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sashaisready · 4 months

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The ‘You’ Problem - One Shot

Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader

*bangs clipboard* ONE BED! ONE BED! ONE BED!

Guys…I threw this together today on a whim. Apologies in advance for the utterly self indulgent fluff with a bit of smut thrown in for good measure. You’ve got all my fave tropes here - one bed, forced proximity, misunderstandings and bad communication, grumpy and sunshine..

In my mind this is Beefy!Bucky (CW era Bucky) but you are of course invited to envisage your favourite Bucky. There is a slightly silly plot point about him being thicc (lmao). Reader is female, not physically described.

I hope you enjoy!! ❤️

warnings: bit’o’smut

Wordcount: around 4.4k (lol)

🛏️

You could see his face fall as he opened the door. Your eyes followed his past the safe house entrance and inside through to the open plan cabin.

All on one floor. A small kitchenette, basic but seemingly clean at least. A cheap, plastic dining table with a few dingy chairs tucked into the far corner. A crumpled leather sofa that had seen better days. A battered old door at the rear that you assumed lead to the bathroom (you hoped, anyway). A large fireplace with a basket of logs next to it - merciful after a long trek out in the cold air. And- Oh.

Oh.

A double bed in the middle of the space.

A bed. As in…singular. One.

It didn’t take a Mathematician to work out the equation of two people plus one bed and what that equalled.

Especially when one of those people seemed particularly prickly towards the other, for reasons the other didn’t fully understand.

Tonight would be the most awkward night’s sleep of your life.

“Great…” growled Bucky sarcastically as he reluctantly crossed the threshold, dropping the duffle bags of equipment by the fireplace.

“Hmm, homely” you chirped, hoping a joke might ease the tension. Of course he didn’t respond.

You dropped your gaze as he began stripping his tactical gear off, piling it onto the arm of the couch. He tugged off his boots and wordlessly headed to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

You sighed heavily. He must’ve said ten words to you in total on this mission. The mission itself had gone well, at least. You had got the intel you needed and neither of you had been compromised in the process. You had got in and out. As a SHIELD agent you didn’t normally work with the Avengers directly in the field, but Stark and Steve had put you on this one with Bucky because of his stealth skills and your knowledge of tech and a particular comms device that was difficult to master - even for the best heroes in the biz.

You knew them all. Well. Ish. You saw them around the tower. Helped them with surveillance and intel. Most of them were sweet and chatty, nothing like the mythical, two-dimensional hero figures the media portrayed them to be. Sure, they were brilliant at what they did but they were also warm. Flawed. Human. Steve was a sweetie, Tony was an egomaniac but he could hold a conversation at least. Nat was a great ally to have but an even better friend. Sam made you laugh like nobody else. They were your friends.

Well. Almost all of them.

Bucky had never really…well…warmed to you. You remember the first day Steve had introduced you both, you had eagerly outstretched your hand to shake his and you watched as his nervous eyes flitted between your hand and Steve. He finally took it reluctantly, muttering a hello as he quickly dropped your hold and stormed off.

And that was that. You had tried to get to know him but he simply wasn’t interested. He’d only speak to you if he absolutely had to for work, grunted if you asked him something and seemed to do everything in his power to keep a wide berth between the two of you. At first you assumed it was because of what he’d been through, brainwashed assassins carrying the weight of their trauma are hardly known for their perky attitude and charismatic social skills. Maybe he just had a problem with people...

But you soon noticed he wasn’t really like that with anyone else. Sure, he was prickly and a bit sarcastic, but he engaged. He talked. He laughed. God, you loved his laugh. Sweet. Unencumbered. Slightly dorky. It made you smile on the rare occasions you were lucky enough to hear it.

He would squabble with Sam. Bond with Steve. Train with Nat. You thought maybe it was because you were just an agent, but he was better with the others. Always reserved, sure, but he’d chat to your SHIELD colleagues. He’d ask them for help with the tech. You were pretty sure he flirted with Emily, another agent on your team, and you couldn’t ignore the quiet thrum of jealousy in your stomach when you heard them chatting animatedly about pizza toppings or that time you caught her sliding her hand over his vibranium arm..

…no. He didn’t seem to have a people problem. Just a ‘you’ problem.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to upset him, and you were too embarrassed to ask Steve in case you looked whiny and desperate. It wasn’t really a good look for a SHIELD agent to pathetically ask an Avenger why his friend didn’t like her. This wasn’t high school.

You had a reputation for being a bit sunshine-y. You were always quite cheery at work, doing your best to put a brave face on and inject optimism where you could. It was just how you’d always been. It kept you going. Service with a smile. The world was a dark place, and you figured a little extra light was no bad thing. Maybe Bucky took offence to it, writing you off as a perky airhead. Maybe he’d seen too much death and destruction to see the world the way you did, and you simply annoyed him because of it.

Only the man himself knew the real reason. You’d accepted you may never be sure. So you did your best to work with him, pretending not to notice his snarky comments and unimpressed looks. Smiling through your pain like always. Generally it was easy, you didn’t spend much time with him anyway.

…Until you were stuck on a mission with him. Waiting for the quinjet in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a tiny cabin in the dead of winter, with one bed and only the man who hated you for company.

The man you also had a teensy bit of a crush on, too. Yes, it wasn’t ideal to crush on the one person who seemed to loathe you, but clearly you were a dumbass.

You were rudely pulled from your thoughts by a loud spluttering and spitting noise. It took you a second to realise it must be the cabin’s creaky pipes warming up, so Bucky was showering. You did your best not to think about him all naked and soaped up and wet and-

You flung your laptop open and got to work uploading the files from the mission, sending your report over to head office and sending a quick summary to Stark. At least there was signal out here. Working is good. Only productive thoughts. No room for shower thoughts.

You were so engrossed in your emails that you didn’t hear the bathroom door swing open behind you.

“Bathroom’s free” said a gruff voice that made you jump in surprise.

You whipped around to face him and did your best to keep your eyes from falling out of your head when you were faced with Bucky fresh from the shower. Small water droplets ran down his chiselled chest, his long hair damp and falling in soft tendrils, a perfectly prominent ‘V’ pointing down to you-know-where, all topped off with the tiniest towel known to man clinging to his hips. The hardest working piece of fabric you’d ever seen.

You felt your face flush and nodded overly enthusiastically.

“G-great, thanks” you mumbled.

He seemed to oblivious to your discomfort so you took that moment to dash to the bathroom yourself, leaning against the door after you’d closed it and doing your best to keep it together. You just needed to get through the night. The quinjet was coming to get you in the morning. You could do this. You could survive tiny towels and fresh soaped abs until then.

You took your sweet time showering, ignoring the mildewy tiles and inconsistent water temperature to spend as much time hidden in the bathroom as possible. You finally admitted defeat and emerged, drying yourself with one of the threadbare towels and changing into some sweats.

“Was about to contact HQ and tell them you’d drowned in the bathroom” Bucky deadpanned as you re-entered the main cabin. He didn’t look up, his eyes locked on his phone as he laid on the bed. Bucky in bed. He was dressed in dark sweats, the fresh smell emanating from him almost intoxicating.

“I just…like to be clean after a mission” you replied, your voice slightly wobbly.

He nodded, his eyes flickering up to yours. “Yeah, I get that” he mumbled.

This was probably the most you’d spoken to each other all afternoon. You suppressed your surprise.

“You tired?” He asked, his tone almost interrogating. He seemed wide awake. You supposed super soldiers didn’t really need as much sleep as mere mortals did.

“Mm. A little” you responded, trying to appear nonchalant and not show how desperate you were to curl up and pass out. Not that you thought you could in such close proximity to him.

In an attempt to appear relaxed you stretched your arms and inadvertently knocked a little wooden pinecone ornament off the small side table next to you. It flew almost comically across the room, bouncing on the floor and smashing against the kitchen cabinet (thankfully remaining intact).

The silence was heavy. Bucky raised an eyebrow as you quickly scuttled and retrieved it, hastily putting it back in place. You could’ve sworn his face betrayed a sliver of amusement but it quickly moulded back to his standard-issue stoicism.

“They confirmed that the jet will be here at 0730 tomorrow” he murmured, looking back at his phone.

The fact he hadn’t acknowledged your faux pas made it even more embarrassing. You nodded quickly and tried to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks.

Fortunately the evening progressed with no other embarrassments. You both had a dinner of instant noodles in silence, then spent some time separately tying up the loose ends on your respective mission duties - sending emails, debriefing Steve on the phone. You don’t think Bucky smiled even once.

Your heart thumped in your chest as it got later and darker, until you could no longer avoid the elephant in the room.

However it was Bucky who raised it, nipping it in the bud with his trademark pragmatism.

“I’ll take the couch” he said sternly. “You can have the bed”.

“Oh…thanks. But it’s okay, if you want the bed-” you started to protest but he cut you off.

“It’s fine” he barked.

You couldn’t deny that avoiding the awkwardness of having to share a bed was a relief, although a small part of you felt a tiny bit disappointed.

“There’s only one blanket…” you said warily as your eyes scanned the cabin for something you may have missed…a blanket basket..a linen closet, anything…

“Don’t need one” he quickly dismissed as he laid down on his back atop the couch, wriggling his body against the cushions to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands over his chest. You couldn’t resist stealing a peek. He looked so angelic with his eyes closed. So much softer and sweeter than he normally did. You swallowed a gasp and quickly turned away before he caught you.

You took that as your cue to climb into the bed, shivering slightly as you pulled the shabby blanket tightly against you. The fire Bucky had lit in the fireplace earlier had finally burnt out, and you were suddenly very aware of how cold it was between these four wooden walls.

“Night” you said gently as you switched off the beside lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness.

Bucky merely grunted and you heard him roll over onto his side, the couch creaking painfully under his weight. Well, he was a big guy.

You squeezed your eyes shut and did your best to fall asleep quickly, not wanting to think too hard about how the most handsome man you’d ever met was sleeping mere feet away from you. A braver version of you would be honest about how you really felt, using this close proximity to ask him directly what his issue with you was. An even braver version would use this opportunity to move over to the sofa and stroke his hair from his eyes and lean over and-

But you were a coward.

You would likely never be alone with him like this ever again, and here you were wimping out and cowering in bed. Typical.

You realised you could still hear the couch creaking. It seemed to be getting louder. That was odd. Bucky wasn’t even moving. What even was that? It sounded like…something cracking?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud snapping sound, then a huge crash and then eventually Bucky yelling. You’re suddenly frantic, in panic mode as you immediately assumed the safe house has been compromised and the two of you had somehow been tracked. You fling yourself out of bed, grabbing the pistol you stashed by the nightstand and practically smashing the lamp switch, ready to take down whoever has broken in.

As the cabin is illuminated you’re stunned by sight in front of you.

Bucky is laying on the floor, his face like thunder as he scowls and curses. The couch is…somehow…cut perfectly in two, sliced down the middle.

“What the…?” You stammer as you lower your gun and take in the scene.

Bucky suddenly sits up and leans over, assessing the wreckage.

“It’s goddam termites!!” He spits.

“Huh??” You utter, struggling to make sense of what’s going on.

“Termites!!” He yells again, angrily gesturing at where the couch has split.

You lean in and can now see the jagged edges of the exposed wooden frame, huge holes dotted along the structure. Yep, he was right - termites.

“They’ve clearly been eating away at this old-ass couch for some time, it must’ve finally given up” he says furiously. His vibranium fingers squeeze into a fist and he angrily punches through some of the remaining chewed-up frame.

You did your best. Truly you did. But nothing could stop the wave of laughter that bubbled out of you in that moment. The image of Bucky in a heap on the floor…the deafening crash…the ridiculous debris of the couch…the fear of intruders…it was simply all too much. You threw your head back and laughed. Your laughter was a runaway train, impossible to stop. It wasn’t just the absurdity of the tableau in front of you…it was all of the tension and awkwardness that had been brewing between you and Bucky. All of your stress. The laugh was a cathartic release of all of it.

Bucky scowled as he got to his feet. “It’s not that funny…” he muttered.

“I’m sorry..I’m sorry…” you managed to yelp as you caught your breath. “I thought…I thought we were under attack, I drew…drew my gun and everything. But it was just…just…” you inhaled sharply. “It was just…your big super soldier ass smashing up the couch”.

Bucky’s eyes widened at that. You watched the anger darken his features before the corner of his mouth rolled up into a smirk. The smirk became a smile. The smile became a grin. The grin became a laugh. He was laughing!! Bucky was actually laughing!!

“Who you callin’ big ass?” He sneered, although the playfulness was clear as day.

That only made you laugh harder.

You both stood there and laughed until your eyes watered and your sides hurt, eventually running out of steam. Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with disdain.

“You think they could spring for a Holiday Inn or something” he scoffed. “I know it’s slim pickings out in the middle of nowhere, but surely they could find something better than this shitbox”.

You chuckled. “Tony cheaping out I guess. But it’s kinda cosy at least…”

Bucky scoffed again. “Why do you always do that?” He said accusingly.

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Try to…put a positive spin on everything. Sometimes things just suck and that’s okay”.

You blanched, surprised. He’d never asked you anything like that before. “Well…uh…it’s just who I am I guess. Keeps me going”.

He studied you carefully. “Well…okay. But as long as you know it’s okay to just let something be shitty. You don’t always have to put on a brave face”.

Your eyes widened, surprised at the tenderness in his tone. “I’m not…putting it on. It’s just…me”.

He nodded. You realised this was your one chance. You had to take it.

“Is that why…you’re always so cold to me? You think I’m some phoney pretending the world is all sunshine and rainbows” you asked hesitantly.

He blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that.

“Huh?”

“C’mon, don’t insult my intelligence, Bucky. We both know you’re not exactly my best friend” you prodded.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been kinda a jerk. I guess I’m not really used to people like you…and I don’t know how to be”.

“People like me…?”

He smirked. “Optimists”.

“Oh…”

“It’s nothing personal” he continued. “I guess with my background…I just…don’t really come across too many peppy people in our line of work. I find it hard to get my head around. But it’s my problem…not yours”.

You nodded, taken aback by his candour. “Alright…I get that. But…I haven’t ever done anything to you. And I’d like it if we could maybe say more than five words to each other over an eight hour mission…”

He grimaced. “Yeah. Look…I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to take my issues out on you. Can we start over? Try again?”

His voice was hopeful. He sounded genuine. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement of this new progress swirl in your tummy.

You smiled. “Yeah. That would be good. Thanks”.

He nodded, smiling back at you. “Okay. Let’s talk more about it tomorrow…But for now we probably should get some sleep. It’s late”.

He sighed wearily and sat back on the floor, stretching out and laying on his back.

You watched this, baffled. “What…are you doing?”

He looked up at you in annoyance. “What does it look like?” He said sarcastically.

“It…looks like you’re sleeping on the hard floor with no blankets or pillows”.

“Well I can’t sleep on the broken couch can I…”

“Just get into the bed” you sighed

He sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed. We can share. We’re both adults aren’t we? Serum or not, you’re not getting any sleep on that wooden floor. Plus, it’s freezing in here”.

He tilted his head. “And you’re sure you’re okay with that? Because I can sleep here just fine…I’ve had worse”

You shrugged, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You walked back over to the bed and pulled the covers back as you hopped back in.

“Sure. Just try not to break this too, okay big ass?” You replied playfully. “Tony will end up sending us a bill if you keep wrecking the joint.”

He rolled his eyes as he relented, strolling over and flopping onto the other side of the bed. “Whatever. But if you snore I will wake you up”.

You grinned, delighted at the shift in atmosphere. Maybe Bucky would never like you the way you liked him, but if you had a chance at being his friend you would take that. You would grasp it with both hands and never let go.

Once you both settled down and you switched off the lamp for the second time that night, your head hit the pillow and you did your best to fall asleep. You tried to ignore the sheer heat radiating from the heavy body next to you. You didn’t really get up close and personal with Bucky so had no idea he ran this hot. Serum thing, you guessed. The mattress sagged under the weight of his bulk and you were painfully aware of how close you were to him, his back to you. You could’ve barely reached out and easily brushed his fingers. His thick shoulders were right there. His strong thighs were just by you. His beautiful blue eyes were resting beneath his eyelids. You felt your mouth go dry and squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep and rescue your mind from this psychic torment.

Unfortunately the cabin’s poor insulation quickly made itself known and soon all you could think about was how cold you were. How did this place only have one blanket?? You couldn’t even wrap yourself up in it properly because Bucky had half. You fantasised about endless duvets and comforters, fluffy pillows and hot water bottles. Electric blankets and knitted quilts.

You were debating getting up and going to try find another layer of clothing in your pack when Bucky’s grumpy voice interrupted.

“Can you keep still? Jeez”.

You realised then that you were shivering. The trembling of your limbs was causing you to shake, gently rocking the bed.

“I’m sorry…it’s cold okay?” You hissed in the dark.

“Oh c‘mon…” he sneered.

“We aren’t all super soldiers!!” You spat, clenching your teeth together to stop them chattering. “I’m not a human bonfire like you”.

“Ugh. So dramatic. Come’ere” he groaned.

Before you could fully compute he rolled over and pulled you into his arms, nestling you in his grasp.

You had become the little spoon.

“Uh…” you eked out in surprise.

“Shut up and go to sleep” he scolded lightly. “You can’t still be cold now…”

You shook your head, your brain short circuiting. It was as if every possible thought had left you all at once. You felt the dual sensation of metal and flesh hug your torso, the warmth of his breath by your ear. And oh god the heat. The heat.

You laid perfectly still as if any sudden movements would startle him and shake him out of this. You heard his breathing deepen suddenly and at first you thought he was falling asleep…but then you felt it.

It indeed.

There was something hard pressing into your bottom.

You felt your face flush. Your mouth fell agape. He knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t an accident. A flash of boldness hit you like a lightning bolt, his audaciousness igniting something within you. You couldn’t process what this meant right now, you just had to ride the wave, so to speak. He rocked into you a little harder. You had to make it clear that you knew what this was. So you experimentally pushed your hips back against his. You were cautious, a slow manoeuvre at first to test the water. He grunted, then slowly moved himself forward once more, pressing himself harder against you. You pushed back again, uttering a small moan which he reciprocated with his own. You did this for a little while, pressing against each other and finding a rhythm. The only sounds were your clothes swishing against the sheets and a quiet chorus of whimpers and groans. No words were spoken.

He carefully snaked his vibranium arm around you and you shuddered as he raised your shirt, walking his fingers down across your bare stomach to your hips, daringly pulling back the waistband of your sweats. He took his time, his breath dense against your ear as you closed your eyes and felt the cool metal trace your scorching skin beneath.

His digits toyed with the side of your underwear with painful slowness, his breathing quickening as he continued to rock his bulge into your backside. You could only whine as his fingers finally breached the fabric and made their way inside. He groaned heavily into your neck as he found the readiness of your essence, viscous and dripping from his fingers as he traced further and further in. You whimpered as he finally put you out of your misery and found your clit, expertly toying with it but applying enough pressure to build and build and build…

You rocked eagerly against his hand as he slipped one metal finger inside of you. Then two. All in rhythm with the thrust of your hips in time with his. His circling increased suddenly, his fingers continued to pump and you gasped as you reached your peak, finally reaching the top and plummeting off the edge, your voice hoarse and laboured as you cried out into the dark cabin, the stars of your climax both dizzying and intoxicating.

He held you close as you fell back down to earth, still not a word spoken by either of you. Nothing had needed to be said. He gently removed his hand from your panties and cupped your chin, wrenching your face to his and gifting you the sweetest, softest kiss you’d ever experienced. His lips brushing yours with tenderness and care. A stark contrast to the salacious way he’d touched you.

“I haven’t been entirely honest…” he spoke into the dark, his voice hoarse and strained with lust.

You stroked his cheek fondly. “Mm?”

“It wasn’t just your…optimism” he told you as he kissed you again. “I…I couldn’t handle the way I felt about you. I always liked you…always wanted you. From that very first moment Steve introduced us. I was a goner. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t know how to talk to you. So I purposefully put space between us. It was immature, I know” he sighed.

You smiled into the dark, your head reeling from all the ways the world had changed in the last hour. Your heart exploding after finally hearing the words you’d longed for. The words you’d never expected to actually hear.

“You’re so soft…and sweet. I like the way you try and see the good in everything. It makes me wanna be less of a grumpy asshole. And you make me laugh. The way you sent that pinecone flying earlier…” he chuckled. “You’re utterly ridiculous. You know that?”

You grinned. “You didn’t laugh!! It made it so much worse that you didn’t laugh…”

He sniggered. “I’m sorry. Look. I wanted to. I just didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you”.

You giggled, touched by the strange but well meaning logic.

“Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?” He asked softly, his hand lazily running up your thigh.

“Bucky…”

“Yeah, doll?”

“The quinjet will be here in a few hours. So you better get started on that apology…”

You felt his smile in the dark as his lips touched yours again, one arm pulling you into him as the other began to tug down your sweats.

“You’re on doll, you’re on”.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader #beefy!bucky

151 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 8 months

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about names: the wingman of maranello || cl16 scenario (2)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

PART TWO OF ABOUT NAMES SCENARIO SERIES

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful.

Scenario summary: With his brothers coming down to sickness, Jules Leclerc travelled to Italy with his father and Uncle Arthur prior to his next karting event before them as he learned more about the ‘Wingman of Maranello’ — his namesake Jules Bianchi.

Content warning: FLUFF!!!!! What is beta reading we write with no sense of proper grammar or transitions, kids' sickness, heavily mentions Jules Bianchi (+ Jules being a good sport and matchmaker), feel-good vibes, OC (Teague; OFC's relative), Uncle Arthur Leclerc is quite unattentive, possible use of explicit language, poorly translated French and Italian(?)

Note: I have two papers due in the next two weeks lmao. Enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

Charles and Aimee always thought that if it hadn’t been for their jobs, their kids wouldn’t have the chance of catching a case of stomach flu from countless germs in their school.

They were meant to travel to Italy a week before the eldest Leclerc twins’ karting tournament occurring at the track in Maranello — but it seemed like PJ Leclerc’s class had another plan in mind. Now, two days after his last class of the week, he and his brothers Hervé, Anthoine and Alain (age two) were sulking at home.

They weren’t allowed to travel to Italy until they felt better — after all, the parents didn’t want to be running around with kids who look sickly and would probably throw up every other minute.

Hervé, out of the four boys, took that information to heart though. He was supposed to be with his twin brother as he, too, was going to compete in the karting event — with Arthur acting as his coach. He was excited to travel with his Da and Jules, but he started showing signs of a weak stomach.

Aimee had promised that if he got better before the race they’d be able to travel to where Charles and Jules were. It was just a translation to, “Listen to Maman and drink your tea, eat your soup and take your medicine” but they’d decided to put it in a nicer way to avoid dealing with a stubborn seven year old.

But as Jules placed his bag down after packing up, Hervé’s scowl turned light. His face was pale, but his face showed a lot about how he felt about his twin leaving.

Neither of the parents were paying attention to the two though. Arthur was somewhere in the house, saying goodbye to his younger nephews PJ and the twins.

“Mon cœur,” Charles started, making Aimee hum as she washed the soup bowls. There was no right time to ask his question especially if he asked his wife this but it was a shot worth taking. “Since it’s just Artie, J and I heading there for the week I’m thinking—“

“Uh oh, that’s a bad sign,” Aimee joked, now rinsing the dishes. Charles chuckled and rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter next to the sink and his wife. He proceeded with his suggestion.

“What if we took the Pista to Maranello instead?”

It was like his world stopped. Quite literally.

Turning off the tap, Aimee’s grin faded as she scowled heavily in the direction of her husband. Charles’s usually widened eyes shrunk small as Aimee continued to bore her eyes into his pair.

It was a bad idea to bring up his sports car overall.

With a scoff, she then said, “I want you to say those words slowly and understand what you just said.”

“Okay…” He nodded.

“Then I want you to think about how stupid that sounds,” Aimee smiled grimly. Yikes. He was a footstep away from being banished from his own bedroom.

“Okay,” he said regardless.

“Don’t be stupid,” Aimee warned him, “you know that the Pista isn’t for the kids.”

“I know,” Charles told her, his voice now hitting an octave as he defended, “to be fair, I wouldn’t put the kids in your McLaren either.”

“Darling,” Aimee laughed humourlessly, “we were thinking of two different things; I thought that they shouldn’t be allowed to ride it because it’s dangerous and you said that it was a McLaren not a Ferrari. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Right, alright,” Charles said with a shrug, “it was just an idea.”

“An idea that isn’t even worth looking at,” Aimee shook her head, “take the Aston or something— just don’t take any of the two seater ones. Do not ever let Jules sit on Arthur’s lap on a two-seater— he has to have a seat belt, Charles. If I find out that you took either of the Pista or McLaren I will come after your head— and you’re my husband. But I won’t hesitate to be a goddamn Black Widow if—“

“Okay, geez,” Charles interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “don’t need to threaten me. Still your husband, mon cœur.”

“Not going to be anymore if you do what you just said,” Aimee gave him a smile. It was a rather threatening one, and Charles should do anything but contest what he was told.

Meanwhile Jules stood there and awkwardly patted his brother’s head as he said, “Tu te rendras à la course, Herb.” You’ll make it to the race, Herb.

Hervé grumbled and continued to sulk, “I hope so. Tia said that Louis is going to be there. And je n'aime pas perdre contre Louis.” I don’t like to lose to Louis.

“Eh,” Jules shrugged nonchalantly, “you know what Maman said once? Uh… don’t take it personal? Is that what she said?”

Hervé nodded as his twin brother continued, “Louis me taquine aussi. Je m'en fiche parce que maman a dit que je ne devrais pas me soucier des gens qui se moquent de moi. Cela m'empêche seulement d'aller plus vite dans la course.” Louis teases me too. I don’t care much because Maman said I shouldn’t mind people who make fun of me. It only stops me from going faster in the race.

Despite being a twin, one of the things that differed Jules from Hervé was his level headed trait. It wasn’t as if he never showed any form of emotion to anything worth reacting to, but he seemed to reason more than Hervé.

Everyone around them was quick to notice this and easily pointed out that he took this rational approach from Aimee, while Hervé got his sensitivity from Charles.

Still, Jules approached things differently than his twin — and his attempt to convince Hervé to see the things he’s seeing was something that most school aged children wouldn’t do.

“So,” Jules told Hervé, “make it to the race not because of him. Remember! Auntie Vie raced for fun! Not because she wants to fight Uncle Max!”

“Hm,” Hervé nodded, but kept his head down nonetheless. The eldest Leclerc boy looked up and murmured, “My stomach still hurts, J.”

“Ah, I’ll tell Maman,” Jules nodded, “why are you up if your stomach hurts anyway?”

“Alors je peux demander à Maman si je peux venir avec vous les gars,” so I can ask Maman if I can go with you guys. Hervé grumbled, tucking his legs in his hoodie as he groaned. “Ugh.”

A four hour drive to their accommodation in Maranello and a quick trip to the Ferrari headquarters after Charles, Arthur and Jules Leclerc were found in Charles’s in-site office. Or rather, Charles was somewhere in the facility having a meeting with the PR team and Carlos while his son and brother were in his office.

Jules kept rolling over the chair from the desk to his Uncle Arthur, growing bored of the lack of things to do inside his father’s office. Arthur was just sitting there, his eyes hovering over his phone as he continued to browse through his twitter.

“Da should have just left me with Maman,” Jules sighed, his head slumped against Charles’s desk.

Arthur hummed, not paying full attention towards the boy as Jules sighed in annoyance.

Arthur wasn’t paying attention to him and Jules decided to mess with him a little, “Da could just drop me off the street and let me race by myself.”

Nothing but an utter “Mhm” escaped Arthur’s mouth.

“I’m bored, Uncle Art.”

Still nada.

“Herb said that he should have had Auntie Vie or Uncle Max coach him instead of you.”

It was as if Arthur got a whiplash as his mouth gaped open at the boy’s comment. “Jules, is that true?”

Jules shrugged, “No.”

“Then why say that if it’s not true,” Arthur exclaimed and heaved a sigh dramatically, “you scared me.”

“Because I’m booooored~” Jules whined, spinning himself while he sat on the chair of his father’s office. “Da left me here with nothing!”

“Tell you what,” Arthur started, “why don’t we take a look around the floor and see if you can find the LaFerrari car to ride in? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you borrow it and drive around the office.”

“Fine~” Jules hopped off the seat, not even bothering to wait for his uncle as he ran out of the office. “Race you to Da!”

“W- Oi! Jules Lorenzo Pascal- agh, wrong- Leclerc!” Arthur grunted before he stood up and ran after the boy. “You lots have a lot of names to even call you by them- Jules! Come back! Charles has a meeting!”

The Ferrari headquarters in Maranello was, no doubt, a place that held a lot of memories for the Leclerc family. Charles’ name was engraved in the wall of fame and Aimee’s family was strongly connected to the Ferraris. Their connections to the team — one that became their family — led them to what they had now.

Everyone inside the headquarters were fond of the Leclerc boys and Jules was no exception.

For an hour, he’d been going around the office saying hi to everyone and asking about their day — in Italian, as well, to impress them with his ability to speak more than two languages. Then he went around asking about the LaFerrari that his Uncle Arthur mentioned earlier.

Jules gladly toured the museum with his uncle rather than finding the car he’d asked about, his eyes glimmering at the sight of Niki Lauda’s car and even Enzo Ferrari’s. When they got to Michael Schumacher’s car, however, Jules nearly jumped up and down in excitement.

His loud excited voice caught the attention of other onlookers in the museum. It was rather funny that he was so excited, because by the time people had approached them the excitement in his features had infected the Ferrari fans as they asked Arthur for photos.

“Oh, I’ll take the photo!” Jules offered in excitement.

“Jules no you have to get in the picture,” Arthur kept an arm around the boy and said, “how will people know that there are two handsome Leclerc men roaming around Maranello if you’re out of the picture?”

And find out, they did. It wasn’t even an hour after when the fans posted their photos on Twitter and became a hit tweet because of the Leclerc boy. What was funnier aside from the caption “I met Jules Leclerc with his relative today” was the result that came with it.

Charles looked quite frazzled trying to find his kid and when the fans saw the driver they nearly freaked out. Jules merely waved at his father and said, “They said they want some pictures, Da!”

Charles sighed and smiled at the fans lightly, his eyes finding Arthur’s as he warned his brother quietly about letting Jules in the pictures.

Jules was still a child, and taking photos of him without the knowledge of either Charles or Aimee was trouble you’re asking for.

“Jules,” Charles started as he held the boy’s hand, making their way back to the office after having some photos taken, “Do not go far from the office when Da has a meeting, alright?”

“But I only went in the museum, Da,” Jules reasoned out, “and Uncle Artie went with me!”

“Well I’m glad you went with someone,” Charles shrugged, “but there is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jules exclaimed. “C'est le père de maman?” Is it Maman’s father?

Charles and Arthur shared a look over Jules’ head. Yeah no.

The boys had always mentioned that they’ve never met any of their grandfathers before. They understood why their Papy Hervé was not here anymore but Aimee’s father — Julius Hearth — was still alive. How come they’ve never met them?

“Non, mais il est proche de maman,” No but he is close to Maman. Charles replied quietly, eventually coming to a stop in front of the conference room by the Scuderia Ferrari Team Principal Fred Vasseur’s office.

Jules stood there, expectantly looking at his father as Charles gestured to the entryway. Stepping inside without looking away from his father, Jules finally looked in front of him as his glimmering eyes turned curious.

A man sat there. There are some signs of age in his face, but Jules could tell that he was not older than his father. The man’s smile brightened the room, the shade of his skin brightening like the sun.

Jules looked up at Charles, who only offered him a smile before telling him to keep walking. The man stood and stuck his hand out.

“Last time I checked, you and Aimee were still new,” the man gave a teasing look to Charles, who only chuckled. His Scottish accent piqued Jules’ interest even more.

His Maman’s accent was different from his and as he continued to think about it, his cousins’ mixture of Austrian and RP accent wasn’t like this either. He’s from a different region, Jules deduced.

The man looked down and crouched, hand still stuck out as he spoke, “My name is Teague. Teague Edmunson. And you are…?”

With a face showing a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness, Jules looked back at Charles who only gave him a go-ahead before the boy reached out to shake the hand of the man and introduced himself, “My name is Jules Leclerc.”

“Ah! Jules?” Teague smiled softly as he gave a nod of approval towards Charles’ direction. “You named him Jules?”

“Yes, we did,” Charles grinned, his hand reaching out to mess with his son’s hair.

“Seems rather fitting,” Teague teased the Ferrari driver, “the Wingman of Maranello… Ah… he made you and Aimee possible after all.”

Jules’s face scrunched up in confusion, watching how his Uncle Arthur giggled and his father’s face flush red.

It was like he missed something. He wasn’t sure what but the way his Da’s turn red told him enough about asking him about the matter later.

“I’m sorry, mister,” Jules piped up, making the men look down at him with questioning looks. He proceeded to look at the man who introduced himself as Teague and asked, “My Da said that you know my Maman well. Can I ask what you are to her?”

“Jules,” Arthur called, “do you know one of your Maman’s last names?”

The boy shook his head, making Teague laugh quietly and answer with, “Edmunson, Little Bianchi.”

“You said that is your name,” Jules pointed out, making Teague nod. “So… if Maman’s name is Edmunson then you are her… brother?”

“Well… Not quite,” Teague shook his head before elaborating, “I’m her cousin. Don’t tell me your Maman had never spoken much of me? Charles?”

“Yes we have,” Charles scoffed. But all Jules seemed to have heard was that the man in front of him was his mother’s cousin. Then he recalled that one time he went browsing through his Maman’s childhood photo album.

He saw his aunts in those photos and even his Uncles Max and Lando. He knew that some of them grew up together, but there was one person that Jules once pointed out and it was a boy with a darker shade of skin and curly hair. The boy that he saw was sitting next to his Maman.

Suddenly it all made sense to him. Aimee once introduced him to the photo of this boy as…

“You are Uncle T.”

Jules came to a conclusion, his lips spreading into a grin as it infected the whole room.

“Yes, I am your Uncle T!” Teague confirmed, nodding eagerly. “Gah! I thought Aimee and Charles had forgotten about me. Or even your uncle Arthur!”

“I’d never forget about you, T,” Arthur scoffed.

Jules then turned to Arthur and said, “Uncle Arthur, you cannot even remember my full name! You have put my Pascal first before Blaise!”

“Ahhh, Arthur~” Charles gasped dramatically and looked at his younger brother. Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I forgot about it once this noon and little Bianchi considers me a criminal for it,” Arthur muttered. “You and your Da, J. You like to give me a heart attack.”

He stood next to his father while they both brushed their teeth, getting ready to go to bed for the next day.

Jules had spent his day with Fred Vasseur and his Uncle Teague. It turned out that Teague was to work as an engineer at Ferrari after years of working at some firm in Luxembourg.

From what Jules learned, Teague never had the chance to visit Jules and his brothers due to his work commitments. Now, he’s had every chance to— and he did make sure that his time was well spent.

“Da,” Jules spoke after rinsing his mouth, hearing a hum from Charles as he glanced at the older Leclerc. “On reverra l'oncle Teague?” Will we see Uncle Teague again?

“Oui,” Charles murmured as he continued to brush his teeth. He spat the contents of his mouth and rinsed his mouth before he answered his son, “He will be there for your race, Jules.”

“Ah,” Jules nodded in understanding. Silence was shared between the Leclerc boys before Jules asked, “Est-il proche de Maman?” Is he close to Maman?

“Very,” Charles nodded, “but he is not your Maman’s best friend though. He was…”

Jules Leclerc, if you were to compare him to his twin and the rest of his brothers, was good at reading expressions. He could just tell that Charles wanted to tell him something but refuses to.

Jules always told himself that his Da got the look that his brother Hervé had whenever he was in the verge of crying or breaking down, and this was no exception.

So rather than bringing up the situation Jules went ahead and said, “Da, pourquoi l'oncle T a-t-il dit que mon nom correspondait?” Da, why did Uncle T say that my name is fitting?

Charles’s expression changed as he snapped his head towards the direction of his son. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know,” Jules said before he tried to recall the events earlier, “he said uh… Il m'a appelé quelque chose… W- wingman?” He called me something.

“Ah,” Charles chuckled, shaking his head lightly before he grabbed the brush from the sink alongside a hair tie. He stepped behind Jules and began brushing the boy’s hair back. “The Wingman of Maranello.”

“Oui! That!” Jules exclaimed, wincing lightly when he moved and his dad tugged on his hair lightly. Charles muttered an apology before Jules continued, “What does that mean?”

“Uh… so,” Charles tried to speak but he couldn’t help but focus on the detangling brush on his hand as he continued to brush Jules’ damp hair. “Do you know- Maman t'a-t-elle parlé de la Saint-Valentin?” Did Maman tell you about Valentine’s Day? Jules nodded as Charles explained, “There is something called a Cupid. Now, Cupid— he matches people with others. To find someone to love.”

“Maman said that! She said that Cupid helped you and Maman!” Jules said as his eyes glimmered at the thought of Cupid doing their work— a masterpiece that the boy called his Maman and Da.

“Yeah, well you see,” Charles chuckled, “long before Maman and I got together with the help of Cupid, we had something called the wingman. It’s someone who encourages you to talk to the person that you like.”

“Like Cupid?”

“Pretty much, but Cupid just helps people get together and love stronger,” Charles shrugged, “the wingman, in this case, helped me discover my love for your Maman more.”

Charles smiled to himself. He remembered it vividly.

BACK THEN

It turns out, being a student and a godson of a test driver — who was best friends with a stakeholder’s cousin — could lead him to a party at the Ferrari headquarters… and to her.

Teague chuckled quietly before nudging Jules Bianchi slightly, earning a scowl from the Frenchman as he followed Teague’s line of sight, smirking lightly as Charles Leclerc — at the age of fifteen — blushed furiously and walked away from the golden skinned girl.

When the girl was out of their sight, Jules whistled as if to tease the boy. Charles gave Jules a glare as Teague laughed.

“Come on, Shal,” Jules grinned lopsidedly before he wrapped his arm around the Monegasque. “I think you should talk to her.”

“I already did,” Charles tried to shove Jules away from him, but the Frenchman was stronger than him as Jules laughed.

“Not that,” Jules shook his head, “maybe someday she’ll be your girlfriend~~”

“Jules, shhh-“ Charles hissed.

“Careful now, Wingman of Maranello,” Teague piped up, “you might give my aunt a heart attack with all of your matchmaking.”

“I’ve done an alright job so far, don’t you think, T?” Jules winked at his best friend. “I’m sure your Aunt Amara wouldn’t mind having a handsome Monegasque for a son-in-law. It worked out so well with you and your girlfriend!

“Now Shal! Promise your best godfather Jules that you’d ask her out one of these days, hm? I’d be damned if you let go of a smart girl like her.”

NOW

“So if I’m called Jules and he was your Uncle Jules… does that mean I get to play matchmaker too?”

Charles laughed aloud, finally tying his son’s hair into a bun before he wrapped his arms around his boy.

“Why not,” Charles rolled his eyes before pressing kisses on his son’s face. “You can do whatever you want, little Bianchi. Just not anything that will send your Da or Maman to the hospital, hm?”

Jules sighed contentedly, resting against his father’s chest as he looked at himself and his dad in the vanity. He then smiled and said, “I hope Hervé gets better before the race. Then Uncle T can see me and him race.”

“I hope so, too, Jules,” Charles sighed quietly, patting his son on the shoulder before nudging the boy towards the direction of their bedroom. “Now off we go. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Will I drive the LaFerrari this time, Da?”

“If your Zio Fred has someone to find it for you, then yes. Perhaps don’t crash around the office. It’s a busy day tomorrow.”

“Uh… okay. Maybe I can make that promise.”

“You can promise? So silly of you, Jules.”

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suyacho · 6 months

Text

BOO! ft. arataki itto

content warnings: gn!reader - fluff but lowkey cracked fluff? - horror mentions - reader & itto a scared shitless of horror LMAO - cursing - big baby itto towards the end? - probably ooc

note: this was much better in my head and it isnt my best work but i hope you guys enjoy it either way🥹🫶

“You want to watch a horror movie?” you frown, raising an eyebrow as you stare at your lover who proudly has his arms crossed. “Yeah, why?" Are you doubting the one and oni?” Itto questioned, sounding slightly offended at the thought of you doubting him, making you chuckle.

“Of course not– I’ll just remind you that I’m terribly scared of horror.” you answer, scooting closer to him on the couch. “I know! That’s why I’ll protect you.” Itto told you, wrapping an arm around you and scrolling through movies on the TV.

Truth to be told, Itto was also scared shitless, if not, he was even more scared than you. Still he was set on watching a horror movie with you after countless hours of hyping himself up in preparation for this.

Why? It was simple, one conversation with the guys led to the other, and next thing he knew they were talking about romantic things; one thing apparently being protecting your partner when they were scared during a horror movie.

You didn’t question the sudden suggestion, you just rolled with it, knowing Itto was trying his best to romanticize your already good relationship even more each day.

Saying you were scared was an understatement, but just for today, you were prepared to suck it up. Especially because he looked so excited and set on his plans, and you loved this side of him, even if sometimes his plans weren’t the smartest.

“Itto?” you broke the silence as he continued scrolling through the horror section. “Yes love?” Itto answered, finally clicking on a movie that looked okay. Swallowing a breath as he reads the warnings, praying that you didn’t notice.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked once more, not wanting to force him into anything he didn’t want just for your or his pride’s sake. “You are doubting me.” he pouted, a slight playful tone lingered in his words and you slapped him playfully.

“ ‘m not, just play it.” you laughed, resting your head on his chest comfortably. “You chickening out?” Itto teased, trying to ignore his nerves with jokes. “Are you sure you aren’t?”

“Alright— I’ll start it.” Itto smiled, pressing play and putting the remote down. “Here goes nothing.”

“I’ll protect you? "Really?" you questioned, throwing Itto’s words right back at him. “Sorry, can we p-please turn it off?” Itto answered, the two of you trembling in each other’s embrace after one of the worst jumpscares.

Neither of you were made for horror but what was funnier was the fact that Itto, someone much bigger than you was on your lap, curled up like a little kitten, his back facing the TV.

“Finally.” you laughed, turning the TV off without daring to look at the screen, not when you were shaking with fear and had your boyfriend on top of you. You knew this most likely would’ve been the outcome, still you didn’t mind at all. “Sorry.” Itto mumbled, sounding defeated as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

Itto truly thought it was a smart plan and that it wouldn’t be that bad, he just wanted to be a little romantic yet his plans fell through the roof at the first jumpscare already. His pride was hurt and he was embarrassed, not because he was scared around you, but because his plan failed, having a little dip.

“It’s okay love.” you reassured him, noticing the clear shift in his mood. “Let’s just never watch horror ever again alright? We both don’t like it.” you ran your hands through his hair as you spoke, your fear from the movie slowly leaving your body as you focused on your lover.

“I’m never following advice from the guys ever again.” Itto mumbled under his breath, breaking the silence and you giggled, shaking your head at his words. “Let’s not listen to them, at all.” you told him and in this moment, all Itto did was agree when usually it was the opposite.

“And never force yourself to watch horror, even if you want to look cool– I know you don’t like it and I love you as you are.” you reassured him, knowing his pride was most likely hurt.

“Are you sure?” Itto pouted, finally facing you, defeat plastered all over his face and all you did was nod. “100% sure, let’s never do that again.” you answered, pecking his lips sweetly. “Yeah– I’m sorry for making you watch it.” he apologized, a sudden wave of guilt washing over when he remembered how you were also scared of it and he failed to “protect” you.

“It’s okay Itto, I promise.” you reassured him and he nodded, resting his face on your shoulders, relaxing in your embrace. “And fuck horror.”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

#itto x reader #itto fluff #arataki itto fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #snow writes; fluff #arataki itto x reader

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itsasainz · 1 year

Text

passionfruit | pierre gasly x reader

Summary: You’re pulling away, so is he. Neither of you can blame the other, it’s just the natural progression of things.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings/tags: anxiety, breakdown of a relationship, angst, minor implications of some mental health difficulties

a/n: never written for pierre, but here I am writing all this in a few hours. I don't know where this came from lmao. requests open <3

masterlist!

Listen

Seein’ you got ritualistic

Cleansin’ my soul of addiction for now

‘Cause I’m fallin’ apart, yeah

He can pinpoint the moment you realised you’d reached a stagnant point in your relationship with him to the minute; it had been early December — he had spent the fortnight after Abu Dhabi sorting everything out with Alpine, having wrapped things up with AlphaTauri within days of the last race. You’d flown back to London on the Tuesday after the race, leaving him in the Middle East with his new team — you still had a job, you’d reminded him, and that he’d see you in two weeks when he came to London to see you. It would be your third Christmas together, and you were spending it in France with him. Three weeks together, the longest you’d have spent together consecutively in months. He remembers the realisation in your voice, the two of you stood in a cramped South London flat you hated; still refusing to move to Milan.

“Pierre, we’ve had this planned for weeks.” you had said — there was no malice in your tone, a surprising lack of your usual heat. He remembers it striking him more deeply than he’d anticipated — the disappointment, and the overwhelming loneliness in your voice.

“Mon ange, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a team thing, I can’t start missing them before I’m even a proper member of the team.”

Your eyes never left his, a sense of judgement in the furrow of your brow. “Is Esteban going?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then a flicker of doubt arose. He’d thought he wasn’t, but now he thinks about it, the Frenchman had been discussing it with Elena only days ago. “I think so.”

“Then they’ve got one driver, they don’t need two. You’re double booked, and we’ve had this planned for weeks.”

He’d sighed — you understood exactly why he couldn’t just cancel, and he now understands that you wanted him to confirm to you that you were also a priority, and that he wasn’t only focused on work. He remembers the way you’d looked away from him, tears threatening to spill; it had felt disproportionate in the moment — crying because he couldn’t make it to dinner with your friends who he barely knew was dramatic. Now, he regrets his dismissal.

You’re asleep beside him, turned away, as curled up as you can be in a plane seat. He’d been surprised when you’d told him you were still coming to Bahrain, and then embarrassed that he’d assumed you wouldn’t come; did he really think that poorly of your relationship?

He’d realised, in his travels through January and February, his days away from you, that he can only really breathe when he’s with you; now though, you seem further away, like he’s never quite with you, even when he’s sitting inches away from you. He wonders if the closest you get these days is during sex, and hates the idea that nearly three years of your relationship might have come down to sex being the most emotional you can be with him. When was the last time you told him about your work anxieties or, for that matter, any of your actual emotions, deeper than a dismissive comment about being stressed or simply fine.

Appearances are maintained at the airport and the hotel, where you smile and kiss his friends on each cheek, laughing and joking with them like you’re not down, like you’re not avoiding his conversation. It persists into the weekend itself — you spend more time with Isa than with him, chatting in hospitality until he’s done, and then seem to immediately shut down, even if he knows you’ve had a good day. You’re brief with your affection until, seemingly suddenly on Friday evening, as he’s skipping through channels on the TV in the hotel room, you wrap yourself around him, ear pressed to his heart, breathing soft and hands cold. He’s puzzled, almost upset by your sudden affection, but he leaves his thoughts at a kiss to your temple. He falls asleep with you on top of him, your shampoo filling his senses.

The next day, after Quali, you apologise for his poor luck. Again, he finds himself blindsided; you’ve never been one to apologise for that which you can’t control. He turns it over in his head all night, once again finding your affection puzzling, and his reaction to it even more confusing, and decides he’s overthinking it. You fall asleep in his arms less often than he’d like, and he’s got to make the most of it.

Sunday has a stranger vibe still. You’re withdrawn, and he can probably count the words you share on his fingers. It’s impossible to know how to deal with it, or what to do or say to fix it. It’s that thought that he gets stuck on in the media pen after the race — what if it can’t be fixed? What if it’s not his responsibility to fix it?

When Charles asks if you’re coming out after the race, Pierre responds for you, given your absence. “No,” he says, “I think she’d rather stay in tonight.”

“Are you staying in?” Charles frowns. It’s admittedly unusual for Pierre to want to come out on nights like these without you at his side.

“Nah, I’m coming.” he assures his friend, leaving you a text to say he won’t be home until late.

Tension

Between us just like picket fences

You got issues that I won’t mention for now

‘Cause we're fallin’ apart

You want to say; points are impressive given where you started. You want to say; I’m proud of you. You want to see him, at the very least, but other than the ten minutes he spared for you after the race, you’ve barely spoken to him. His text is glaring up at you, a cruel joke.

He doesn’t want you here.

It’s the most logical explanation; he nearly jumped when you started cuddling on Friday, and barely any words have been shared. At least if you’re not speaking you’re not arguing. It doesn’t help that you’re down as it is, feeling like your brain has been fried by travelling and anxiety and the overwhelming feeling that you’re at the end of a chapter in your life. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t asked, hasn’t probed to find out more about your current state.

It’s not his responsibility, you keep reminding yourself, he’s your boyfriend, not your parent. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though. The debate has been circling your mind for hours. If he cares so much, why doesn’t he say anything when you’re like this. If you’re as grown as you think you are, why are you so dependent on his care?

There's a nineties RomCom on the TV — you leave it on in the background while you scroll back through your texts with Pierre, wondering when it got like this, when he started to feel so distant. Who started it? Is it possible to say it was either one of you? Is it salvageable?

A thought of breaking up passes through your mind, snagging on unwelcome thoughts. You know that of the two and a half, nearly three, years that Pierre has been your boyfriend, more than two of those years were blissful. But the past months are tainting it — if you were to break up, would your memories of his love be marred by how lacking it feels in these moments?

The thought that snags, catching like cotton on barbed wire, is that perhaps you have wasted the first half of your twenties being in love with a man who cannot love you like you need him to. You think of the nights out you’d vetoed to spend an evening with him, of the opportunities you’d passed on to be around when he was in London, or the things you’d missed by constantly jetting off to Milan or whichever Grand Prix he was headed to. You think of the hours of your life you’ve spent in airports, anxious and tired, uprooting your life to spend 24 hours with him, to cry two nights later when he dropped you off for your flight home. You think of the years of your life you’ve spent caught between where your home was — with him, or with the rest of your life. It wasn’t a fair comparison. It wasn’t fair to resent him for something he had repeatedly provided solutions for.

Nevertheless, it felt clearer now. You didn’t feel settled in his company the way you always had — no, now you felt anxious. Anxious about being enough for him, about how good of a wag you were, or how good you were at being his girlfriend, at doing everything you felt you should.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It’s strange, you realise, that your communication with Pierre suddenly spiked the moment you were apart. How could you feel closer to him from 600 miles away than you did when you were right next to him?

He’d been texting lots, the two of you telling each other about your days again, complaining about rude colleagues or getting excited over the smallest of things. Over the phone, he’d listened while you talked about how you’d been down lately, worried about work and friends and, though you didn’t say it, him. He’s loving, and you return it in earnest. You miss him more than you care to admit, and for a few seconds at a time, you get the sense he misses you too. There’s no bickering, not a cruel word said.

You’re doing most of the talking, that much is also true. He listens, which feels like an achievement, but you still catch yourself wondering if he’s absorbing what you’re telling him, or if he still thinks about you when you’re not on the phone or texting. You don’t tell him you’ve been crying more than usual, or that your anxiety is through the roof, nor do you tell him that whenever you try to find the source of your anxiety, your mind finds to him like a compass finds north. You don’t tell him that you’re biting your nails again, or that you keep making mistakes at work.

Midweek, you’re in your kitchen, cutting a passionfruit in half on FaceTime. The pulp has covered your fingers, and you sit with a bowl under your hands, a spoon scooping the seeds out of the rind. For a minute he’s distracted by the fact that he’d forgotten your love for the fruit, and then wonders if they’re in season. He watches you eat a little, and continues what he was saying. He’s talking about the Saudi Grand Prix, about the logistics and some issues with his flight. A few weeks ago he’d mentioned that he wanted you to be there, but he’s avoiding talking about guests now, or Paddock Passes.

“Pierre,” you say, a deep breath.

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you want me there?”

There’s a long pause, stretching out before you. Does he want you?

“Do you want to be there?” he asks in return.

It’s like a kick to the gut. You don’t have it in you to answer, only a fear that if you open your mouth it’ll all spew out — the resentment, the fear, the anger you suddenly feel. You want to be there for him, and it feels like he’s just told you you’re no longer an important factor in his well being — no longer a person who makes him feel remotely good. What’s worse is that you think that, if that is true, it’s entirely justified. You’ve not been the easiest to be around lately, nor the most easily placated. He hangs up not long after, and you wish he couldn’t make you cry quite so easily.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It seems to Pierre that you are present in every spare second he has. Walking between meetings, pausing during training to take a drink — you’re there, in his mind, a constant reminder that he can’t breathe. Bahrain fucked with his head — suddenly, not even your presence eased his mind. You’ve always been easy to be around, aware of the dynamics and moods around you, always knowing what to say or what to do. You weren’t like that in Bahrain, you were quiet and withdrawn and a hundred miles away. The thought that circulates his head comes back stronger every time he thinks of you, misses you — is it him? Is he the issue?

That night in your flat, back in December, has been turned over in his head so many times he’s sure his retrospection has completely distorted the night, that his memory of it is more of a manifestation of all the possible ways he could have fucked up than a true representation of what happened. He’s trying to find time for you, responding to your texts the moment he has a free minute, FaceTiming you on his free evenings. He’s going to Enfield for a few days before he’s off to Jeddah, and the idea of getting to spend a few days with you is exciting, and yet somehow he’s dreading it.

He’s not sure how he’s gotten to this point, especially when he cares so deeply for you; his dread seems to root from the fear that he’s worse for you than he is good, and that is too scary a thought to address. He wants the best for you, he always has, and for years he thought he was that — something right, and something that made you feel better, happier, the way a loved one should. Now he's less sure that that’s true — he’s scared he’s draining, and the thought is pulling him away from you. What’s worse is the fact he knows, intuitively, that your feelings are mirroring his. How do you break out of this? How do you get back to a place where you are both confident in your love for one another, and assured in the fact that you are loved?

And then on Wednesday he’s watching you cut that passionfruit and he’s saying more than he has all week, getting the drama about travelling to Jeddah off his chest, scared to bring up the possibility of you coming with him in case you shut him down, and he has to go knowing you actively avoided coming. That’s when you drop the question, right as he’s stumbling over how not to get rejected if he asks you to come. He doesn’t want a repeat of the awkward silence that plagued you in Sakhir.

“Do you want me to be there?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Yes, God, he wants nothing more, but if you’re going to be quiet and cold like you were in Sakhir, he’d rather go without the stress of doubting himself and your relationship. He finds it strange that you’d ask — he would have you by his side every weekend if you’d let him, and he is certain you know that. In his head, the only explanation for your question is that you’re asking for a reason not to go. If you don’t want to be there he won’t ask you to be.

He doesn’t get a response when he turns the question back on you, and the seeds of doubt have been planted. His security about where he stands with you has crumbled, its already worn foundations collapsing under him. He is nearly winded by the panic of losing you. By the time he’s understood how he feels and what he wants to say, you’re hanging up, wishing him a good night. He curses himself for his indecision, and prays you’ll text him to say you do want to come to Jeddah.

Listen

Harder buildin’ trust from a distance

I think we should rule out commitment for now

‘Cause we’re fallin’ apart

It’s cemented in his mind that he has to end things by the time he’s landed in London, your text waiting to say that you can’t wait to see him. It’s for the best, he thinks, that he doesn’t drag this on for longer than need be — you’re clearly miserable in this relationship, and it is the right thing, the good thing, to do. You won’t end it yourself, he knows you well enough to know that; he knows you have a thing about not giving up, it’s a trait he understands better than you’re aware of — he can respect nothing if not your commitment. But he doesn’t truly believe that commitment of this kind, where he keeps making you cry, where neither of you can see a way of fixing it, is the kind you should cling to. It’s one thing to be committed, it’s another thing entirely to refuse to see that you are clinging to something that is long gone. He loves you, and he is more than aware that you love him, but he cannot justify the static, drawn out suffering of your relationship’s breakdown. He thinks you’ve probably already broken things off mentally, that your final probes have been about confirming that it’s the right thing to do — he’s done little to help his case.

He stands in the stairwell of your flats for longer than he should. He’s motionless in the landing between two floors, suitcase beside him, suddenly wondering if he should just get it over with. He can’t though, he’s not ready, and it’s not fair on you if he’ll be around for the next few days. He’ll do it on the last day, so you don’t have to look at him for too long.

He’s never been less sure of himself. That’s why he’s doing this — if he should be sure of anything, it should be his relationship.

When the doubt persists for the rest of his three days in London, he is assured that neither of you are in the place for a relationship. It feels strange thinking that knowing that you’ve spent nearly three years together, but he guesses you’ve grown apart. Grown apart or fallen apart, he’s not sure there’s much of a difference when it comes to you two.

On Wednesday morning, eating breakfast in your kitchen before he gets ready to go to the airport, he braces himself. He’d meant to do it last night, but you’d gone out for dinner together and he was too distracted by self doubt to do what he meant to.

“Y/N,” he starts. You watch him squirm, trying to find the words, and he suddenly realises you look expectant, like you know where this is going. “Do you actually want to be with me? Because I just have this feeling that you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with me for weeks.”

With the way your silence fills the air, he’s suddenly wondering if this is how you felt on FaceTime the week before. Your silence is the worst kind of murder.

“You want to break up?” you ask, never one to beat around the bush when you don’t want to. You’re more concise than he is, better at putting yours and everyone else’s thoughts into reality.

“No, but I don’t get the sense that either of us are particularly happy.” he admits. For the first time he wonders if the honesty he can exhibit around you is due to your own honesty, and not because he’s simply more comfortable in your presence; he is anything but comfortable now. Your bluntness is salt in the wound.

“So what, you’re leaving?” you ask. “You think that leaving is going to fix us?”

He shakes his head, “I think leaving is better than trying to fix a relationship that is dead in the water.”

You frown. “Dead in the water?”

He hates the way you repeat his words back to him. “It’s the better thing. I don’t like it, trust me, I don’t. But I can’t keep making you cry, and I can’t ask you to move to Milan again.”

For a second there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he thinks you’re about to tell him you’ll move to Italy. He wouldn’t let you, not matter how much it hurt.

“Don’t tell me what the better thing is.” you practically spit.

“Y/N…” he says, watching you stand up.

“I love you.” you tell him. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.” he says. “That doesn’t make us right.”

You’re crying. He’s simultaneously horrifyingly guilty and utterly assured that he’s doing the right thing. “Get out of my house.”

Leavin’

You’re just doing that to get even

Don’t pick up the pieces, just leave it for now

They keep fallin’ apart

Your jaw is tight as you watch him put his coat on. He stops at the door. “Y/N,”

“Stop looking at me like that.” you say, a newfound venom in your voice. You open the door for him, showing him out. He starts down the stairs and you find yourself calling out to him.

“Pierre, leaving is the coward’s way out.” you say. You’re angry, beyond angry, but the feeling in your chest is the same kind you get at a funeral, the heaviness of knowing that the inevitable has happened and it’s painful no matter how much you knew to expect it. He only nods, leaving you barefoot in the hall.

Back inside, you book a flight to Milan. It’s surprising how quickly you’d accepted the end of the relationship — perhaps there was some merit in his idea that you’d already broken the connection in your mind. You’re tapping your bank card on the kitchen counter, looking at the notice on your laptop confirming the purchase, and you’re completely and utterly done with him. His silences, and how the only times you ever seemed to talk lately ended in tears.

It’s easy to blame him, you acknowledge, easy to say he’s the issue. You’re not blameless.

Milan is the same constant hub of business it has always been, but its culture gets to you a little more than usual. It seems like every café and every restaurant is one Pierre had showed you, and you’re all the more determined to get the hell out of the city; you only have one stop, his.

It’s the easiest time to do it — you can get all your belongings from his flat and go straight home, not even a day away from home. The walk from the station to his flat is a familiar one, one you’ve walked a thousand times. Without Pierre, it’s easier — you don’t have to stop every five minutes for selfies with a fan, but somehow that gets to you. Perhaps it’s the young-ish fan, a teenager, who looks at you with the curiosity of someone who knows exactly who you are and doesn’t understand why you’re here. She frowns slightly, points you out to her friend, who gasps. As you pass, you hear one of them say; She doesn’t live in Milan though. Why’s she here without him?

When you get to his flat and let yourself in, you allow yourself to check your phone. He’s left a text. I can still see your location, you know. Why are you in Milan? You ignore it, opening up your empty suitcase and starting to make your way around the flat; room by room, you extract your things from his. Meanwhile, your notifications are going into overdrive. These are hardly his first texts — he’d texted and called you from Heathrow telling you he regretted it, and he needed to talk to you the moment he got back from the race — but you’re determined now. If he thought you were so bad for each other, you’d make sure to be gone by the time he got back.

I know you’re getting your things. Please, wait until we can talk about this.

Can I call you?

Mon ange, please answer

I need to talk to you

I fucked up

I love you. I’m in love with you.

Eventually, you cave. You’re sitting in front of your packed suitcase, your key to the flat on his kitchen counter.

“Love?” he answers. It must be late where he is, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Pierre.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want you to leave me.” He says, “You’re right, it’s the coward’s way out. We should try, at the very least.”

“Don’t you see, Pierre, I have. I have tried more than ever these past weeks, and, d’you know, when you said what you did I finally understood something. I don’t have the capacity to try any harder — I don’t have the capacity to love you in the way I think you need me to. I don't think you love me the way I need you to either. You were right — more than I’ll ever care to admit — but we can’t drag ourselves through this. Let’s not torture ourselves.”

There’s another long silence. Silences seem to be half the communication between you these days. “I can fix this. I can pick up the pieces, I know it.”

“Pierre, I don’t want you to. Stop trying to pick up the pieces, stop trying to fix us. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, and I refuse to get in your way. Let’s leave it as it is, and not ruin the memory of us anymore than we already have.”

“I love you.”

“I know, Pierre. I’m sorry we couldn’t love each other right.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Ours. It’s our fault.”

I can’t blame you, no, no

#pg10 #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #formula 1 #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #Spotify

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angel-thoughts-dump · 10 months

Text

times they call/insinuate angel is gay/“too feminine for a man”/is attractive to men, in ats - Season 1

ep 1 A manager says to Angel he is a very beautiful man, and he wants to represent him. "Call me, this isn't a come-on"

ep 2 In the club, Angel has to "search for someone that's in trouble" and everyone thinks he is just flirting, including a man, Angel tells him "seriously I wasn't hitting on you"

ep 3 Spike, while watching him from afar, makes a LONG hilarious joke about him being gay, and caring too much about his hair and using “nancy boy hair gel”.

Later while fighting, Spike says to Angel "What’s next ? Vampire cowboy ? Vampire fireman ? Oh, vampire ballerina?" to which Angel responds "I do like to work with my legs" and kicks him

ep 4 Doyle legit admits he is attracted to him

ep 5 Cordy: "do you have (hair)mousse?... of course you do"

ep 6 Mafia boss calls him “nancy boy”. Angel hits him with a chair.

Also, there's a joke where Cordy nags Angel for not noticing her new shoes, Angel is about to say that "men don't notice that staff" when Doyle enters and says to her "Nice shoes!". This is a 'Doyle =gay' joke but it also shows Angel has funny ideas of what makes you a man, and it's funny that the entire plot of the ep is about repressing emotions, and unwinding when you touch a magic stick.

ep 7 Angel and Doyle going to fight a vamp nest is paralleled with Cordy going on a romantic date. Doyle: “everyone has dinner plans”.

The first thing the new husband of Doyle’s ex does when he comes in, is insist on how handsome Angel is. (Doyle’s ex had also just met him, didn’t say a thing, neither did other women this ep)

ep 8, 9, 10 and 11 I didn’t catch any

ep 12 friends of Cordelia meet Wesley and Angel for the first time, the way they act and respond to their flirting and invitations to a party makes them think they are gay “the good ones are always gay” one says. Angel is not bothered about it, Wesley a little. Later they have this conversation in which Angel seems to have noticed that insecurity, and he says to Wesley that the girls liked him, that his clumsiness was charming, and that the fact they think they are gay adds mystery

(also why does angel quickly bit his lip, looks him up and down, and smiles to him like that??? asdfasdfasd)

ep 13 (refer to this post bc it needs context) in short yeah a guy is definitely attracted to him

ep 14 nothing again I guess

ep15 Kate’s dad asks her if Angel is gay, she laughs and says "no, he is just not my type, or I'm not his type".

Also, it felt like the dialogs were specially 'supernatural=queer' this episode, and he WAS getting homophobia by Kate lmao

"you don't get to kill a demon in front of me and then act like we are going to have a cappuccino together" "No offense, I know you are probably a decent guy for, you know, what you are..." "If you insist on talking about this, can you pls not call it that? It makes me uncomfortable.(don't say demon) say evil thing" "What? they are evil things that are not evil? - well yeah(me) - OH right, sorry" Then the scenes of his father calling him a disappointment make it even more uuughhh, and then he says "It was a son I wished for, a man! Instead, god gave me you".

All scenes from his past as human point to him being a fuck boy, meaning that, even if not queer, in a way, he also didn't follow the conventional norms of romance or sexuality. But it's also funny to point out the first thing he does as a vampire is feed from a man, to which Darla says "now you can have anyone you want"

ep 16 Cordelia ends up saying “if anyone is wearing a push-up bra here its-- Angel!” when Angel surprises her entering the room, (Also, Wesley describes a type of demon that howls when they are preparing to fight or mate, next scene angel is fighting them while they howl(they appear male), I know this one is a reach, but I’m putting it here bc it made me laugh).

ep 17 so he reads girl-celebs magazines and remembers this rumor about an actor? sure

also this ep Cordy(known fashion lover) compliment's Angelus fashion sense "Angelus would never wear those pants".

In the buffyverse they say everything is the same without the soul except there's no guilt, meaning no repression about what he would like to wear. So if it hadn't been obvious from before, Angel is also a fashion lover, except repressed about it.

ep 18 there was nothing much here except if you count that Darla asks him "have you met someone else?" no gender-specific.

And/or this interaction with Linsdey cuz come on the tension, the banter, the 'was it necessary getting this close?'

ep 19 Again nothing textual unless you count that Wesley risks his life and goes against the Watchers council for him, even if it means helping someone he hates(Faith), and his loyalty to Angel is called a perversion(also how does angel look so small here??asdfsas)

ep 20 two little things, first, does this joke "you show me yours, I'll show you mine" Angel says to intimidate a guy count? lol

Second, in this ep they get paid to search for blackmail pictures of a guy who went to a demon script club, after Angel takes them back Wesley looks at them, and he seems weirded out. Angel is besides him and only with a quick look he is able to tell the pictures are upside down, Wesley turns them and looks at them again, he says "oh, I can't imagine it was pleasant" to which angel makes this face like uhm???

In any case I put it here cuz even if its not an "angel=gay" moment it certainly shows he has experience with Unconventional sex staff

eps 21 and 22 I didn't catch anything, but in the last ep the "supernatural= other(queer/disabled/etc)" thing is easier to see. Because there's Kate again with the irrational hate like "I'll rid the city of your kind" etc just after Angel saves someone.

And the last scene shows the way your friends don't mind the "weird" parts of you even if you or most people do

a super endearing moment that happens just before the show promises Angel that he will "as a reward" be normal eventually, which weird, cuz then, Is the message of the story that you can find peace by finding a mission and loved ones who accept you as you are? or is it you can find peace only as long as you are useful to the normal 'innocent' people around you, and you work toward being normal? idk

#I think I started this after I saw a lot of comments on yt in a random vid calling angel straight #like how dare you insult him like that #sadfasdfsadfsdf #but I kept the bit going cuz it was funny #ats #angel ats #angel btvs #btvs #also disclaimer cuz I've seen lot of rotten staff out there #I'm not including things like: this character acts like a mother this character is saved by others a lot #or this character likes pink or cooks or is shirtless a lot #cuz those are just gender stereotypes that actually are just human things not femenine or masculine #not inherent in men or women #so I don't believe a male character having or doing staff society considers feminine means they ARE gay or feminine #lol thats so backwards #those staff only get in the list if another character or the show somehow explicitly classifies them #as a sign of being 'too feminine for a man' or gay #this attempts to be from the show's perspective

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dannystattoo · 6 months

Text

illicit affairs

a/n: ok, so I actually wrote something, i did not mean to take it that far, but I hope you enjoy anyway 🖤

warnings: none, aside from asshole Danny lmao

based on illicit affairs by taylor swift

You and Danny were both in relationships that weren’t bad exactly, but neither of you is super happy. You met through a mutual friend at a party and you immediately hit if off. You both realized pretty quickly it’s been a long time since you’ve felt a connection like this with anyone, let alone your own partner. You didn’t mean to exchange texts outside of the group chat of your friends you’d both been added to. You didn’t plan to start talking everyday. You’d didn’t mean to slowly start seeing each other one on one. It all just kind of happened. This goes on for months and For whatever reason, you both hadn’t left your significant other. However, the sneaking around between each other’s places when you could, meeting at places well outside of Nashville so you wouldn’t see anyone you knew, it was all getting old.

One day, he was at your place . His girlfriend was out of town and as far as your boyfriend knew, you were spending the weekend with family. You were in the bathroom, contemplating how you’d gotten here while staring at a perfume bottle on the counter. It was the one you had to hide regularly. It was Danny’s favorite, but your boyfriend hated it. You’d bought it as a weird sort of anniversary gift once you realized you’d been doing this for a year. You always hid it though and never dared put it on when you knew your boyfriend would be around soon because the smell was distinct and it lingered. As you put it back in the shelf where you kept it, out of sight, you realized how stupid this whole thing had gotten. You both loved each other and clearly didn’t want to stop seeing each other. You’d become so indifferent about your boyfriend and if we’re being honest, you guys fucked maybe once a month at best at this point. You had no idea what you guys were doing anymore.

“Danny, we have to talk”

“Yeah, babe?”

“What the hell are we doing”

“What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. Why are we still with other people? I’m so sick of us having to sneak around just to be sort of happy. Wouldn’t it be so much better if we could just be with each other, like actually be with each other?”

Danny looked at you, considering the thought he’d have to leave your place in the middle of the night so no one would see.

“I’m doing it” you finally said after a moment. “I’m ending things with him, I can’t keep doing this.” You looked at Danny expectantly, hoping (perhaps foolishly) he’d say the same. After what felt like ages of you both staring at each other you had to break the silence.

“Well?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed after a minute.

“This is a fucking joke, right? Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“It’s a lot to consider, is all”

“Oh my god, what the hell does that mean? After everything we’ve been through, you don’t know? You don’t fucking know? What was the last year then, Danny?”

“You’re right,” he said finally. “It is stupid. I love you so much and I’m certainly not as happy with her as I am with you. We’ve just been together since i moved to Nashville, I can’t imagine anything else”

You gave him a look.

“You know what I mean”

“Yeah, doesn’t hurt any less to hear though”

“Sorry. I’ll do it though, you’re right, clearly neither of us was that happy in our relationships when we met each other”

“So…we’re doing it?”

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he smiled at you and grabbed your hand. You both agreed that after you “got home” from visiting family and his girlfriend got back, you’d call it off with them. You also decided to wait a bit to make things public though. With his band finally starting to take off, the last thing he needed was cheating allegations.

You sat at your apartment that night after Danny left, feeling extremely nervous about breaking it off with you boyfriend, but also feeling lighter over the fact you and Danny had finally agreed to fully commit to each other. You realized it had been all you’d wanted since shortly after you both met, and you were so glad you were finally on the same page.

✨1 week later✨

You hadn’t seen Danny since that night at your apartment, and you couldn’t wait to finally see him again tonight. It had been a rough week - even if you didn’t want to be with your boyfriend anymore, breaking up certainly wasn’t easy. Add to that that work had been kicking your ass, and that your family decided this was also the week for drama, you really needed a break. Knowing that you guys could finally be a couple without sneaking around was the light at the end of the tunnel.

The feeling didn’t last though. When you arrived at Danny’s apartment, something immediately felt off and you couldn’t place it at first. You then realized that her stuff was still spread throughout the house and you prayed it was just because she hadn’t gotten a chance to clear all her stuff out. The fact that there was a purse and shoes in the front hall made you think that wasn’t the case though.

“Hey you,” he smiled as you walked inside. You accepted his kiss when he greeted you, but you were distracted.

“So, are we going to discuss that?” You said, pulling away and pointing at all of her belongings in the hall.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” he anxiously ran his hand through his hair.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Danny,” You turned on your heel to leave, seeing absolute red.

“I’m sorry, I just…I couldn’t do it, not this week. I was all set to, but her mom’s been sick and she really took a turn for the worse the day I saw you last. They don’t think she has much time left. I don’t want to be with her anymore, but I couldn’t just do that to her then, you know?”

“So how long are you going to keep this up then? If her mom just keeps getting sicker, you can’t leave. What about when her mom dies, then what? You won’t be able to leave her when she gets that news, and then you certainly can’t leave while she’s grieving! I guess we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing and you can just keep cheating on her.”

“Baby, that’s not fair - “

“Stop, you don’t get to call me baby anymore. I held up my end of the deal, can you do the fucking same?”

“It’s not that easy, trust me, I wish it were!”

“Oh, bullshit. Her sick mom wasn’t an issue a week ago. You don’t just get to weasel your way into my life and promise me this beautiful life together just to keep taking it away from me. I told you, being with you is the best thing to happen to me in years, I…I can’t describe it. It’s like you showed me colors I can’t see when I’m with anyone else, and the way I connect with you? It’s like we have this language I can’t speak with anyone else. Danny, it’s so, so good when it’s good, but it’s fucking cruel of you to dangle that in front of me.”

You both stared at each other, neither of you sure what to say next.

“I’m leaving, I don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

“No wait,” he called as you grabbed the door handle. You knew you shouldn’t, but you dropped the knob and turned to hear him out. What was it about this man you couldn’t say no to?

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you, and i just need to rip the bandaid off. She’s up with her family right now, but she’ll be home in a couple days. I’ll do it then. I wanna be with you, I promise. I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Part of you said to run. What proof did you have he’d actually do it this time? None. However, that naive part of you was hopeful that maybe, maybe, he meant it this time. After considering it for a second you took a step towards him.

“Okay. I’ll let it go this time, but the next time I see you, you better have ended it”

“Promise. In fact, I pinkie promise.” You laughed despite yourself and wrapped your pinkie around his. Before you knew it, you were both laughing and he pulled you in for a kiss. You kept letting it deepen, even though you knew you shouldn’t. A few minutes later, he’d pulled you onto his lap, his hands moving under your tshirt. You didn’t resist at all when he moved you to his bedroom, their bedroom. As he laid you down in the bed, you couldn’t stop your mind from racing and thinking about the fact you knew he wouldn’t be anymore available this time next week than he was now. You just knew. You also knew you’d be right back here, or he’d be at your place. No matter what, you couldn’t quit him and you’d let him ruin you a million times over.

#Danny Wagner #Danny Wagner imagine #greta van fic #Greta van fleet #Danny GVF #wagner wednesday

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leejenowrld · 2 days

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hii can you make a back story between sunwoo and y/n

yn and sunwoo have been inseparable since that first day of preschool, the kind of childhood friends who finish each other's sentences and share secrets no one else knows about. they clicked instantly, finding solace in each other's company amidst their shared shyness and reluctance to mix with others. that bond only grew stronger with time, rooted in countless shared experiences and an intuitive understanding of each other's quirks and comforts.

while yn has always maintained her reserved, introspective nature, sunwoo blossomed into something of a social butterfly as they grew up. his popularity on campus is almost a running joke between them—he's effortlessly charismatic, the guy everyone knows and likes, which starkly contrasts with yn's preference to stay on the fringes.

their friendship never wavered. if anything, it provided a stable, grounding force in their lives. sunwoo would always make sure yn felt included in any social setting, while yn provided a quiet refuge where sunwoo could escape the pressures of his social persona.

their transition into friends with benefits was as natural as their friendship. it wasn't planned or discussed at length; it just happened one night and seemed like a practical solution to physical needs without the messiness of romantic feelings. both valued their friendship too much to risk it on something like falling in love, and both understood each other too well to worry about usual complications. they were each other’s firsts in many areas, kisses, sex, blowjobs, eating out… like they experienced it all together. they used to have so much sex, at one point it was almost every day lmao. and they had this fucking arrangement for a few years and it never wavered their friendship and no one ever catched feels!

this arrangement works because it's built on a foundation of trust and profound mutual respect. they've seen each other at their best and worst, and there's a level of honesty in their interactions that neither has found with anyone else. in a way, their physical intimacy is just another facet of their deep connection, devoid of expectations or demands.

#nct dream #nct #nct jeno #jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct 127 #nct dream jeno #jeno #jeno fluff #jeno imagines #lee jeno #jeno moodboard #jeno icons #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jeno angst #nct x reader #nct u

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brendathedoodler · 1 year

Note

I saw the tags that mention AS Four and Shadow are a canon couple SO please can I see what you're thinking? Honestly, the more headcanons and stuff that I hear for this AU, the more excited I get about it ^u^

And I'm not just saying that cuz Four is my blorbo, I promise

Thank you!! Tbh Four is one of my favorites so I’m always eager to talk about him

I may or may not have paired my fav Zelda game with my fav character

The romance starts, unsurprisingly, with Vio and Shadow.

The two were already close before this and had begun to banter with one another regularly. Now, though, they were together, taking over the Yiga clan.

It went back and forth, their usual banter as Shadow joked and teased about their plans (or their false plans, anyway, for fear of any ninjas that may be listening in). Vio responded in his usual deadpan tone, often rolling his eyes with a small smile on his face.

Shadow rested on the throne, Vio sitting on the armrest. With how small the two were, Vio had eventually shifted to sitting right next to him. He wasn’t entirely paying attention, and eventually ended up on Shadow’s lap.

They kissed there on the throne of the Yiga clan, illuminated only by the light of the nearby torches.

A few days later and the entire scheme collapsed (but so did the Yiga base). They continued on. The moment Vio and Shadow shared went unmentioned, but both were thinking of it often.

The group decided that they needed to more practice as Four. Their break was over, and after the near defeat with Vah Ruto, they’d need to prepare before facing Vah Naboris. They agreed to do some shrines.

The first issue came when they arrived at the shrine deep in the desert next to the fairy fountain. They planned to awaken her, but Red admitted that he’d spent all their money on arrows. This infuriated Green because Red had sold the molduga parts he’d been farming for the past few days to get the money for arrows. They were now broke. To top it off, Blue revealed that he’d scammed some sucker out of his sand boots, but then dyed the sand boots blue. The other three, being stubbornly unwilling to wear something that wasn’t dyed their own color, got mad at him for it.

After a few minutes to cool off, they all agreed to combine and just do the damn shrine anyway. The thing with combining is that none of them have any true privacy; whatever memories one of them has during their time split will be immediately shared with the others.

The fact that they were all already frustrated combined with the fact that neither Vio nor Shadow had told anyone else about the fact that they’d kissed caused them all to immediately split and start arguing.

Blue accused Shadow of playing favorites, Green was mad because keeping secrets like that wouldn’t help them when they were trying to be more of a unit, and Red felt betrayed that Vio hadn’t said anything to the rest of them. It didn’t help that they were all hellishly jealous because they also wanted what Vio and Shadow had. The entire thing was a mess.

Needless to say, Vio and Shadow were left alone there, unable to actually do the shrine because they needed to be whole (and Shadow couldn’t go in the shrine anyway).

Now, Shadow adores all of them and really didn’t mean to play favorites. He def needs to give them some space before trying to prove that, though.

Vio, meanwhile, is bad with feelings and tries to logic his way through an apology (to which Shadow just says “lmao good luck with that”).

Anyway, Shadow goes and has a moment with each of them, though it’s less romantic and more just trying to make up and connect with each of them (he’ll have a particular romantic moment with each of them eventually but this isn’t it).

Vio also goes around and gets everyone some “sorry for keeping secrets from you” gifts. For Green he gets the exact amount of rupees that Red ‘stole’ from him (they have a shared inventory but Green is still mad about the molduga parts Red sold), for Blue he got a bunch of Yiga weaponry but put the effort in to make the handles blue instead of red, and he went and commissioned some custom jewelry from Isha for Red.

At least now that everyone was less pissed, they finally regrouped and started doing some shrines. Tbh sorting out that disagreement really did help with their overall cooperation as Four.

Eventually they faced Vah Naboris, and that battle was the first time Four truly felt like a single person since he woke up. The feeling didn’t last, but it had been nice.

Anyway, more about the romance! Each of the colors has their own particular moment with Shadow, and then Four too. Though, after the incident before, he’s making an effort to spend more time with each of them instead of just Vio.

Green and Shadow kissed on the back of a crumbling Talus they fought together. It wasn’t their smartest idea, seeing as the thing was crumbling under their feet. The entire fight had been exhilarating, and the adrenaline running high when Green had grabbed Shadow’s tunic to initiate. When the Talus dissipated Green broke his leg falling, but it had absolutely been worth it (two health potions later and he and his leg were fine).

Red and Shadow kissed doing something more domestic. They’d been cooking together, whipping up some magic foods in preparation for hiking up the frosty mountains. The others had gone off to do who knows what, and Red and Shadow remained, flipping through a cookbook and filling Red’s slate with delicious meals for the road. There had been plenty of cuddling, teasing, and messing around. The kiss was a simple peck on Shadow’s cheek to thank him for helping out, but nonetheless Red’s face matched his name by the time the others returned.

Blue and Shadow kissed as they explored together. Shadow loves banter, and Blue is so easy to get a rise out of (and maybe he was playing it up for comedic effect). It just went back and forth as the two travelled, on the search for shrines (or any little thing they might stumble across). They kissed after a rather typical exchange. Shadow was being a pest, Blue told him to shut up, and Shadow responded with "make me”. What else was Blue supposed to do? Not kiss him? Ridiculous.

One last scene I have in mind is when Four unlocks the Master Cycle Zero. Shadow sitting just behind Four, arms wrapped around his torso to keep on. The wind in their hair as they drive across Hyrule Field in ancient technology that they don't fully understand, whooping and hollering with joy.

#nowadays Shadow doesn’t have a whole lot of energy so he hangs out in Four’s shadow #the fact that he’s not dead after the Calamity’s defeat is a bonus even if he isn’t as acitve anymore #linked universe #lu adventure swap au #lu four #lu shadow #lu green #lu red #lu blue #lu vio #idk what the ship name for four and shadow is lol

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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okay, okay, OKAY! but now i have this thought of the whole crew hanging out around the trailer one day. Wayne, Scott, Eddie, and Steve. it's one of those hot summer days type thing, nothing unbearable but enough to have them not wanting to do much. for whatever reason, reminiscing starts. these are four guys with four VERY different high school experiences. It comes up that Steve's the only one who really attended school dances. the munson men didn't have an interest in going (though buried deep in everything is a prom picture of way, it's very uncomfortable and adorably vintage, no one will ever see it). scott wasn't ever invited. neither was eddie but he'd rather claim disinterest in conforming and all that. except steve's there sort of talking about how dumb the whole thing is. how you always think it's going to be fun but it ends up drama filled, your date WILL cry in the bathroom and you won't know why. fights are going to try to break out everywhere. and sadly no one actually tries to spike the punch like the movies say. which would be fine if two thirds of the men he was saying this too weren't wishing they went. just went alone and had fun and experienced all this or watched everyone else suffer. instead they were at home with their various hobbies sort of things. scott is the only one that voices it really. that soft and hopeful like "I still would have gone if I'd been asked" or something similar. everyone's heart breaks a little for different reasons and wayne, being wayne, offers a swift change of subjects to help scott feel a little better and not dwell on that all too much.

That night, eddie and steve go back to steve's and they're sort of talking about it, of course they are, and eddie's digging his heels in deep that he'd never want to go to one. but not at all buried under anything both steve and eddie are romantic. maybe a little alternative in that romance but boy are they. so while steve things dances are a dumb tradition and eddie would never conform in such a way, they hatch a little plan to give scott and wayne a school dance.

sure all it is is the trailers living room done in crepe paper and fairy lights but they put their whole heart into it and eddie made a tape of songs they would have had and tells each of them to dress as nice as possible, they're going out to dinner to celebrate. only it's a trick.

wayne grumbles and complains about the tacks in his walls and this is for children, gruff, gruff, gruff. complain, complain, complain. scott lets him go, he waits it out, and when the coast is clear he says something to the extent of "We never got to do this right back then, why not now?" and wayne's a sucker to that wide eyed optimism (and definitely doesn't think scott has a good point lol). so while eddie and steve go off to hellfire and then dinner, scott and wayne dance around the living room and drink the cheap punch the bowls left in a mixing bowl on the counter. They play the tape twice through and make lots of jokes about kissing behind the bleachers. mixed in with jokes about their joints cracking when they move.

and maybe, juuuuuust maybe by the end of the night wayne admits he would have liked to be able to do this in high school and he kind of, sort of had a bit of fun tonight. but don't get any ideas. they're not having childish dates all the time, just this once.

(that got way longer than i expected, I'm not sorry but I hope you at least enjoy lmao)

anon i am going FERAL i love this?? so much???

steve and eddie plotting some romance, old men getting to rewrite their past together, the whole grumpy one / sunshine one dynamic that i love most about clarkson... and then the lil joke at the end about their joints lmao i love when they're being old men. *slaps roof of this fic* this bad boy can fit so many of my favorite tropes in it. forehead kiss for you!!

#clarkson my beloved

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aroaceconfessions · 1 year

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WOO this ended up being way longer than i intended!! anyway!!

i recently realized that i actually have a chance at one of those "aroace dreams" that people talk about--y'know, living with your best friend where neither of you have partners and you get to grow up into old coots together?

i recently started hanging out with an old friend of mine, since all of our friends have run off to college. we've been friends for 10+ years, and we were best friends for about 8 of those. we're both neurodivergent (as hell), trans (as hell), and there's a good damn chance (99.99%) that he's aroace and just hasn't realized it yet.

so, y'know, chances are neither of us will ever have partners. and we already have a ton of shared interests. history. inside jokes and senses of humor. and maybe i'm being a little dramatic, but they really do bring out the best in me. i feel like i'm truly free to be myself around them without fear of being cringe and it's so... refreshing. they're just so refreshing!!

and i genuinely think we could make things work. we're both introverts, so we both have a limit before we need to clock out. we've had countless sleepovers in the past so we've both had a taste of what it's like living together. he likes to cook. i like to clean. we're both animal people. we're both go-with-the-flow and have never had any serious disagreements. i genuinely think we could make it work.

the only problem is i don't know if he feels the same way about me. i mentioned earlier that we only recently reconnected (after a 2.5 year gap of barely talking at all) and i'm scared that if i bring up rooming too soon i'm gonna seem clingy/overbearing. he also has a lot more friends than me, so there's a chance he's already talked to someone else about rooming. maybe by the time i feel more sure about things it'll be too late and he'll be making plans with someone else. maybe he'll just say no. or even worse maybe he'll say yes and he'll regret it because i actually suck to live with LMAO

just... the fact that there's a chance gives me hope. it's something to look forward to, y'know? i love my friend very dearly and whether or not we end up living together, i hope that we both get to grow old together and spend our sundays being cringe grandpas feeding pigeons in the park :)

(also, my friend is, in fact, an avid tumblr user. so a**c if you somehow find this and realize it's about you. no it's not. freak. ❤️)

#aromantic #asexual #aroace #aspec #aro #ace #arospec #acespec #arose #qpp #qpr #queer platonic relationship #queer platonic partner #friends #friendship

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dark-frosted-heart · 2 years

Text

2nd Anniversary Event - More Love with the Beast - Gilbert (premium end)

This is in Gilbert's POV. The beginning is so edgy lmao

The fate of the human who's caught the attention of the trampling beast has been decided. Pulled into a bottomless swamp of malice by people who were neither friend nor foe, the word rapidly loses its warmth, no emotions appear, and before long, the heart dies. In...other words, if there is someone you don't like, someone you want to break, then be sweet and kind to that person, and make them become the favorite of the beast.

Gilbert looks up at the red sky before it turns into a moonless night, thinking about how he doesn't want to break the bunny or make her go mad. He wants to do the opposite actually. He apologizes as he decides to use her as the "last judgement". In a parallel universe, he might have left the bunny alone. But not in this world. Here, he'll drag the lovely woman into a swamp of malice. It won't be worth it if he doesn't grant a small wish.

Gilbert and MC return to the tavern to find it already empty, but Gilbert has no interest in the hired hands. He wonders aloud where the real bookstore clerk was hidden, but there's no one to torture information out of. So, he's going to have to use his head. If it were him that was going to replace the clerk, he would have killed the original one first. But the hired hands weren't ones who had abandoned their human heart and weren't exactly skilled at wielding swords either, so they wouldn't have killed the clerk. He asks MC where she would hide the clerk. For MC, she'd hide them in a place she'd be able to go to every day so that she can feed them. Gilbert agrees, if the hostage were still alive. MC asks if they are alive and Gilbert's like "who knows?". He gets a kick out of her anxiety-filled eyes before telling her that he was only joking. He's sure the clerk's still alive.

The likeliness of the clerk being hidden in a base instead of a private residence is high and bad guys would want to hide their crimes underground. When MC asks why, he explains that it's because not a sound can be heard underground. Perhaps the clerk's hidden in the tavern's basement. With a mental map constructed, Gilbert heads to a wooden table at the back of the building. He kicks it away, revealing an unnatural-looking cutout in the floor as he had expected. MC's amazed by Gilbert's finding. He didn't expect her eyes to light up like this, but he doesn't hate it. Removing the floorboard reveals a path leading underground. There are signs of people at the end of the pitch dark path. Definitely a place where someone would be hidden.

As he's thinking about leaving MC above ground just in case, though he's sure she'd be fine either way, MC tells Gilbert that they should head in. MC rolls up her sleeves and moves to head down first. At this moment, Gilbert can't help but wonder how this girl has managed to survive until now. He pulls her back hard by the collar, making her fall on her butt and asks if she's an idiot. A certain friend of his would have complained that doing that was was unbecoming of a gentleman, but unfortunately for him, he didn't share the notion of treating women kindly just because they were women.

Gilbert asks MC what she's planning on doing if she runs into any of the remaining thugs in the basement. MC quietly admits that she was being careless. He commends her for her honesty. MC stands up, looking a little disheartened. Gilbert tells MC to stay put, he's not going to go head in with someone that'll slow him down. MC can't help but be worried and Gilbert asks if it's because of him. After all, he could torture people for information. But MC says she's not worried about that, just thought it'd be lonely for someone to head into the dark alone. Gilbert's surprised that she'd think he'd feel lonely. MC's unsure herself. It seemed that she was concerned about Gilbert, the prince that would bring ruin to her country one day. Gilbert laughs and says that MC really is an idiot. He appreciates her concern but he has two reasons to keep her upstairs. One, to prevent the guys from blocking the entrance to the basement. Two, he can't fight the ways he wants and protect her at the same time. MC understands and Gilbert says he likes a good girl who's perceptive.

He almost reaches out for again before withdrawing. Though he had grabbed MC's collar earlier, he's unable to touch her with the hands that had "that filthy man's blood". He enters the basement, guided by a torch. The air gets staler the deeper he goes. Eventually he opens an iron door that leads to a small, dimly lit room. Within is a woman sitting on the floor, her hands and feet shackled. He asks her if she's the bookstore's clerk. She asks who he is and that tells him that the personnel that the devil bureaucrat (Sariel) arranges are ordinary people who don't know anything. He tells her that he's glade she's alive, but then points his cane at her neck. He has a favor to ask of her, to quit her job at the bookstore once she leaves this basement. Because of her incompetence, a friend of his was put in danger. Rather than a favor, it's an order. He presses the end of his cane against her throat and she nods, teary-eyed. He then tells her to tell her boss who sent her; he won't behave himself if something happens to his friend. He'll consider it as picking a fight with Obsidian. The woman pales at the mention of Obsidian. Gilbert's work here is done.

He's frustrated with Rhodolite and the poor replacement they chose that couldn't fight back against a violent organization. He'd have to increase security around MC. Can't have her dying on him now. Gilbert removes the woman's shackles with a special tool of his.

By the time he and MC returned to the castle, it was already night. He's about the part ways with her when MC clutches his cape and asks him to wait. He asks her if she misses him already. She doesn't but she'd like to talk to him alone some time. Gilbert points out that they're alone now, so if she has something to say, then say it. MC can't. Looking around while still clutching his cape, she whispers that she'd like to talk to him away from prying eyes. He's surprised at her words, but remembers that he's told MC about being watched before so he shouldn't be surprised. And he worries about her. The constant surveillance from Rhodolite's supposed to keep him in check and make sure that the bunny doesn't get eaten by the caged beast, but the bunny wants to get inside the cage.

Gilbert asks MC why she wants to talk to him alone. She says it's because she promised to listen to any of his troubles. He agrees. Hiding any bad ideas behind a smile, he whispers to her that they'll meet tomorrow night at the chapel at the back of the court. He then bites her ear, eliciting an amusingly sensual sound from her. He asks if she'll be ready and she replies that she will. MC jumps away from him, but it's useless since beasts are always hungry. In one day, Gilbert realized something he didn't like. MC will always be prey and won't survive in court without protection. He doesn't have to protect her, but he will for now. Sweeter, kinder, and more carefully than anyone else. Even if that means ruining her.

Gilbert bids MC goodnight, turns around, and heads to his room. Internally, he tells her that he doesn't want to be friends with her for malicious reasons. He'll show her tomorrow just "how much he likes her."

Epilogue

#ikepri summary #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikepri spoilers

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lilyfreshwater · 2 years

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i think your anons are exaggerating about ranboo's "projects" a lot of the time, just because they saw one clip where he's talking about maybe doing something in the future or main mentioned it doesn't mean it's like some official project. some things i've seen them describing as "projects" or "plans" were literally one time jokes taken out of context lmao. tbh only real Big projects i could think of rn are genloss (here i mostly agree with progress being really slow for apparently no reason but i also don't care about genloss that much so i don't even notice this most of the time... 😭) and that one new secret thing that he predicted for "end of the year Maybe" anyways, i think?

delays with white noise have been explained (idk if you heard, i didn't go thru your blog much lately, but basically they didn't upload bcs their editor was on vacation after graduating so they wouldn't have videos ready for a while even if they uploaded the ready ones straight away, they're back now), i remember one of your anons asking abt subathon and he mentioned that recently too (had a lot of preplanned travels etc since he moved so he wants to do it when he'll be at home for a longer period of time, hopefully soon™️ kekw)

the youtube thing was also a huge project he mentioned doing several times. at first he was gonna have the vlogs, then the gaming videos, then i think he was gonna make it a edited stream channel? idk, all i remember is he talked about these things like he had a plan and they were going to happen, and then nothing did. with gen loss, that's a huge project he's literally been teasing for over a year and nothing has come of it. we can't act like he "hasn't had time" or is working on something else cause there's no other big project he's been a part of. this new big project i have very little faith in ever happening either because "end of the year maybe" is just screaming a lack of confidence. as for white noise, either find a new temporary editor or just edit it yourself. i watched the first episode and it's nothing revolutionary, there's no way neither ranboo nor sneeg have time to do it. as i mentioned previously, there's not much else going on for ranboo. and for the charity subathon, why promise to do something if you know you won't have time coming up? he knows his schedule. it doesn't make any sense to bring something up and then leave people hanging for months.

another way we have to look at this is in the context of all the little pieces of missed content in the past. remember all the small sub goals that just never happened? i think one anon said they estimated it to be over $25,000 in subs, but considering that's only about 5,000 subs i'd say we're looking at at least quadruple that, if not more. like i said earlier, this is not a one time thing, or an occasional promise left unfulfilled. this is a chronic problem that has plagued ranboo's content since the beginning, and now that he's attempting to branch out into bigger things it's just getting worse

#ask #frank's conspiracy theories #hiddenhornet

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wtf-amiru · 1 year

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Ship asks: 2, 12, 13, and 46?

2. Who wakes up early/Who sleeps in late? I believe I've answered this before honestly, and I know I've talked about it but A'miru is NOT a morning person at all. I could see her a 10am wake up kind of person tho. G'raha is a morning person, perpetual student with perpetual student habits of being up early for class bc you know he's there because he wants to be. The only way you're getting Miru out of bed in the early am is with coffee lol

12. Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent? I think they were both so solitary before each other that it's a weird mix of both. They're fine alone on their own and will get done what they need to do and do it without complaining or whining but gosh they miss each other. Miru misses not having to say anything to communicate how she feels and I think G'raha, honestly, misses her needing him for little things like waking up and when she forgets things. He enjoys coaxing her awake and being sort of the "organized one", and he enjoys the little things like joking around and being general cat clowns together, she brings out a lot of mischief in him, helps him let go after all he's had to sit through alone. So yeah, they're both incredibly independent but boy howdy they miss each other a ton. Don't bother them for a while after time away from each other, they're either gonna be gross or be menaces lmao.

13. How do they keep in contact when they’re apart? Do they write letters, talk on the phone, or simply wait out the time? Oh Tataru got them their own linkpearls. They're insufferable over a shared connection with other people. About 2 weeks after G'raha was back from the first Tataru gifted them their private linkpearl bc other scions were tired of hearing them chat about nothing for hours. Just like....I need you to picture being in a group chat with 2 gremlins in love. Literally the worst especially with traveling and mixed timezones. 2 am and hearing "found a bug that reminded me of you" and then hearing "A BUG?! Babe, c'mon, are you calling me a bug?" Like just....they're not incredibly sickly sweet @ each other, that's not why the scions wanted separate linkpearls for them, they're just stupid @ each other lol

46. Do they consider their relationship casual or serious? Is the answer different depending on who you ask? Why? They are that kind of casual you get when you know you're gonna be with that person for a good long while. Like yes they are "serious" but neither of them have grand plans or anything huge like that, they are not inherently serious people. They're both still in their mid to late 20's so they're not really thinking about buying houses and having kids kind of serious. So like....yes they both point at each other and go "that is my life partner" but also they're still very much.....i hesitate to say kids, but still figuring their shit out. Will they last forever? Well they sure hope so but understand life throws unimaginable curve balls at you (haaaaaave you played msq?) and recognize something could happen still to separate them, but have no plans themselves to spend their time with anyone else. And then after all this I have to try and explain how Estinien fits in. He fully has his own life and shit with Aymeric in my canon, him and a'miru just kinda have this closeness of comfort from when A'miru was dragging herself out of the depths of depression. So they have a weird little thing. They sleep together when they're on assignments together, they occasionally bang they have a non-committal relationship that the others involved understand and are fine with. He's her emotional support elf in extremely specific situations. G'raha -> words, comfort, home. Estinien -> stability, brick wall, blunt and not afraid to piss her off to tell her what needs to be said (he's the "you're being an incredible dumbass" one) Anyway I'm not sure this makes sense to anyone else but me but here ya go :3 lol

#ffxiv #askies #brainisafk #a'miru #a'miru headcanons #g'raha #estinien #i genuinely don't know how to make estinien make sense to anyone else but me #hopefully my ramblings are legible lol

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vincess-princess · 2 years

Text

in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 6

Word count: 3019 Warnings: none (for once lmao) A\N: this will probably be my last update for the month because i have exams coming, sorry :( and, of course, i'm not the author of the shanty mentioned in the chapter

By dinner, a generous share of warm beer and several bitter puffs of a cigarette that Mick forced through his teeth brought Vince back onto the sinful earth. He obediently followed Mick’s orders and fussed around in the kitchen, though wrenching even a single word out of him was rotten work. Neither Mick nor Tommy who dropped by the galley to “check when the dinner is ready” got a clear picture of what had happened: a few listless hand waves, barely noticeable head shakes and one eye roll at an especially bad joke were all they could get. Nikki was just as unwilling to share the details, apart from several curse words, and by dinner drank himself into oblivion. Which was probably a mistake on his side, because the upcoming day was expected to be quite turbulent – they were finally going to arrive to Port Royal and dump the captives and most of the goods into the grabby hands of local barons. The crew looked forward to it, having spent weeks at sea, and loudly and happily talked about their plans, which primarily consisted of girls and ale, during the dinner. Listening to them made Vince’s heart ache – he too wanted to lose himself in the warm embrace of a girl and a bottle of wine flavored with spices. But he knew he most likely would not be let out without supervision, or would simply be confined to the galley. Still, an inkling of hope in him persisted.

The nights in the Atlantic Ocean were always warm, but as the ship went southwards they were becoming more hot and humid, so the crew spent most of their time on deck instead of hiding in the wardroom. Vince didn’t like the idea of spending the night outside – he always heard that night air could make one sick, what if he caught a cold? – but staying in the galley was not an option. Provident Mick did not risk to leave him there alone, not with so many knives around that he could see attracted Vince like a mouse to cheese in a trap. Mick could see almost everything with his icy-blue eyes that penetrated Vince’s soul to its very core. Vince only hoped he couldn’t read his thoughts – he wanted to keep at least some part of him to himself.

Mick played his guitar on the deck that evening, and all the sailors passing past him slowed down or stopped in their tracks outright to listen to the quiet, haunting melodies that gradually evolved into heavy beats of such power the strings rang and wailed as if on the verge of breaking. Most songs Vince couldn’t recognize – of course, Mick wasn’t playing anything he typically heard in operas and at concerts. But some sounded familiar; Vince might have heard his men singing them while working on deck while he was in his cabin supposedly dealing with business. In reality, though, he often abandoned boring papers to press his ear to the door and listen to hoarse, powerful voices sing unevenly but with refreshing sincerity. No opera or choir could ever imitate the rawness and liveliness of such simple tunes sung by such simple folk.

One of them was just flowing from under Mick’s bony fingers. It was mostly beats and clapping rather than actual melody, but the sound intertwined so naturally with the winds howling around and the waves crushing at the bow of the ship that any professional music would sound out of place – fake, even.

Mick saw Vince tap the rhythm with his foot on the floor and raised an eyebrow. “You know the tune?”

Vince half-nodded, half-shrugged. He heard his crew sing it, and sometimes sang it quietly to himself when alone in his cabin. He was a decent singer – or he wanted to believe he was – but he couldn’t join his crew in it for fear of losing their high regard for him. He was of noble blood, after all, and did not belong among simple folk.

“How come? This ain’t what they play in operas, or wherever your kind goes to have some fun,” Tommy chimed in, unasked.

“Heard my crew sing it,” Vince replied reluctantly. These were one of the only words he said over the evening.

“Did you like it?” Mick asked, glaring at Tommy.

Vince shrugged again. Any weakness he had, any secret aspirations he nursed the pirates would target before everything else, because it hurt the hardest. Better not reveal his soft spots to them at all.

“Well, not like he’s got much of a choice. Don’t have a choir here, princess.” Tommy plopped onto the same bench that Vince sat on. It was a bit too short for three people at once, but Tommy unceremoniously squeezed in anyways, swaying his hips to fit on the narrow plank. His hand immediately slid onto Vince’s knee. Vince slapped it away, only for it to return, this time feeling his thigh. He was too tired to argue, so he let it be.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Mick concluded. “T-bone, you remember the ‘All For Me Grog’ lyrics?”

“Of course,” Tommy grinned. “What, are we throwing a party for the newcomer?”

“Jesus, Tommy, give the guy a break,” Mick rolled his eyes. “Now, why don’t you put your mouth to good use and sing for us? The night is terribly quiet.”

“Not a problem, boss. Hey, everyone!” Tommy called out to the crew. “What do ya think of a little song break?”

The pirates cheered, dropping whatever they were doing and surrounding Tommy, Mick and Vince. They still stared at Vince like he was an exotic animal, but at least they didn’t look hungry. Only one person, a long-haired ginger sailing master, remained unphased, gripping at the helm like his life depended on it.

“All For Me Grog, everyone!” Mick declared and began tapping out the rhythm on his guitar. Almost immediately, Tommy began to sing.

He had a good voice, Vince had to admit. A little bit hoarse from all the cigarettes smoked, perhaps, but it only added to its charm.

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots, They're all gone for beer and tobacco, he sang, and his voice rang all across the ship and farther, drowning in deep black waters of the Atlantic Ocean. For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about And the soles are looking out for better weather,

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog, It's all for me beer and tobacco-

The crew joined for the chorus, croaky, husky voices interweaving together into a low, steady rumble. As much as Vince didn’t want to admit it, the sound forced goosebumps to run down his back.

For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin, they sang as Tommy winked at Vince and squeezed his knee harder. Far across the western ocean I must wander.

Where is me shirt, me noggin', noggin' shirt, It's all gone for beer and tobacco, For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn, And the tail is looking out for better weather.

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed, Since first I came ashore from me slumber, For I spent all me dough on the lassies don't you know, Far across the western ocean I must wander.

As the singing faded, an unnatural silence broken only by the sound of waves descended onto the ship. The pirates stood still for a few moments, looking yet not seeing one another, their thoughts far away. At home with a wife waiting for them, or in a pub drinking with buddies, or in bed with hot fingers of a hooker all over their bodies… what else did people like them, always on the move, always hiding from the law, long for?

Well, at least Vince knew damn well what he wanted – to get away from this goddamn ship. And the inkling of hope inside him that he had no heart to suppress whispered to him that he could only hope to pull it off tomorrow. He needed to be alert and prepared – to seize the opportunity when it comes. Not if. When.

“Great, everyone, now back to work!” Tommy clapped his hands, and the silence was broken by shuffling of boots on the deck and indecipherable murmuring. “You too!” he poked Vince in the chest. “The dishes ain’t gonna wash themselves. Come on, come on, I’ll help you carry them.” With that, he pushed a tray in Vince’s hands and began piling up plates on it. Vince narrowed his eyes at him, trying to catch his gaze, but the first mate was terribly occupied with fitting as many plates onto the tray as possible. Since when Tommy was so eager to help him do the dirty work?

Of course, it wasn’t just out of kindness of Tommy’s heart. When they entered the galley, he slammed the door shut and turned to Vince. His angry frown made Vince clutch the tray tighter, as if it could help him should Tommy want to hurt him, although Vince couldn’t recall anything he did lately that would make the first mate dissatisfied with him.

“What the hell did you do to Nikki?” Tommy demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Vince forced himself to let go of the tray and upended it above the tub, accidentally splashing the muddy water on his pants. “Oh, fiddlesticks!”

Tommy snorted and his frown evened out slightly. “Jesus, if anyone else hears you say that you are gonna get your ass beaten. Just say ‘damn’ like everyone else.”

“I’ll have my fiddlesticks, thanks.” Vince grabbed a towel from the counter and tried to sop up the water on his clothes, silently hoping that Tommy would drop the topic and leave him alone. To no avail, unfortunately.

“Asking nicely for the last time,” Tommy stepped forward, towering over Vince in his high-heeled boots. How did he even walk in those on the always-swaying deck? “What happened?”

“Why do you care?” Vince snapped back. “Are you policing his sex life or something? Pervert.”

“I couldn’t care less about where he sticks his dick as long as his nose doesn’t fall off. But I do care about our business, and he’s lying there out cold surrounded by empty bottles. I talked to him in the morning – everything was normal. You leave his cabin, and he drinks himself into oblivion and refuses to show up on deck or even open the door. What the hell happened?” Tommy reached forward and squeezed Vince’s shoulder, not letting him back off.

Upon learning that Nikki hadn’t told anyone about Vince’s breakdown relief washed over him. Knew Tommy about it, the entire crew would have already been snickering and whispering around Vince, and for a reason. Going into a fit of panic when told to undress, like some hysterical nun who’d never seen a dick in her life, wasn’t quite what Vince wanted to be known for. Sure, everybody already knew he was Nikki’s toy, but he could at least carry that unflattering status with as much pride as it was possible to have in this situation.

“What do you think?” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you think he wanted to play poker with me or something?”

“Sure he didn’t. But I know him, and this ain’t how he behaves after sex, so I can only assume he hasn’t had any. Which is weird, because he always gets what he wants, even from bitches like you. What did you do to him?”

“Ask rather what he did to me.” Vince turned away demonstratively and reached for a sponge. “Maybe it’s his conscience finally waking up.”

“Hah, nothing of this kind in that asshole,” Tommy brushed him off with a chuckle. “Listen, I’m not gonna leave you alone until you tell me.”

“Then you’ll be spending a night here,” Vince didn’t retreat, plunging the sponge into muddy water, pursing his lips in disgust when his hand touched some food remains. “Maybe he’s upset I drank that premium whisky of his.”

“He gave you his premium whisky? You lucky son of a bitch!” Tommy almost jumped, his eyes lighting up. “Can’t imagine how well you sucked him off to get that. So all it takes is just offering you some booze? I have some vodka stashed somewhere-”

A plate almost crashed against his head – he managed to duck at the last second, and it broke against the wall instead. Vince didn’t have enough time to fling another plate – Tommy tackled him to the floor instead.

“Let me go,” Vince hissed, wriggling underneath him.

“I will, if you ain’t gonna throw more plates at me”.

“I will, if you cut that talk.”

“Well, we’ll stay like this then.” Tommy shrugged. “So that was all a show the first time? Are you more pliable one-by-one, or was that the booze?”

“Neither. I’ve drunk beverages a hundred times better than that whisky. And no, that wasn’t a show.”

“Hard to believe, princess.” Tommy pinched his cheek. “But you’ve got a grain of truth somewhere, I admit. Nikki wouldn’t react like that to a good blowjob.” He finally rolled off Vince and plopped down onto his sleeping place, his legs alone half of the room’s length, and patted the place next to him on the blanket. After a little hesitation Vince moved there too, solely because the floor was too cold.

“So, now that we’re comfortable and cozy, will you fuckin’ tell me what happened?” Tommy pressed on. Vince tried not to touch his body, but he could feel heat radiating from it even at a distance. “With as many details as possible. I won’t jerk off on it, I promise. At least in your presence.”

“Nothing much,” Vince shook his head again. “Nothing to jerk off to - we didn’t even have sex.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Tommy looked disappointed. “I hoped for a juicy story. How come Nikki didn’t fuck you again? I know he wanted to – he’s been talking about you all night not letting me sleep in peace - and I doubt you are eloquent enough to talk him out of that.”

“I might be,” Vince got offended. Did Tommy think he had been taking all his rhetoric classes for nothing? “But words wouldn’t help there. They didn’t help me yesterday, after all.”

Tommy ignored Vince’s full-of-disdain look.

“How’d you squeeze the whisky out of him then? You don’t look like the type – and even if you did, I doubt you could get it with force. Nikki’s just as good at hand-to-hand combat as with a sword.”

Tommy didn’t lie, still looking fully determined to wring the answer out of him, and Vince gave up, not ready to listen to his nagging for the rest of the night. But even remembering what happened from a safe distance of the galley still made a lump form in his throat and his heart beat faster. He was so tired of all this. Even the pride he was clutching at like a drowning man to a raft seemed less important than just being left alone. Besides, everyone on the ship already knew he was Nikki’s bitch, so what difference would it make to have that happen twice?

“He started undressing me, and I kind of… began to suffocate. I don’t know what happened – everything was blurry and I couldn’t breathe. And then he pours this whisky into my mouth and sends me away. That’s all.”

Tommy stayed silent for a minute or two, which in his case was more frightening than when he talked all the time.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Vince added hastily. “I mean, not that there’s much of a reputation to ruin for me, but still.”

“I won’t,” Tommy said after a few seconds of pondering over it, “but not because of you. Because of him. They might consider it a weakness.”

In other circumstances Vince wouldn’t believe him, but now it was different. Tommy spoke without a usual hint of mockery in his voice and looked more serious than Vince had ever seen him over the short period on the Shout. So he was inclined to believe him – or at least hope that he wouldn’t spill the beans intentionally.

“Still, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, princess. By the way, I just now realized I don’t even know your name. I know you’re a Wharton because we found papers in the captain’s cabin, but not much more than that.”

“Vincent Neil,” Vince said after a short pause. Maybe now he would start calling him by his name instead of giving him womanly nicknames? “I don’t suppose anyone here will call me that, so just Vince will do.”

“Alright, princess Vinnie,” Tommy grinned (no, this was a hopeless case) and then, unexpectedly, stretched his hand forward. “Nice to meet you.”

Vince stared at it like it was an exotic and extremely venomous snake somebody just suggested he pet. But seconds passed and Tommy’s hand didn’t waver, and Vince decided he didn’t want to decline this extremely rare demonstration of respect he was so unexpectedly offered.

“Can’t say it’s mutual, sorry.” He shook Tommy’s hand.

Tommy burst into laughter. “That was harsh! Didn’t you have your etig- etiqa- good behavior lessons in your childhood?”

“Etiquette, you mean? It’s useless outside social events. No one cares which fork you use for fish and which for salad here.”

“Wait, you use different forks for different dishes? Man, that’s crazy. How’d you remember all that? And what a pain in the ass it must be to wash all of them!”

“I never remembered anything even after all my lessons,” Vince smiled faintly. “Always thought it to be stupid, honestly.”

“Well, at least here we’re on the same page,” Tommy nodded and got up. “Now, you have work to do, and who am I to interrupt you?”

“Bastard,” Vince murmured to his back. Tommy jerked his shoulder, but chose to ignore the insult and hurried out of the galley.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #my writing #here is a small chapter where i give vince a bit of a break :D #i'd love to develop his relationship with tommy more i think it's full of potential #and of course i had to have mick play something because that's the closest to heaven vince will ever get on this ship #i probably have too many commas in here but i refuse to comb through this again it's 2 am here

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