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multiplefandomwritings · 1 year

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How to be a child

pairing: reader x the grid (platonically), Pierre Gasly x reader

warnings: swearing, description of injuries/bruises, throwing up, passing out, unconsciousness, mentioning of hospital, mentioning of crash, angst

summary: You were the mum of the grid, you always had been. Until it one day it all just gets too much, and you are in desperate need of support. Suddenly 19 boys collectively become your mum, and you need to once again learn how to be a child.

notes: i am so, sorry for the wait. life has been terrible for the me the past months, but here it finally is: part two! as a small compensation, it is very long, and i hope you will like it! feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests! you can find the first part here. a third part will follow at some point, so let me know if you want to be tagged 😊 also, a question for everyone on the taglist: Would you like to be tagged in all of my F1 work, or just in this one?

disclaimer: english is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 8.1k

taglist: @cilliansgirl @tyna-19 @hc-dutch @honethatty12 @sheslikeacurse @rb-danny @hc-dutch @hiphopdancer101universe @teddyluvs @dan3avocado @stillbreathin @mellowturtleangellamp @mcmuppet @shqwqrma @alice07ea @ricsaigaslec @witchychicken @rockyhayzkid @sheluvsf1 @hiddleslovs @laurevdd @caosfanblr @dessxoxsworld @fryskje @stickygladitorbear @goldenharrysworld @mehrmonga @anon-1112 @abcdefghijklmopqrstuvwxyzz @yunoguns @jaydenhateslife @itsandreaca @tsukishimawhore @formula-hamilton @cfjkdyihjkdd @whodis-26 @basicallyherondale @wtrmlnsgr94

“Shut up, you dumbass!”, whisper-yells a voice that sounds like Charles to you. “Or do you want the nurse to realize that we are way more people in here than allowed?” Several people shush at the same time, and you are utterly confused. You slowly open your eyes and catch sight of almost the whole grid cramped into the room. They are bickering with each other, and you cannot help but smile. “Hey guys!”, you croak out and your voice sounds hoarse. Immediately, they all stop talking and look at you. Pierre is the first to move and rushes over to your bed to take a hold of your hand.

“Finally, mon ange!”, he breathes out and you could’ve sworn that you can see tears welling up in his eyes. “What happened?”, you ask, still very much confused. You try to sit up, and immediately Max and Daniel rush to your side to assist you in your undertaking. When you are propped up, you look at your friends, who are standing around the bed – a hospital bed as you have realized by now. Pierre gently strokes your hand, and Lewis raises his voice to tell you what had happened.

After your collapsed in Pierre´s arms, and your friends and colleagues form a wall to shield you, Pierre gently picks you up and carries you out of the public eye and into Lando´s room. Everyone is close to panic, no one really knowing what had prompted you to pass out. The doctors, alerted by someone, rush in, and examine you. They cannot really find any reason, apart from the injuries in your face. They suspect that it might be something severe, so the whole grid is close to losing their mind. You are than a friend to most, rather part of their family. The called ambulance takes you with them, Pierre riding in the back with you.

When you arrive at the hospital, the doctors take you away from Pierre to examine you thoroughly, determined to find out what is wrong with you. It takes an hour, one more, and another. By now, the hallway of the floor you are on is filled with the other drivers. Everyone wanted to be there for you when you wake up. With every minute, the boys get more nervous, grow more worried. After four hours, the doctor comes out.

“We stabilized her. We assume that she suffered an acute exhaustion attack, caused by a lack of sleep and too much stress paired with a concussion. We expect her to sleep for a few days, but she was lucky. It could have been way worse. She will need to rest as much as possible once she wakes up to ensure that neither her brain nor her heart will suffer from long term consequences.”

The drivers are all shocked. You are still so young, and now this. They realise, all for themselves, that maybe they had demanded too much of you for too long. Guilt threatened to eat up them, more with every day you didn’t wake up for. Until three later, on a Wednesday, you finally wake up again.

You are quiet for a few minutes. Just when you are about to say something, the door opens and a nurse steps in. When she sees all the drivers, she rushes them out - all except one. Pierre doesn’t leave your side. He sits with you when the doctor comes in and tells you that you were lucky. He makes it very clear that you must take time for yourself to make sure that you would not suffer lasting effects. You nod, trying to understand everything he says.

“Would you mind leaving me alone for a minute, please?”, you ask. The doctor nods, while Pierre stays by your side. “You too, Pierre.” He looks at you, shocked for a minute, offended even. “Don’t send me away, y/n. You seem like you need someone with you right now.” “Just give me a fucking minute alone, Pierre!”, you snap at him, and he gets up and leaves without another word. You know that wasn’t fair, but your whole world just turned upside down. You will apologize later.

You clench your hands to fists; you feel like you are going to lose your shit. The feelings threaten to drown you, you are barely able to keep yourself over the water. You need to get out of here – you want to be everywhere but here. You lift yourself out of bed, determination flooding your system. When you stand up, you grind your teeth. Your whole body is almost shaking because just the act of getting up was so exhausting. You feel so very small, weak, and fragile. You take two, three slow steps, holding onto the hospital bed with every step. When you reach the end of the bed, you back another step forward, but without holding onto something, your body gives in. You crash to the ground; your body hits the floor with a loud thud.

Immediately, the door opens and Pierre storms in. He sees on you sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, head buried in your hands. He rushes over to you and takes you in his arms. “I am so afraid, Pierre!”, you sob into his shoulder as he holds you. His heart breaks right there and then. You cry for what feels like hours, and when you are done, Pierre helps you onto the bed again. The doctors had allowed for you to leave the hospital in Brazil to be taken care of by your personal doctor in Monaco. However, much comes with that – your transport must be organized, you have to talk to the team, and all of that.

You are starting to panic, you feel so exhausted still, you have no idea how you would be able to manage all of that. “You don’t need to worry, ange. We are scheduled to fly out tonight in the private jet, everything around the transport is organized. Only Max, Daniel, Lando and I will join so that you can rest as much as possible. We will have to leave for the weekend, but I will promise you that we will be back as soon as possible.” You nod, overwhelmed that they cared so much for you. After one last check up, the doctor wishes you all the best and discharges you.

They provide you with a wheelchair because you are still weakened and every bone in your body hurts – even the ones you didn’t know you had. Pierre pushes you out of the hospital and towards the parking lot, where you can spot Daniel standing between an unfamiliar car. Usually, all of you drove fast and sporty cars, but this was a car you expected to see in a suburban neighbourhood where everyone had at least three kids.

“Nice ride!”, you say, and your voice is still hoarse. You are pretty sure that you look like shit, but the boys do not let on. They don’t look at you with pity and you are beyond grateful for that. “Thanks, we had to improvise a bit!” Daniel walks over to you and pulls you out of the wheelchair with ease, lifting you into his arms bridal style. He carries you over to the car, careful to not hurt you. However, his limb coordination when it comes to carrying people apparently isn’t the best. You close your eyes when you see the car door frame coming closer, but instead of bumping into the hard metal, your head is met with a soft surface. You open your eyes and see Lando smiling at you. The boy had put his hand over the door frame, softening the impact. Your eyes almost start to water at the sweet gesture.

Once you are seated, Pierre climbs into the back with you and helps you to put your seatbelt on before he settles himself in. Lando sits in the back as well. Max is the passenger princess. Daniel is starting the car, and you watch Max still without his seatbelt on. Before, you can say something, Pierre turns to Max. “Put your fucking seatbelt on!”, he says and a small smile appears on your face. You don’t really catch more of the chatting, as just the way to the car exhausted you completely and you opt for some sleep. Pierre´s shoulder functions as your cushion, and it is quite comfortable, at least for this purpose. Already almost in slumber you only subconsciously realize that someone puts a blanket over you. You snuggle closer into Pierre and fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.

You wake when someone unbuckles your seatbelt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you!”, Pierre apologizes, but you wave it off. “I think I have slept enough the past days”, you joke half-heartedly, and he gives you a tiny smile. Only now in this close proximity, you can see the dark bags under his eyes, the worry on his face. He looks five years older, beard unshaved, little stubbles growing in a disorganized way. “I am sorry for causing you so much worry”, you whisper barely audible, but he hears you, like he always does. He shakes his head. “Mon ange, no. None of this is your fault, if anything, it is ours.” You are just about to ask what he means when Daniel interrupts the two of you.

“We should get going!”, he says, and Pierre helps you out of the car. He carries you the last few meters to the jet, and places you down on one of the seats. Before you can engage in a conversation with him, Lando joins you on the seat next to you and slams a big bag on the table. “Y/n, I hope you are hungry!” You focus your attention on him and just now realize how hungry you are. “Starving, actually!” Lando smacks his lips and starts unpacking the bag. “Well, in that case, good for you, because I come prepared!” There is everything you could ask for – snacks, fruits, sandwiches. You decide to start with an apple, which Lando insists on cutting into small pieces for you. “Lando!”, you laugh, “I am not a child!” He grins. “Well, y/n, you need care and nursing and love now, so we all have decided to you are no longer our mum, you are now our child!” You flip him off playfully and continue to eat your apple pieces quietly while Lando talks your ear off, which you honestly do not mind. It distracts you from all the negative thoughts.

After a few hours, Daniel, Lando and Max are asleep. You are quite awake on the other hand and the soft shine of a display coming from Pierre´s seat indicates that he as well is awake. You carefully walk over to him, holding onto the seats. It takes all of your strength to make the few meters, but you manage and fall into the seat next to the Frenchman. He looks up from his phone and gifts you a smile. “Hey”, you say softly, “You okay?” Pierre shakes his head but continues to smile. “You are unbelievable, y/n! You are the one that was in the hospital the last days, not me.” “I can still worry about you guys though, no?”, you grin crookedly, but Pierre is still very serious. “Of course, but the important thing now is that you need to get better, and to do that, you need to learn to say no, and you need to learn to listen to yourself.” You want to interrupt him, but he doesn’t let you. “But most importantly, we – me and the others – need to learn to get our own shit together, and not always bother you!”

You can feel that he is a bit angry, so you gently place your hand on his biceps. “Pierre, you never bothered me. It was just a bit too much the past weeks! Everything will be fine, in fact, everything is fine.” Pierre shakes his head at you, you can feel that he is still upset. “No, nothing is fine. The last days were absolutely horrible, y/n. I was so afraid; I don’t think I have ever been this afraid. I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid that I would wake up and someone was going to tell me that you died. It was a nightmare, I don’t ever want to feel that again – so I am begging you, please take all the time you need to rest and heal. I cannot lose you.” You are a taken aback by his words. “I will, I promise!”, you say, and Pierre pulls you onto his lap and into a tight hug. He doesn’t let go for a while, and you don’t mind. It keeps you from falling apart.

You land a few hours later, you before you can protest, Lando lifts you out of your seat. “My turn!”, he laughs, and you decide to not pick a fight. “Yeah, it’s cool”, you say and playfully roll your eyes, “Just pick me up whenever.” Lando makes a sad face, and you can sense that he feels bad. “I am sorry”, he utters, “I should have at least asked if it was okay for me to pick you up!” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, its not like a have a choice. I can´t exactly walk away”, you joke. You know it is a bad joke, and maybe it was too early to joke about it. For a moment, it is quiet, but then Daniel lets out a little snort. He tries his best to keep in a laugh, but when Max looks at him, he cannot help himself and bursts out laughing. The Dutchman joins him, so do you, and in a matter of seconds, Pierre and Lando are laughing as well. It takes you a while to calm down, because all of you just really needed to laugh off the shock of the past days.

Lando carries you down and into the car. Charles had offered to pick you up and drive you to your apartment, joined by Pierre. “Hey Charles!”, you greet the man and move over to give him an uncomfortable hug over the middle console. He doesn’t seem to mind, however. “You don’t know how good it is to see you, y/n!” You smile at him after you pull away, and he starts the car as soon as Pierre has settled in as well. A bit later, you arrive by your apartment building. Pierre gets out the wheelchair, and helps you to climb in. It is still new for you, and you hope that you will get rid of it soon. It makes you feel utterly helpless, but just the few steps in the plane earlier were hard and exhausting. For a moment, the thought that you might never be able to race again crosses your mind, but you push it away violently. So far, you had achieved everything in your life that you had set your mind to, and you sure as hell will not let anything stop you now.

It feels good to be back in your own space. You exhale deeply and you immediately start to feel a bit better. The familiar surrounding eases your negative thoughts, and you find yourself calming down. “Alright”, says Charles, “I will get going and get the crutches from the doctor, and get groceries, then I will be back!” Before you can say something, he is out of the door. “The doctors in Brazil contacted your doctor here to consult and discuss next steps.” You nod, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Pierre tells you bit more about the topic, but you can’t really focus your attention. At some point, you let out a big yawn. Pierre chuckles. “Seems like someone is tired!” “Exhausted”, you tell him, and he gives you an understanding nod. “How about you take a nap?”, he offers. “Sounds super!”

He helps you into your room, where you quickly change into some shorts and a shirt. After you are done, Pierre enters the room with a glass of water in his hand. “I know that you like to keep a glass of water next to your bed, so I figured I would bring you one!” “How do you know?”, you question. He shrugs his shoulders. “You mentioned it one day…” “Thank you!” He smiles at you, puts the glass down and grabs the blanket. He throws it over you and gently tugs you in. “Sleep well, mon ange!”, he says but you are already sound asleep.

The next week is exhausting, more mentally than physically. You are able to leave the wheelchair rather quickly, but you still the need the crutches for support. Despite the fact that you weren’t really injured, at least not in the traditional sense, your body was still weak. You just cannot really rely on it right now, so the crutches are there to support and help you. You are just happy that you are out of the wheelchair and that you have a tiny bit of your independency back. What helps even more however, is the constant support of your friends. They cannot be with you right now, as there are still two more races for them to finish. Your doctor appointments keep you occupied, your family visits and helps you with whatever you need. Your friends call you, sometimes just to tell you minor things but it helps. You don’t feel isolated, and you cheer on them from your living room. Right now, it feels okay to not be on track – you feel like you are going to be okay.

The season ends in the end of November. Winter has Monaco in its grip, the first snow falls. Everything looks so pretty that you cannot really feel down. On top of that you love Christmas, and you keep yourself busy with present shopping, at least until you have to get ready to leave for England. It is a Tuesday, and you had just been at the doctor’s office. While your doctor is sure that you will fully recover, he also gives you a real perspective on things. The possibility is there that you can race next season, but the cost could potentially be high. He tells you to consider your options. Lando picks you up from this appointment and together you drive to the airport. The two of you were scheduled to fly to the McLaren headquarters for a week to discuss the next possible steps. The flight goes over quick, you are unusually quiet – and Lando just lets you be. He can sense that you need the time, so he gives it to you.

When you step out of the airport, Zak waits for there for you personally. The older man pulls you in a tight hug, it had been a while since he had seen you in person. “Good to see you, kid!”, he tells you with a fatherly tone in his voice. You grin at him, happy to see him. You climb into the car and Zak drives you to his home, to have dinner with his family. You quite enjoy it, but you feel yourself get tired after a while. Lando notices and decides to call a taxi for the both of you to drive to the hotel.

You share a suite, in case something was to happen during the night, but you sleep well. After a nice breakfast, you are getting picked up for the headquarters and inside you are feeling very nervous. You are good at hiding it, but you fiddle with your fingers. Lando takes one of your hands and gently squeezes it. Only now that you are not good on foot you realize how big the McLaren compound really is.

The core team meets in a room close to the entrance for your sake. They are all beyond happy to see you, everyone is relieved that you are on your feet again, at least partly. It is not many people, as you agreed with Zak to discuss the next steps in a small team before you met with everyone. After exchanging some courtesies, it is time for you to tell them of your decision. You take a deep breath and Lando once again squeezes your hand. No one knows what you are going to tell them, and you don’t really know how to tell them. You decide it is best to rip the band aid of fast.

“After consulting with my doctor yesterday, I think it is best if I resign for indeterminate time, until I am fully recovered.” The room is eerily quiet, everyone is a bit shocked. “While I could possibly sit myself into the car next season, I would not be able to give you guys the results you deserve. Trust me, this is not what I wanted, but if I race next season, the possibility of lasting health issues is very likely, and I do not believe that some half-assed results are worth that. I want to apologize –“ “Don’t!”, Zak interrupts you, “We have all developed a soft spot for you in our hearts, and we were all shocked when we heard what the doctors in Brazil said. Your health comes first. While we are deeply saddened about you resigning for indeterminate time, I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we would like to keep you around one way or the other.” You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. On the one side because they were so supportive, on the other side because you stating your resignation makes it a lot more real.

Now it is official – at least within your team – that you will not start next season. It feels a bit like your world is ending, your goals are out of your reach. You feel hopeless, and like you are – quite frankly – an absolute loser. Self-doubts threaten to eat you up, you want to curl up in a ball and just stop existing for a while. You spent the rest of the meeting lost in your thoughts, and the next days go by in a blur. You visit the headquarter many more times that week, talking to the team, discussing the best way to communicate your indeterminate resignation. You call Pierre a lot, telling him about everything. He deserves to know from you, so do all of your other friends. You cry a lot those days, Lando never quite leaving your side. He is there for you, so is everyone else. Yet you find yourself withdrawing yourself from almost everyone except Pierre. You call him daily, sometimes more than once. Many times, he has to listen to you softly sobbing into the phone, and it breaks his heart. But he never blames you, he always listens, he always comforts you.

After an exhausting week, there is only one more thing to do – film your resignation video. You cry during the video too, but you don’t mind – you love your fans, and they deserve to know the truth and witness your real feelings about your resignation. In the end, the video is 10 minutes long – you explain your reasons, you promise that you will be back. And you mean that. Somehow, you have found your fighting spirit once again. The video ends with a collage of your best moments in F1. A tribute to your achievements so far, but you are now certain there will be more eventually. You will put all the work in necessary so that you would heal properly, and that you would be able to sit in the car next year.

You fly back to Monaco alone – Lando would have come with you, but you told him to stay home with his family for a bit. He drove you to the airport and saw that you get to the plane just fine. When you land, Lewis and Valtteri are already there to welcome you back. They are kind and gentle and brotherly, and your soul heals a bit when they take you to lunch that day. They don’t make you feel like a loser anymore, they tell you that they are proud of you for making this hard decision. The three of you share things that you have never spoken about before, and it helps. The sun is shining on a white Monaco and your heart becomes full and hopeful. You are still weak and exhausted, and when they take you home you are more than ready to sleep, but it is different.

The next week is a busy week once again. You visit your doctor and your personal trainer a lot, discussing measures to help you healing, and setting up a slow training program that would help keep you in shape, while not overburdening your body. You still call Pierre every day to talk to him. He is with his family in France for Christmas, and he has invited you to join him. You tell him you will once you feel better. He understands, like he always does. He makes you laugh with his joke, and he tells you he misses you. You miss him, and when he drops one of his compliments, it is somehow different now. Your cheeks heat up sometimes, and your heart skips a beat.

Christmas is nice, and special. You are home, and for once you have nothing to do – no real training, only little exercises. No media duties, and you enjoy the time with your family. After New Year’s, you travel back to home to Monaco to rest and heal. The boys are all there for you – for whatever you need. They ask you how you are all the time, and they help you where they can. It is the little things, really, and one day you feel particularly bad about it. You cannot really give them anything back at the moment, and you feel like you are using them. You wake up with those feelings that they, and to distract yourself from them, you go on Instagram. Scrolling through your feed, you occasionally send them funny videos. It was the least you could do. After an hour or so, you lift yourself out of the bed, finally. You are very hungry, and you think about ordering something, when suddenly your doorbell rings. You need some time to reach it, walking slowly with your crutches, and when you open it, Daniel stands there in front of you. “You send me the first Reel on Instagram like one hour ago, so I figured you are hungry by now. I brought groceries and I am here to cook for you!” “I… You shouldn’t have!”, you try to argue, but Daniel already moves past you and into your kitchen. You follow him slowly.

When you see that he is already collecting dishes to prepare breakfast, you just sigh. He picks up the defeated sound and perks up, smiling at you. His face falls when he sees the way you look at him, like you are almost crying. “Hey hon, what´s up?”, he asks you. “I just… I feel so bad about all of this. I feel like I am using all of you, and like I am not giving anything back!” Daniel shakes is head violently, and he comes over to pull you in a hug. You almost disappear in it, and he draws soothing circles on your back. “Y/n, don’t ever say or think something like that again. You have almost given your life for us, and this is what friends are here for. We help each other when we can – sometimes one or the other does give a bit more. It equals out in the end. Besides, you still listen to all of us rambling, and you still give the best advice!” He pulls away and a tiny smile is on your face now. He ruffles your hair and before you can protest, he is back in the kitchen. “Now, go rest your ass on the couch, mate!”, he says, and you cannot help but laugh when you limp over to the living room.

Breakfast is nice, and Daniel makes you laugh with his stupid jokes. It is good to feel like this. You know that right now was the easy part – your friends are here, and they all have time for you. But you are afraid of what is coming after the winter break – when they are all gone, and you won’t be able to be with them doing the things you love the most. It will most likely break your heart, but you try not to think about it, at least not now.

It is a few weeks later, the next season will start soon. You have picked up training again, very slowly. It mainly consisted off walking on the treadmill, holding onto the sides. A few easy exercises that keep your body mobile and flexible and your muscles occupied. Spring is blooming in Monaco; the first sun is shining. Everything is going well. Well, almost everything. Right now, you are beyond embarrassed.

You had felt better today, so you had taken the taxi down to your favourite park to enjoy some time there. It had been late afternoon already, you had walked around a bit and sat down in a small restaurant to eat dinner. Now, it is later than expected, it was dark, getting colder by the minute, and you are beyond exhausted. Furthermore, the crippling feeling in your legs leaves you to panic, which is why you – against all rationality – do not call a taxi. Instead, you call Max, who picks up almost immediately. “Can you pick me up, Maxie?”, you choke out, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Send me your location!”, he says, and you can hear that he already picks up his keys. You nod, even though he cannot see that, and send him your location with shaky fingers. Max is there just ten minutes later to collect you. As soon as you see him, the tears really start to flow. He wraps his arms around you, his sweatshirt is collecting your tears, and he whispers encouragements while he gently strokes your hair. After a few minutes, you calm down and he helps you to his car.

He holds open the passenger door for you, and you climb in, almost falling because your legs are giving out under you. But Max is there, he catches you, and helps you. He closes the door behind you and gets in on his side. “You okay?”, he asks. You nod, using the sleeves of your sweatshirt to wipe away the leftovers of your tears. Max starts the car and drives through the dark streets of Monaco. You don’t know where he is going until he stops at the drive through of a Fast-Food restaurant. “I figured the occasion called for ice cream or a milkshake”, he tells you when you he sees your questioning expression. A tiny smile creeps onto your face. Max orders you a milkshake and gives it to you. You hold it in two hands like a child and Max cannot help but laugh. You pout a little, but ultimately smile when he takes a picture of you holding the cup in your hand.

He drives you to your place and helps you up to your apartment. Reaching the door, he stops for a moment and thinks. “Would you like some company tonight?” For a moment you think about telling him to go home, because you don’t want to trouble him any further. But being alone tonight sounds terrible, so you push down the unnecessary feeling of guilt and nod. He steps into the apartment with you and helps you take of your jacket. Together, the two of you settle in on the couch and put on a movie. You feel your eyes get heavy, but before you can tell Max that he might as well go home as you are about to fall asleep, you slip into slumber.

The next morning, you wake up in your bed. You stretch and roll over to your phone. A text from Max. “Don’t get scared when you wake up, I am sleeping on the couch.” You smile to yourself and get up. Max is still asleep, so you climb into the shower. Once you are done and dressed, you make your way into the kitchen to make breakfast. Already in the hallway, you hear voices. You are confused – you know that Max is here, but who else? Stepping into the kitchen, your eyes fall on Pierre. Immediately, a big smile appears on your face. “Pierre!”, you exclaim happily and his face lights up once his eyes fall on you. He rushed over and wraps you in a tight hug. What you don’t see is the wiggling eyebrows Max aims at Pierre. Pierre just rolls his eyes and then closes them to take in your scent for a moment. Soon after, you break the hug, but Pierre stays close, his arm loosely wrapped around your hips.

Max excuses himself shortly after, as he has an appointment. You bit him goodbye, and when the door falls close, you turn around to Pierre. “Why are you here already?”, you ask him, and he flashes you a cheeky grin. “Not happy to see me?” You shake your head but laugh. “I am more than happy to see you, Pierre! I was just thought you would arrive in two days.” “Well,”, he says and wraps you in another hug, “I really wanted to see you!” You are happy that your face is buried in his chest because a blush creeps on your cheeks.

Pierre pulls back a little and looks at you. “Are you feeling better today?”, he asks with genuine concern. You nod, “Yeah, thanks to Max. He picked me up last night and stayed over to make sure I was okay.” “Max told me what happened. Please, ange, you need to be careful. I know it is hard to be confined in this space and not being as independent as you used to be, but you need to watch out for your health.” You sigh, but nod. “I know. I am just really tired off this, and I want to experience things again. I am afraid that I won’t ever be able to get into the car again…” Pierre nods understandingly. “I get that. But the more you rest and listen to your body, the sooner you will be fully healed.” “Yeah, you are right. I –“, you want to say something more, but suddenly, your stomach growls.

Pierre laughs and you grin, a bit embarrassed. “I think you need some food!”, Pierre says. “Yeah, I am starving!” The two of you make your way into the kitchen and just now you see the huge bouquet of flowers on your kitchen counter. “Wow, these are beautiful”, you exclaim, “Thank you Pierre!” He smiles and waves it off. “It´s nothing”, he says, but for you, it is everything. Pierre pulls out one of your pans, and as you are about to help him, he shoots you a glare. You lift your hands up in mock defence and make your way into the living room. You get your laptop from the couch and sit down on the dining table, as you have some things to finish up. Just because you were not a driver anymore, that didn’t mean that you had nothing to do. Especially now that the winter break slowly came to an end – you had agreed with McLaren that you would be involved in their Social Media activity. It had been Lando´s idea, and you are really grateful for it.

While you couldn’t start on the grid next season, you also didn’t want to entirely leave the F1 world. You are not yet sure if that is a good decision, to be involved but not driving, but you would have to wait and see. Pierre joins you a bit later with some breakfast, and you are beyond happy to finally have him with you again. The two of you will spend some time in Monaco together, before the new season started.

You make the most out of that time. Some days you just sleep in, you in your bed and Pierre in the guest bedroom, and then you would have a long breakfast, you would take a little walk, talked with the fans. He helps you with your exercises, he is a gentle trainer, yet he inspires you to go a tiny, tiny step forward every day. He massages your muscles when they are tired, he applies the lotion your doctor prescribed you. He takes you out for lunch or dinner, he goes shopping with you if that is what you desire. He finds the best clothes for you, you feel pretty in them, you feel worth it in them. He makes you feel safe and protected and if you knew better you would say that he makes you feel loved, but you don’t talk about that. Right now, it is not the time for it, and you both just enjoy what you have for now. The lingering touches, the way the two of you gravitated towards each other. He takes good care of you, and he never gives you the feeling of being a burden, even if you need help with silly little things. Like when your arms and hands are so tired that you cannot take off your own socks. He never makes you feel like you have to be embarrassed about any of those things and it helps.

The break ends soon after these great moments and you hold up quite well. Saying goodbye to Pierre is hard, and you cry. He holds you and presses a kiss on your forehead and tell you that you can always call him. But it will be different, there will be the time difference and he will be busy, and you will be not. He still makes sure to call you whenever, and it works good somehow. Maybe it is because summer comes to Monaco and your friends visit you whenever you can. You train, you take it easy, you rest, and you heal. Soon enough, you are able to go for jogs again, your training becomes longer and harder and you seem to be on the right way. By the summer break, you feel stronger already, and life is rather normal again. You still feel exhausted some days and you are not where you used to be. But you were okay with that.

The sun lifts your mood up, even on the days you don’t manage to run very far. You still go out these days, just go get the kilometres down, to keep your body moving. Summer break comes, and with that the boys are back in town. They spend most of their free time with you, and you are beyond grateful for that. It means the world to you, that they come and visit. Pierre spends a lot of time in Monaco with you as well. You take it easy, enjoying the time together. Just like over winter break, he takes you out a lot. You go and see museums, concerts, whatever there is to do. Some days are exciting, others are slow and relaxing. You take naps on the day bed on your balcony, enjoying the warm summer sun. Your head often rests on Pierre´s lap, or you are cuddled up in his arms during those naps. Still, you don’t talk about it, it is all very natural, your relationship growing stronger every minute you spend together. However, labelling it is not your priority right now, it is still your healing journey.

The two of you also spend lot of time together with the other drivers. Like today for example. Currently, you are laying in the warm sun on the deck of Charles yacht. The boys are bickering about something, while you are reading. You had just left the harbour a few minutes ago, and the boys already distracted you from your book. You cannot help but smile though, you had missed this. It was almost like you were still part of the driver line-up, and you feel relieved that nothing has really changed. They are all still the same adorable dorks they used to be. Some time later, Charles stops the yacht in the middle of the sea. By now you are sweating and very warm, so you are the first person to take the leap of the deck into the ocean.

It is not really a problem; you feel good today. The guys follow soon after, and you start to joke around, splash each other with water, dunking each other under. You have so much fun that you don’t really listen to your body. You splash and dunk and swim around. Pierre watches you closely, like he always does. When you climb up the ladder, he is relieved that you choose to take a break, so he follows. You, however, have other plans. You are about to get ready to jump off the boat another time, when Pierre stops you. “You sure about that, do you not rather want to take a break?” You grin at him with the objective to calm him down. “I feel fine, Pierre!” He nods. “Just be careful, okay?” “Of course!”

You feel your mistake when you start to run to jump off the deck. Your legs are suddenly very, very heavy. You cannot stop anymore however, and before you realize, you are in the air. The force of impact on the surface of the water knocks the breath out of your lungs, your entire body suddenly feels heavy – almost too heavy for you to swim towards the surface. It takes you long to emerge from the water, too long. The others realize when you don’t come up immediately. Charles starts to swim towards you. A splash rips you from your apathy and you swim towards the surface with heavy arms. You emerge coughing and one second later Pierre is right next to you. He helps you to hold yourself over water, and soon, Charles is by your side as well. You are embarrassed, but they don’t let on how scared they really were. Pierre helps you up the stairs and you sit down in one of the seating areas. Pierre brings you a towel and wraps you in it. When the towel is around you, he doesn’t let go. “I am sorry!”, you whisper, “I should have listened to you.” Pierre shakes his head. “Don’t worry, just don’t scare me like that again.” “I won´t!”, you promise and snuggle closer into Pierre. He holds you and you fall asleep soon after.

The rest of the summer break is spent similar. You hang out with Pierre and the guys, you go to France with Pierre, you visit your family, life is good. But then, the races start again, and fall comes to Monaco and with that the rain and the grey days. You are not able to go out of your apartment that much anymore, you are lacking energy and you feel like you are making steps back. Your training doesn’t go as smooch anymore, you feel like your comeback might be in jeopardy.

You are in a bad mood, there is no reason to sugar coat that. You are beyond miserable. The feeling that you will not return next season haunts you, and you are terrified of it. What if you will not manage to ever race again? You have never known something else; you have never learned something else. You feel like you are drowning, and your saving comes in form of a particular Frenchman. He knows that you had been able to go on runs again and that you did harder workouts again, he knows that you were on a way to get better. When your best friend calls him and tells him that you spent most of your days inside now not doing much, he doesn’t believe it at first.

He does, however, when you open the door and look like you haven’t changed out of your sweatpants in a week. You look messy, eyes puffy and tired features. He is scared to see you like this, so hopeless and so… He doesn’t know how to describe it, but you look so little, so tiny. You weren’t the tallest, but usually you carried yourself like you were the tallest in any room. Now, you are hunched over. For a moment he thinks you are going to close the door in his face, but you don’t. “Put your clothes on, we are going for a run!”, he tells you. You don’t protest verbally, but your attitude shows him enough. He doesn’t flinch though. He drags you out of the apartment – you still haven’t said a word. He takes your hand when you arrive downstairs, and he pulls you with him. A little “Pierre, I can´t!” leaves your mouth, but he pretends that he doesn’t hear it. And, after the first meters, you seem to shake off the paralysis that had a tight grip on you the past week.

Your breath is steady, and you are keeping up well with him. It starts to rain, the trail becomes wet, and you slip at some point. You fall, and this little happening seems to make you fall apart. You stay on the ground, and you don’t grab Pierre´s hand when he reaches out. At first, he doesn’t realize but then he sees that you are crying, and he doesn’t care about his outfit – he drops to his knees next to you and hugs you. You want to turn away from him, you feel so fucking weak and pathetic, and he sees you in that state. It embarrasses you; it makes you angry. You want to push him away, you struggle a bit against his grip, but Pierre doesn't let go of you.

“Why am I so weak?”, you cry softly in his shirt, but Pierre hears you. “You are not weak, mon ange”, he whispers. He pulls you a bit closer, like he is afraid that the rain will wash and carry you away. “You are the strongest person I know. I know that life is hard at the moment, and I cannot imagine how you are feeling. But you will get there, I know that!” “I feel like I am the absolute worst version of myself right now, and I just don’t see myself driving next year, but… But that´s all I have ever known, it´s all I have ever wanted!” Pierre still holds you close. The rain is coming down harder now, and you are getting soaked to the skin. You don’t care, it doesn’t matter to you. “If I know anything, I know that you will come back stronger next than ever next year!” “Why do you keep on believing in me, Pierre?”

“You might see yourself as the worst version of yourself right now, but I think you are the strongest, the fiercest version of yourself right now.” For a moment, Pierre falls silent. He takes a deep breathe before he whispers the words into your ear, as if he is afraid that they will be washed away by the rain when he speaks up or speaks them further away from you. “And I believe in you because it is the only thing that keeps me sane. I cannot even begin to think about the fact that you might not ever race again, because it would affect my life in so many ways. It might be selfish, but I would not get to see you as much anymore, and the thought of that is terrible to me. I want to be able to come out of the garage and walk over to hug you. I want to hear your laugh sound all over the paddock because someone cracked a joke. And, most importantly, I believe in you because I am completely and helplessly in love with you.”

You need a moment to take that information in, understanding what he just told you. “You don’t need to say anything, I –“, you stop him by pulling out of his hug and taking your face in both of your hands. The position is not really comfortable, but you don´t care. You press your cold lips against his and kiss him. He kisses you back, and you can feel his warmth seeping into your bones. The rain is still coming down hard, but all you can feel is Pierre's arms around you, and it feels like you have found a lifeline, like you have a new purpose to fight and return stronger than before.

#formula one x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #charles leclerc #lewis hamilton #sergio checo pérez #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #max verstappen x reader #valtteri bottas #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

Text

Part III

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel hull the kids to the beach for a much needed vacation. Things begin to change.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: Tommy being a shitty husband & father, Father's day celebration, cursing, consumption of alcohol, emotional affair/cheating, some physical boundaries crossed. Pining

Notes: Y'all know the drill by now, thanks to my loves @janaispunk for beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading and providing me with some authentic prison information and inspiration, and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 5273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

It’s June before you’re able to escape to the shore. You make it in just over 4 hours. It’s good timing considering the multiple bathroom stops you had to make. It’s a small house that probably hasn’t been renovated since Joel was there as a kid. It sits two blocks off the shore on stilts that make you feel secluded from the people that pass on the quiet street below, and when you stand on the porch, the salty sea breeze caresses your body as you let your eyes close. You can just make out the crash of ocean waves. You can feel the breeze carrying all your cares away.

Nate and Sarah excitedly explore the inside of the house. Their muted enthusiasm floating through the walls makes you smile. You’re thankful for this, thankful for Joel.

The sliding door opens and then shuts. You don’t move. It’s Joel. You know the sound of his footsteps, the way he moves through the world by heart. He settles against the railing, arm pressed against yours.

A smile spreads across your lips as your eyes open, landing on his. He smiles back. “Hard to enjoy the view with your eyes closed, Darlin.” His deep baritone rumbles smoothly. You see it in him too, the way the breeze carries away the wear and worry of the world.

“It’s peaceful out here.”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“We should probably get back in there before the kids break something.”

Joel nudges you with his shoulder. “Don’t jinx us like that.”

“Our two? Unsupervised? That’s asking for it.”

“Our two?” A playful glint glimmers in Joel’s deep brown eyes. “My daughter is perfectly well behaved. It’s your little menace that’s the bad influence.”

“Oh my four year old is the bad influence?” You cross your arms, doing your best to keep the smile at bay.

“For sure- got his dad’s streak for mischief. My Sarah is a perfect angel.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You roll your eyes, slapping his shoulder, but you don’t have a good response. He’s not wrong. Nathaniel knows how to get into places he shouldn’t. “I seem to recall an incident involving a ten pound bag of flour that says differently.”

Joel chuckles at the memory. Nathaniel was barely a week old when Sarah shrieked in the kitchen only for you to find her and the kitchen dusted in white powder. You had cried upon seeing it, postpartum hormones raging. Joel had cleaned your entire kitchen top to bottom.

“She felt so bad for making you cry,” Joel laughs.

“I think I scared her.”

The door opens again. Sarah and Nathaniel break out, rushing for your legs and begging to go to the beach.

You spend the next several days lazing on the sand, reading more than you have in years as you soak in the sun. The kids run around chasing seagulls and other creatures. Joel helps them catch waves on boogie boards. You both take them further out to ride the waves. Sarah’s arms clutch around Joel’s neck, and Nathaniel does the same to you. They build sandcastles and Joel digs holes big enough to bury them both.

At night, the kids are out by 8 o’clock if not earlier allowing you and Joel to sit out on the deck and drink. Your skin is warm from the constant sun. Joel’s cheeks are tinged pink on your third evening, his chest rosier. The salty air works at his hair, bringing out curls. You like this version of him a lot. You like this version of yourself too.

Your feet sit in his lap as he massages your legs and feet, calves worn out from lugging your belongings across the sand and back. He stares up at the sky, twilight bringing the first few stars with it. You sip your homemade margarita, Joel’s specialty, from a red solo cup.

“I shoulda brought my guitar. Only thing that could make this moment better,” he says.

You hum softly, shifting in your chair. “Wouldn’t be able to massage my feet if you had your guitar.”

He laughs, so easy, so relaxed. You can’t remember the last time things felt this good. “Don’t worry, you’d still get your massage.”

“Why didn’t you bring it?” You cock your head to the side.

“Wouldn’t fit in the car, miss over packer.”

You roll your eyes softly kicking at him. “We’ve used everything I packed. Speaking of which, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” You take another sip of your drink. Joel finds a knot in your calf, working it out as you let out a slight hiss.

Joel shrugs, carefully watching your reactions careful to inflict as little pain as possible. “Ask the kids.”

“It’s Father’s Day.”

“Kids like pancakes.” Joel sips from his own drink before returning to the knot.

“But you don’t.”

“Doesn’t matter what I like, Darlin.”

“Well, it does tomorrow.” You cross your arms.

Joel sighs rolling his eyes.

You narrow yours. “Don’t make me force it out of you. You know I will.”

He considers it a minute before deciding it’s a losing battle. “Those omelets you made for my birthday. I really liked those.”

You smile. “I can manage that.”

You sit in bed with Nathaniel the next morning to call Tommy. As early as possible is preferred, not that Tommy will care. He’s been blowing you off more, hardly talking when you call or visit, seemingly uninterested when you talk about Nate. It’s exhausting. You dread it, but you continue anyway.

It takes a while before Tommy’s voice comes through the speaker. You force an exaggerated smile to your face for Nathaniel’s sake. Daddy is an abstract being to him. “Hey babe. Happy Father’s Day!”

“Oh… that’s today?”

You push back the annoyance rising inside you. “Nate wants to say hello.” You hold the phone up to your four-year-old’s ear.

“Hello?” he says.

You can barely make Tommy’s pathetic response. He won’t even pretend for Nathaniel and that’s the unbearable part of all this.

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel says, taking hold of the receiver before he dives into updating his stranger of a father all about their beach vacation. Tommy stays quiet the whole time.

Rage begins to boil just under the surface. Before it can bubble over, Nathaniel says goodbye, shoving the phone into your chest and dashing out of the room the moment he hears Sarah moving around in the living room.

“Tommy?”

“Look, I need to go.”

You're not sure what’s worse. The hurt or the anger inside you. “I love you.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you on Friday.”

“Tommy.” It sounds like a scold. That’s exactly what it is.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for your wife and son?”

“You’re the one who called me.”

“Are you actually going to call on Friday? Or am I gonna end up sitting next to the phone all evening?”

You get silence.

“Tommy?”

“I’ll call.” And then the line goes dead.

You want to scream or yell or cry or all three. You settle for throwing a pillow across the room and giving yourself 5 minutes to cry. There may only be three months of this left, but you’re not sure you’ll actually be talking to your husband at the end of it, not that the two of you do any talking now.

Wiping your eyes, you make your way to the kitchen to start on Joel’s promised breakfast. Nathaniel and Sarah sit at the table comparing sea shells. “Aunt Bonnie?”

“Yes baby doll?” You smile, kissing her head.

“Which one would Daddy like on his card?” She points to a collection of about 5 shells.

“Hmmm,” you crouch down to her level, looking them over. “I think he would like any of them, but this one looks like him.” You point to a blue-grey shell.

She picks it up, inspecting it carefully. “It does look kinda grumpy like him.”

You laugh. That isn’t what you meant, but she wasn’t wrong. “I’m making omelets. What do y’all want in yours?”

The kids are digging into their breakfast when Joel walks out of his room, arms stretching above his head to reveal a little sliver of his tummy. Sarah quickly shoves her Father’s Day project under some magazines.

“Look who decided to wake up.” You smile over your shoulder. “Morning sleepy head.”

“One day of the year I get to sleep in.” He mumbles, shooting a teasing glare your way. He clocks your red eyes before you can turn away.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” Sarah yells, standing on her chair to give Joel a hug. He chuckles, pulling her into his arms, spinning around, and setting her back on the chair with ease. She laughs.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“Happy Day!” Nathaniel grins at his uncle.

“Father’s Day.” Sarah corrects. Nathaniel simply shrugs like he’d said the correct thing to begin with.

Joel chuckles, kissing his nephew’s cheek. “Thanks, Bud.”

You track his footsteps over to your side of the kitchen as you invest your full attention on the omelet in front of you. You know he caught your tear-stained eyes. “Fresh coffee in the pot,” You say, keeping your voice even.

You feel his full body heat behind you, a hand falls to your waist as he reaches into the cabinet next to the stove for a coffee mug. Something settles in your stomach.

“What did my idiot brother do now?” He keeps his voice low so the kids don’t overhear.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Your head snaps toward him. He’s right there, face so close to yours. Always nearby.

“You sure?”

You bristle a little bit. He drops his hand but stays in your space. “Not right now. We’re celebrating you this morning.” He smiles softly at you. “And I don’t want to burn your omelet, so scram.” You cock your head to the side.

He waits a second, searching for any signs he’s missing something. When he’s sure he isn’t, he gives you a soft smile and a tender kiss on the forehead, and steps over to the coffee pot, leaving you feeling warm and hazy.

The kids help clean up after breakfast. Sarah stands on a bench at the sink to wash dishes and Nathaniel waits patiently with a dish towel to dry the lighter dishes. You and Joel sit at the table, second and third cups of coffee in hand as you oversee their efforts.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this next phase of parenting,” Joel says with a long, content sigh.

You feel the easiness thrumming in your veins. Why couldn’t life always be this way? “Yeah if my anxiety about broken dishes or wet feet doesn’t get the better of me first.”

He chuckles softly, sipping from his mug as an easy silence falls between you. You watch the kids and Joel watches you. Sun pours through the many windows of the beach house. You’re not ready to leave tomorrow.

“You wanna talk about it now?”

You sigh. “Not really. We’re supposed to be celebrating you today.”

“I’ll be able to enjoy myself more if I know what’s going on in your head.”

You keep your gaze focused on the kids, rolling the words around in your head. You feel emotionally exhausted by it all and you’re not even through the morning hours yet.

“Darlin,” Joel kicks at your foot, smile on his face. “C’mon. We can talk about it.”

You set your mug down, turning toward him. “He’s just blowing us off again. I spent more time waiting for him to come to the phone than I did talking to him. He hardly interacted with Nate this morning.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to push away the tears pressing to escape.

Joel reaches across the table, taking your hand. He runs his thumb over your knuckles. It grazes past your wedding band, almost taunting you now.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t fair to either of you,” Joel says.

“You’d think I’d stop letting it affect me at some point.”

Joel bites his lip, eyes pinned to your ring finger. “He’s your husband. Needs to start acting like it,” Joel says gruffly. You catch the spark of something in his deep brown eyes, but you don’t have time to place it.

“We’re done!” Sarah exclaims with a proud smile, her shirt soaked through.

You pull your hand from Joel’s, wrapping it around your warm mug as you laugh. “Thank you for your help. Both of you.” Nathaniel puts the dish towel carefully over the oven handle, shooting you the biggest grin.

“Can we do presents now?” Sarah asks, curls bouncing with her.

“Presents?” Joel says. “Y’all didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” Sarah says, looking to you for permission.

“I think now is a great time for gifts.”

Both kids run toward their shared room. They had been very excited at the promise of bunk beds. You ease out of your chair. “Not you too.” Joel shakes his head.

You shoot him a wink. “Suck it, Miller.”

Flashes of your delayed Mother’s Day celebration jump between you. Joel had switched up the weekends and hadn’t been prepared, but had made up for it the following weekend. You hadn’t heard from Tommy. He never even mentioned it.

You grab the small box from your suitcase, a small white bow tied around it. The four of you settle in the living room. You sit tucked into one end of the sofa while Joel sits at the other end, a bouncing kid on either side of him.

“Me first!” Sarah says, handing her card and hand-wrapped gift to her father.

Joel takes care, slowly reading the card out loud. His gift consists of a souvenir snow globe and a puca shell necklace. She picked them out with great care at the beach shop the two of you stopped in yesterday. He oos and awes over both.

“You should put on the necklace!” Sarah says, standing up on the cushions of the couch.

“Maybe I want to admire it more,” Joel says.

You bite back a smile. He’s already lost this battle and you both know it.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy.” She grabs it from his hand, determination, and concentration painted on her face as she wraps it around his neck.

“Yeah, don’t be silly, Daddy.” You tease, shooting him a wink. He pokes his tongue out at you as Sarah almost chokes him in the process of securing the necklace.

“Not so tight, baby girl.”

“Oops,” she giggles. “All done.”

She steps back to admire her handiwork, looking quite pleased. “What do you think, Aunt Bonnie?”

“Beautiful,” You smile, laughter evident in your tone of voice. “You look ready to hit the beach.”

“My turn!” Nathaniel announces, handing Joel a hand-drawn picture depicting their day at the beach yesterday. He goes into great detail describing everything he drew. Joel’s hand rests on Nate’s shoulder blades, head tucked toward him as he takes in everything the boy says with practiced patience and intentionality.

It strikes something in your heart, a deep longing. That should be Tommy. But it also sends a deep sense of gratitude toward your brother-in-law for picking up where his brother has failed. You swallow back the tears, losing track of how much you’ve had to do that today.

“Thank you, Bud. I love it.” Joel kisses Nathaniel's head.

“You’re welcome, Daddy.”

Joel freezes. Ice rushes through your bloodstream. Your eyes meet Joel’s. What do you say to that? Neither of you knows the answer.

“He’s not your daddy, Nate,” Sarah says, pulling out her older sister voice. “He’s your uncle.”

“Oh yeah,” Nathaniel shrugs, unbothered by his mishap as he swings his legs back and forth, hitting the couch with his heels as he does.

“Aunt Bonnie, do you have the other gift?” Sarah asks, determined to keep the morning on schedule.

“Yeah, right here.” You fumble around, finding the box tucked between yourself and the couch. Joel keeps his eyes on you trying to figure out what’s running through your mind, but he can’t.

Sarah plucks the box from your hands before presenting it to her father. “This is from all three of us.”

She looks very proud of herself. Joel takes it with a smile, eyes flickering back to you briefly. You give him an encouraging nod.

He loosens the bow, pulling off the top. The kids lean over either side of his body, excited for the reveal even though they’ve both seen it. He pulls it out, inspecting it carefully. A black watch face with silver accents and an olive green watch band. His eyes dart to yours. You smile at him.

“You’ve been talking about it for years.” You smirk, sipping your coffee. “You were never gonna do it yourself.”

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” He shakes his head, a stunned chuckle shaking his chest. “How’d you know?”

“Found an old picture Tommy had stored away last fall.”

“Look at the back.” Sarah bounces with excitement.

Joel flips it over. His brows knit together as he catches the inscription. Happy Father’s Day. We love you. Sarah and Nathaniel. 1997.

“Do you like it?” Sarah looks up at him with sparkling excitement.

“I love it.” He kisses her cheek, thanking both the children. He wraps it around his wrist, buckling it into place.

“Now you won’t be late anymore,” Sarah says, making you and Joel laugh.

“We can only hope,” you say.

Joel looks up at you with one of the most heartfelt smiles you’ve ever seen. His lips move silently. Thank you.

You nod in response.

You spend the final day of your vacation on the beach until the sun has disappeared. Joel ends up running back to the house to grab the car so your two very tired children don’t melt down. You hurry through bath time, trying to get all the sand from hair and bodies. You’re sure you’ll be finding sand all over your and Joel’s homes for months.

You provide goodnight hugs and kisses, but Joel takes bedtime duties. You’re cleaning up the kitchen, and packing up pantry items when the first lines of You Are My Sunshine drift out of the kid’s bedroom in Joel’s soft melodies. The kids' sleepy voices talk him into another lullaby and then another before their eyelids slip closed and their breathing evens out.

The door clicks softly and you’ve already pulled the margarita pitcher and new solo cups. “See they talked you into the whole set list tonight.” You smile, filling the cups with the last of the margaritas.

“It’s the last night of vacation.” Joel chuckles. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and the half-eaten bag of pretzels. “They asked so nicely.”

“And you’re a big softy.”

You grab both cups, following Joel out to your spot on the deck. It’s cooler tonight, the breeze a bit stronger. You sit across from each other, feet propped in the seat of the other’s chair with the blanket spread across your legs. Joel sets the pretzels right at your knees.

“Did you enjoy your day?” You ask, sipping on the day-old margarita. It goes down easier tonight, and your cup is filled to the brim.

“It was a good day.” Joel smiles at you, easy and relaxed. The world and your issues feel so far away here despite the day’s earlier events. “Probably the best Father’s Day yet.”

“Oh you mean it beats the raw banana bread from last year?” You’re laughing before the sentence fully leaves your mouth. Joel’s head falls back, chest vibrating with laughter.

His hair curls more from the salty air and fits him, tanned skin, curly hair, Puca shell necklace and all. You wonder if you look like a similar version of yourself, the relaxed beach version.

“Sarah trying to choke me with the necklace beats whatever it was you tried to bake last year.”

You stick out your tongue. The pretzel bag rustles as he grabs a handful. You take another drink from your cup. Joel Miller makes a mean margarita.

“What about you? Did you have a good day then?”

You take an extra second to think about it before nodding. “Yeah. I can’t complain when it comes to well-behaved kids and the beach.”

“Nathaniel calling me dad didn’t throw you off, I hope.”

Your shoulders tense a little bit. “I think I’m the one who should be asking that.”

“Kinda surprised it hasn’t happened sooner if I’m being honest.” Joel’s pointer finger slides along the lip of his cup before he brings it to his lips.

You bite your lips, staring at the house across the street. “Same.”

“Sorry, that was kinda a mood killer.” Joel’s hand rests on your calf.

“It’s fine. You’re more of a father to him than his real dad.” You try to wave it off, but the facts are reeling in your mind like a movie. “Fuck, you were in the delivery room, and coached his T-ball team, and you’ve tucked him into bed more times than Tommy ever has.” You swipe away the moisture that’s gathered in your eyes, chasing them with another gulp of your drink.

“Hey… maybe you should slow down there.” Joel leans forward, his feet dropping from your chair as he grabs the solo cup from you and the pretzels tumble to the deck.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You reach for the cup, but Joel keeps it out of reach, setting it on the ground next to his.

“I do.” He’s firm with you, grabbing your hands and tucking them between his. You can’t meet his eyes, embarrassment flooding your body. “What's going on in your mind right now?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Darlin,” He tugs gently on your arms. Your feet greet the warm deck as you're forced to sit up straighter. The side of your knee bumps against his. “You can talk to me.”

“I just want to enjoy our last night, Joel.”

“Can’t do that if I’m worried about you.” He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The street lights flicker off his warm eyes. You feel his touch linger under your chin. Extra warmth gathers in each place he touches. The words bubbling up in you, helpless to stop the thoughts circling in your head for months.

“I’m not sure my marriage is salvageable. I don’t know if I’ll recognize my husband when he gets out. I don’t think he’s the same person-“ You can’t finish through the choked-out sobs.

Joel lets out a soft sigh and before you know it, he’s tugging your pliant body into his lap, rubbing your back. He kisses your head. Your head finds the crook of his neck, fingers digging into the back of it. He’s the steady rock he’s always been. It does little to soothe your racing mind.

You have so many questions and no answers. Tommy’s release from prison always felt like a distant finish line. Now, three months away, it feels like just the start.

“No matter what, I’ve got you,” Joel says, hand cupping your cheek. “I’m here for you.”

How much longer can you continue to find solace in your brother-in-law's arms? How much longer will Joel play the part Tommy is supposed to? Supporter, parent, partner…

You pull back, fingers still wrapped around his neck. The metal of your wedding ring presses against his skin, but he’s used to feeling it. He doesn’t even think about it anymore. Your forehead nearly touches his. The pools of his deep eyes are endless. They’re different than Tommy’s. You don’t mean to compare, but you like it, soft and inviting after sleeping on rocks for years. You think you catch the hints of desire in them. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to be desired.

There’s a fight, a push and pull between you. Who’s going to do it. His hot breath fans across your lips. Who’s going to be the one to finally cross the line you’ve been toeing for so long and drag the other one into exile with them? It’s a lush oasis in the middle of the desert you’ve been traveling. One move and you can dip your toe in.

Joel gives in first, leaning in. Your eyes flutter shut with anticipation, another touch of his breath. His nose nudges against yours. You catch a whiff of the salt on his skin, and then, nothing, a mirage all in your head leaving you stranded in the desert.

Confusion knits your brow before your eyes are open. Joel is still close, closer than a man that’s not your husband should be, but he feels further away than ever.

His thumb nudges your bottom lip. He gives a weak smile in an attempt to cover his true emotions. “We can’t…”

He’s right. You hate yourself for getting so carried away. “I know.”

Your hand drops from his neck. You might be sitting on his lap but he’s never felt farther from you.

“You should go to bed.”

You think to fight him on it, but you decide not to. You stand up. Joel doesn’t move, thumb playing with the lip of his solo cup. He can’t meet your eyes and it feels like you might be losing him too.

Before you can think better of it, you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Your fingers rake through his hair twice over. His eyes close and he lilts into you just the slightest.

“Thank you, Joel. For everything.”

His Adam’s Apple bobs as you pull away. He keeps his eyes pinned ahead, fingers curling around the red plastic. He’s barely holding on to control.

“Good night,” he says, voice gruff, never looking away from his fixed point.

“Goodnight.”

Joel finishes off yours and his margarita before he falls into bed. It’s just enough to keep him buzzed as he runs toward rest. He can’t get the feel of you out of his mind, how close he was to ripping apart his whole family.

He’s in and out of sleep when the door pops open. He assumes it’s Sarah. She probably had a bad dream, and tosses the corner of the comforter back. Except, the full size mattress dips lower than it should. He reaches out but instead of Sarah’s small frame, he gets a handful of your waist as the smell of you fills his nostrils. In the haze of sleep, Joel opens his eyes just enough to find you facing away from him.

The bed isn’t big enough for his legs not to tangle with yours, not if he wants restful sleep. Your body doesn’t tense under his touch. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but your body melts into him until he finds his arm fully around your middle, back flush against his front.

Joel Miller considers himself a good man, but a good man doesn’t yearn for his brother’s wife. A good man doesn’t give into the temptation to have her so close, to be with her so intimately. Tonight, Joel Miller doesn’t worry about being a good man. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but tonight, Joel Miller falls asleep with you in his arms and bed. Tonight, Joel Miller’s deepest desires come true. Just for tonight, he gets to pretend you’re his.

You wake up to an empty bed like you have since Tommy went to prison, but something feels off about it. A familiar smell lingers under your nose, and unfamiliar warmth fills you even though the sheets are cold.

You let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering open. You stare up at the ceiling, convinced once again that something feels off. You turn to look at the clock on the bed stand but there’s not one there. The walls are a different color and you shoot up as it all comes flooding back.

You almost kissed Joel last night. The way you tossed and turned before giving into temptation and crawling in beside him. He hadn’t fought you, hadn’t said a word but pulled you flush against him in the bed that was just a bit too small. You’d slept like a baby for the first time in years.

Joel sits at the table with the kids as they shovel the last of the extra sugary cereal into their mouths. A special vacation treat. You expect Joel to ignore you or at least be standoffish, but he hands you a cup of steaming coffee with the same smile he always does, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes as if nothing happened.

You offer a smile in response. A silent agreement to never speak on it again.

You’ve been home for a week when it comes, a plain white envelope stuffed with something soft labeled with a return address you’re all too familiar with written in Tommy’s chicken scratch handwriting.

You wait until Nathaniel is down for the night, but it throws you the whole evening. Letters from Tommy are more rare than phone calls. You’ve received one, maybe two since he was incarcerated. Considering he’d promised to call on after Father’s day and hadn’t, the mysterious letter makes you feel unsettled. What shoes are left to drop?

You run the envelope through your hands, thumb picking at the corner of the seal, uncommitted to actually tearing it open. You’re worried whatever lies within will only hurt you more. You can’t sustain more hurt.

Finally, you dig into the corner, tearing it open. Your eyebrows knit together. White fabric is neatly folded and tucked within. You pull it out, revealing a square of white fabric, like a bandana unfurls and a note falls to the floor. As you take in the black and white drawing on the fabric, you gasp. It’s a drawing of the picture you keep on your nightstand. The moment Tommy met Nathaniel for the first time. Tommy’s arm is wrapped around you, Nathaniel in his arms with the biggest grin on his face. It’s a moment that’s seared into your memory. Seeing it portrayed like this brings tears to your eyes, the emotions from that day and the last 696 flooding your body.

Before the tear completely blur your vision, you pick up the note. You can barely make out Tommy’s handwriting when your eyes are clear, but you manage.

Baby,

You and I both know I didn’t draw this. My cellmate did based on the photo. You probably know that. They call them paños. I’ve seen a lot of the ones guys in here have sent to their girls. They’re pretty cool.

I’m sorry. I wish I could be better for you and Nathaniel. I love you, Bonnie.

Tommy.

Tears stream down your face. Just like that your heart seems to forget the heartache of the last couple years. This proves that your Tommy is still inside him somewhere, fighting to come back to you. You’ll do anything to have your Tommy back.

It doesn’t matter if you're grasping at threads. Your heart overpowers your mind. You’re determined that you can pull him back by those threads, maybe not now, but once he’s out. Once he’s out, you can bring him back. You’re his Bonnie. He’s your Clyde. You’re tied together. Your heart beats for him, but you don’t catch a piece of your heart breaking off from the rest. That part can't beat for Tommy. It’s attached to someone else.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours @duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee @caitlynsixxx @kaykay0315 @stevie75 @millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #high infidelity (joel miller)#ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

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mad-c1oud · 4 months

Text

thinking about the Charlie's birthday stream. not the ending, no, we think about that too much. no I think about everything else:

the happiness, the joy, the warmth of it all for nearly two full hours

the lack of mob spawns that night because it’s Charlie's birthday and he has eggs with him. how intentional it is. how funny it is and how sad it makes me because its so considerate

thinking about Tallulah by Charlie's side the whole time, diligently leading him from item to item as his little "guardian angel". Charlie trying to be a good tio and falling a little short sometimes, accidentally leaving Tallulah behind when she crashes but still trying cause that’s his sobrina. how she has to actually hit him to get his attention and how bad she must feel but it's so fucking funny each time

(how can anyone blame him when he never gets to hang out with the eggs enough to know he should wait for her? Charlie had Juanaflippa for what- 10 days? and was practically shunned by several others and himself from interacting with other eggs after his action, which is understandable, but only for so long. can they not see how he plays with the eggs? hear how soft his voice gets around them? don't the other islanders understand?)

this is maybe the longest he's gotten to hang out with tallulah since he got his backpack. Wilbur is his best friend and this was the egg he left behind. He's still learning and Tallulah still loves him despite it. Two people missing someone dearly, yet they have each other even if it's hard to realize

thinking about "Maybe Tallulah, you were the gift. I think you're the gift, Tallulah."

thinking about Richas, his nephew because Charlie has Mike, an actual brother that is equally excited to see him time and time again. A nephew coming around with the slime head and slime balls, like a mini Charlie, who is decked out in a full ghillie suit. Charlie who plays with the egg, pretending to be a spooky monster and richas playing along and getting scared

thinking about Charlie not knowing how to use the ghillie suit properly so he's still clearly visible to the eggs, yet they act like he isn't for his sake. shepherding him around from place to place because charlie is a little clueless yeah (he's in exile, go easy on him), but they are patient and happy to "tag along" and let him lead

thinking about them all taking a picture with him in the school, charlie wanting one with both of them, something to remember the day by.

thinking about how charlie is clearly loved by the eggs, his huevos, and how he clearly loves them back and is trying to be better for them even if he struggles so much

thinking about Charlie Slimecicle on his birthday, for once happy after everything he's been through, Tallulah and Richarlyson by his side

just him, his sobrina, and his nephew on a little scavenger hunt under the stars while the rest of the server remains quiet and calm. asleep while they remain lively

just them

happy

#slimecicle #qsmp #qsmp tallulah #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp slimecicle #i am soooooooooooo normal about charlie and the eggs #let him be HAPPY PLEASE #it kills me time and time again how #the eggs clearly love him #but charlie doesn't love himself #i'm chewing on drywall over this #why did it have to end like it did #we were so close to having all the focus on Charlie and tallulah and richas for a couple of days #of charlie beginning to HEAL #even if just a little #all of his time with lullah and richas gets overshadowed by codeflippa and i hate it truly im sorry but i do #sorry this just bugs me to no end and it's why i started writing again in the first place #mad ramblings #ALSO THINKING ABOUT BAD LETTING HIM 'BABYSIT' WHILE HE STEPPED AWAY #GOD I MISS HIM INTERACTING WITH THE EGGS #LET HIM HAVE A FUN NO STAKES LITTLE MISSION WITH ALL OF THEM PLEASE NO ANGST #TALLULAH #THE ONLY PERSON TO GO OUT OF HER WAY TO GIVE CHARLIE A BIRTHDAY GIFT OF HER OWN VOLITION #THAT MAY HAVE DISAPPEARED WHEN THEY REMODELED HIS HOME FOR CHARLIES REAL 'GIFT' I HATE YOUUUUUUUU

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justmystyles · 11 months

Note

hi! your angst is so so good! could you please write something angsty around the Selena Gomez song “Lose You to Love Me” kind of about a girl learning to love herself after a toxic love with Harry and then them reuniting after growing up years later, please?

Lose You to Love Me

read my other work here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 4.2k

summary: a run-in with your childhood sweetheart brings up old memories, and lingering feelings.

a/n: my friend, you have no idea what you've done sending this ask in. technically you do, because I posted about it after i received it. but this song popped into my head a little over a week ago, and has been running up there on repeat. it's been making me think about my life and relationships, and being all reflective or whatever. i hate it. 😂

I have been thinking about this story pretty much non-stop since you sent the ask, and was so exited to finally get it written. i hope it's what you were looking for, and that you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

also, a note about the story, the italicized parts are flashbacks.

i know we’re on all on edge after last night, so why not throw some angst in there to make it worse!

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

As you moved through the streets of London, you were so focused on making it to your destination that you weren’t paying attention to the faces passing you by.

But he was, and he recognized yours immediately.

“Y/N?”

You froze in place, causing the person walking behind you to crash into you. You apologized and stepped off to the side, looking in the direction of the voice. “Harry,” you breathed out.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Harry had rushed up to you, pulling you into his arms. You closed your eyes, even after all this time he still gave the best hugs. Your mind flashed with memories of all the times you found yourself in his arms. Good and bad.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” He spoke against your neck before pulling back, taking your hands in his as he looked you up and down. “You look amazing. All grown up.”

“Yeah, you too.” You took him in, he had definitely filled out since the last time you saw him. Of course you knew that, no matter how hard you tried to get away from him, you never could get that clean break you so desired. That’s what happens when your ex is one of the biggest stars in the world.

“Gosh, it’s been ages.” He muses.

You purse your lips and nod. “Eleven years.” You feel a knot in your stomach, thinking back to the last time you two spoke.

“Harry, it’s just not fair to me.” You move the speaker away from your mouth, hoping he doesn’t hear your breath hitch.

“And you think you’re being fair to me? This is my dream, Y/N, and I can’t even enjoy it because I’ve got you making me feel bad, or like I’m doing something wrong every time I talk to you!”

“Yeah, well you were my dream.” Your voice is quiet, defeated. “But I guess it’s time for me to wake up.”

Harry is silent on the other end of the phone for a moment. “What,” he lets out a deep breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wipe your eyes, sniffling softly. “It means I can’t do this anymore. You’re living your life, you’re finding your way in the world. I need to go off and do the same. Alone.”

Harry gives you a sad smile. “I tried to reach out a few times, I didn’t like how we left things.”

“I know, me either.” You agreed. “But I needed to just sever the tie. It would have been too hard otherwise.”

“I’m sorry,” you look at him curiously. “For how I handled things, for how it ended…”

You held your hand up to stop him. “We were just kids, you were eighteen and an international pop star, you handled things as best you could.”

He smiled gratefully at you. “Do you, uh… do you have some time? Maybe we could grab a coffee and catch up?”

Your mind is begging you to say no, but your mouth doesn’t listen, agreeing immediately. “But I’ll pass on the coffee.’

“Still?” He smirks, remembering how much you hated coffee. “Some things never change.”

****

The two of you order drinks, and get settled at a quiet corner table in a small coffee shop, the conversation starts off simple enough, you catch each other up on your families, you tell him about your career, and how you had relocated to London three years ago for a big promotion. He shares a couple of stories of some of his more memorable moments over the years.

Even after a decade apart, you still managed to fall into conversation with ease. From the moment you had met when you were kids, there was this instant comfort between the two of you. It was no surprise to anyone when you started dating at fifteen. You were inseparable, going everywhere together. You were there at his XFactor audition, you supported him every step of the way. It was when things really started taking off for him that everything changed.

“Hi angel,” Harry’s voice was low and raspy, that’s when you realized you forgot to take the time change into consideration before you called.

“Oh my gosh H, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, I–”

You’re cut off by his laughter. “It’s alright, I like when you wake me up. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Mum is taking me dress shopping for formal today, I just wanted to see if you had any ideas what you’d be wearing. We could coordinate!” There was a long silence as you waited for him to respond. “Harry?” You asked. Maybe he had fallen back to sleep.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.” You could hear him shifting on the other end of the phone. “I have some bad news actually.” He sighed before continuing. “They booked us a bunch of shows in the US, I’m not going to be able to come home for the dance.”

“Oh,” you did your best to mask the disappointment. It was just a dance, Harry was doing amazing things, and you needed to be supportive of that.

“Angel, I’m so sorry, I really tried…”

“No, don’t worry. It’s fine, really.” You assured him while also trying to assure yourself.

You heard a knocking on the other side of the phone, and muffled voices. “Fuck, I’ve gotta go Y/N. I’m so sorry, I love you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know H. I love you too.”

“Okay, we’ll talk soon. I promise.” The call disconnects before you can respond.

That was the beginning of the end for your young love. You had put on a happy face for everyone, especially Harry, but your family and friends were able to see right through it. He probably would have too had he actually been there.

You ended up going to your formal with your friends, but as they danced and laughed, you sat on the sidelines, staring at your phone waiting for a call or a text from Harry. And that’s what your life became from there on.

When Harry would come home, things would be better, but still not what it was. Because he’d be gone for such long stretches, his time was spread so thin when he was home. He would want to spend time with everyone, which didn’t leave enough time for the two of you. You would tag along as much as you could, but your one on one time was lacking. It got to a point where you couldn’t even go out on dates, constantly being bombarded by people asking for pictures or autographs.

That’s when you decided to spend your time behind closed doors. Harry said it was so he could focus on you, but part of you wondered if it was so that he could keep you secret. You knew that there were girls all over the world that wanted to be with him, his team knew that was part of the marketability of him, of the whole group. The second the two of you stopped hanging out publicly, the insecurities started creeping in. From then on, every time you saw a picture of him with another girl, you wondered who she was, why it was okay for him to be seen with her and not you.

As the two of you continued to talk, you glanced down at your watch. “Oh shit,” you interrupt him. “I’m so sorry Harry, I actually have to go. I have a meeting I need to get to.” You stand from your seat and collect your things. Harry stands with you.

“Yeah, of course.” You could have sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. “Hey, you should come to the show tonight. If you’re free I mean.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, it’s Wembley. How many times did we talk about this?”

“A lot,” you smile wistfully, remembering those conversations. Whenever he was feeling discouraged about his journey, you would always be right there to pick him up, assuring him it was going to work out. That he’d be onstage at the famed stadium, and you’d be right there cheering him on.

“It would mean a lot to me to have you there. Full circle and all that.” He said with a smile. “Besides, the whole family is going to be there. I’m sure mum and Gem would love to see you.”

It would be nice to see his family again. You had been all but officially adopted into the clan, spending holidays, dinners, birthdays with them. You were at Harry’s house just as much as you were at your own, possibly more. Sure, you had mourned the loss of your relationship with Harry, but it also broke you that you lost that second family.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.” You agree.

“Amazing.” He pulled you in for a tight hug. “I’ll see you tonight. Just check in at the box office when you get there, I’ll take care of everything.”

****

You made it to your meeting on time, but you were anything but present. Your mind kept going back to Harry, how great he looked, how happy he was to see you. And then the memories started flooding back.

“Y/N?” Your mother’s voice and gentle knock on the door call your attention away from your phone.

“Yeah?”

She sticks her head into your room. “We’re leaving in five minutes, are you ready?”

“Ready?” You suddenly remember that your parents were supposed to be taking you and your sister out to dinner. “Oh, I uh… no. I think I’m going to pass if that’s okay?”

“But honey, we’re going to your favorite restaurant.” You could see the concern spread across her face.

“I know, but Harry is supposed to call and check in. We haven’t had a proper phone date in weeks. I want to make sure I don’t miss him.”

“Y/N…” your mother says in a warning tone. After Harry missed out on formal, you had completely changed. You’d go to school, and then immediately come home waiting to hear from him. You would drop everything the second his name popped up on your phone screen.

“Mum, next time. I promise.”

Your mother lets out a sigh and nods, leaving you alone.

About an hour later, your phone pinged with a text from Harry.

Sorry love, can’t call tonight. Talk to you soon, promise. XO

****

After your meeting, you slipped out of the office. You knew you weren’t going to get anything done today. Besides, you needed to find something to wear tonight. You called Heather, your oldest and closest friends, asking her to meet you at one of your favorite shops.

You told her about your run-in with Harry, and his invitation to go to his show.

“You said no, right?”

“Yeah, I said no. That’s why we’re here, you’re helping me pick an outfit for a concert I’m not going to.” you rolled your eyes.

“Y/N, I say this as your friend, this is a terrible idea and you definitely shouldn’t go.” She says completely seriously. “Do you even remember what life was like for you back then?”

“Come on!” Heather grabbed your arm, trying to pull you out of the booth. “Come dance with us!”

You pull out of her grip, checking your phone for a notification. “I can’t H-”

“Harry’s going to call,” she finishes your sentence. “Y/N, you’re both my friends, but you’re my best friend, so I’m going to be real with you. Harry’s a wakner.”

“Hey,” you reply defensively. “He is not, he’s just really busy. He’s kind of a big deal, you know?”

“I do know. And I also know that while you’re sitting here staring at your phone, you’re missing out on life. But he’s out there living it. You deserve better than that.”

“Right, and in a couple of months I’ll be living that life with him.”

Heather’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to university.” You state plainly, her eyes go wide in shock. “Harry is going to get me a job on his team. It won’t be glamorous, and it probably won’t pay much, but we’ll be together and everything will be good again.”

“Have you told your parents about this plan?”

“I have, they aren’t happy about it, but I’m eighteen, so there isn’t really anything they can do about it.”

“And you really think this is the best idea?” She asks you.

“Yes,” you say, a little louder than intended but you needed to get your point across. “Harry and I are supposed to be together, and if this is how it needs to happen, this is how it’s going to happen.” You grab your purse and stand from your seat. “I’m going home, it’s too loud here for me to hear him anyway.”

After that, you stopped going out when your friends invited you. They didn’t understand your relationship, and they were always on your case about it. It was easier to just stay home and wait for Harry. Eventually, the invitations stopped coming. You were fine with that. It made it easier for you to focus on Harry, and be there when he had time for you.

As far as the job, that never happened. About a week after you graduated, you received a call from Harry. He told you that he fought for you, all the guys did, but his team said they weren’t able to make a spot for you.

You were devastated, but you did your best to hide it from him. That didn’t last very long, however, as that was the point where the cracks in your facade of ‘supportive girlfriend’ started coming through. You started seeing what everyone had been telling you, that Harry was out there conquering the world while you were putting your life on hold, spending your life by the phone waiting for a quick text or five minute phone call.

****

When you arrived at Wembley, you gave your name at the window and were immediately ushered to a backstage VIP area. You walked in and smiled to yourself at the turnout. You recognized almost everyone in the room. You stayed by the door, not wanting to interrupt when Gemma’s eyes traveled in your direction, She did a double take before smiling wide and running to you.

“Y/N, I can’t believe it!” She pulled you into a tight hug, which you quickly returned. “Harry told us he ran into you, and invited you to the show. But I wasn’t sure you’d actually come!”

You giggled at her excitement. “Of course I’m here, I told him I’d come.”

“I know, but you’re so nice, I figured you’d say that to his face and then just disappear.” You both laughed, before she took you by the hand, leading you into the group. “Come on, we have so much to catch up on!”

You went around the room, greeting those you had known a decade ago, and meeting the new members of Harry’s entourage. Everyone was so happy to see you, you were being pulled in a million different directions trying to catch up with everyone. They had told you that Harry was with them earlier, but had to leave to get ready. You were grateful for that. It would have been too much to be there with him, and his family.

**** When it was time to go out to the front of house, Gemma locked her arm in yours and you walked together. She stayed by your side the whole night. The two of you were always close, she had always treated you like you were sisters. Often joking that someday Harry would make it official. She made you promise not to leave without giving her your number, she said she wasn’t about to let another ten years go by without seeing you again.

The show was incredible. Harry was incredible. As you watched him up there, you felt your chest swell with pride. Despite what had transpired between the two of you, you couldn’t help but get emotional watching him live the dream that the two of you had spent so much time talking about. He had done it, but on a level that neither of you could have even imagined.

As you listened on, your mind wandered, thinking about the girls those songs were about. The girls that had come after you. You felt tears begin to pool in your eyes as you remembered the first one.

“Come on guys, put it away. Y/N is going to be here any minute.” You heard Heather plead. “This is her first time out since the breakup, she doesn’t need to see it.”

After the phone call where you ended your relationship, you were inconsolable. You cried nonstop, mourning your relationship, the future you were supposed to have, and all the time you wasted waiting for him. Your friends would come over often, but they would mostly just hold you and offer words of encouragement to you as you cried. Nobody was able to get through to you, they weren’t even sure how.

About two months after the breakup, you got this surge of determination. Harry had taken away enough of your life, you weren’t going to let him do it anymore. You texted Heather, and she agreed to gather all your friends for dinner.

You walked in and saw her trying to pull the phone out of her boyfriend’s hands. “What don’t I need to see?” You ask, everyone’s attention snapping to you.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Heather assured you.

You nodded, leaning in to hug your friend, quickly diverting and grabbing the phone out of her hand. You looked down at the screen and saw a paparazzi shot of Harry walking hand in hand with Taylor Swift, it was an article about the budding relationship between the two singers.

“Oh,” you said, dropping the phone on the table. “I uh… I just remembered I’ve got to…” your brain was too cloudy to come up with an excuse, not that they would believe it anyway. You turned and rushed out of the restaurant. Heather hot on your heels.

“Y/N, wait!” She followed you as you ducked into a nearby alleyway, getting to you just in time to watch your back slide down the wall.

You wrapped your arms around your knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. Heather sat down next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into her.

“I… he… I…” You couldn’t form words, too upset to do anything but cry.

“I know babe, I know.” Heather said in a soft tone, rubbing your back comfortably. “I told you he was a wanker.”

You chuckled lightly, your breathing starting to return to normal. You looked up at your friend with tear stained cheeks, your breath hitching as you regained composure. “We just broke up. I’ve been locked in my room crying, and he’s been with her.”

“He’s a piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you. You’re so much better than all of this.” She held your face in her hands and gave you a determined look. “You’re a fucking catch Y/N, he’s an idiot for not seeing that.” You nod, pretending you agree with her. “Let’s get you home. We’ll get a bunch of junk food and watch sad movies. Get all the tears out.”

“Hey Y/N, you alright?” Gemma pulls you from your thoughts.

You suddenly realize the house lights are up, and people are filing out of the stadium. “Oh yeah, sorry. It’s just crazy to think that he went from the weird boy with the dumb jokes to that,” you gesture toward the stage.

“Oh, he’s still the weird boy, he’s just telling his dumb jokes to a whole lot more people.” She joked, slinging her arm around your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go backstage.”

“Oh, no no no, you go. I should…”

“Not a chance,” she interrupted you. “You’ve gotta come back and see him.” You narrow your eyes at her, wondering why it was so important that you see him, but she just smiles innocently and leads you back to the VIP room.

****

You and Gemma get comfortable on a couch in the back corner of the room, so lost in conversation that you don’t even notice when all eyes in the room land on the door, cheering Harry as he enters. He walks through, offering hugs and handshakes, thanking people for coming and graciously receiving compliments on his performance.

Once he’s made his way to the back, he stops, silently observing you and his sister gossiping and giggling just like you always had.

“You’d better not be talking about me, or I’m telling mum.” His voice pulls you from your conversation, and you both turn to look at him.

Gemma grins and jumps from her seat. “You were outstanding.” She pulled him into a hug, saying something to him in a hushed tone.

He smiled gratefully at her as she sat back down, Harry turned to you with a curious expression. “Well? What did you think?”

“H,” his nickname fell so easily from your lips, as if you had never been apart. You stood up, looking at him with so much awe that he was taken aback. “You did it. I’m so,” you sigh with a shrug. “It was incredible.”

He smiled, dimples on full display. “Thank you, angel. You have no idea what that means to me.” He steps in front of you, pulling you into a firm embrace. You were so lost in the moment that it didn’t even register that he had called you by his pet name for you.

Gemma stood behind you, making sure to get Harry’s attention, she winked at him with a smirk before matriculating back into the crowd, allowing you two a moment.

When you finally separated, Harry looked down at you, his gaze so intense that you felt your cheeks heating up. “I should probably go,” you finally speak up.

“No, wait.” He says in a panicked tone. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

You furrow your brow, not expecting that. He’s in a room full of the most important people in his life, and he wants to be alone with you? “Yeah, sure.”

He leads you out of the VIP area and down the hall to his dressing room. He opens the door, signaling for you to enter. He follows behind you, closing the door once you both cross the threshold.

You both stand there awkwardly for a few moments before Harry finally breaks the silence. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Me too, thank you for inviting me.” You smile, trying to hide your nerves.

“I, uh…” he takes a breath, running his hand through his hair. “I miss you.”

You look up at him in confusion. “Harry, it’s been eleven years.”

“And I’ve missed you the entire time.” He took a couple of cautious steps towards you. “I was so stupid back then, so stupid. I know I wasn’t fair to you.”

“I told you, it’s fine, you were a kid. You did the best you could.” You assured him.

“I think running into you today was fate.” He ignores your words and keeps going. “We’ve both grown up, I’ve grown up. I see what’s important in life now.”

“Harry…”

“There were so many times I wanted to call you. So many things that happened that I wanted to celebrate with you, but I couldn’t. Every sold out show, every award, all of it, you were the first person I wanted to tell.”

You were speechless. You were listening to his words, watching the vulnerability in his face, all of it completely overwhelming you. Out of everything that could have come from your run in with Harry, this was probably the last thing you would have expected.

“I don’t… what?” Was all you managed to choke out.

“Listen, I’m not saying we jump right back in and pick up where we left off,” your eyes went wide at his words. “I broke your trust, that’s something I need to earn back. But I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

“Try…”

He reached out, taking your hand and sighing in relief when you didn’t pull away. “I want to show you that I can be what you need, what you deserve.”

“What are you asking?” You ask, searching his face as if it held the answers.

“I just want to be in your life again, be your friend. I want to get to know you now, I want you to get to know me now, and see where things go from there.”

You stood in silence, looking into Harry’s eyes, butterflies filling your stomach at the way he’s looking at you. You nod your head slowly. “Okay,” you respond, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully, you nod with a smile and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “Thank you thank you thank you. I promise I’m not going to mess this up.” You chuckle against his chest. “What’s so funny?”

“Heather is going to kill me.”

A bark of laughter escapes him. “I’ll protect you,” he places a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m not going to lose you again.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles angst #harry's house #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic

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celestoria · 11 months

Text

Cupid’s Game

A/n: Ahhhh, my first request. Don’t worry anon I actually found this very fun to write about that i immediately made a rough draft for the moment i read the ask.

Tags: porn with plot, dirty thoughts, penetration, oral (f), fingering, penetration, implied voice fetish, against the wall, overstimulation, hickeys

Words: 1.4k

Do not interact if you are 16 or below (17+)

The little glances you give whenever Dan Heng would enter the room, the faint smile he has when you tell him good night, and the endless hours you two would spend together without a single regard for the outside world. March has witnessed it all.

It’s still a shame despite the blatantly obvious chemistry between you and Dan Heng, neither had enough courage to make a move. To March, she believes that there is no need for such complications. She had enough of this endless pining and decided to take matters into her own hands.

“Hey, why don’t we play a game of truth or dare,” she said, cutting the silence in her room as you helped her sort out her pictures.

Dan Heng hummed. “It would be a great way to entertain us since we’ve been here for a while,” he commented. You shared the same sentiments as him. There’s no harm in peaceful quality time, however, the air feels hushed and out of character considering you’re in March’s room.

You agreed. March let out a giddy squeal and started the game. After several rounds, she got a little bold as she dared you to sit on Dan Heng’s lap for the entire game.

Though you nonchalantly accepted her dare, deep down you felt like you wanted to burst. You’ve had your fair share of spending time with each other such as walking around in a city you’ve never been to before or quietly reading together in the archives. But this was a whole new level of “closeness” you’re not sure you're ready for.

You occasionally glanced back at Dan Heng to see how well he’s been holding since both of you got stuck in this situation. Oftentimes you found his cold, reserved demeanor quite impossible to read, but seeing him up close it’s pretty clear he’s feeling the same way as you.

Neither of you wanted to be caught up in such a scene but you can’t say you hate it too.

Time flew by in a flash, and eventually, the game had to come to an end with all the polaroids finally sorted out in March’s albums. That was a relief. One minute more and you were sure you could never face Dan Heng for at least a week.

For Dan Heng, you could say the same...but for other reasons.

It was so hard to get his mind out of the gutter with you sitting on his lap while you wore that little skirt of yours. Your ass was pressed on his dick for such a long time, he was sure his dick hardened under his pants. He just hoped you didn’t notice it.

Debauched thoughts filled his mind throughout the whole game. He knew it was wrong but how can he stop when he’s been wanting you for all this time?

You left March’s room and in a flurry, Dan Heng grabbed you by the wrist and led you to the archives.

“Dan Heng, what are you-“ He pinned you up against the wall and your lips crashed together. His fingers intertwined within your hair and pulled you closer for a kiss frenzied with lust and yearning.

He pulled away, trying to control himself from going any further. “Look, if you want me to stop, tell me and we’ll pretend this never happened,” he said, your mouth barely an inch away from each other. He waited for your answer yet not even a single word has been said. He smirked and picked up where you last left it off. “I knew you liked me too,” he added in between kisses while hurriedly taking off your clothes.

Your limbs snaked around his waist and his hand caressed the curvatures of your body. Rough hands brought your thigh to his hips and the space between you getting closer to the point your body pressed on each other.

He grinded himself against you, earning the moan he always wondered what it would sound like. It was addicting to hear you cry out his name; he thought he’d only hear in the figment of his imagination.

Dan Heng got on his knees and pulled down your skirt and panties. He placed your leg over his shoulder, giving him good access to your soaking cunt. Hickeys colorfully marked the inner parts of your thigh as he made his way to your wet folds. His tongue lapped on your swollen clit, so desperate for his touch, causing your pussy to clench on nothing until he inserted fingers deep inside of you. With your pussy so eager for him, it was barely a hassle for him to curl them as his fingers soaked in your wetness.

You tried to hold back your moans, knowing the thin walls behind you were the only thing separating you from potential passersby. Dan Heng looked like a man with many secrets, but you never expected him to be the type of man to take such a large risk like this.

You tugged on his hair and bucked your hips while your clit began to throb. The two of you were barely started and he already has you wrapped around his fingers after making your wet pussy cum hard with his fingers.

Dan Heng slowly rose back up, his knees sore from stooping down to eat you out. The taste of your slick lingered in his lips and his tongue swirled around your mouth while he dowdily undid his pants. The tip of his cock prodded the entrance of your hole, already enough to cause shivers to run down your spine.

Without a warning, he inserted every inch of his dick, making you feel overwhelmed with how far he’s gotten inside you with one single thrust. You were so full of him and you tried to gulp back a moan as you bit your lip.

“Don’t hold anything back,” he demanded. “I want to hear you,” his voice ridden with desire as much as every little action his body advances on you, like how one hand groped on your sore thigh and the other skillfully kneaded your perked-up breast. His lips groaned with the taste of your name, making it sound so honey-sweet than ever before.

He felt ecstatic every time you sinfully mewl his name. It’s as if you turned a word he’s so used to hearing into something so sacred, only to be heard within the four walls confining you. Only you could make him rutt so needily to the point it felt near possible to control himself.

Your legs trembled more as he pounded your insides. “Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you pleaded, tears pooling in the side of your eyes and droplets staining your cheeks.

“A little more,” he rasped. “A little more. It won’t be too hard.”

Your mind went blank with how he’s been overstimulating you and your pussy ached while it clenched around his thick girth. He was so close to breaking you by the time his dick thrust in you one last time, spasming as ecstasy coursed through his veins.

He pulled out his dick, causing you to whimper and your juices to trickle down. Your legs shook, making it difficult to stand alone. Noticing your struggle, Dan Heng scooped you up bridal style and placed you on his futon to give you the proper rest you deserve.

Carefully, he wiped up the mess he turned you into before wrapping you in his blanket, making sure you won’t end up with a cold.

“Go take a nap,” he replied. “I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

Draped in the warmth of the sheets that smells like him, you were still dumbfounded that something you thought you’d only dream about late at night would turn into reality— how he would ruthlessly plow you down one second then act so considerate and caring the moment after.

All things in the archives are open for everyone, but this little escapade of yours, an aftermath of a not-so-innocent dare, will remain your dirty little secret only the two of you will ever know.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail fanfic #dan heng #dan heng smut #dan heng x reader #roiree risque #reposting this because i accidentally deleted it

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michellejunes · 2 years

Text

unsubtle ✩ peter parker

word count ✎ 5.4k

tropes ✎ avenger!reader / enemies to lovers / smut

warnings ✎ masturbation, dom/sub, nipple play, overstimulation, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, peter parker doesn’t just have bde he has a big dick, handjob, voice kink, grinding, cowgirl, multiple orgasms

summary ✎ on a mission with the avengers, the team unexpectedly crashes at a motel and you get stuck sharing a bed with peter, who you can’t stand. to make matters worse, you’re ovulating and can’t sleep without touching yourself.

a/n ✎ hey besties, i’m reposting because it didn’t show up in the tags yesterday :(( like i said yesterday, i’ve been dying to write and post fics for a long time but i was too insecure and scared to try. part of the reason why i was inspired to make a new blog and give it a try is because of the great writers i followed so i want to thank @duskholland @worldoftom @venomsilk @vendettaparker @userholland @t-lostinworlds for their beautiful writings that motivated me so much when i need it. you’re all icons ♡

You were in hell.

No, really. You weren’t much of a religious woman but right now, you felt like there was some deity out there who had decided to curse you with the worst luck possible. Here you were, doing a good deed by helping free people being held hostage by a Hydra subdivision, and you were rewarded by Tong making you share a room in a dusty, cramped motel with another Avenger you couldn’t stand. Just your luck, there was only one bed and, after almost killing each other to see who would take the floor, you both gave in.

And now you were lying next to the guy, sharing his body heat, whilst your own body was thrumming with arousal, at the height of ovulation. And Peter, deep asleep as he was, smelt fucking heavenly, like your very own personal temptation.

There was no chance of you sleeping. None. Not with your thighs rubbing together as you lay on your side. Not with the way Peter was shifting behind you. You closed your eyes and prayed. Whatever you had done, you would undo it. You didn’t care. You would do whatever it took. Just take away the need, and you would serve soup at a homeless shelter for a month if it meant being able to get some rest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking deep breaths. A minute passed. Then another. Another. You listened to your heartbeat and Peter’s even breathing.

Cursing silently, you shuffled away from him. “Peter,” you whispered.

No response.

Spider boy was dead to the world.

You carefully slipped one hand down to unbutton your jeans, and made as little movement as possible to work your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. Pausing, waiting. No response from your companion, so you pushed a little further, stretching your underwear. The noise of the slick between your thighs was audible and you winced, waiting for something, anything. Peter was still asleep, so you swiped your fingers up your slit. Shaking at the abrupt touch, you forced down a gasp, and drew your hand up just a little to stroke in minute circles against your clit.

Trying to keep yourself still was difficult. You needed more friction, more speed, but your arm shook and so did your hip, tugging at the blanket thrown over the both of you. Your other hand slipped over your mouth, pressing down hard to muffle the soft whining that tried to escape you. And when Peter shifted behind you with a soft noise, you ripped your hand out of your pants, swallowing.

You paused, listening, waiting, wondering if he was going to stir and catch you in the act. The sound of his breathing as it evened out seemed so loud in the otherwise silent room. It must have been several minutes before you dared to slip your fingers back to where they were. You bit down on your lip, rubbing gently again, keeping your arm so tight to your body that your muscles started to ache. But it was worth it – the pleasure was slowly growing between your thighs, and the fabric of your panties muffled what must have been an impressive wet noise.

Peter arched, groaning, and rolled onto his back. Freezing, you yanked your hand out again, placing it on your stomach. Other than a long, deep exhale, he didn’t move, but now his arm was braced against your back, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin t-shirt. You pressed your lips together, and then you shuffled a little further away. The blanket slid up, just about covering part of you, and cool air wafted against you. Gritting your teeth against the sudden cold, you took a deep breath, then slid your hand back down once more. Just one orgasm. Just one. Then you could sleep.

You wriggled your panties down into your pants, fingers going straight to your clit. You needed to make this quick and quiet. So you moved in fast little circles, your hand over your mouth again as you tried to stop your hips riding your hand they way they seemed to be trying to. The wet noise was almost audible now, and your cheeks burnt with embarrassment. If Peter woke up right now—

Oh god, he was a fucking coworker you didn’t like, and here you were touching yourself whilst he slept beside you. And yet you didn’t stop, pressing your head into one of the pillows beneath you that Peter had brought along for the mission. Bad idea. He had apparently used it before, and it smelt of him, masculine and arousing. The scent seemed to drop straight to where your fingers were stroking, and you whimpered.

Peter stirred.

You froze. Fuck, fuck—

Nothing.

You almost growled. It was like he was unwittingly edging you like this, interrupting you before you could reach that edge. God. What you wouldn’t give for him to just fucking slide into you, right now. His fingers, his dick, whatever he was willing to spare for you. You needed it.

Wetting your fingers with your slick again, you returned to touching yourself, panting softly into your hand. You couldn’t keep doing this. You were going to go insane. The need throbbed beneath your fingers, like an ache that wouldn’t go away, and you moved your hand to bury your face in the pillow, sneaking your fingers up to play with your nipple. Anything for more stimulation, for more touch, for more.

Your thighs trembled, and you fought to keep them from moving too much, to give yourself just enough space to touch without broadcasting to your sleeping companion that you were trying to cum with him lying next to you like this. Your breathing came sharply into the pillow as the heat coiled beneath your fingers and began to grow.

Peter rolled onto his side once more, chest towards your back, and you bit down a whimpered curse as you stilled. A shiver rushed through you, and you wanted to scream.

A low chuckle filled the air, curving down your spine like a warm touch. Your eyes shot wide open.

“You’re the least subtle person I know, Y/N,” Peter murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

That heat between your thighs throbbed again. “You were awake,” you panted.

“Yeah sweetheart, I was awake the moment you said my name,” he told you. “But you didn’t say it again, so I thought I’d wait and see what you wanted. And let me tell you, I wasn’t disappointed in the slightest to find out.”

You stilled. “I—I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—“

“I’m not mad, Y/N,” he said softly. “Hell, I was waiting for you to ask me for a hand.”

Your mouth went dry and you immediately found yourself wondering what Peter’s big fingers would feel like between your thighs, working your through that urge. “You,” you swallowed, “you’re…ok with…me…”

“Y/N,” his voice was breathy, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You felt hot. “I just…I need…something.”

“How about we get your clothes off and I start you off with my fingers?” Peter suggested gently. “Then maybe after that you might be able to think clearer.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you watched as Peter eased your fingers out of your pants. Warm golden light filled the space when he switched on his lamp, and he let go of your wrist to hook his fingers into one of the belt loops on your jeans, tugging you back under the blanket so that your back was pressed against the firm slope of his chest. Your ass met his hips, and oh, ok, ok.

Peter tugged at your pants, working them down to your knees. Your thighs were wet, and you bit your lip as he pulled them up to slide your jeans over your feet. There was a soft sound as they were tossed with their bags, and then Peter’s hands were at the hem of your shirt, stripping that off. You were quickly left in just your bra.

“I’m going to pull the blanket down, ok?” Peter asked.

You nodded. “Sure.”

Peter folded the blanket over, baring your torso, and you arched to let him unhook your bra and slide it off you. Your nipples were immediately obvious, but you didn’t have time to cover yourself before one hand was cupping a breast, the other tossing your bra to join the growing pile of clothes. The big, warm hands groped at you gently, thumbs pebbling the stiff nipples, and your hips bucked. Your ass rocked against his erection.

Peter rolled you onto your back, and knelt up over you. His head immediately dipped to your breast, and his now free hand slipped between your thighs. You almost choked on your moan. His fingers were big, and rough, and they rubbed gently against your clit with just enough friction to have you almost sobbing at the touch.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, and ran his tongue over your nipple.

You squeaked, grabbing hold of the blanket, and Peter reached down to guide your hand to his shoulders gently as he stroked a little faster.

“You’re so fucking wet, sweetheart,” he added. “Must hurt where my fingers are, huh?”

“God,” you gasped, “yeah, it hurts…”

Peter gently probed at your slit with a finger. “I can fix that.”

“Please,” was the only thing you said.

If this were any other time, you would be more coherent, more sexy, more verbal, but Peter slipped a finger into you and you threw your head back and moaned. His thumb came to rest on your clit and began to rub, hard and fast. Tremors rocked your body at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, and Peter leaned over you, his mouth on your nipple, one hand resting on your head as his finger fucked you. The wet noise of that combined with the wet noise of his tongue, and you gripped his t-shirt tight, your hips bucking desperately into his hand.

Peter brushed another finger along your slit, and slowed his hand down, gently working it into you. You whined, another tremor rocking you, and you tried to relax. Peter’s thumb kept rubbing at your nub. Your nails dug into him. Peter grunted softly, and when he had gently spread you open for him, he sped his hand up once more, angling his fingers to—

You came with a cry, clamping down on his fingers and wriggling your hips desperately as the sudden orgasm washed over you. Holy shit. Holy shit. You weren’t the most experienced woman in the Avengers, sure, but coming that quick, that hard—? You could hear yourself whining as Peter worked you through it, all the while his lips sucked at your nipple and his thumb rubbed at your clit until your muscles felt like water.

Your hips quivered as he kept stroking, the sudden electric overstimulation pulling a groan from you. Peter nodded wordlessly and slipped his fingers out of you. Laying back, you watched as he raised his hand to his mouth and began to lick his fingers clean. Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. He kept those big brown eyes on yours as he did so.

“Is,” you swallowed, your lips trembling, “this your wicked plan to have your way with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter teased, leaning over you. “I’m just doing you a favour while you’re suffering.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, sure, you’re totally,” your words caught in your throat as his hips slotted between your thighs, “free of ulterior motives.”

Two strong arms came down either side of your head as Peter leaned closer, the warmth of his defined abs separated from your own by the old white t shirt he wore. Fuck, he was broad. You had always wondered what the hell that spider bite did to him to make him that big. And yet he didn’t scare you. Sure, you’d seen superheroes and mutants and super soldiers before, but a boy like Peter who’s your age, a boy as powerful and relentless as him, there should’ve been something stressing you about him. Especially since neither of you like the other and are always fighting even during missions, driving Tony and Steve crazy. Though you had to admit, you probably would have been just as turned on by him if he was scary.

So you had a thing for putting yourself in danger…

“Well, that depends,” he murmured. “Are you feeling better?”

“…what happens if I say no?” You asked.

Peter grinned. “I have a couple ways of dealing with that.”

You blinked. “…yeah? Does one of them involve needing protection?”

“Probably.” Peter looked at his bag, then at you. “But if it helps, I’m clean, and since my spider-bite, I don’t even know if I have a chance of knocking anyone up.”

Still, you watched him reach over into his bag, and he pulled a little foil packet out of one of the pockets, handing it to you. His hips pressed against yours as he did so, and if he was trying to hint at something or if it was a genuine mistake, well – you neither knew nor cared, because you could feel his cock pulsing through his jeans. You couldn’t believe Peter Parker had a big dick.

“Your call,” he said gently.

You blinked. “…what’s the thing that doesn’t involve needing protection? Just…so I know.” Jesus, there was no way that thing was gonna fit in you.

“I mean you might have noticed I’m a pretty talkative guy and I like to run my mouth,” Peter said.

Your brow arched. “Are you being delicate with me? Right now?”

Peter gazed at you. “Not a fan of delicate? How about I just offer to eat you out then.”

You swallowed, nodding as your breathing wavered a little. “That…that works,” you agreed.

“Glad to hear it.”

Peter’s head immediately ducked, and you watched, squirming a little, as his lips pressed to your ribcage. The slide of his skin tickled yours as he slowly kissed your stomach, then your hipbones, and then two fingers were spreading your thighs wider, and his tongue licked a long, broad stripe up from the base of your slit to your nub.

“Ohmyfuckinggod,” You gasped out as his nose was pressed directly against your clit. His lips surrounded it, sucking.

“Hard and fast or do you want a bit more to build you up?” Peter asked, his voice muffled.

“Whatever means you don’t fucking stoP!” You yelped. “Oh fuck, don’t—don’t be a dick about this!”

“Yes ma’am,” Peter chuckled.

One hand slung over your belly, holding you against his mouth, as the other cupped your breast, gently squeezing, playing with the nipple. Your hands clung to Peter’s head, your nails digging into the scalp. Peter purred pleasantly, the vibrations hitting your clit and jolting your hips into his mouth.

You abandoned holding his hair, rocking desperately against his mouth as the man between your thighs—oh god what was he doing with his tongue, fuck yes—ate you out like you were his last meal. You slung your thighs over his shoulders, your heels digging into his muscular back as you thumped your fists against the lumpy mattress beneath you, sucking in heavy breaths.

Your back arched as he abandoned pinning you down to grab both breasts, his thumbs teasing and tugging at your nipples. You watched him play whenever your eyes could meet his, looking at the mouth and the pink flash of tongue and always those big brown irises, looking at you like he could give you head blindfolded.

Oh my god maybe he could.

Nails dragged over your ribs, down your belly, before fingertips ran over the scratches and back up to play with your breasts again.

“Peter,” you felt your stomach swoop, “Peter, fuck, oh my god, fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Both your hands clapped over your mouth as he pinched gently at the stiff peaks of your breasts, and you came with a muffled scream, your hips riding his mouth frantically. He just pulled you closer, let his lips rub against the sensitive nub of your clit, of your folds, and shook his head to work that friction until you were sobbing beneath his tongue.

You twitched beneath him, your skin oversensitive to even the gentlest brush, and Peter let your whimper under him like that for a good few seconds as his tongue lapped gently to bring you down from your orgasm. Slumping limp against the bedding, you panted sharply, whining when the bastard kissed at your thigh, scratching you. A thumb teased your nipple. You slapped his hand away, and all he did was chuckle.

“God you’re cute when you’re coming,” Peter murmured, and damn him if that didn’t make you throb. You’d barely recovered from your last orgasm, you didn’t need to want another one.

“Shut up,” you panted.

He was watching you the whole time as he wiped your slick off his chin, somehow managing to look innocent like he hadn’t just had you screaming into your own hand, and slid down onto the mattress to lie next to you. He didn’t speak, just waited.

That throbbing didn’t go away.

You looked at the little foil packet. Then you looked over at Peter, and one hand reached for the button on his jeans. He didn’t help or hinder you, just let you unzip him, tug down the hem of his jeans and push your fingers past his black boxers.

Yeah, he was about as big as you thought he was.

You felt yourself throb again. Well, if all else failed…

“Is that gonna fit?” you heard yourself ask.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. “Fuck, that’s a question I like hearing,” he admitted. “It should do, never had a problem with it before.”

You swallowed, and Peter arched up to let you pull his jeans down until his boxers were visible. Reaching in, you freed his cock from his boxers, and ran your fingers over it. Peter moaned softly.

“You often get asked if it’ll fit?” You asked.

Peter reached over, his fingers slipping beneath your chin. “Y/N. You don’t have to.”

Your brow furrowed. “I never back down from a challenge. You know this.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself because you’ve got something to prove,” Peter said softly.

You shot him a grin. “Worried you won’t last, Spider-Man?”

You barely saw his hand grab your waist before you were being tugged into his lap and Peter was sitting up, shucking his shirt off. “My dick is a one and done offer, but remember what I just did to you with my mouth and hands,” he purred. “You’re practically in heat so I need to make sure you’re completely satisfied. And I’ll take as long as I need.”

You exhaled heavily. “You always this talkative?” you croaked.

Peter kicked off his jeans and moved you to straddle his waist as he tugged his boxers down. You felt his cock just about pressing against your clit, still erect enough to be able to do so.

“So,” Peter’s voice cut through your thoughts, “you want the condom?”

You shook your head. “Nah.”

He nodded. “Ok. So, what’s your favourite position?”

“Uh,” you paused, “I—I don’t know, I haven’t exactly done all that much.”

Peter nodded. “Stay in my lap then, it’ll make it easier for you to control things like that.”

How could he say this in such a blasé way? It was like he was discussing the weather. You just nodded, watching as he sat back, and then you clambered onto him. Your eyes found his cock, and then your hands, wrapping around him and rubbing gently. The man beneath you moaned, brown eyes disappearing briefly as they shut.

“Move at your own pace,” he said softly, and lay down, his hands running up your belly to cup your breasts.

Your lashes fluttered as your wrist jerked, moving slowly up and down his cock. Shuffling forward a little, you braced the tip of him against your folds, wetting him. His tongue flicked out to lick his lip, and his thumbs gently circled your nipples as you lowered yourself. The slightly burn of the stretch was more from your lack of action than lack of preparation, and you kept it slow, letting yourself adjust as the first inch filled you. A soft moan filled the room, and you shut your eyes.

“You ok?”

He was watching you when you opened your eyes, hips dropping a little further. “Yeah,” you breathed, grasping his forearms as the next inch slipped in. Another moan, louder this time, escaped you. His eyes were fixed on you, gauging your every reaction, checking for pain, for nervousness. You let a little more of him fill you. “You gone all shy, Parker?” you added.

His brow rose. “You’ve got half of my dick in you and you think I’m shy all of a sudden?”

You spluttered, pausing. “You’re not talking,” you pointed out.

Peter grinned at that. “You want me to talk?”

Fuck. You’d been caught. “It’s just weird you’re not running your mouth, that’s all.”

Peter’s eyes were fixed on where you were slowly slipping more of him into you. “That’s what you’re telling yourself, huh? Whilst you’re naked and sinking down into my lap? After I just made you cum twice?”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and Peter reached up to drag your head forward so that his mouth pressed against yours. Heat surged through your body, and you returned the kiss eagerly as your ass met his lap, legs draped either side of him. Both hands came back to your breasts, palms rubbing against your nipples, and you braced your hands on his chest as your back arched. Your hips rolled a little, working gently back and forth on him. A low groan buzzed against your lips.

“All yours, Y/N,” Peter murmured softly, and nipped at your lower lip.

“You’re not gonna help?” you teased.

His eyes glinted. “Later. When you ask me to.”

As you used his chest to lean up and start to rock, you had to wonder what he meant by that. But it didn’t take you long to stop caring about that once you began moving your hips.

Your eyes closed, and you began to roll, back and forth, the pressure of him filling you sating some of that irritating need that had been plaguing you all damn day. And for all the thickness of him, you were wet, and there was no trouble letting him work in and out of you. The rough pads of his thumbs on your nipples sent little flecks of heat to your core as you rode him, and he seemed content to let you do what you liked without much other than a few soft groans.

“S-so.” You opened your eyes and your mouth went dry at the sight of the pale grey eyes gazing up at you in curiosity. “W-what? What’s the look for?”

“You’re cute,” Peter told you casually, and his thumb slid down between your thighs.

You bowed as he began to rub at your clit, and now his hips started to oh so slowly thrust up into you. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he kept it languid and casual, like it was no big deal that there was a woman on top of him with his dick in her.

Fuck. Maybe this was no big deal.

“Penny for your thoughts, Y/N,” Peter drawled. “You ok?”

You nodded. “Been a while.”

His thumb pressed a little harder and you whined. Licking your lips, you arched and started to move a little faster in his lap, breath catching.

“You’re quiet,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Peter grinned, sounding genuinely amused, “are you saying you like the sound of my voice?”

Your cheeks burnt. “I’ve heard worse,” you muttered.

Peter snorted, and bucked his hips a little harder, his large hand palming your breast. “So you want me to talk to you while you ride me, is that it?”

“Mmm, maybe,” you whispered.

He smirked. “Sure. I can do that.”

Bracing yourself on his chest again, you sat up and began to bounce on him, a soft gasp escaping you. Peter’s breath came gentle but sharper, and the smirk wavered just a little.

“How long have you wanted to fuck me, Y/N?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes even as a soft wave of heat rolled over you. “Not answering that!”

“That,” he exhaled, “is code for ‘since I met you’ isn’t it?”

Groaning, you nevertheless sped up as the touch of his thumb started to work you slowly up, pleasure building gently. “Shhh and let me, mm, do this,” you complained.

Peter just laughed, the sound breathless and punctuated by sharp pants. “Hey, you asked me to talk,” he reminded you.

“Regretting it,” you panted.

There was a wet noise coming from between your thighs, and Peter’s hips rocked a little as your nails dug into his skin, the wiry hairs that covered his chest brushing against your fingers. Your eyes met his for a moment, and when he ran his tongue over his teeth, all you could think of was how he had reduced you to a mess with just his tongue. Shivering, your eyes closed, a bolt of heat pulsing around where he filled your.

“So should I shut up?” he breathed.

You groaned as you sped up, chasing that coiling heat. “F-fuck, just d-don’t stop!”

“No?”

His thumb slowed down just a little, enough to be noticeable, and you keened, your body moving frantically against his to make up for the loss of sensation.

“Fuck you,” you groaned. It wouldn’t be long. Your body was tensing, expectant of the relief.

“That what you’re into?” Peter’s thumb pressed harder all of a sudden, moving faster. “You like thinking, fuck, thinking ahh- about me taking- taking it away, Y/N? Leaving you hanging?”

A frustrated noise ripped out of your throat. “Don’t you dare!”

Almost—

There was a soft chuckle below you as you closed your eyes. “C’mon, Y/N.” His thumb—

You let out a sharp cry as you came around him, nails raking down his chest and pulling a sharp gasp from his lips before his moans curled along your skin with each clench of your walls around his cock. Your lips parted, heat flushing your body, and you shook in his lap. His name escaped you, filling the room, and finally you sagged against him, breathless and hot.

“Better?” Peter asked cheerfully.

“Yeah,” you gasped, slumping down onto his chest. “Yeah, I’m, I’m good.”

“Glad to be of service.” His hands gently grasped your shoulders, gently stroking, and you felt him twitching inside you.

“You—right, you didn’t,” you managed.

“Nope,” he agreed. “I can take care of it, though.”

You sat up, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine. You can—I’m good. Just give me a second and you can—yeah, go ahead.”

You were on your back before you even realised it, the man kneeling above you, arms caging you in. You gasped as he gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“This ok?” he asked casually.

“Yeah.” You wriggled your hips. “Should’ve known you mutant types were into this.”

Peter just chuckled. “You think a radioctive spider made me kinkier?”

Your thighs slid around his hips. “I’m just saying. You all get worked up so easily and that radioactivity combined with your skintight suit can’t be helping your temper.”

“My deepest,” his hips slid forward to meet yours with a gentle slap, “apologies, Ms. Y/N. Here was me thinking you enjoyed the skintight flight suit and mask.”

You moaned gently. “…all right, maybe it’s not the worst.”

“I knew you secretly liked it.”

And then he was fucking you, driving down into you fast and hard. Your head fell back as you arched up into the movements, heels digging into his back. The sound of them was noisier now after you’d gotten what you needed from him, and you felt less desperate now. You damn well hoped so, after three orgasms.

Possibly four, if he was determined.

His breathing was heavy, and when you looked up, gazing into the brown eyes, you found them lidded and hazy. It was a good look on him. You’d seen the full spectrum of his emotions, and here and now, with him leaned over you, it was the first time there hadn’t been a hint of sadness in there. You bit your lip, wanting to kiss him all of a sudden.

“Feel better?” Peter panted, his large hand spanning your hip, thumb rolling over your clit again.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, eyes fluttering shut, toes curling. “A-again?!”

“Can’t, god, can’t have you waking up in the—the night just to—mmm—get yourself off,” Peter teased with a wavering smirk that was undermined by his breathlessness.

“Much—much appreciated!” You managed to shoot back, but the way he was drilling you like this was rubbing up against your sweet spot, and you were starting to feel that heat coil between your thighs again even though you weren’t certain you’d get there before he did. Still, you cracked your eyes open to look at him, green meeting silver.

“Glad to be of service.”

His eyes shut tightly, and he trembled, his nails digging into your hip as his lips curled back over his teeth. A growl rumbled in his chest and his muscles tensed. It was—god, it was something to watch. You had never had sex with a guy who was as ripped as him before. In the dim light, the cuts and ripples of his muscular chest shone even before. Not to mention the freckles on his nose and that tongue.

“This—fuck—it’s ridiculous,” you complained, the frustration in your words as tattered by the moans that escaped you as his smirk had been. “H-how are you, fuck, this attractive?”

The brown eyes opened, meeting yours. “Keep talking.”

“Nnfuck.” You strained against his hands as took him in. “A-aren’t you d-done yet?”

“No.” It was firm. His thumb moved faster. “Talk.”

“Too good for the d-damn Avengers,” you gasped out, as your toes curled. “Way too good!”

“Yeah?” His voice was ragged all of a sudden.

“Seriously,” you moaned, “you’re all like this- and- god- th-they’ve got sticks- up their-!”

Peter’s thrusting was growing uneven, and you weren’t going to last much longer either. His fingers flexed around your wrists, reminding you of all that power coiled under his touch, capable of pinning you down, of hurting you, but you knew he never would.

His teeth flashed in a grin. “C’mon. Cum.”

You obeyed, tipping over that edge and clamping down on him for the second time this evening as he fucked you through your fourth orgasm. Thumbing at your clit, he was shaking, but he didn’t stop, not until you were groaning from the sudden sensation of too much. Then his hips were sliding away from yours, and the hand on your wrists gripped his cock and stroked rapidly. Twitching, he spilled onto your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed, slumping onto his knees.

You were still panting from your own orgasm, the strings of his cum hot and wet on your belly as you lay back. Arms still above your head, your eyes closed, and you let your legs relax, swinging wide open against the floor below you. After a moment, Peter fell to his side next to you, raking his nails through his chestnut curls. Slowly, the sweat began to cool on your skin, and you shivered.

“Let me.”

Peter moved around to your right, and a few moments later, you felt a cloth wiping the mess from your skin. You rubbed your eyes, exhaling heavily.

“That was good,” you murmured.

“Good?” he repeated. “Fuck, I’m losing my edge.”

The cloth left your belly. you rolled over, looking at him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stroke your ego. That was perfect. I needed that.” Your brow arched. “Better?”

Peter grinned. “Absolutely. I enjoyed myself too, in case you were wondering.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Your ego.”

“Almost as big as my dick.” Peter reached for his clothes. “You wanna dress, or sleep naked?”

“Naked,” You replied, pushing yours above your head. “We can just snuggle up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Peter pulled the blankets back, and shuffled closer to you, rolling you into his arms and tucking you beneath the covers. You curled into the warmth, relaxing.

“Next time you feel the urge, you’re welcome to ask for it whenever,” Peter murmured in your ear.

Your cheeks flushed.

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker oneshot #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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seravphs · 1 year

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA ATSUMU x FEM READER

When you started dating Atsumu, you swore to never be the annoying gym couple, and yet here you are.

wc — 700

tags — fluff, most unserious relationship ever

The soft grunts from the other side of the gym were really getting to you. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, you repeat to yourself - until another bitten off curse draws your attention to the man determined to be the death of you.

Across the row of barbells, Miya Atsumu brings the hem of his shirt to his face to swipe off the drop of sweat clinging to his chin. In the mirror behind him, the muscles of his back ripple with each movement, causing your throat dry up.

As soon as you register what you’re doing, your brain stutters and you immediately whip around, trying to ignore the low chuckle behind you.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying it, eating up every second of attention you were giving him.

Gritting your teeth, you focus on another set of push ups, keeping your core tight. It’s working, for a bit, your mind clearing as all your energy goes to keeping you in the proper form. All of that effort goes to shit when he walks past you.

Legs.

That’s the first, and for several minutes, only thought in your head.

Thighs.

You want him to crush you between them.

His muscles could have been sculpted by the gods, and the effect it has on you - well. You had to check if you were still breathing. He laughs again, and you try to discreetly draw the back of your hand against your face in case you were drooling.

In front of you, Atsumu, the bastard, purposefully lowers himself to the floor in an effortless split.

Oh, god.

He was flexible. You tear your eyes away from his broad chest, ignoring his Cheshire cat smirk. He got you again, but you were determined not to let it happen a third time.

This was a competition, and you were going to win. Two could play at that game.

Running sucks. It gets you sweaty and hot and tired faster than any other exercise, and you swear the treadmill has it out for you. It never works quite right when you’re on it, but damn if you don’t look good with your hair bouncing. You’re well aware of how amazing you look in the glow of runner’s high.

Someone else is, too. Behind you, Atsumu trips over his own feet and crashes into the rack of barbells, earning him the ire of multiple frat boys. Even as he’s being scolded, he looks love struck and dazed, eyes only for you.

It’s incredibly gratifying. You waste the entire session flirting with Atsumu while he continues to be horrifying, distractingly hot in your general direction.

The audacity of him.

Of course, someone has to ruin it. Atsumu isn’t the only one noticing how good you look running.

As you’re checking the miles, a hand shoots out to hit the off button. At first, you turn with a smile, expecting it to be a mistake, but it slides off your face instantly at the condescending next words. You slow to a stop with the treadmill.

“Hey, sweetheart. Need a few tips?”

“No, thank you.”

“Come on, babe-“

“Not your babe.”

“Don’t be like that. Why don’t you give me your number?”

“She said no, dude.” Atsumu comes up behind you, heat radiating off him. He’s not close enough to touch, and yet, his solid presence is more than enough to make you feel more secure.

“I didn’t ask you,” the random gym rat snaps.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “She wouldn’t be interested in ya anyway. Word of advice, buddy? Ya should just give up now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because-“ He yells in surprise as you, sick of this conversation, pull him down for a kiss. Initially shocked, he melts into you as he always does, bringing his hands up to your face to cradle your cheeks tenderly. For a minute after you break away, you just lean your foreheads together, staring into his eyes.

Then you wrinkle your nose. “Ugh, you’re sweaty.”

“Babe!”

You turn back to the man with a grin. “I’m not interested because he’s my boyfriend.”

Atsumu smirks behind you, arms crossed.

#sera writes #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq x fluff

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softpascalito · 6 months

Text

Worth crossing a blizzard for - Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: During shooting for The Last of Us, a snowstorm hits Canada, essentially forcing Pedro to take the day off. Turns out its not as bad as he thinks.

Relationships: Pedro Pascal x Reader WC: 1600 Tags/Warnings: MDNI, RPF, Real-Person-Fiction, Non-Explicit Sex, showering together, Gender-neutral Reader, Snow, blizzard, Crew Reader, The Last of Us Shooting, Canada, Kissing, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Pedro Pascal, Healthy Relationships, Secret Relationship Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: i haven't written pedro in sooo long, i miss him. needless to say, this is the lil version i created of him in my head and not necesarily an accurate representation of his actual personality <3 also, this is another lil entry for stephs winter writing challenge with the trope warmth, i highly recommend checking the entire list if youre interested :) (@toomanystoriessolittletime)

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It starts with a light snowfall, little white particles floating through the air, rushing past the car as he drives back from set and a small sigh escapes his lips. It's been snowing on and off for weeks, usually meaning an earlier calltime for everyone, to make sure the locations can be cleared from the thin layer of snow if needed.

The wind has picked up by the time Pedro reaches the apartment that has been his home for the last few weeks and when he steps out of the shower half an hour later, the light snowfall has developed into a full-on blizzard, complete with cars honking in the streets below and his phone vibrating angrily, demanding attention. A rushed glance as he gets dressed confirms his suspicions. There's several warnings of severe weather, most of them due to hit tonight.

A gentle knock on the front door lets the man whip around and a small frown builds on his forehead as he crosses the hallway, taking a quick glance through the peephole. He practically yanks the door open.

You have your coat wrapped tightly around yourself, a knitted hat drawn down to your ears and a scarf wrapped around your neck. The two latter are practically soaked, decorated with little white crystals all over that are beginning to melt in the slightly warmer air of the hallway and dripping down onto the door mat.

Pedro stays still for a moment, taking in your form in front of him, before his brain registers what's going on. He reaches out, pulling you into the apartment, “What the hell were you thinking?”

The door closes behind you and the frown that decorated Pedros face a moment ago is now appearing on yours, “I- What?” For a split second you wonder if he's mad. He rarely gets a day off and even when he does, he usually spends it doing something, unable to just sit and relax, even for a little while. Maybe he's made plans for tonight and you've just crashed them.

“You can't be walking around in a blizzard like this, look at yourself,” he tuts, helping you take your wet coat off along with the hat and scarf and maneuvering them into the bathroom to hang them up to dry. You take your boots off carefully, gaze never leaving the man in front of you, “It's barely a twenty minute walk.”

“You're telling me you didn't even get a taxi?” He asks as he returns to the hallway and watches you put your shoes onto a small shoe tray.

“Does it look like I got a taxi?” You shoot back, getting a little irritated with how concerned he is. Immediately, Pedros gaze softens a bit and a small grumble escapes his throat as he takes a step forward, bringing his fingers up to your hair to carefully pick a snowflake out of it.

It melts between his fingers.

“No, you don't,” he muses, smiling a little sheepishly. “You could've called me. I would've picked you up.” You can't help but chuckle a little at that, “I did call you. You didn't pick up. The phone, I mean.” He stares at you for a moment, then back at his phone that has at least a dozen unread messages, then back to you, “Fuck, I- I was taking a shower, guess I didn’t hear-”

“It's fine,” you promise gently, standing on your tiptoes to place a small kiss on his cheek. Pedro sighs a little, taking in the way you’re looking at him and eventually nodding as he leads you further into the small apartment. It's spacious for one person but cozy for two, production of course not having calculated that you would be here too. You tried to stick to only sleeping over on weekends for a while, arguing that Pedro needed his rest and a quiet environment to go over his lines. He argued back that he slept a lot better with you beside him.

“You want a coffee?” He offers and you nod yes, following him to the open kitchen and hopping onto the counter as he grabs a mug for you.

“So you haven't read it yet?” You ask, rubbing your hands together in an effort to warm them up. “Read what?” His back is to you, the sound of the coffee machine starting almost drowning out his words.

“Shoot is canceled for tomorrow. Probably until next week.”

Something about your tone makes him turn around to face you. He's in front of you a second later, hands resting on your waist as he studies your face, “And you're not happy about that?”

“Why would I? It sets us back at least two days and were already behind, at this rate reshoots-”

Pedro hums a little and squeezes your waist, causing you to fall quiet.

“I don't like it either but-”

You cut him off before you can stop yourself, shaking your head as you speak and lowering your gaze towards the floor, “It's just really bad timing and I have so much to do already and-”

“Hey, look at me.”

He squeezes again, a little harder this time, and one hand comes up to nudge your chin until you're looking right at him. You find soft brown eyes, the little patch in his beard you like so much and hair that's still a little damp from showering.

“It's snow. You can't do anything about snow.”

You let your head fall forward again, letting out a small sigh, “Yeah, I know.” Pedro gently brings his arms around you, holding you close for a moment. The coffee machine beeps, signaling that it's done. But he doesn't let go yet, rubbing your back a little instead.

“The way I see it,” he starts. “We may as well enjoy our night in. Even if it wasn't exactly planned. Plus, there's no way in hell I'll let you go back out there anyway.”

He does have a point. And a night off, especially a night off for both of you, doesn't sound too bad, even if it's constricted to the small apartment you're sitting in.

As soon as your coffee is empty and a few urgent messages are replied to, Pedro insists on a shower to warm you up. You're halfway to the bathroom before you turn around with a small smile on your face, “You're gonna let me shower alone?”

“I just showered,” Pedro replies almost automatically, putting your mug away. Then, he catches the small twinkle in your eye.

“You just showered,” you repeat, the smile still decorating your face and Pedro nods a few times before getting into motion.

“I guess I could do with another one.”

For once, there's no rush. You take your time, with the shower and everything that it includes. You spend what feels like a solid five minutes kissing afterwards, already scrubbed clean and so, so content. The air is steamy when you step out of the shower and Pedro really does treat you to the full experience, insisting on applying your lotion for you.

You hum contently as he gently massages it into your back, your muscles tingling with relief. He chuckles softly behind you, “Feeling a little warmed up already?”

“More than a little. Don't know how you do it.”

You lightly slap his ass on the way to the bedroom.

After securing your favorite sweater of his and some sweatpants, you find yourself in the kitchen again, rummaging through the cupboards to figure out what to cook up with the scarce ingredients available. You both usually eat on location or get some takeout on the way home, not to speak of the lack of cooking skill you both possess.

It ends up being pasta with some leftover greens and tomatoes and for once, you could swear it tastes ten times better than whatever takeout you could've gotten. You're cuddled up on the couch, staring out into the dark, gusts of snow still blowing past the window. The traffic jams have calmed down, the people returned to their houses to find shelter from the cold. Only a few lost ones are still wandering around, no doubt with a goal that justifies a walk through the conditions. You understand them.

Pedro watches a man disappear around the corner and swallows his mouthful of pasta, “Are you sure you didn't catch a cold?”

You smile weakly, “ Even if I did, it would be worth it. I'd trade a cold for a night off with you. You know that.” He chuckles a little, tilting his head slightly, “Just saying, it may be a little on the nose for both of us to get sick at the same time.”

You raise a brow as you finish your plate and gently put it down before cuddling into Pedro’s side, drawing your legs up onto the couch, “There's a blizzard. It's not that on the nose.”

The snowflakes landing on the window stay there for a few moments, glistening in the dim light from inside the apartment before the warmth seems to reach through the glass. One by one, they turn into small drops of water.

He considers your words for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right.” His arm wraps around you, pulling you in a little more as you rest your head against his shoulder. He leans down to plant a small kiss on your head and you hum contently, smiling to yourself.

The snowflakes melt on the window pane. You melt in Pedros arms.

Your voice is only a mumble.

“Besides- you can't do anything about snow.”

notes: hey babes! im considering a second part to this so let me know if that's something you'd like <3

#pedropascaladventcalender #softpascalitosadventcalendar #pedro pascal / reader #pedro pascal / you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #gender-neutral reader #christmas #snow #fluff #softpascalito #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #rpf #real person fiction #stephswinterwritingchallenge

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cozage · 1 year

Text

New Multi-Chapter Fic: The Moss that Grew in Gloom

A/N: A multi-chapter fic I promised weeks ago is finally starting!! With Made for Two being complete, I finally can redirect some of my efforts to other things, and this is at the top of my list! I hope you enjoy!!

Characters: female reader x Zoro, (Mihawk and Perona are also present)

Summary: As the daughter of Dracule Mihawk, you've spent your life in almost complete solitude. But that changed one day when a green-haired swordsman makes a smashing appearance.

Word count: 5k

Chapter One: The Fall of a Swordsman

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Your life began when a moss headed man crashed into the pavement outside, you just hadn't known it yet.

It was the second time someone had fallen to Gloom Island since you had been alone. Your father had been called away to help with an execution, and he had forbid you to tag along. The Warlord had left you alone several times before, but this was the first time a person had come crashing into your castle. And now that number had doubled to two.

You and Perona peered out the window, looking at the place of impact.

“I think he’s dead,” you said, looking down at him from your second story bedroom.

“He looks familiar…” Perona mumbled. “We should go see.”

You frowned at the body outside. “Dad said not to leave the castle while he was gone.”

“Yeah but aren’t you a little curious?” Perona’s wide eyes were stuck on the unmoving man.

“Not really.” You turned away from the window, back to your room. “The baboons will deal with him if he’s not dead yet.”

“You’re so cold!” Perona pouted at you, and she ran to your door. “I’m going to save him!”

“Suit yourself,” you responded, opening a book. “But I won’t be helping.”

You didn’t see Perona for a few days after that. You knew she had managed to save the green-haired man and drag him back into the castle, and you knew she was tending to his wounds. The sounds of banging and the occasional shout from both of them proved that.

“I do know him!” She said, entering the kitchen. It was one of the few moments you left your room with a stranger in the house. You had managed to avoid Perona and the stranger whenever you ventured down for food, but you had known it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed.

“He’s a Strawhat!” she continued. “They were the ones fighting Moria and sent me to this dreadful place in the first place!”

That caught your attention. “He has that power? He’s that strong?”

“Well, no..” Perona said, thinking back to her time on Thriller Bark. “I think it was a crew mate of his that did that.”

You frowned, but said nothing at that. You did remember the Strawhat Pirates from the news, and your father took an interest in one of the crew members, but you couldn’t remember which one. But you didn’t remember any ability like that being on their wanted poster.

“I guess he’s alive, then.” You tried not to sound too interested. “Will he make a full recovery?”

Perona groaned. “He’s SO needy! And he’s complaining about EVERYTHING! The food, the bed, the way I wrapped his wounds! Nothing is good enough for him, I swear!”

You laughed at the irony of that. Perona hadn’t stopped complaining about this place since she had arrived either. Nothing was ever good enough for her, even in a giant mansion on a secluded island.

Not that you were upset about her presence. You didn’t mind Perona most of the time. Sometimes you even liked her. But on those days when you just wanted to be alone, she was always there. She was like a little sister who was always demanding your attention, always wanting to do something with you. It had been strange to get used to after such solitude with only you and your father your entire life.

Perona finished making a sandwich, and looked your way. “You should come see him!”

“I told you, I’m not helping.” You left the words hanging in the air as you walked out, hearing her frustrated breath huff out behind you.

You finally met the mysterious intruder a few days later, when he barged into your room unannounced. Your eyes flicked up from your book as your door slammed open. He had mossy green hair and tanned skin, and you could tell he was in good shape under his bandages. He was covered in them, and you could see why he was complaining about Perona’s handiwork. She had wrapped them so tight in some places, you were surprised he could move.

“Wha--Who the hell are you?!” The man demanded, gawking around your room. Your sword laid next to your chair, and you saw his eyes slide over to it.

“It’s rude to demand someone’s name when you haven’t introduced yourself,” you said, returning your gaze back down to your book.

You could hear him grit his teeth in frustration, and you resisted the urge to smirk at his reaction.

“Look, woman, do you know where my swords are or not?”

“Swords?” Now that caught your attention. You looked back at him and found his gaze was still on the sword next to your chair. You closed your book, mentally marking where you were in the story, and then placed it down on the coffee table next to you.

“That stupid ghost girl stole my swords!”

You stood and picked up your weapon, turning it over in your hand. “Swords as in multiple?”

“Three.”

“Three?”

His eye twitched in frustration. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“How long have you been looking for these swords?” You walked over to the door where he was standing. “And don’t ever barge into my room again without knocking first.”

He gritted his teeth, and you could tell he wanted to say something back, but he refrained. He moved out of the way for you to pass through the door. “I’ve been looking for a few days.”

“A few days?” You laughed at that, thinking it was an over exaggeration, but his silence made you realize he was being serious. “You must be bad with directions.”

“It’s not my fault it’s a maze in here!” He shouted back at you. You rolled your eyes and bound down the steps, hoping he was capable enough to follow you.

“Perona,” You call out at the bottom of the stops. “Where’d you hide this guy’s swords?”

“It’s not my fault!” the pink-haired girl cried, floating into the room. “I told him exactly where they were! Up the stairs and down the hallway!”

“Thanks!” You bound back up the left staircase, and when you got to the top, you realize you didn't see the swordsman anywhere. You had just run down the stairs and then back up them, how had you lost him already?

You didn’t have time to figure out where he went. Honestly, you cared more about his swords than you did about him. You just wanted to see how his blades looked.

His swords were exactly where Perona described. It was as he said: three swords sitting together in the room.

You could feel the energy rolling off of one of them when you opened the door. It was respectable for a swordsman to carry a blade with such a strong personality, but you weren’t interested in a sword with an attitude.

The next one that caught your eye was a sword you never thought you’d see in your lifetime. Shusui, the legendary katana from Wano. The last you heard it had been buried with its previous owner. You unsheathed it and held it out, slashing the air a few times. The balance was perfect, and it almost made you envious of the user. If you didn’t have the sword you possessed now, you would certainly be taking this for yourself.

You sheathed Shusui and turned your attention to the last sword, a white-hilted one. As you bent down to grab it, a strong hand grabbed your shoulder. You quickly turned, unsheathing your own blade and holding its tip out against the perpetrator’s throat.

It was that damn pirate. You had been so caught up in looking at his swords, you hadn’t noticed him come in. He was smirking at you with a brow raised, eyeing the sword in your hand. You rolled your eyes and lowered your sword, scoffing at his cockiness.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, nodding at the blade in your hand. You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously, but handed your blade over to him and then bent down to pick up the white hilted one.

As you examined it, you couldn't help but find it familiar-looking. It was a great sword, and it was made with the finest materials by an extraordinarily skilled blade smith. You were jealous of the man who got to call it his own. Wado Ichimonji, you believed it was called. It wasn’t exactly your style, but you could still admire it nonetheless.

You could hear him gasp behind you, and you turn to look. His fingers reached down to run along the light blue blade as he inspected it.

“Wait-”

He cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and he yanked his hand away from the blade. You could see that his fingers had beads of blood forming on them, cut by the razortooth edges that ran along the flat of your blade.

“Sorry, I forgot to warn you.” You sheathed his blade and walked over to him. You reached out for his hand to examine it for any serious damage, but he yanked it away from you.

You scowled at him, but he continued to inspect your blade, turning it over in his hands. He slashed at the air a few times, and you could feel the waves of air roll over you. If he knew how to actually use the blade to its full capacity, he’d be quite powerful with it. You suspected that the other swords in his possession weren’t by luck.

“Roronoa.” You had been piecing the information together for a while now, and you were fairly certain in your guess of his identity.

“You know me?” He said, eyeing you cautiously.

“I’ve heard of you,” you corrected. Your father occasionally commented on him when he was in the paper, and you knew the story of how he had challenged the Warlord in the East Blue. At the start of the Grand Line, he hadn’t been anything impressive, but over the few months he’d been there, he seemed to have made a name for himself.

“You have a nice blade,” he said, handing it back to you and walking over to pick up his own.

“Nikko,” you say, giving it a quick glance before putting it at your side again. “You have nice ones as well. Except that cursed one. I’m surprised you can handle it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got it under control.”

You nodded back to him, not quite sure you believed him. “Are you planning to stay with us for a while?”

He scoffed at your question. “I’m returning to my captain as soon as I can.”

It’s your turn to laugh now. “Good luck. In your condition, you won’t make it to the coast.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

You snorted at his response, but offered none of your own. With the conversation over, you turned away from him and back to the door to take your leave.

The sound of rock collapsing comes from the swordsman’s direction, and your head whipped back around to see what he’s done now. You just catch a glimpse of moss-colored hair jumping out of a cut opening in the stone.

“You brute!” You screamed down at him as you watched him fall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?”

But he didn’t respond, he just hit the ground and started running.

“Where’d he go?!” Perona’s shrill voice came from beside you. “He’s my ticket off this dump of an island!”

“This dump of an island is my home,” you said, irritated with the bubblegum girl. Maybe it would be better for her to take her leave.

“Enjoy it! I’m leaving with him!” She floated through the opening that Roronoa had made, and began chasing after him.

“Watch out for the-” you shouted as loud as you could, but she was already out of earshot.

You looked up, as if you were mumbling a prayer. “Father, where are you?”

You found them at the wooden cross, surrounded by baboons. You watched from the woods at Roronoa struggling to fight, and as the baboon went in for the kill, you jumped in front of him and sliced the baboon across its chest with Nikko.

“I don’t need you saving me!” You heard the man call from behind you, anger thick in his voice.

“Oh? You don’t?” You turned back to him and sheathed your sword. “Fine then. Do it yourself.”

Most of the baboons had learned to fear you, but this green-haired stranger was no threat to them. Once your sword was put away and walked out of range, they began their attack against him again.

You watched the match in disappointment. You expected better from the man who was supposed to best your father in a sword fight. But this was just pathetic.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Perona screamed at you from above.

“He doesn’t want my help,” you hissed, loud enough for him to hear. “Why don’t you try, Perona?”

“You think I can take those things?!” She squeaked, and you turned your attention back to the fight, just in time to see Roronoa get thrown backwards into the wooden cross.

He hit it with such force that he left an indent on the wooden marker, and then fell face first into the ground. He laid there for a minute, and you grabbed the hilt of your blade, ready to draw if the baboons made an attack.

It wasn’t necessary though, because you finally noticed his presence. You relaxed, clicking Nikko back into its sheath. Only a second later did the baboons notice, and they all began to flee from the area.

Even Perona and Roronoa seemed shocked, and you could see the green-haired swordsman tense at the realization of who was appearing through the fog. He grabbed his cursed blade, using it to pull himself up to his knees.

“You better not do that, Roronoa Zoro,” your father said, eyeing the man before him. “You’ve been injured beyond your limit. Do you think you can beat me when you can’t even beat the baboons?”

You snorted at that, pleased that your father was equally unimpressed with the swordsman. Roronoa Zoro, he called him.

Mihawk’s gold eyes flicked to you, and he frowned. “I thought I told you not to leave the castle while I was away. I expect a full explanation of the events that occurred while I was absent.”

You bit your lip, frustrated with the reprimand, but said nothing. You knew he wouldn’t listen now. He had bigger things to deal with, like the two new houseguests who had appeared while he was gone.

“Why the hell are you here?!” Roronoa demanded, looking at your father.

Your father’s attention moved back to the man on the ground. “I’ve been living in that castle for quite some time. Why are you here?”

“I got blown away by Kuma, a member of the seven warlords like yourself.”

“I see…” Your father looked at you briefly. “Is he telling the truth?”

You nod. “He is.”

“Very well. That explains why Strawhat came to Marineford with other people.”

Roronoa’s eyes got wide at the mention of his captain’s name. “You saw Luffy?! How was he?!? Was he alright?!”

Your father seemed unfazed by the green-haired man’s desperation. “He’s still alive probably. But I assume that he’s been very badly traumatized.”

“What happened?”

“He lost his brother.”

Roronoa blinked. You could see every muscle in his body tighten in anguish. “What did you say?”

“Fire-Fist Ace died before Strawhat’s eyes.”

Everyone stood there for a moment, frozen. You could tell the news had rocked the pirate. His facial expressions were extremely easy to read. He looked confused, angry, helpless, and upset all in the same moment.

After a moment, he struggled to his feet. “I have to go. I have to go find Luffy.”

After the swordsman and Perona took off, your father looked at you with a frown. You knew he was disappointed, but you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to make him feel that way.

“Please explain to me why there are two new people on this island.”

You began walking back towards the castle. “I believe Roronoa is right. Kuma sent them here, separately. There was a pawprint impact zone around Perona when she arrived on the grounds. I did not leave to inspect Roronoa’s site when he arrived a few days later because it was outside of the castle grounds.” You paused for a moment, letting him absorb all of the information. “I didn’t leave the grounds, father.”

“And yet you are off them now,” he shot back.

“They were in danger! I couldn’t-”

“I do not care about the lives of those two. And I do not appreciate you risking your own life to save them.” You heard it as he paused to keep his voice from rising any further. The worry laced in his voice that was initially masked as anger. He took a breath, and his voice returned to his normal cadence when he speaks again.

“Do not do it again.”

You grinned at him, deciding to press your luck. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“You can handle yourself. I am aware of that.”

You laughed lightly, and decide to abandon the topic. You had missed your father desperately while he was gone.

“How was Marineford?” you asked.

“Like I said, the execution was successful.”

“But how was it?” you pressed. Sometimes your father forgot to turn off the whole mystery persona with you.

He hummed, thinking how to describe it. “There were some complications. Mainly Roronoa’s captain. He’s quite a problem for the Navy.”

You chuckled at that. “Runs in the crew, I guess.”

“What do you mean? Has he been a problem?”

You looked at him, irritation on your face. “There's a hole in one of the second story guest bedrooms now. He got irritated with how complicated it was to navigate the castle and just cut his way out.”

Your father frowned. “I see. They’ll be quite troublesome houseguests, won’t they?”

You were so shocked by his response that you stopped in your tracks. “They’re staying?”

“Do you think they’re going to get off this island in their current state?”

You laughed at that question. You had been thinking the same thing. At least someone was of the same mindset as you.

----

Later that night, you heard Perona enter the castle. Based on her grunts of frustration, she was carrying the swordsman. He lasted longer than you thought he would. You chose to lock your bedroom door that night. The last thing you needed was to wake up to a lost, poorly bandaged swordsman barging into your room.

Every morning, you would hear Roronoa scream as he woke up, which prompted Perona to scream in return. The two of them would hobble out of the castle, trying to fight their way to the coast. And every night, long after sunset, Perona would drag the swordsman back into the castle and rebandage his wounds. Just for the cycle to repeat the next day.

You wanted to scream at the mossy-haired man. He would never get anywhere if he didn’t let his injuries heal. If he just rested for one or two days, he might have enough energy to make it. But he refused to rest. The only thing he could think of was his captain.

“How long do you think he’ll keep doing this?” You asked your father, spreading some butter on your toast. You had fallen into a strange pattern over the past two weeks with your houseguests, but you were getting tired of it.

“It is…unclear.” You could hear the disapproval in his voice, and you laughed at it.

“You told the baboons not to kill him, didn’t you?”

You looked over at him inquisitively, but he didn't respond.

“He’s such an arrogant swordsman. Why are you sparing him?”

You were met with silence again, causing you to huff in frustration and pick up the News Coo.

“Oh, you were correct,” you said, looking at the front page. “There’s news of Roronoa’s Captain today on the front page. He’s alive.”

“Let me see!” A girlish squeal came from behind you, startling you. She grabbed the paper out of your hands, staring at it. “I’ll need to show Zoro!”

“Hey! I was reading that!” You screamed after her, but she whisked away without looking back at you.

“There’s still time to go talk to the baboons,” you grumbled as you stood from the table and began to retreat to your room. You could hear your father chuckle behind you, but you didn’t bother looking back.

You spent the day in your room, and were surprised to hear the pink and green-haired combo come back earlier than usual. The sun was still up, and based off of the sounds they were making, the swordsman was still conscious.

You tiptoed down the hall and stood near the base of the stairs, hidden from sight.

“I want to beat you!” You heard Roronoa scream. You decided to peek around the corner to get a better view of what was occurring, and you could see that the swordsman was bowing before your father. It was not a sight you expected to see, especially in conjunction with the words he had just spoken.

Your father laughed at his words. A full, hearty laugh. “You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me? You’re insane. And what you’re asking is nonsense. Even so, what you’re doing is still embarrassing.” But the swordsman stays kneeling, waiting for an answer, and your father watches him with interest. “Seems like you found something more important than your ambition. Hey, ghost girl. Treat him.”

Perona pouted from her place near your father. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

You took the opportunity to step out into view of the room. “I’ll do it,” you offer. “I’ll treat him.”

Your father watched you with his sharp gold eyes, hesitating for a moment. But he nodded in agreement after a brief pause, coming to a decision.

“Very well. The training will begin when you’re recovered.”

“Thank you,” Roronoa said, struggling to stand on his feet. You offered no assistance. If he could not walk to the medical bay on his own, then he did that to himself.

You walked alongside him in silence. He didn't ask for help, and you didn’t offer it. It was a slow and painful walk to the medical room, but the swordsman completed it on his own.

You pulled his bandages off gently, unraveling the long mess of Perona’s handiwork up his arms and down his torso. He had plenty of fresh wounds both internally and externally, but the wound that caught your eye was an old one that ran diagonally across his chest. You were certain the cut was made by Yoru, and your fingers began to run across it to examine it further, but Roronoa smacked your hand away.

“Do you mind?” He hissed, pulling away from you.

You rolled your eyes, but abandon the inspection and walk to the back of the room. As he limped over to the bed, you grab a new roll of bandages and gauze.

“You should shower before we rebandage everything to give it a chance to breathe,” you said, looking through the cabinets. “There’s a bathroom through the second door you can shower in.”

“I showered two days ago,” he said simply, sitting on the bed unmoving.

You paused what you were doing and turned to look at him. “Exactly. Go shower.”

“I don’t need to.”

You frowned. “Yes, you do.”

You heard him suck in a breath of air. “I’m not showering, woman. Rebandage my wounds or leave me alone.”

It was his tone that really irritated you, and Nikko was in your hand before you knew it. You slashed the air, sending a blunt force air cannon to smack him in the back of the head.

“Go shower!” You screamed at him, just as the strike made contact with his head.

You heard him grunt in pain, and quickly resheathe your blade and continue to search for more bandages.

“What the hell?!” he said, looking back at you. But you acted like nothing happened, and you heard him get off the bed and shuffle towards the bathroom to fulfill your request. He was mumbling curses under his breath, but you’d take the win.

It takes him a long time to reemerge from the bathroom, and you picked up the News Coo from this morning to finish reading. You read about Monkey D. Luffy’s 16-bell toll at Marineford, and his honoring the fallen in the battle. There’s a full analysis of whether the pirate was marking the dawn of a new era or if he was declaring war, which you found particularly boring.

You finally heard the click of the door, and the swordsman reappeared from a steam-filled bathroom. You smiled proudly at your small accomplishment, seeing his freshly washed hair fall over his face like strands of algae. He hobbled over to the bed and gently sat down on it. You were still reading the article about his captain and decided to ask him something that had been weighing on your mind.

“What’s with his tattoo?” You asked, looking back to the picture. “3D is crossed out, and 2Y is written.”

“It’s not a tattoo.” He winced slightly as he adjusts himself on the mattress. “It’s a message. We made a promise to meet at a certain place three days later.”

“And that meeting time was moved to two years from now?”

He nodded. “Exactly. Everything else was for publicity. This is a message exclusively for us. Luffy made a decision. Meet at Sabaody in two years.”

“It sounds like your captain is quite smart.”

He snorted at that remark. “He’s not.”

You laughed at his bluntness and put the paper down. At least the swordsman was honest.

You picked up his arm with your hands, and you can feel his strong muscles tense in your grip. “Relax,” you demand. He was always so damn rigid.

You rubbed his forearm, lightly massaging it along upwards to his biceps, and then his shoulder. You worked in silence, besides Roronoa’s occasional groan or your scolding hiss to get him to stop tensing.

By the time you got to his mid-back, he had finally started to loosen up, and you could feel his muscles responding to your touch. You went down to his lower back before curving across and starting on his opposing shoulder to work your way down his other arm.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching you silently as you stayed absorbed in your work. Your father had done this to you hundreds of times over your life. You could only hope it felt as relieving for Roronoa as it did all of the times your father had done it for you.

You stopped when you got to his fingers, and looked up at him. “Do you mind if I bandage your wounds now, Roronoa?”

He stared at you for a moment with a bewildered look in his eyes. You stare back, refusing to look away. Your father always taught you that it showed weakness to look away first. It was better to start out intimidating and then loosen up around others once you knew they were trustworthy. But pirates were rarely trustworthy.

“Zoro,” he choked out, his eyes finally skirting away from yours. “You can call me Zoro. And yes, uh, you can. Do the bandage thing, I mean.”

You nodded and picked up the bandages to begin wrapping his arm. You could hear him huff a frustrated sigh, and you curiously looked over at him.

“Well?” he said, looking at you expectantly.

You felt your eye twitch at his sudden moodiness. “What?” you shot back, matching his energy.

“Are you going to introduce yourself?”

Right. You knew a lot about Roronoa Zoro, but he didn’t know anything about you. You introduced yourself with your name, but didn’t offer any other information.

He accepted that introduction, at least for the moment, and you finish wrapping both of his arms in silence. When you were finished, he flexed under his bandages, and he smiled a bit.

“You’re better at this than that other girl.”

You laughed at that, starting on his torso area. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“What did you do before you got here?”

You paused, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, messing up a piece of your wrap and forcing you to start over. “Didn’t Kuma send you here too? Like me and Perona?”

“Oh. No,” you clarified. “I’ve been living on Gloom Island for about seven years now.”

“Seven years?”

You nodded and kept wrapping, but Roronoa didn’t let the conversation go. “What have you been doing for seven years?”

“Training, I guess. Reading. Exploring the island.”

He tensed. “But the baboons…”

You shot him a look. “Stop tensing or it’ll be too tight on you. The baboons aren’t anything to worry about. There’s only one or two on the island I have some trouble with.”

“Tch. Whatever you say.” You could tell he thinks you’re lying, but you don’t care. You finished wrapping his torso and gave him one last check-over to make sure the bandages all held.

“Why Dracule Mihawk?” you finally ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean?”

“Why train under him? Why work to defeat him?”

His eyes narrowed at you, as if he was trying to comprehend what you were asking. “He’s the best, isn’t he?”

You nod, and the swordsman gets a wicked grin across his face.

“I’m going to beat him and the best. My name is going to be so famous, it’ll reach the heavens.”

“I see,” you said slowly, watching him. You could see in his expression that he means it, and he’ll stop at nothing to reach his goal. You went to take your leave, stopping at the door and turning to look at him one last time.

“Then I wish you luck in that journey, Zoro.”

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #one piece self insert #zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #cozage #TMTGIG #✧˚zoro✧˚

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butcherlarry · 20 days

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Weekly Fic Recs 65

I've been hesitant to do this, but I'm going to start tagging authors (and artists!) who I rec in these lists, if they are on Tumblr (and if I can find their blog and know for certain it's them). If I tag you and you do not want to be tagged for future reference, please let me know! If you see your fic on the list and notice you are not tagged properly, again, please let me know! I really enjoy the fics and the art inspired by the fics (and vice versa!), so I figured this is to let authors and artists know that I really enjoy the stories and art they create, and to let others know where they can go to support them!

More Than I Bargained For by Run_of_the_mill - Superbat, complete. An AU where Bruce and Kal travel the universe with their adopted alien son, Dick :)

Preening for Flight by Elegitre @elegitre - Batfam, complete. I LOVE wingfics, so I was SO EXCITED to see this one! Tim needs to preen his wings, Bruce is there to help

tiger by the tail by pomeloquat @pomeloquat - Superbat, complete. I think I've recced this fic before, but I saw @sreppub excellent art of Bruce with cat ears, so that inspired me to read this fic again!

you fall from the sky with several flowers by starshotplagues - Superbat, collection of small stories. Some short Superbat stories! The last one has Bruce with cat ears again, I think I have a theme going on...

Hey look, friend's material by Speechless_since_1998 @mylifeisfruk4ever - Batfam, complete. Young Tim makes a friend. He found him hiding in his house. Bruce has some questions, like "why is this new friend hiding in Tim's house" and "why is he a clone of Superman?"

The Day the Cough Took Over by Elegitre - Batfam, complete. Tim gets sick, Bruce is there to help. Tim is confused (but pleased) about this :)

Patchwork Pod by KtKat9 @ktkat99 - Superbat & Batfam, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! Jason finds out about his parentage and Cass has some questions about how human Clark came to be a parent to all these mer children

a face full or rain by HuntedPrincess @huntedprincess - Superbat, wip. An AU of The Batman movie. Investigative journalist Clark Kent and Detective Kurt Malone (aka Bruce) are looking into the disappearance of Annika Kosolov.

unexpected scoops by sky_of_starflowers - Superbat, complete. Clark finds an injured Harley Quinn sitting on his couch in his apartment. It's ok though! Batman said she could crash there. Shenanigans ensue.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus @vinelark - Timkon, wip. A 5+1 fic where Superboy rescues Tim, and Tim rescues Superboy one time. I love the identity shenanigans (Tim knows who Superboy is but Kon doesn't know Tim is Robin), Kon inadvertently helping the batfam with their family issues (FAKE UNCLE?? REALLY TIM??), and Tim interacting with his siblings (drunk Tim getting a ride from Red Hood was GREAT). I started reading this fic and fell behind on the updates, but @januariat 's AMAZING ART helped me to catch up again! There is also a lot of other excellent art created by other talented artist linked at the bottom of each chapter, so be sure to check those out too!!!

Happy reading!

#weekly fic recs #fic recs #fic rec #fanfic recs #fanfiction rec list #fanfiction recommendations #superbat #batman #bruce wayne #batfam #superman #clark kent #timkon #tim drake #conner kent

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months

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Problem Child: Angel Reyes x Reader

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Sequel to Valeria

Ten minutes…

Ten minutes is what you allow yourself to grieve, to cry, to feel all of the emotions that are coursing through your system in the aftermath of the revelation that Angel has a daughter.

It’s agony, this feeling in your chest. You’ve felt it before after your Nana died and you feel it again as you sit in your car outside of Angel’s house. Your chest’s tight, and you think about that baby, left all alone on the porch, the same way you were all those years ago.

Anything could have happened. Someone else could have taken her, the two of you may have decided to go out instead, Angel may have come over to yours. Lord knows how long she could have been out there. These are the thoughts that ramble through your head as you sit there with both hands on the steering wheel staring straight ahead.

There is no doubt that the baby is Angel’s. You’ve seen pictures of him as a child and Valeria is the spitting image of him. You wonder where this leaves the two of you, if Skylar genuinely couldn’t cope or if she did this to teach him a lesson.

She’s your problem now… The letter had read.

Barely a couple of weeks old and already labelled a problem.

You think your mother must have said something similar to your Nana when she’d dropped you off.

You wipe the tears away from your cheeks with the back of your hand, before tilting the rearview mirror to face you. You stare back at your reflection and take a deep breath.

You know what you have to do, someone needs to take control because you know right now that Angel isn’t in a condition to do it. You can’t imagine what this must feel like for him, you know he’s not going to cope, not on his own. He needs some stability, someone who can remain firm, who can guide him when he falters.

You pick up your phone and thumb through the contacts until you find the name that you’re searching for.

“Felipe. It’s me.” You say when he picks up the phone. “Angel needs you.”

***

You’re not coming back. Angel knows that and it devastates him. It feels like his whole life is crashing down around his head, like he can’t catch a second to breath. He cradles the baby to his chest, his lips brushing over her soft skin. He has to push all of that aside, he has to think about Valeria because she has to be his priority right now.

His gaze comes to rest on his father. Felipe is seated at the kitchen table, the letter from Skylar clasped in his hands as he studies it.

“Lila’s not coming back.” Angel says quietly.

“Give her time.” Felipe says as he sets the letter down. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Angel shakes his head because he knows this is too much. He can’t ask you to take on a baby. The two of you have never talked about kids. He didn’t know if you wanted them or not. He figured there would be plenty of time to figure that out later.

He’s surprised when he hears the key in the lock. You mutter a curse as your hip bumps against the door handle, crossing over the threshold with a bassinet tucked under your arm and several bags filled with God knows what.

“Give Valeria here.” Felipe says, raising to his feet and reaching out for the baby. “Go help her.”

He’s already in motion, his heart thudding against his rib cage as he catches one of the bags just as it slips from your grasp. He takes note of the diapers and formula, before he takes the bassinet from you.

“I managed to get this stuff from Carmen, she keeps a bunch of it aside for new parents who are struggling to make ends meet.” You explain as you haul the other bags with you into the kitchen. “Bishop was there, he had a lot of questions, but I told him you’d call him tomorrow. He seemed to be ok with that.”

Angel doesn’t even know where to begin. The words catch in his throat and there’s an ache in his chest as he looks at you because even now, you’re still taking care of him, not just him but Valeria too.

“I think we have everything we need for tonight.” You say as you set the bags down on the table. “I can get the rest of the stuff on my list when the stores open up in the morning.”

“I thought…”

“I needed a minute.” You tell him quietly. “You know what happened to me, Valeria being dropped off like that…” You don’t have to say anything else. Angel gets it and so does Felipe. “I want to be there for her and for you. I want to be part of this little family.”

“Are you sure?” he asks you quietly, his thumb tracing over the blush of your cheek.

You nod your head before your arms wrap around his waist and you draw him close. It feels good to have you back in his arms, he finds the gesture reassuring. You’ve always been a port in a storm for him and the fact you’re here right now soothes him more than he would ever admit to anybody else.

“Yea.” You tell Angel, your fingertips toying with the buttons on his shirt. “I want this, I want this with you.”

“Ok Mi Reina.” Angel murmurs as a smile ghosts across his lips. “Let’s do it. Let’s be a family.”

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remuswriting · 1 month

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MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN; MIYA ATSUMU

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

WORD COUNT: 1,950 words

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

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

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And? Get in the truck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N hums. “Yes, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

Y/N chuckles. “Yes, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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