tange-my-rine · 2 months

Text

bun in the oven || Tangerine × afab!reader

Summary: The two lines were haunting you. Of course, it was after a month's trip -when you hadn't seen him in so long. So, you spent an insane amount of time thinking just how he'd react and if your world would come crashing down as soon as he'd heard the words. You were totally fine. Totally.

TW: unplanned pregnancy, worrying, blood, injuries, cursing (it's Tangerine) and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: I use gender neutral pronouns, but you are pregnant so... I hope that opens it up to more people. Enjoy :)]]

He'd been gone for at least a month. You actually weren't sure, it was kind of blurry; you'd been working so much and then you'd... Well, you'd missed your period and made an appointment and they tested your blood.

Every day since then had been monotonous, ringing in your ears and your brain running 100 miles a minute. You stayed home most of the time, eating some weird food combination (you honestly thought it was a myth), and being nervous out of your goddamn mind.

It's not like you'd ever talked about this. You talked about the future, yeah, and he was always saying 'I'm goin' to marry you one day, love' with those eyes.

He said it once with his head in your lap and your hand twisted into his hair, blue eyes all soft and sappy -like he couldn't believe you were even there. He'd said it again when you gently cleaned off a cut along his cheekbone, between his legs as he sat on a stool -he didn't even take his eyes off you for a second. All soft words and even softer smiles.

You did believe him, you did.

But you hadn't yet, and they were just words -no matter how genuine and earnest they seemed.

Everything in your body tingled, and you weren't sure you were even thinking straight for weeks. That's probably why when he'd showed up, you'd been the most tired you'd ever been but still somehow bouncing off your toes. You felt like a bundle of nerves just waiting to explode.

Initially, you weren't sure you even wanted to tell him then. He would be tired and bloody and hurt- You weren't positive it'd be the best time, but at the same time, you really couldn't hold it any longer than a night.

Or you didn't think you could. You really should've known better.

"Tan," you hummed, gathering his face up in your hands -turning him at different angles to see the slices and scratches littered along his skin. They were tiny, you noted, less like a knife -a big long scar, and more like... well, thorns.

"Glass," he muttered back, slow and tired, "-broke a fuckin' window, didn't have time to move."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He paused for a moment, eyes lazily drifting across your skin -always with that look.

"Don't lie to me, Tan."

"Never, darling," he smiled, a soft one that you knew was specially reserved for you, "-I think I bruised my ribs, 'at's about it."

"Honest?" You questioned, eyes heavy on his.

"Honest, love," he reiterated -eyes still following you like you were that of a dream and he hadn't woken up yet.

"Good," you echoed, trailing to grab his hand and bring him to the stool -it was your makeshift doctor's office at this point. A drawer in the kitchen filled with first aid, all ready for these nights; you'd started it after the first few visits. You think after the first time he came home bleeding you'd started stashing it all away.

"Lemon okay?" You questioned, digging around the drawer -wipes and bandages.

"Worse than me," he spoke quietly, eyes not leaving your face as you dabbed at his face, "-doctored 'im up the car. He's alright now. Conscious enough to talk about his fuckin' trains."

You smiled, he was always so worked up about his brother -wasn't he?

"He say you were a Gordon again?" You teased, trailing over a cut above his eyebrow -fingertips soft and gentle.

"No," he huffed, "-not a fuckin' Gordon."

"I know, honey," you laughed, ever-so-slightly, "-you don't have to convince me."

His lips curled into a smile, cheeks crinkling -part of you wanted to trace his crow's feet, brush your fingers into his hair. Later, you told yourself.

If you had a later, something in your mind chimed.

You stiffened, breath hollowing in your chest, hand held still against his skin; you stood a bit frozen. Rigid edges, and breaths short and quick. Something in you wondered if he could tell, if he could sense-

Tangerine paused, turning his face to match your eyes -fingers (you absentmindedly noticed blood underneath his fingernails) tilting your face with the softest of brushes, "Everythin' alright, darling?"

"What?"

He tilted his head, ignoring your movement to keep bandaging him -other hand gently wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your place. Blue eyes swimming across your own like he was trying to read you, like he could tell.

"You're all stiff," he pressed his lips together, thumb rubbing circles into your wrist.

"I'm just tired, Tan," you smiled tightly, not quite reaching your eyes before stepping forward to bandage him more.

He merely held you in place, holding your eyes with no hesitation, "That's a bullshit answer, you know 'at."

"Look," you sighed, "-can we talk about it tomorrow? When we've both slept?"

"Not if you're upset," he frowned, preturbed by your behavior -you should've known he could tell.

"Tan," you paused, careful -your voice gently shaking, something you'd only hear if you were really listening, "-I really don't..."

"Love," he tilted his head -eager to match your eyes, keep your attention, "-tell me."

You don't know what happened, if it was his voice, or his eyes, or his hands. You couldn't tell. Something bubbling up in your throat, and burning the backs of your eyes, you really didn't want to do this now-

Something crossed over his face, as he scooted down from the stool -with ease sliding his hands down your arms, keeping you there. Tangerine knew you too well.

It slipped past your lips before you could even think about it.

"I'm pregnant."

His mouth opened before he could think about it -something instinctual, "Right, and I'm the Virgin fuckin' Mary."

"Tangerine."

He paused, eyes sifting across your face -something passed through his again, something new, something you had never seen before. You swallowed, hands curled into themselves so hard that you might have bled -you couldn't tell, you were numb.

"You..." he echoed, throat dry and eyes wide open, "You're serious?"

You flattened your lips, eyes burning and tears gathering -your hands shaking and your brain thrumming in your head. You couldn't speak.

"Darling, I didn't-" he paused, swallowing hard, "-I shouldn't have said fuckin' anythin, I didn't mean- I... fuck, seriously?"

"Tan-"

He breathed out, still holding your arms in place, "Are you... Are you happy, love?"

"Are you?" You pushed through, "-I've... I've spent a month wondering if you were going to just... leave me."

"Oh, love," he sighed, bringing up his hands to cup your face -soothing in a whisper, "-love, listen. I could never, I would never leave you. You'd have to fuckin' drag me out yourself, actually-"

You laughed.

"-I'm... I wouldn't leave you," he spoke gently, eyes dipping to your stomach -there was nothing there yet, "-'specially not now."

"You're not upset?" You echoed, something shaking in your voice -he frowned at the noise, loosely pushing forward to kiss you.

His mustache tickled your lip. It was something short and sweet, warm, and sent something fluttering in your chest.

"'Course not," he hummed, hands lowering to flatten on your stomach, a smile flashing across his face, "-Actually am rather happy."

"Yeah?" Your voice cracked out, tears finally leaving your eyes -his thumbs were quick to wipe them, "-You are?"

"Very," he laughed, something of tears in his own eyes -you only smiled brighter.

"Even," you started, suddenly, "-Even with your line of work? That... You can't have a family with-"

"I'll stop," he blurted out, rash and without thought but still genuine, "-'Ave to finish a few things, tie up some loose strings but I'll... I'll stop. We can live off my money for awhile."

"Tangerine," you let out a breath, "-I can't ask you to-"

"You're not," he interrupted, bubbling up like he couldn't stop talking.

"What about... What about these nine months? Are you-" you paused, before rewording, "-Are you going to be here?"

"God, am I going to be here," he let out a weepy sort of laugh, "-I'm not leavin' your fuckin' side darling."

"What about-"

"What nothing, love," he interrupted again, now holding your face again, and he was crying you realized, "-I'm goin' to take care you. Everyday. No one can fuckin' stop me-"

"What about the danger?" You spoke, rational and clear -it was your baby, after all.

"Lemon'll move in," he said -firm and direct, "-and God forbid anyone try and get their hands on you, love. I'll rip 'em to fuckin' shreds-"

"Okay, okay," you laughed, slipping your hands over his shoulders -trying to calm him, "-I think we get it, Tan."

"We," he muttered, a little mystified -grin so wide it almost hurt to look at as he sunk to crouch in front of you, pressing his forehead to your stomach.

"Yeah, we," you reiterated, smiling big and wide.

He heaved a deep breath into your stomach, holding himself there for a minute. A bit like he needed it. You didn't mind.

And as he whispered against your stomach tiny little promises that you knew he would keep, you wondered why you ever thought he would leave you. He may be a dick sometimes, but he's not... he would never.

"I'm gettin' you a fuckin' ring."

Yeah, you thought to yourself, I'll be just fine.

#bun in the oven #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #tangerine bullet train

171 notes · View notes

cinnamonest · 1 month

Text

Also on note of that “bone breaking” post I believe Xiao is an absolute menace to the innkeepers because of his inability to gauge human sickness and injury. He's thoroughly convinced any slight discomfort you experience is a near-death situation.

Human life is incredibly fragile. Their bodies are nearly unbelievably susceptible to death from even very mild injuries and sicknesses, they die so easily it's frightening. Which is why he has to be very vigilant with you.

You once got a bit nauseous from eating something a bit past expiry date — you insist it's just food poisoning over and over, but he practically drags you to a pharmacist anyway “just in case,” because there are many deadly pathogens and parasites humans can die from that begin this way, and you will drop dead before you even know something is wrong.

If you have a headache, it's probably an oncoming aneurysm that will cause sudden death. You may think you have a mere common cold, but he is well aware that many very dangerous and severe illnesses begin as symptoms of common colds, some of which progress so rapidly you may not have time to notice before sudden death.

You try to explain your throat hurts because what you ate is giving you heartburn, but if it has the word heart, which is a very vital organ, that can only mean you are at great risk of, you guessed it, sudden death.

More than once now you've been sleeping a little too deeply — your breaths are so slow that it looks like you're barely breathing at all, so he has to shake you awake to ensure you are still alive. Any cough or sneeze is met with this head-jerk in your direction and yellow eyes wide open staring in panic, and you have to swear up and down you just got swallowed the wrong way or inhaled some dust.

Not even period pains are safe — it's normal, so you insist, you can't hide your discomfort so you're all but begging him not to worry about it, but this one time he remembers about seven hundred years ago he once heard a villager mention a woman who had internal bleeding mistaken for just that and died, so it must be seen professionally (yes, each month). The whole concept bothers him — you're bleeding and in pain, those things are bad, how can you be sure it's the normal amount of bleeding and pain and not too much, that you're not actually five minutes away from dropping dead? That's right, you can't know, which is why you have to let him carry you to the harbor for the third time this week.

Injury is even worse — yes, he's aware that human flesh bruises easily, but this bruise is on your ribcage, and you don't recall how it got there, there are organs underneath there and you could very well be internally bleeding out.

Both innkeepers are, at this point, used to him coming bounding into the main lobby in full-fledged panic, demanding to hand over the emergency medical kit kept by the front desk so he can save you from bleeding out (you accidentally cut your finger on a splinter on the baseboard), and they no longer bat an eye or ask where you're going when he comes barging through carrying you (protesting, at that) out the door without a word before vanishing in the direction of the nearest village with a doctor… even when you try to get their help to please tell him I'm fine, they just ignore you at this point, knowing it's futile.

There's a death at the inn once — you try to be reasonable and explain that it was a very elderly and sickly man who most certainly died of natural causes, but see, you don't know for sure that he didn't have some kind of rare rapid-onset deadly illness that can spread from the bottom floor all the way up to where your room is, so it is imperative that you be disinfected professionally.

He annoys the doctors too — they're all used to it at this point too, but many of them are aware of him, and none of the humans really want to oppose or risk upsetting one of these beings they have a degree of reverence for, so much to your dismay, all of them continue to treat his concerns as legitimate, even though it's very blatantly clear to you that they're faking taking it seriously.

On the bright side, having some pity on your suffering perhaps (or being tired of dealing with the same thing over and over), the harbor pharmacist managed to convince him that an over-the-counter mild painkiller was a miracle cure for a wide variety of ailments, so unless you feel that you need more, he says, then that should be enough… which cuts down on the frequency of your unnecessary emergency care visits, but only somewhat.

At this point, surely at least one of the concerns has been legitimate, he has definitely saved your life more than once by now. And yet, you have not thanked him for this, you continue to be so naive to your own fragility and do nothing but complain about it when you literally owe him your life. Unbelievable.

But rest assured, your ungratefulness will not deter him from continuing to take the utmost care of you, he'll continue to save you, regardless of how unappreciated these life-saving efforts are.

#i'll put this out from drafts in the meantime since i got behind on posting the last week or so #.x

124 notes · View notes

violetngrey · 11 months

Text

# :: 𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 🫧 - 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒃 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒆

i could definitely rewrite this with a different mini obsession plot

part 2

charlie was big on making sure that the club always had a big meeting at least once every two weeks

discussing the latest movies and even the classics were an important part of keeping debates going and he always wanted to expand the number of members coming every week

however he only really noticed the numbers climbing in their ranks when a certain girl started frequently appearing at the back of the classroom to quietly sit and listen for the entirety of the clubs period

it took him a couple of visits to recognise the face but it was you

you sit in front of him in a couple of classes and after that day he couldn’t get you out of his brain

the way you fiddle with your hair when writing something down

or the way you cross your legs over each other when someone mentions a particularly gory scene in a movie

he found himself always looking over at you to see your reaction when he was at the front of the room talking

you barely looked up and even if you did it was when he wasn’t looking

always taking notes and smiling to yourself

the increase in cinema club goers after you is what surprised him

to him you weren’t the clique type or even the popular type

you hadn’t spoken a word to him or robbie since you’d started attending

most of the guys that would come to the club only to stare and gawk at you most definitely got grilled by charlie on movie questions he knew they had no idea about

he didn’t want them in here, not when he couldn’t even tell if it made you uncomfortable or not

his life goal for the club was to now ask these guys so many detailed questions and embarrass them so much that they didn’t even want to come back

cinema clubs numbers would suffer slightly but if that’s what it took

anything to just be able to keep you there as long as possible

robbie would mention you a couple of times after the club was out but after he didn’t get a very detailed reply from charlie he figured it was a sore spot

“how come you haven’t even mentioned kirby in a while man, did you get your dick cut off or somethin’? “

after you came in on a particularly hot day wearing a rather short skirt he really had to hide behind the front desk he normally stood in front of

as you started stealing glances at him and catching his back he really didn’t know what to do with himself

that day was the day he started stuttering like no other

after many weeks and most of the unwanted creeps gone from his club or mysteriously kicked out you stayed longer one day

after everyone had mostly cleared out, you stood up and quickly scribbled down a couple of words on a piece of paper and walked towards him

robbie ‘noticed’ before he did but let’s be honest he was just trying to play it cool in case you were just walking past

he didn’t think he’d be so nervous for just a tap on the shoulder

when he turned around all you did was hand him the piece of paper with a rose tint dusted over your cheeks

“I know it’s not a scary movie but it’s really interesting, from a women’s point of view- i mean” you left

charlie wasn’t one to be dumbfounded on more than just movies but you actually just spoke to him

uncrumpling the paper he found the words ‘10 things I hate about you’ and robbie laughed

the note also had a ‘-my favourite movie’ tagged onto the end with a heart

“you’re seriously not going to consider that movie are you?”

charlie facial expression didn’t change “it couldn’t hurt could it?”

robbie didn’t go home happy that day

he ended up going home and watching the movie twice over just so he could do everything possible for the next day

cinema club was concerned for their president the next day as they’d never reviewed a non horror film before why not a cheesy romance

“c’mon charlie what’s up with the film choice”

“hey i take suggestions you guys just never give them”

after the session was over he carefully walked over to your desk

“y’know i actually liked that movie”

you laughed “ you don’t have to lie to me to talk to me”

charlie had never blushed so hard

the club president wasn’t just obsessed with horror it seemed

please request more things so i can get writing again!

#scream #scream 4 #charlie walker #charlie walker hcs #charliewalker #scream movie #scream charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #rory culkin

583 notes · View notes

cumikering · 8 months

Text

Ex bf König x reader

1.8k | angst, comfort

When you saw König again, the world seemed to pause for a moment. Under the clear sky, the breeze subsided and the soft music faded. He felt out of place in this dimension. Was it him, really? You expected him to disappear when you opened your eyes.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you walked towards him. He sat in the quiet corner of the rooftop cafe, where everything looked too small for him. Reality snapped back in place, but the wind in your hair didn’t feel like it and the beat didn’t sound like what it was supposed to. You felt you were floating.

He smiled, but you were too caught up deciphering that it was him you were walking to.

It was König. On the table lied the strong hands you remembered holding all those years ago, next to his cup of tea. Heavy, rough and hardened - they were still very much his.

It was three years ago.

In three years, you didn't see yourself changing much at all, but it was all clear on him now that he sat right before you. He had a different hairstyle – much longer than his military cut, a bit dishevelled. The scars on his face and arms had faded, the smaller ones leaving no trace. Jarring, as whenever you saw him after long periods of time, he always adorned more. He might not have been as buff, but he looked far more relaxed than when you saw him last despite the little lines on the corner of his eyes.

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to notice – it felt too intimate after all the ocean between you for these three years. But maybe life had been tough on him, like he said it was going to be.

He smiled as you sat. “You look good. Seems like you’ve been well.”

Well, you tried to be.

Of course you kept in contact, but predictably it waned with time. You were holding on to something which wasn't yours anymore, and he really wasn’t. His mind was entirely elsewhere and it wasn't his fault. You were never sure it was better or not that you understood, but sure as hell you knew it hurt a lot. Goodbyes always hurt, even if you already saw it coming from a mile away.

You offered him a weak smile. “How long are you staying for?” you asked, dreading the answer.

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure yet.”

You knew what that meant. Your gut wrenched.

It was unexpected to hear König was in town. Your heart tossed and turned with possibilities. You could only think of his little message for the rest of the day. It was exactly like the promise he made before he left.

But he remembered, at least. You felt silly for holding the promise so dear to your heart, because he probably didn’t, and you didn’t want to be in this space alone. You didn’t want to know that you were the only one pining for the remnants of what you had - once was enough. But after three years, maybe you’ve forgotten what it felt like too.

“Can I get you something? Do you still like your iced peach tea with no sugar?”

You let out a faint chuckle and nodded. You weren’t sure what to make of him remembering that.

We humans are unreliable with our memories. We remember things as a memory of a memory, and now after three years, you questioned yourself if what you remembered was what actually happened.

But you remembered missing him, of course. You remembered helping him pack up, stuffing his mugs between his clothes in his luggage. You slipped in some of his favourite chocolates too – the ones as sweet as his kisses - so he wouldn’t forget what the city was like. But if you were honest, they were so you wouldn’t forget him when you tasted them.

You remembered helping him donate his things, some of his books and some shirts that didn’t fit. You didn’t see a point in taking his shirts for yourself. They weren’t yours to keep anymore.

You remembered having one last look at his empty flat, holding your breath in anticipation, but still sank with loss knowing the click of the door was the grand finale of you and him. But most importantly, you remembered crystal clear how much you missed him that your stomach was scorched with acid and your tongue was as bitter as envy.

Your breakup was infinitely more painful than having him leave – you were used to rarely seeing him due to his job. ‘Du fehlst mir,’ his gentle voice said in the clips you played endlessly while he was away.

It ruined you thinking he wasn’t going to text or call anymore, saying he missed you and couldn’t wait to see you again. You thought about how he wasn’t going to hold your hand anymore while crossing the street, or that he wouldn’t be there to help you reach the top shelves of the supermarket.

It wrecked you that no one else would call you Liebling or Schatzi the same way he did, his voice overflowing with devotion and tenderness, the sweetest memories behind each syllable. You knew you’d never find anyone else like him.

Like the aftermath of war, the parting destroyed you, leaving a bleeding, gaping hole in your chest that never seemed to close up. Du fehlst mir indeed. He was missing from you.

Maybe you both were cowards for not trying, or not trying harder, but at that time, everything felt a lot more impossible.

Or you simply grew older, and realised real life was a lot more painful than broken hearts and not meeting your life goals. It was more like losing your loved ones or finding out they were dying.

Like on that phone call he received when you were out at the park after a nice lunch. You watched the smile fall from his face as your hand slipped out of his. He repeated in disbelief, but it was incomprehensible as he broke down. His knees went weak as he pressed his palm onto his eyes, as if it could hold the tears back. You led him to the closest bench and sat there in the deafening emptiness for a long while.

That was when you started to lose König. He was inconsolable, grave and so heavy, and you never blamed him one bit. It wasn’t his fault. You would have been the very same if you were told your dear mum was dying of late-stage cancer. You were there for him, and yet you watched as life bled out of his beautiful blue eyes, like how he would see too when looking at his mother.

And so he quitted KorTac and left for good, back to Austria where his mum was. He loved it there, spoke much of the hiking sites and mountains you never could remember the names of. He promised to take you to his childhood home one day.

“My mama passed last month.”

Your heart crumbled. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

He hummed, looking away. “Everything’s sorted now. But I’m back, as I promised.”

He’d said you’d meet again, at that café where you first met, when it was all over – whatever over meant at that time. But you knew what it meant when you got his message the day before, and it shattered your heart.

“You must hate me for leaving. Three years isn’t nothing at all, but there hasn’t been a day I don’t think about you.” His eyes met yours and you saw the regret as his hands balled into tight fists. “I was in a bad shape and it would have been selfish to have you while I wasn’t myself. You never demanded anything from me because you were always so understanding, but I haven’t forgotten about you at all.”

You wondered if you remembered verbatim the time you were together, if you were truly happy or that your relentless mind romanticised it all after he left. Like a prized possession you wrap up and tuck away on the highest shelf, and let time fade the imperfect details into the sweetest, yet blurry, distant memory.

But you hadn’t forgotten that time when you had your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, that the fireworks in your chest were far grander than the ones in the sky. You felt like you were flying. Or when you went to the beach and stayed under as long as you both could to imagine what the world would have looked like without you both. You agreed as you held each other, the following sunset was the best you had ever seen, like the softest painting stolen straight out of heaven.

König was right. People project what they feel, intentionally or not. Perhaps it’s just human nature regardless how sick it is. If he made you feel ignored, you’d like him to feel as abandoned, but that doesn’t stop at negativity. When you were happy, you wanted him to be too. You’d be extra cheery, sing-songy like a contagion. You wanted to sink him in the joy and drown with him over and over.

You reached for his hands. “I never hated you at all. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, but I know I never hated you.” You hoped he heard the sincerity.

“I wasn’t myself since the news and I didn’t get any better. I became… elusive to myself. It was like losing everything all at once. I know you genuinely cared, but I couldn’t even talk about it. I hated that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

You thought you finally understood why you broke up. Being intentionally mean is manipulative, but having no control of yourself means being helpless in how you treat your partner. You could only imagine how defeating it was to watch himself hurt people he loved in the midst of his own disaster.

“I know, and I don’t despise you for it. Not at all and never did.” You shook your head. “I’ve been there too, remember?”

He might have been holding back tears, but you were never afraid of feelings.

If it’s been a month, and even in a year or ten, things will still be allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to grieve because sometimes you never truly heal from a part of you getting ripped away, and that’s alright.

You knew it all too well.

He smiled. He’d never been so beautiful before.

“I’m just happy to see you again,” he whispered.

And with your cheek against his chest, it felt like no time had passed. Maybe your heart never left. Maybe your heart was still docked at the shore of the both of you, always waiting for him to be back.

@sofasoap

342 notes · View notes

luimagines · 3 months

Text

You Realize You Like Him Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 will include Legend, Sky and Four.

Content under the cut!

Legend

“And then I told him that he could fly from the top of Hyrule Castle for all I cared, I wasn’t going to buy something that only have a 40% success rate.” Legend finished his story.

You nodded along. You understood a solid...5% of what he was saying. But that’s ok. You like to hear him talk. He was nice enough and you liked his company.

There was this energy that drew you to him. You’re not sure what it was. Sure he was cute but that couldn’t have been it.

Then again, he always had something to help save the day. He was fast on his feet and incredibly clever. He had enough experience under his belt to put most of the group to shame. There seemed that there wasn’t anything that he couldn’t do.

You respected him greatly.

Legend snorted and patted your shoulder. “I’m telling you, I know the ins and outs of most, if not, all sleezy merchants. If you want the best deal, you come with me and I’ll find it for you.”

You smiled. “Thanks Link. I might have to take you up on that.”

Legend faltered for a moment and blushed. “Hey... It’s not much. It doesn’t cost my anything.”

You chuckled at his reaction, feeling those little butterflies in your tummy. You smiled wider and felt yourself fluster a little. This was it. This is what caught you off guard time and time again. When he got soft or shy, you simply... followed suit.

It was infuriating to say the least. You wanted him to think you were cool, collected, suave. Hell, you would accept gravitas if you could reach it.

For you to also lose your cool just because Legend was adorable was not the move for you. And Yet!

Someone called Legend for his opinion from the front of the group and Legend smiled at you again, soft and sweet and winked. He ran to catch up and ask what they needed.

It was the final nail in the coffin.

You bite your lip, feeling your blush grow over your face. Well this was hardly fair at all. You felt almost giddy with some unnamed excitement. Was this weird? Were you being weird?

You could almost feel the exact moment where your eyes turned into hearts- all the more thankful that he was no where near you at this point to see your descent. You liked him. You already knew that.

But to think you would feel like losing it over his stupid little wink and grin!! UGH!! This cannot be!! And yet!!! Here you are!!!

You covered your face with your hands, quickly putting your hood over yourself before anyone can get the impression that you were actually losing your mind. Which you were.

You took a deep breath, then another, then another. That’s it. Breathe in. Breathe out.

So what if he was handsome and charming and smart and clever and cool? It doesn’t mean anything!

It meant everything.

Sky

Arguably, it didn’t take you long to realize that you were starting to fall for him.

You were only traveling with the group for a few months when you found yourself getting butterflies in your tummy whenever he would walk next to you or when you were staring. Period. You were staring. That should have been a dead giveaway.

But no, you were still trying to hold onto denial.

You were trying to keep pleasant but polite conversation with the young man. For some reason, you found unable to hold eye contact and you couldn’t seem to stop from blushing despite the fact that literally nothing was happening.

Still, you were giggly and happy and overall overjoyed so spend the time with him, even though you would have thought that he would have gotten annoyed with you at this point for being so out of it as you were.

That being said, when he put his hand on your shoulder, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep it together.

You couldn’t deny it any longer. That’s not a normal reaction. You were at least crushing on him. You had to admit at least that much.

He said some more things that you could no longer focus on before he patted your shoulder as a sign of good will before he walked on, no doubt going to talk to someone else of the group.

Once he was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, you slowly sunk down and squealed to yourself. It was going to be a one time thing, you would have allowed yourself his much. Then you would get a grip and pretend it never happened and never do it again.

Somehow, the universe had other plans for you.

You had entered a new town and had to do some quick shopping to restock the supplies of the group. Which was all fine and dandy to be honest.

Until you ran into Sky.

Now you were blushing and flustered and giggling like a fool- even if he wasn’t even saying anything funny. The butterflies were back tenfold and they refused to leave.

Sky decided to stay by your side for the remainder of the day and help you out with the of the shopping. He even carried the bags for you.

Your mind wanted to romanticize the entire thing and make it seem like it was a date when the more rational part of your brain wanted it to remain strictly business.

You had left for a moment to buy some things from the tailor shop for Legend and returned to Sky, who was holding onto some roasted food on a stick. He smiled, dare you say, bashfully. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

Your jaw dropped but you took the food anyway. “How did you know?”

“Because given the amount of things you’ve already bought and the fact that you started the second we split up, I was beginning to doubt that you had even bothered to feed yourself.” He answered quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it good?”

You take a bite. “Delicious!”

“Good.” Sky smiles and takes the new bag from your hand. “Let’s continue then.”

The words suddenly sits on the edge of your tongue and you swallow it down with the next bite before it can escape. Could you love him? Could you plan to fall?

He certainly doesn’t make it difficult to do so.

Four

Honestly, you can say without a shadow of a doubt that Four was one of your favorite people ever.

He was so smart. And kind. And the best kind of sarcastic.

You loved to go toe to toe with his wit and he never failed to make you laugh no matter how stupid the joke was or how low hanging the fruit was.

...He would hit you if he heard you say that that one.

There’s was just something effortless about hanging out with him. Conversation flowed easy and there never seemed to be anything you couldn’t talk about. Even when you weren’t talking, the silence wasn’t awkward and there no need to try and one up one another. It was just casual and pleasant coexistence.

But then you started noticing... the little you did. At first, as usual, it wasn’t something that you paid attention to much because you had already established that you cared about each other and cared about each other’s opinions and the relationship between you had.

But you wanted... more of his attention. You wanted more of his time and his energy. You found yourself looking over at him more often and wanting to get his opinion on everything even if it was next to nothing.

It wasn’t until Zelda invited you and the group to a royal ball of sorts where you realized that you were subconsciously dressing up for Four instead of just trying to look your best for the princess’s sake.

You were thinking if he’d like the color, the cut, the jewelry they gave you to wear with your outfit. You had a passing thought that Four could make something better than this if they ever gave him the chance.

It wasn’t until you nearly blurted the question out loud to yourself that you caught on to your thoughts.

It realization hit you like a charging horse.

Just why did you care so much about what Four thought about this outfit? About you? About if he would think you looked good or not? It’s not like he’s the type of person to judge you for your fashion choices. If you wanted that, you’d ask Legend of Wild for their opinion.

But you still wanted him to pay attention to you like this.

You bit your lip harshly.

It... can’t be that? Right?

No.

No, no, no- that would be silly.

You run your hands down your clothes and look back at the mirror. You think for a moment about your thought and break down in an instant. You’re a flustered blushing mess.

You think that Four would look very dapper tonight in his clothes for the party. And the thought gets your heart racing.

Would he want to dance with you?

Would you talk the night away?

...Would he even want to hang out with you tonight? He’s entitled to be around his other friends, of course. You don’t feel as if you have any right to demand anything of him.

...But you want it. You want it really badly. But why?

Are you crushing?

For a moment you think you hear someone knocking at the door and you got to open it. It’s Four- looking just as dapper as you thought he would. You grin.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be!”

He’s so handsome!

....wait...

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader

163 notes · View notes