#i know it probably want exactly what you were looking for
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‘ CANDY BOY ! ’
ᡴꪫ sum. who would have thought that the #1 camboy in your city was no one other than your virgin roommate gojo, who’s totally putting on a show for his fangirls. he talks too much, but maybe you can shut his mouth and put his sweetened little fantasies to reality.
wc. 5.8k
warnings. fem! reader, camboy!gojo, college au, gojo's a virgin, switch! gojo, unprotected, dirty talk, he gets pússy drunk quick, overstim, "good boy" usage, cunnilıngus, premature ejaculating, nipple play, lots of spıt, handjōbs.
if someone would have told you that your loser of of a roommate who stuffs his mouth with a bit too many sweets, cries at romcoms, and is just an overall dork was a camboy, you’d call them crazy. batshit crazy even, yet that’s exactly what happened—
gojo was rightfully one of the top camboys in the city, probably in the world too. he was sort of a household name, it was more of a side hustle for him. he did it only for the money—sure, he adored his fans, even the ones that went a little too extreme with the provocative thirsting. but that’s all part of the job, he’s about seven months strong in his little gig. every saturday and sunday, he logs on under the user of: @/GOJOSLUTORU.
the moment that same notification pops up that he’s live, a plethora of his fans join immensely, wondering just what their favorite camboy satoru was up to today. his streams would last for a good two hours—longer sometimes if it was some kind of special event where he’d reach a massive amount of donations, a special treat for his fans. gojo was beloved for his flirty personality, he’d make his fangirls swoon with his words, despite knowing full well he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a lady.
that’s until you came along—more like catching him right in the act. it couldn’t have been any more embarrassing though. eleven thousand eyes were cheering him on, showering him with lewd "good boy" praises until you drop your bag.
“satoru?” you utter, curling your brow into a surprised furrow once you take in the scene in front of you. tossing the spare set of keys into the bin, you glance at your roommate—he freezes mid stroke with the most flustered expression. his hands were a bit … occupied, and a glimpse of a familiar cloth you once wore catches your eye. “are those my panties?”
“no….?”
with a deadpan, your shoulders drop before you drag your feet towards him to take a quicker look. oh, those were definitely your panties. so that’s where they ran off too. gojo tries to shield his nude exposed lower half with a nearby towel but it’s no use—you saw everything you needed to see.
“anywhooo,” he swallows, taking a brief peer at his chat that was flooding with all types of questions. they wanted to see you, they wanted to see gojo’s pretty roommate who he’s always rambling about on stream. clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before pitching his tone. he tries to sound more attractive but ends up butchering right away, stuttering at his first pathetic sentence. “ i- i didn’t think you’d get here so early. how was the exam?”
“it was … fine,” you mumble, barely acknowledging his words. your mind was racing vigorously, trying to process how you’d just seen your roommate half naked. going up behind him, you lean in towards his neat set up—you grew a bit curious, immediately, your eyes meet the other eyes that stare back at you. near the top right displayed his large following of eight hundred thousand, the top left displays his current view count, a whopping amount of almost twelve thousand. peeking at the chat, you’re met with dozens of freshly new comments saying how pretty you are, asking if you’re his girlfriend he always talks about, and so on. “you’re a camboy?”
“heh, camboy’s kind of an exaggeration but,” and he’s nervous, you can hear the slight tremor in his voice. it’s cute, gojo was prepared for you to judge him for his side hustle but instead you don’t. he relaxes a bit, shifting his attention away from his crude chat and towards you. “i like to label myself as a um, streamer..”
you have a growing simper. “i don’t think streamers usually get naked for their audience,” and you take a quick stare at his attire—he was practically shirtless, his boxers were covered although he was wearing some kind of tank that had ‘submissive and breedable’ printed on the very front. you furrow your eyebrow, though you choose not to question it. his nervously sly smile only grows once he catches your eyes quite literally checking him out. glancing at the comments again, you hum. “why do they keep asking if i’m your girlfriend? you don’t have a girlfr-”
“woah, s-shut up!” he whines, cupping a hand over your mouth. you giggle, feeling the warmth of his palm rub against your lips. gojo lowers his voice, speaking in a faint whisper. “they think you’re my girlfriend,” and he peels his hand away before running a finger down his nape. “i told them that because-”
“satoru,” you roll your eyes, noticing how he was quite stiff with his body language. being this close to you, your mere elegant fragerence was so exhilarating for him. you made him this nervous, truth be told ; you were far too caught up in your academics to even realize your roommate had a little crush on you. however, you do wish you found out in a more … non less of a lewd way, a way where he wasn’t caught red-handed fondling with a pair of your pretty sage-colored panties. with a sigh, you mumble to him. “you wanna fuck, don’t you?”
that’s definitely not what he thought you was gonna say,
with pouty shimmery lips, gojo’s eyes widen before a sheepish grin marinates against his features. “pft. do i wanna fuck, whaaat?” and he doesn’t even last a second before sighing, dropping his head down in defeat. “y-yes..”
the ringing from his monitor — dozens of women sending him gifts, tickets, donations, begging for their favorite camboy to notice him only gets more disruptive.
the ringing grows louder, the repetitive chiming sound of bells, the blaring notification it makes whenever someone sends him a sweet contribution. pretty soon, he was on the verge of meeting yet another goal. ever since you got spotted on the stream, his viewer count doubled.
“well, why didn’t you just ask? besides, there’s other ways than using my panties to get off.” and a wave of embarrassment washes over his face. the towel’s still covering his torso before he shoots you a shy smile. any closer you could’ve got to him and he thought he was gonna explode. the heat radiating from you had his head going in a crazed ditz. stroking his cheek, you speak softly.
“i’m sorry,” he whines, bottom lip poking out. you end up sitting flat on his lap, and instinctively, the curvature of your waist was met with two big hands snaking around it. you’re so pretty like this, he wanted you so so bad. swallowing, he peeks towards his chat before you cup both of his temples to stare right back into your eyes. “i was gonna ask you but- but i’ve never done this, you know,” and the way you slide a finger behind his neck, skimming the texture of your middle finger down his undercut snatches a purr from him. “i- i want you, but i just don’t know what to do with like .. i wanna make sure that i don’t embarrass myself.”
oh, he couldn’t have been any more cuter,
you heard the slight crack in gojo’s voice at the end of his candied sentences before you sling your arms over him. “don’t be embarrassed,” you softly reply, still straddling his lap. “i can always show you how.” and he gulps, your voice was smooth as silk. sweet as honey, the more you strum your thumb down his undercut, the more he can hear the rapid pulse of his heart beat throb through his ears. the simplicity of your touch was enough to have him weak.
“please..” he murmurs in a hushed tone, loving the way how gentle, how tender you were with your touch. gojo mewls out a needy whimper, feeling a sudden tent rise near between his legs. he was hard, you’d giften him a pretty solid boner and whilst you were propped up on his lap, you felt it rub against you all too well.
gojo awaits for you to make the first move, but you’re teasing . . seeing if he was going to initiate, and he does, inching his sheeny lips into yours.
your roommate pulls you into a deep kiss, he tastes like candy, candied. with your arms still occupied, wrapping around him, you glide your tongue against his, parting lips, teeth clashing amongst each other in sync. you could hear the faint sounds of whimpers run from his lips, he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands though—so gingerly, a hand of his strums down your back, giving the fabric that stuck against your skin a soft yank. he wanted you, the strain beneath his half on boxers only grows the more he starts to suck on your tongue.
heavy, wheezing breaths collide against each other, hitting each moving muscle like a wave,
he’s so eager,
gojo’s mind clears everything out of his head and he’s just focused on you. the saccharine tang of your signature lip gloss, he tastes it and it’s so delicious.
through cerulean-pristine hazed peripherals, gojo looks towards his chat to read some of the comments . .
chososdoublehomicide: i miss choso
zorosthroatwarmer293: i wanna be gojo >:( she’s so pretty
secksybabeamy: Hey hot stuff ;) Subscribe to my only fans!
throatgoatemily: His whines omg
as the kiss deepens, gojo whines once your hand slithers its way down between his legs. slowly removing the towel that sheaths his exposed body, you feel against his dick. at first touch, he whimpers, then whines, then whimpers again.
he was so pent up—you could feel it, you were gentle with your fingers, brushing it against the length of his dick before gently wrapping a hand around its girth. gojo moans in your mouth, feeling hitched breaths arise from his lungs. he could never get enough of how fucking sweet you were,
and he didn’t even want to.
pulling away for a long gasp of fresh air, he bites his lip as he looks down to feel your hands stroke his cock. gojo had quite the staggering inches on him, he shivers at how precise your hand movements were—
up and down,
with a hand of yours gripping over his fat length, a thumb of yours runs down the vein that coats his shaft. its pulsing, he’s needy for more of your touch so bad that it sends shockwaving static to rigorously coarse through his bouquet of neurons.
“y-your hand feels so much better than mine, heh,” he breathes, swallowing the imaginary balled up lump that resides near the back of his throat. blue irises, dilated and all stares at you—a hand reaches towards your back before his thigh starts to bounce. “not to be weird but i kinda had a dream about this, angel.”
“a dream about me stroking you?” you hum, amused before sneaking a wet kiss near the crook of his twitching lips.
gojo nods wearily, forever deeply captured by your beauty. your hands swiftly resumes to stroke him, feeling the tender skin that lives near his frenulum peel back every few seconds. gojo moans, burying his face into the very depths of your neck. so desperate, he wanted more and more. “aw, is this too much? should i slow down?”
“no.. don’t stop,” and his desperate plea was so sweet, though he wanted to go further. you giggle once he suddenly lifts you up, dragging you towards the bed. “f-fuck, ‘m sorry. can’t wait anymore,” and he hovers over you with that crazed look of total desire. “can i … eat you out?”
with a coy smile, you’re laid on your back as he just stands over you — eyes gawking at your entire physique, the way your thighs were all out with the short hem of your shorts reaching against your ass. you could tell gojo was impatient, that hungry stare in his eye never once faded.
“yeah,” you coo, parting your legs slowly. oh, you were a fucking tease.
not only were you a tease for him, you were a simple force to be reckoned with. no panties on either, gojo felt himself get hard yet again before he kneels down. with your roommate positioning himself between your legs, he lets off a soft sigh.
combing your fingers through his soft tangles, he looks up at you with a craving yet impish expression. you giggle, making him look right into your eyes. peering at his chat that was going ballistic over his girlfriend, you speak in a soft tone. “do you know how to even eat pussy, ‘toru? i can h-”
“girl i know how to eat pussy,” he grumbles, and he sounds almost offended at you asking if he needed any sorts of help.
sure—gojo literally didn’t know the first thing of eating a woman out, maybe visually.
but now that he’s up close, he has to stop himself from folding right then and there. so soaked, he gets a full view of your slick entrance, your pussy was the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes upon so far.
as he’s a few inches a apart, with sprawled open thighs—the last thing you’d expect was for to gojo to start drooling all on your cunt. a stringy, syrupy concoction of his own saliva pours out of his mouth and onto your folds. just a quick glimpse and he’s pussy drunk. fuck, he’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been but he can’t help it. gojo didn’t even get a taste and he’s already salivating at the sight of your sopping wet arousal. a thumb of yours wipes the spit that dribbles near the corner of his mouth and he whines at your touch again before he finally digs in.
lolling out his tongue, the very tip licks near the inner moistened entrance of your pulled out labia. gojo for probably the umpteenth time lays his tongue flat before he goes all in. a broad left hand of his attach towards the fat of your thigh as he remakes a long striping lick. “s-shiiit, ‘toru.” you gasp, the coldness on his tongue taking you by sheer surprise.
the texture of it .. you’re weak, gnawing on metaphoric bars of your enclose as well as the skin on your lip, you whine.
for someone who’s never had much experience, let alone no experience, you’d easily second guess. your back arches forward while gojo’s tongue rummages through every part of your clit. he sucks on your nub, closing his eyes and fully sinks into bliss. gojo’s pristine white brows cock into a furrow before he slides a thumb down your wet entrance. he just can’t get over how wet you were for him. sopping wet, inept lips of his constantly quivers before he gives your cunt a sweet kiss.
wet for him, he breaks his lips away for a few seconds just to smear his face against your pussy.
“m-mhm,” he whimpers, wanting your scent to linger on his face for as long as it could, your scent .. it was hard to not get obsessed, a few minutes in and he already felt his mouth watering.
as bundles of minuscule taste buds of his tingle with excitement — his tongue swiftly swirls through every orifice, not missing any spot. he searched through the gooey crevices of your walls, lips moving in complete tandem. his dick strains between his thighs that it’s almost painful.
if eating you out tasted this good, he only imagined what it’d feel like to be inside,
shoved deep into your pussy, stuffing you full with his luscious thickset inches . .
that same repeated whine that always sounds raw dies straight out of your esophagus, you yank on the strands of your roommate’s messy hair as his pace quickens by a mile. in the midst of devouring your heat, a broad hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs—he kisses the long slope inside of your entrance, lips all glossy and glittering with gloss thanks to you. that same panging throb starts to grow within you again. your toes curl up tightly before your eyes meet the drywall splattered on the ceiling. his tongue, the way it continues to scrabble all through every part of your cunt, he grows addicted almost immediately. gojo can’t help but lather a few sloppy kisses on your folds, sliding his tongue through your slit.
he even starts to tongue fuck you, softly thrusting the swollen tip of his tongue in and out until you’re about to whine out again for him.
that was his favorite part by far, pushing his tongue in and out of your puffy folds — relishing the way your pretty pussy coats the underside of his chin with a lustrous amount of sweet, burnished slick.
“ngh, ‘toru,” you’d wail, and your hips start to jitter against his face. he doesn’t mind . . in fact, gojo brings two hands to grip against the curves of your hips.
once he maintains a secure grasp, he lets you rub your wetness all over him. with his tongue thoroughly exploring in every part, he starts to whine too .. so eager to touch himself but he wants to keep his hands on you. a whiny whimper wrenches from the back of your throat before you start to babble. “satoru, ‘m gonna cum, fuuuck. jus’ like that, keep l-lickin’ there, baby.”
he was such a quick learner, part of you thinks he maybe had more experience than you oughta thought. gojo can’t help but attack your sweet syrupy folds with a multitude of kisses, drooling lips of his making you more sticky than you already were. your legs could barely hold themselves open.
he had to pry them open with clammy hands, slurping in every drop as if he was dehydrated with thirst. a thirst you happily quenched with him being propped between your legs. after a while, he runs a thumb down your slit once more, pretty eyes glancing up at you, wanting to see your sweet face. “a-am i doin’ a good job?” and his voice was a bit hoarse, the way he speaks, drooping eyes and a sheepish grin—visibly pussy drunk, you grab onto his strands before rocking your hips into his mouth. he giggles, muffled noises eliciting from his mouth, taking your eager jittery movements as a yes.
he just couldn’t get enough of his roommate’s taste.
occasionally, he likes to depart his lips to gather a nice concoction of saliva—only to then spit right onto your sopping folds, whining at how it was so shiny. so pretty, he’s mesmerized again at how it looks, and you end up cumming with the cutest shrieking orgasm. it snatches out of you roughly, your speech is slurred for a moment as your legs quaver in utmost pleasure.
you’re shaking, feeling him clean you up with the flatness of his tongue—gojo moans, white lashes fluttering as he takes your beauty in. this was so much better than one of his risqué wet dreams. so much better,
without even a single word leaving from his lips, he gets up to pull you into a kiss. almost immediately, you taste yourself that lingers on his tounge. it tastes sweet, gojo props himself between your thighs as you sit up, a free hand of his sliding between your stretched out legs. the constant rings of his donations continue to scream out that same annoying chime before he leans in to shut his computer. he’d probably have left so many—thousands of his fan girls devastated, but there was only a new fan girl he was fixated on.
you.
gojo was addicted, with tongues colliding against each other, hot breaths wafting against each own, he feel his breath hitch at your touch. a hand of yours snakes down to feel on his erect dick. he whines, gnawing at the bottom of your lip before his tongue gets more curious. he licks the bottom of your chin, the side of your mouth, only to then pull you into another deep kiss. “f-fuck, ‘m so hard,” he rasps between sultry kisses, heaving from each breath. you still couldn’t get over the taste of yourself that loiters all on the flat of his pink tongue. “i wanna feel you from the inside, angel.”
“but your stream,” you tease once he finally pulls away, taking a second to catch your breath yourself. you felt the heat roam across the room before stroking his cheek — flushed lips of his burn with such intensity, you had him feral. “your fans, i wouldn’t wanna interrupt them, ‘toru.”
“fuck them,” he pouts, the cute frown on his face tugging against his lips. “okay that’s mean, they help me pay rent but just- i want you right now,” and he’s so needy. he paws at your t-shirt, glossy eyes widening, god. his bottom lip pokes out, squinting for two seconds before seeing how your nipples invitingly poke out. so perky, he could feel his mouth watering sporadically. he lays you back before swallowing, a loud gulp before he hovers over you. “you knew this was gonna happen, didn’t y-you? such a tease.”
you simper, opening your legs for him and he gets a good glimpse. gojo sucks his teeth, still so soaked. he only dreamt of what you’d feel like inside.
probably so tight and warm,
the more he thinks about it, the more he could feel himself starting to drool. gojo’s panting as if he’d just finished a marathon. a hand of his wraps around his length—giving it a few solid pumps. “i thought you’d wanna do doggy for your first position,” you sweetly say, and oh, he pouts for you again. you sit up, awaiting for him to take the lead first before smiling. “missionary though? you’re not so good with eye contact, baby.”
“i know how to do missonry.” he grumbles.
“missionary,” you correct him with a titter.
he pouts again, preparing to align himself. so wet, your pussy was sopping wet, swollen from just being eaten out so good. a warm breath fans out through his lips before he rubs it against your slippery slit. “and don’t call me baby,” he moans, although the simple pet name for him a lot harder than he thought it would. slowly, gojo’s fat leaky tip continues to ghost against your folds. you hold back a sweet moan, laid all out on display for him on the mattress. he’s waited for this moment, had dreams about it, even fantasized about it. “fuck,” he’d huff out, and his voice cracks. you’d laugh but he’s staring at you the entire time with that cute pouty expression. “can- can we hold hands? for you know, leverage?”
“leverage, sure,” you play along, your fingers locking against his. damp, perspiring palms squeeze against yours before his rounded tip starts to slowly make its way inside. immensely, a breath gets caught in his throat and he whines. the warmth he’s rudely greeted with makes him gnaw his pearly whites together. “you’re kinda b-big, so go a little slow, ‘toru.”
“i’m big?” he repeats—cutely enough, it boosts his ego that you think so, yet his confidence fades the further he dumps a few hefty inches into your entrance. as you expected, you were a bit tight and stiff for a few seconds—unyielding against him for a moment, you moan. saying gojo was big was a mere understatement, he couldn’t help but lean in to lay against your chest. “how’s it feel? s-slower?”
“it’s good. that’s good,” you start to heave, gasping once he inches his head closer to latch his lips against your neglected cold nipples. he doesn’t even lift up your t-shirt, he runs his tongue through the fabric and sucks on your perked tits. “t-toru, fuckk.”
it was a soft twinge sensation at first before he’s close to bottoming out . . so close,
it’s at the moistened tip of his tongue. gojo’s shaft resumes to go in further, you feel him pulse inside before once he’s all the way in, he’s already out of breath. with his mouth occupied—he’s still sucking on your nipples through the shirt, whiney. a free hand of his runs gives your left thigh a nice firm grasp before he starts up a single few thrusts.
you whine, tossing your arms over him and he glances down at you—beads of sweat race down the sides of his brow before he sits up in a proper position. gojo can’t get over how pretty you look for him like this, he’s fully in and he sneaks a kiss onto your lips. “can i m-move?” and the falter in his voice was adorable, gojo’s breath continues to get more heavy before you give him a nod. he peppers various kisses near your mouth, neck, and of course, your precious chest. his personal favorite,
with frail arms wrapped around him, pulling him close—you run your ankle down his back and he moans. “oh, ‘s even better than i imagined,” he whispers against your ear, hot breath sending you antsy judders. the more his breath goes against your skin, the more you smell how minty it was. fresh, you desperately yearned for more so you pull him into another kiss for the nth time. “ugh. the way you clamp down, ‘s gonna kill me,” he babbles in a low puff. he’s speaking between staring up at decent pace for you to get accustomed to. you whimper, trying to get adjusted to his barreling length but he was just so fucking big. it was an ongoing rumor that between gojo—and his best friend suguru geto had the top biggest dicks. of course, you always wondered exactly how whoever started that rumor would even know, but gojo was definitely a packer. he stretched you out in ways you’ve never felt before. with strained breaths, he coats your mouth with many wet kisses. time and time again, the feeling of himself going into you raw has him drooling again. “pussy’s so wet, ‘m gonna die, oh my god.”
“don’t be dramatic, you’re not gonna die.” you try to reassure him. the grip on your hand only grows tighter, crimson lips of his suck against the underside of your chin.
so damn needy,
mussed strands of white tickle against your forehead the closer he presses his body into you. gojo was shivering, just a few minutes in pussy and as if it was a game—he’d be on the last level, game over. albeit, you feel it too. the warmth, it turns into a sweltering hot. as his hips rock, his whines start to become more vocal. he sneaks a hand down to feel the area that’s being stuffed, a thumb skims against your tummy before he moans,
“feel me t-there, yeah?” he whispers, a cute attempt at dirty talk but alas, it’s subtle. gojo easily folds once your eyes meet his gaze.
you moan, intertwining your fingers with his, moaning out a soft, “yeah,” and you sound out of breath yourself.
he’s jerking back and forth — his pace, his tempo . . wasn’t too slow or two fast, perfect.
with a quivering bottom lip, he leans in to lick against the outer shell of your ear. your cunt’s singing in harmony, sloshes of wet that leaves its metaphoric vocal cords and you start to get a bit louder. “f-fuck, ‘toru right there—fuuuck.”
“s-shit, you’re so pretty,” he pants, repeating his ways at coating your entire face with his wet kisses. you had him weak, entirely. you found it a bit silly considering how this could have happened anytime—anytime at all, all he had to do was ask. but gojo being gojo, he was not only a man with barely any experience, but he was nervous. he’s always had a bit of a crush on you but confessing sounded way scary. it was as if this entire thing was mere coincidence though, you happen to find out he’s not only a sloppy eater but,
he’s a camboy.
part of you wonders what he does on his streams. if you saw him rubbing one off while thinking about you—you could only imagine what other lewd antics he participated in.
gojo’s rutting into you at a much more quicker pace, he’s whining into your neck;
forgetting to praise you, and it’s more of the other way around. you’re cupping his face, stroking his cheek before repeating in that same melodic voice, “good boy, ‘s so good, makin’ me feel good, ‘toru baby.”
your voice, oh your voice, he could listen to it all day. you feel the constant twitch of his cock inside you and he whines every time your ankle rubs down his back. with the way your pussy holds him hostage— it’s so provocative, his reaction time was as slow as a sloth, droopy eyes stare at you before he grunts out a pleading, “f-fuck, ‘s gonna come,” and his voice sounds like a soft purr, gojo was like a kitten to you— so cute, his pout always make things more true too. he’s groaning in your ear, fat balls thwacking against you before his ears starts to ring. you’re moaning with him, bodies thrusting in sync that it’s almost like a pornographic choreography. “ugh, i- i feel it, ‘m gonna cum so much. so hot, gonna die.”
“breathe, baby,” you whisper, pulling his face closer to you. his chubby cheeks squish together once he’s within your grasp, the sharp piston of his hips makes you moan. his thrusts gets a bit sloppy and you press a kiss onto his mouth. “mwah,” you hum, watching how flustered he gets at a lick of your affection. “you wanna finish inside, don’t you?”
gojo whimpers. “yeah, yeah. really bad,” and the moment you suggest that, his ears perk cutely. he’s gotta be careful though—with a cunt as addicting as yours, he just might end up falling in love.
speaking of love, it’s as if heart eyes pour into his irises as he glances at you—again, metaphorically of course. gojo gulps at the tender touch of your fingers, leaning in to nip a kiss near your neck. through muffled words, he mewls. “i wanna fill you up. ‘s only fair since you’re milking me s-so much, ‘m so thirsty,” and he’s just babbling, pulling him close—he whines once he feels your finger glide through his sensitive undercut again. “hngh, gonna break me. let me make a mess in you please? i’ll even eat it out of you once ‘m done.”
you’re tempted at his pleads, giggling before dragging him into a deep kiss. “such a blabbermouth,” you tease between kisses, staring to feel the tears of sweat race down the sides of your forehead also— with a sly smile, you lick the drool that was about to run down the side of his lip. “finish in me, ‘toru. it’s okay. be my messy boy.”
his eyes dilated once he hears that,
your messy boy.
he even repeats it, “y-your messy boy, yeah, ‘m so messy for you, roomie,” and as he’s preparing for his inevitable release, he sinks into your warm embrace. “one more kiss, h-hold me.” and as if on command, you yoke his head in close, giving him a deep, passionate kiss. his pulsing heart beats through his ears. gojo—by this point, he was already whipped. the way his hips pick up, growing more sloppy and deranged—he’s feral.
the feverish under parts of his thighs burn, longing for its incoming conclusion climax—yet, as your smoldering heat gnashes against his, it finally comes.
with a primal gasp, it’s here.
the nirvana—euphoria, whatever it could have been called to describe this feeling, it was here.
gojo whimpers, going into a complete spazzing fit once he feels the slow orgasmic waves of himself starting to shoot literal humid blanks inside you.
it’s hot, parching hot— your heat against smelts his, it scratches a fervor itch in your brain. his tongue rummages the inside of your mouth again as he’s painting the insides of your gummy walls with his snowy white color.
satiny ropes of your roommate’s seed trickle into you, it’s so gooey and hot that it starts to stick against the inner parts of your thighs. each rough kiss reflects the same desire the both of you share before he shudders.
slow thrusts, he’s barely moving as fast as he was before but he’s still active. he wants to make sure you feel every inch he’s saved for you,
for weeks, months, maybe even years—
“god,” he whimpers out, pulling away from your glossed lips—a pretty cobweb of spit departs from each and he happily laps it up with his tongue. who knew your roommate was nothing more than a mere freak.
not you, not by a long shot.
it takes a moment for him to catch his breath, with a flustered look— gojo’s now clingy.
he doesn’t wanna move away from you, nor does he wanna exactly pull out. not just yet, he’s plugged you full of sticky cum that was threatening to ooze of your hole before he kisses the bridge of your nose. “that was so awesome.”
and just like that, the mood’s ruined—you pant, he’s hovering over you, his weight barely on you before you sigh.
“you know,” you change the subject, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “your moans, you sound more like a girl than me, ‘s kinda hot.”
“whaaat?” he grumbles, his sweetened pout forever returning. “that’s not nice, ‘n besides if it’s anyone who moans louder it’s you, angel.”
you kiss near the twitching corner of his lip, watching his sudden attitude shift like a light switch and he’s now a puddle. “you finished a bit early though,” and with your arms wrapping around him again, you speak in a soft voice. “wanna go again? you’re a natural, ‘toru.”
“please,” he whines with a nod, feeling how sweltering hot it felt to be still buried into the comforting tightness of your cunt. “this time, i wanna try doggy.”
“okay, pretty boy,” you tease, leaning in for another one of gojo’s sloppy, need kisses. just before he could pull out, the door springs open. the hinges scream once it pulls back and the two of you both look to see what the racket was.
as the door opens, it was geto—gojo’s best friend, and he had the most disgusted look on his face.
with a scrunched up face, he utters. “i’m never running errands for you two again, what the actual fuck.”
and as he turns his heel to leave, gojo snorts. “suguboooo! aw, don’t leave just yet. you can always joinnn.”
#★vegasbaby.#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader smut#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#anime smut#female reader#jjk fic#cw sex mention
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simon riley x deaf!reader
tw: none, literally just pure fluff
“It’s just one date. I promise.”
You didn’t know how your friend had convinced you to go on a blind double date in the first place. In fact, you weren’t even the first choice, but when your friend came by to ask you to fill in for another girl who had bailed out last minute, you pity-agreed to help her out.
You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice. Dating wasn’t your thing, and you avoided it like it was the scum of the earth. Not to say you had bad experiences, per se, but you also didn’t have the best choice of men. None of them understood your situation to its fullest, but that was okay! You didn’t need their validation, and you were perfectly content with the way things were.
There was no harm in going on a fun date and having a few drinks and good food, you thought. One night, and you’d never have to see your blind date again.
Besides, your friend seemed to really be into her date from the way she’d gush about him after they met online (not your favorite choice, but you’d support her anyway), and you didn’t want to ruin that for her.
That’s what led you to be here, shoulder to shoulder with your friend as she rambled on about how excited she was with speedy hand gestures, how grateful she was that you came, that she’ll make sure your dinner and drinks are paid for. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you were going, but judging from what she forced you to wear, it had to be a bit fancy and lavish.
You didn’t have the heart to tell her that was also not your favorite choice.
She guided you inside of the building, which was a preview of what was to come — high ceilings, ravishing decor, and low lighting that made everything much more romantic. You took in the fluorescent scenery as she spoke with the hostess. You didn’t know what they were saying, but as the waitress gestured with a hand for the two of you to follow, you assumed the two men were already there.
Your arm was looped loosely with your friend’s as the two of you walked after the hostess. When you approached a table, you took in the sight of one man that looked familiar — your friend’s date, a man with smooth, tanned skin and a smile that could cure sickness. The other man was new to you, and compared to your friend’s date — Kyle? — he was much more phlegmatic.
Kyle gave a polite nod towards you with a blinding smile, and you have one back, bowing your head in greeting. You sat next to your friend, watching as Kyle pulled out the chair for her, to which your date definitely didn’t do the same.
That was alright. You weren’t planning on making it past the first date anyway.
Your friend began to chatter with Kyle while you and your mystery date sat in silence. Your hands remained in your lap as your eyes scanned the menu that sat on the table.
Focused on appearing as busy as possible, you were unfortunately snapped out of it before it could last long when your friend nudged your shoulder with hers. When you looked up at her, she was smiling, and she lifted her hand to signal the man in front of you.
Blinking at him, you realized he was possibly trying to talk to you, and you shifted awkwardly. He probably thought you were rude.
“Sorry, Simon. I forgot to mention she’s deaf, so she didn’t know you were introducing yourself,” your friend apologized, and you watched as he stared at her before nodding in acknowledgment. “It won’t change anything, yeah?”
You sat in tense silence as you averted your eyes back to the menu. Your date had eyes that could pierce right through you if they wanted to, and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to be their next victim, date or not.
A phone screen was slid across the table from where you were studying the menu, and your eyes flickered to see a string of words typed out in the notes app.
“Sorry if that came off as rude. I’m Simon.”
Glancing up at him, you flashed him a smile that was relieved. He gave you an awkward one back, and you thought maybe he didn’t do it much.
You picked up his phone from where it sat in front of you and began typing out your response before slipping it back to him. You watched as he read it, a look of amusement in his eyes as he did so.
“Not rude at all. Sorry she didn’t tell you. You can back out if you’d like, I won’t take offense.”
Kyle and your friend were conversed in conversation with one another while Simon and you had your own back and forth.
“Why would I do that?” his next note read, and you tilted your head at him. He offered you a shrug, and your fingers tapped along his screen in return.
“Most men wouldn’t like being blindsided by not knowing their date is deaf.”
You saw his mouth part open when he read it, and you wondered if he was chuckling to himself. You wished you could hear it.
Was it deep? What if it was one of those contagious laughs that sounded like the literal gates of heaven opening up, and you wouldn’t ever have the chance of hearing it?
You didn’t have time to think about it when he placed the phone back in front of you, and when you glanced down, you couldn’t help but smile bashfully to yourself.
“A pretty girl’s a pretty girl. I’d be an idiot for backing out on the prettiest one I’ve had the gall to see over something like that.”
Fuck.
You weren’t supposed to like your date, much less so quickly. You only came for the food and for the sake of your friend’s happiness, but here you were, cheesing to yourself like a stupid teenager with a new crush.
But as the date continued, with the both of you eating alongside Kyle and your friend, shamelessly passing his phone back and forth and filling his notes app with evidence of your growing infatuation, you knew it wasn’t only for the food anymore.
He was sweet. Sure, it was all on paper (well, screen), and you told yourself to always be cautious with men.
But when he asked you out on a second date, then a third, you allowed your concrete walls to crumble.
And when he showed you the new signs he’d been working on so he could communicate with you on the fourth date, spelling out your name with cautious, slow fingers, eyes searching for your approval? You could’ve already married him then and there.
#call of duty#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#ghost simon riley#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod drabble#cod imagine#fluff#deaf!reader#cod mw3#cod mwii#cod#kyle gaz garrick
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something old, something new
pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader
summary: when your childhood best friend asks you to get married, how are you supposed to say no?
word count: 7.2k
warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no explicit sex scenes), marriage of convenience, fluff, mentions of alcohol, patrick is a bad friend (but he improves), friends to spouses to lovers, fake dating, yearning and pining, everyone is bad at communicating, many feelings are being repressed, mentions of dieting in an athlete way, one singular creepy old man, no use of y/n
author’s note: i cannot get this tennis man out of my head!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!
It wasn’t every day that you could count on hearing anything from your childhood best friend, but it seemed like whenever you did hear from Patrick Zweig, it was always an ask for something more shocking than the previous one.
As kids, you spent many evenings doing the homework that Patrick didn’t want to do, despite the fact that you didn’t really want to do more homework either. At boarding school, you’d somehow become his personal designated driver, answering his calls no matter what time and groggily picking him up from whatever party he’d found himself at. In your adulthood, you found yourself becoming a go-to stand-in for him at events he didn’t feel like attending. The amount of times that you’d shaken hands at charity galas and introduced yourself as Patrick’s girlfriend, despite not having a single romantic encounter with him, was frankly astounding.
It seemed like whenever Patrick needed something, you were the first person he reached out to. After his parents, of course.
You dreaded knowing the reason behind the simple hey, text message you’d just received, but you were sure that you’d find the reason out sooner rather than later–and that whatever the reason was could not have been good.
Like clockwork, only an hour after you’d received his message, Patrick appeared at the doorway of your apartment. He came to you equipped with his secret weapon, the kicked puppy look that he often used on you before he asked you for a ridiculous favor, like breaking up with his girlfriend for him or telling his mom that he still wasn’t joining the board of the family business.
You sighed as you took his less-than-stellar appearance in. Downtrodden expression, wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt, as if he’d gone to the gym to sweat out his feelings before coming to you, and eyes so red-rimmed, you wondered if he’d been crying.
If you had to guess, he’d either been arguing with his parents, who knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his tennis friends, who also knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his latest girlfriend, who probably confronted him about his own wrongdoings. Regardless of who had upset him, he had obviously come to you to lick his wounds.
Like always, Patrick stalked inside without asking you for any further permission. The two of you had done this song and dance more times than either one of you would like to admit.
“How are you?” he asked, stopping in your kitchen to steal an apple from your decorative bowl of fruit.
“I’m good,” you said with hesitation, eyeing him once more. He really looked like shit. If he hadn’t looked so sad, you would’ve told him exactly how much shit he looked like.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I am?” he questioned, a little pathetically.
“No,” you walked off to your living room, fully expecting him to follow you. You were unsurprised when he did exactly that. “Let’s just get right to it. Why’d you come over here?” you asked as the two of you sat down on your couch.
“My parents are cutting me off,” he explained, voice breaking as he spoke.
Surely, this couldn’t all be over an empty threat. They seemed to threaten Patrick with this every few days. In fact, you’d been in the room with him when his parents promised that he’d never see another dime from them–more than once. Every time, it ended with them coming to their senses and throwing more cash at him.
“That’s what, the twentieth time?” you laughed. “They always threaten to cut you off. What’s different this time?”
“This time, they mean it.”
You laughed even harder in his face. If you had a quarter for every time you’d had this conversation, you’d be richer than the two of your families combined.
“I’m serious,” he inched closer to you. “They’re tired of funding my ‘tennis habit’. They want me to get serious about life. To join the board and start a family. My dad showed me an edited draft of his will and everything”
“So?” you prompted, trying to figure out where you fell into the equation. Hopefully he wouldn’t try to put you up to something absurd, like seducing his father into convincing him to not threaten Patrick’s inheritance.
“So, tennis is the only thing I care about.”
“Okay…” you trailed off. “What would you like me to do about that?”
“I need you to help show my parents that I have a vision for the future.”
“Again, Patrick, what exactly are you asking me to do?”
“Marry me.”
You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it certainly was not that. Your mouth instantly dropped open and you were sure that you were gaping like a fish. Maybe if he had asked you ten years ago, you’d have instantly said yes, but you’d let that naive dream die after you’d come to realize the transactional subtext of your friendship.
“What?”
“I want you to marry me. I was thinking… you remember when we were younger and we made that pact, that if we weren’t married by the time we were adults, then we’d get hitched?”
You continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded and not believing a single word coming from his mouth. “I… I…” you couldn’t even form the words. “We were kids!”
He gave you a halfhearted shrug, as if that didn’t matter at all, and as if he didn’t just ask you to be legally and romantically bound to him forever.
“You are fucking unbelievable! You haven't talked to me for anything other than asking me a favor in years, I barely know you’re alive apart from the random drunk texts you send me, and now you want me to marry you? Do you even hear yourself?”
You scoffed and stared at him in disbelief. “And that has to be the worst proposal in all of human history. First you tell me that tennis is the only thing you care about and then ask me to marry you? You’re a joke.”
He let you finish your rant, but after a beat he finally asked. “…Is that a no?”
———-
Stranger things had happened to you than marrying your childhood best friend just a month after he’d randomly popped back up in your life. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you walked down the aisle on a beautiful beach off of the Amalfi Coast.
The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, with what felt like every second of your time consumed by making guest lists and invitations, booking hotel rooms, and finding a dress that you liked enough to get married in. Obviously, you knew this was more of an elaborate scheme than a celebration of love, but you wanted it to be nice anyway. For all you knew, you may never get married again.
You don’t know what possessed you to say yes to Patrick. Maybe the small, desperate part of you that had been begging him to truly see you since you were old enough to realize he didn’t, or maybe the desire to finally have that fairytale destination wedding you’d been dreaming about from the time you learned what a wedding was. Regardless of the reason, both of your families were overjoyed by the union. In one fell swoop, you’d been able to satisfy both of your parents’ desires for you to settle down, and you’d done it with someone both pairs approved of.
You had to give props to Patrick, the ceremony was beautiful. Given the short timeline, the two of you decided to divide and conquer the planning of the event. You were sure that he’d outsourced the work, since he was still in the middle of his tennis season, but whoever he hired did an excellent job at giving you the wedding you’d always wanted.
Despite the very short timeline everyone had been given, you were able to wrangle all of your close family and friends to Italy to watch you elope. Your parents had insisted on inviting second cousins and shareholders to your wedding, but you’d somehow convinced them that you and Patrick wanted a smaller, more intimate ceremony. It was probably better to have less people there, lest someone notices the artificial nature of your union.
Part of you felt like you’d pulled off the greatest prank of all time as the two of you stood up in front of your small crowd, gazing as lovingly as you could manage into each others’ eyes while the officiant said his spiel, but the other, more logical part of you filled with dread as the reality of the situation began to set in. Patrick seemed to have a way of always dragging you into a shitty situation, and you hoped for both of your sakes, that that wouldn’t be the case for your marriage.
After what felt like a lifetime, Patrick began to recite his vows, claiming to have loved you since you were children, and promising to continue to love you ‘till death did you part. If you had been marrying literally anyone else, your knees would go weak with swooning.
Unfortunately, you were cursed with the knowledge of the reality of your situation, one where your vows sounded more like: “We only have to stay married until I retire, which should be sooner rather than later. We don’t have to do anything together: no galas, no family dinners, no family vacations. Hell, you don’t even have to come to my games. And we don’t have to be exclusive either. This is basically just a title, so feel free to see anyone you want to. I can already see the worry in your face. Stop that. We can hire someone to make us prenups, so the divorce will be an easy, clean split of our assets. See? It’s not that bad.”
The dichotomy between the words he’d said to you a month ago and the bullshit he was spewing now almost made you laugh, but that was clearly not the reaction you were meant to be having when the love of your life was publicly declaring their feelings for you.
Once he finished declaring his romantic, empty words, you began to read off your vows. They fell in a similar vein to his, a proclamation of a lifetime-spanning love that didn’t really exist in the first place. But when you glanced up at him from your slip of paper, he was really selling it. He stared at you like he adored you, like he wanted to study every inch of your face after running off with you into the sunset.
The ridiculousness of it all finally hit you like a freight train, and you managed to pivot the laugh that was creeping up into your throat into a weepy sounding crack of your voice. Surely people cried during their own weddings.
You finished off your vows, doing your best to pretend like this whole ordeal wasn’t the most ridiculous scheme you’d ever been dragged into. You imagined a world where he was less selfish and you were less selfless, one where you were exchanging these vows with sincerity, and it helped you to get through the words that you knew were almost completely meaningless.
The two of you then took turns placing the ring on each others’ fingers, with Patrick giving you a ring with the largest diamond you’d ever seen, and you giving him a band that had been passed throughout your family. He’d agreed to give you the heirloom back once you divorced, so you couldn’t complain too much about giving it away in the first place.
The announcement of being able to kiss the bride rang out in your ears, yet you still found yourself surprised when Patrick eagerly wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately. Cheers erupted around the two of you, and you pulled away as the officiant declared you Mr. and Mrs. Zweig.
You had successfully tricked your audience, and yet, you still had the strangest feeling.
Your reception felt far more natural than your wedding ceremony. After a change of outfit, a huge bowl of pasta, and a few flutes of champagne, you were feeling substantially better about the arguably poor decision you’d just made. You chatted up your friends, who jumped at the opportunity to comment on how cute of a couple you two were, did some light matchmaking between single guests, and placated both of your parents with manufactured acts of affection. You even managed to get Patrick out on the dance floor, after he swore to you that he didn’t dance.
By the time the two of you were stumbling back into your villa, the woes of the day had practically been forgotten. When you were having this much fun, who cared about a massive, potentially life altering decision?
You immediately made a beeline to the bathroom, anxious to get into your comfortable pajamas and to wash your face after a long day of wearing tight, extravagant dresses and a heavy layer of makeup.
“So what did you think of your big day, Mrs. Zweig?” Patrick called out from the other side of the bathroom door, where you were sure he was also preparing for bed. “Was it everything you wanted and more?”
“I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you paused as you thought about something before confessing, “but it was everything I wanted and more.”
“Yes!” he celebrated from where you couldn’t see him, though you could perfectly envision the goofy look on his face. “I owe it to you after everything I’ve put you through. I just hope you weren’t too let down by the groom.”
“What?” you drew out before blowing a raspberry. “Of course not. You looked very handsome today,” you complimented in between splashes of your face.
“You looked pretty beautiful, yourself,” he complimented you right back.
“Aww, thank you, honey,” you emphasized the pet name.
“Hmm, I don’t know if I like that,” you heard the squeak of the bed from behind the door as you assumed that he’d sat down.
“Hey, you’re the one who made me marry you,” you pointed out. “Am I more than you bargained for?”
“Of course not, babe,” he emphasized his own pet name, which sent you into a fit of laughter. “It’s just so weird to hear you refer to me as anything other than an asshole.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still an asshole,” you replied as you walked out of the bathroom, donning an old shirt with the logo of your boarding school and an equally old pair of shorts. “Just a married asshole.”
You took in the sight of your now-husband as you made your way to your side of the bed, surprised to find that you quite liked the sense of domestic bliss you were feeling. The bed dipped as you sat down and glanced back at Patrick with the slightest bit of hesitation.
“Is this weird for you? I can go to the spare room, if you want me to,” he offered, surely in reference to the two of you sleeping in the same bed.
“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, setting a steady hand on his knee. “What kind of couple would we be if we didn’t spend our wedding night together?” you teased.
“The kind of couple that marries for convenience?” he suggested.
“Hey, who’s to say that this isn’t love? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Maybe some of it lingered, or some shit.”
“Oh yeah?” he looked at you with that sleazy smirk that you both loved and hated. “What happened?”
“Hmm… I think I realized that you’re a dick,” you matched his smirk with a challenging one of your own.
“Huh. Did you have this realization before or after you started seeing Dan Thompson?” he questioned.
You were surprised by the mention of your first boyfriend, particularly because you weren’t sure that Patrick remembered any detail about your personal life, let alone your love life. “I realized it after you started treating me like your workhorse.”
“Oh okay, so you had a crush on me while you were with your boyfriend. Good to know.”
“Shut up,” you groaned and turned away from him as you finally full laid down.
“Would it make you feel better to know that I also had a crush on you?” you heard the bed sheets rustle as he scooted closer to you, and you turned back to face him.
“You’re lying.” You couldn’t see any world where that would make sense to you. In your youth, it seemed like Patrick was always off somewhere with a new person, and none of those people were you. Not that you had an issue with it, but the thought that the two of you might’ve had crushes on each other at the same time without either of you pursuing each other felt kind of weird.
“Nope. You’re the first person I ever jerked off to,” he said as casually as if he were telling you what he ate for breakfast, not breaking eye contact with you.
“Ew, you’re so gross,” you gently pushed him, but your hands lingered where they sat on his chest. “Was that supposed to be romantic or something?”
“That’s not romantic to you?” he asked with all the sincerity of someone who was fully committing to a bit.
The two of you broke out into laughter. Once you finally caught your breath, you began once more. “This is gonna be a long marriage.”
“Hopefully,” he remarked in response.
“If you keep talking to me like that, I will literally go get our marriage annulled, like right now.”
“Please don’t,” he whined, grabbing one of your hands from his chest and kissing your fingers. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Every time you promise to make something up to me, an inconsistent fairy gains its wings.”
“Hey,” his tone suddenly became very serious, completely catching you off guard. “I really am sorry that I’ve been a terrible friend. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it, but I am. You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t even know how I convinced you to do this for me.”
You almost started to laugh, unable to take the absurd situation seriously. You’d been waiting years to hear him genuinely apologize, and now hours after you’d married solely as a favor to him, he was finally telling you what you wanted to hear.
“Please. I’m serious. I know you think I’m a piece of shit flaky ashhole, and I am, but I want to be a better husband to you than I ever was as a friend.”
You felt your heart stop beating for a second. The word husband sounded so foreign in his mouth. You couldn’t quite pin how you felt about it, but you knew you felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of his words.
“Patrick, please shut up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the Patrick of it all. In fact, you couldn’t think of anything more encapsulating of your experience with him than the whiplash you got from that moment. He could be a complete asshat, but his occasional moments of earnestness kept you following him like a lost puppy, accepting his apologies and granting him ridiculous favors, despite your better judgment.
“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer to you to get a good look at you. You swore you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
“I’m fine, I just-“ am overwhelmed by you being sweet? Can’t believe that I’m hearing you say this to me after so long? Also can’t believe that you and I are married?
None of the right words seemed to come to you, so you did the second best thing you could think of.
You pecked his lips and pulled away as if you’d just touched a hot handle. You didn’t know what had come over you, and immediately began to apologize profusely.
“Oh my god, I don’t know-“ you were cut off by his hands on your face, greedily and sloppily pulling you back in for another kiss, this one far more passionate and confident than the first.
Your kiss was messy but fervent, years of pent up sexual frustration and non-sexual frustration behind your every movement. As you kissed, you moved to straddle him, feeling a little ridiculous in your ratty old clothes, but that didn’t stop him from groping you over your pajamas like you were the hottest thing on the planet.
Maybe the strangest thing to happen to you that day wasn’t even your wedding.
——
That night was the first in a series of very strange events. You couldn’t even fully wrap your head around what was happening in your marriage. You just knew that the two of you had become closer friends than you’d ever been before, and that you slept together when either of you had the urge. It was basically a no strings attached situation, except, legally, all strings were attached.
If you were confused by your arrangement, you were sure that your friends were even more lost, something they proved to you as they interrogated you over brunch.
“So, just so we’re clear, you married him as a favor?!” your friend asked in complete disbelief.
“Well… yeah, basically.”
“Shit. Can I ask you for a favor of a million dollars?” she joked, leading to the laughter of your other friends at the table.
“Well, that’s different. At least with our marriage, we both benefit. He gets his parents off his ass about being so focused on tennis that he doesn’t have any future prospects, and I get my parents to stop trying to marry me off to every single rich boy they find.”
“But you’re not like, actually married. Like you guys don’t have feelings for each other?” another friend questioned.
You sipped your mimosa before explaining your situation for what must’ve been the fifth time that day, “we’re basically friends with benefits.”
“But you’re legally married? Like, the wedding was official and stuff?”
“Legally? Yeah. But it’s literally just that,” you clarified.
“Legal marriage and sex?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that they were finally catching on.
“Then… are you guys seeing other people?”
“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that one model guy you were seeing?” another one of your friends pitched in.
“It didn’t really work out,” you addressed that with an understatement. He rightfully flipped his shit when he found out you were going to be marrying someone else. “But neither of us are seeing other people. I don’t think either of us want to risk bringing anything back to one another.”
“That sounds pretty committed to me.”
“Not really,” you dismissed.
“Then why are you even together?”
“How many times do I have to explain how we both benefit from this?”
“No, not legally, or socially or whatever. Why are you hooking up with him? Aren’t you scared you’ll mess up your friendship or something?”
“Well, the sex is really, really good. But I’m really not worried. There's no romance between us. We’ve been friends for so long that it’s just… weird to look at him like anything other than my friend. It’s basically a loveless marriage of convenience.”
Your friend shot you a skeptical look. You just shrugged her off.
———
The moment you found out your afternoon meeting had been canceled, you reached out to your assistant to make arrangements for you to go to Patrick’s tennis game. He’d been on a winning streak, and though he insisted that you didn’t need to come to his games, you knew that he secretly liked having you there.
Over the past few months of your marriage, you’d grown to realize that he often didn’t say what he actually meant. Like the time he told you that he preferred to live alone, before breathily confessing in your ear that he slept better by your side. Or when he swore to you that he loved the pancakes you’d served him, despite the food being some of the worst you’d ever put in our mouth and him being on a diet. You almost found it sweet that he tried to prioritize your feelings over his own, which was surely a result of overcompensation from the way he had treated you for the majority of your lives.
You arrived at his match just in time to watch him take a break, making your way into the stands and finding a seat where you’d have the best view of your friend as possible. You didn’t expect him to scan the audience and find you until much later on, but you were pleasantly surprised when the two of you made eye contact and he absolutely lit up. You waved, then gave him a thumbs up in hopes to communicate your support from far away.
While you couldn’t always make it, you liked to play the role of supportive tennis wife. Getting dressed up and making an appearance not only publicly legitimized your sham of a marriage, but helped you to reconnect with some of your former boarding school classmates, who were often in the stands supporting a friend or a loved one. You also just liked to watch him play, as witnessing the passion and ferocity he had out on the court was extremely entertaining, and even at times, mildly arousing.
With their break ending, Patrick went back out on the court and played just as well as you expected him to, crushing his competition, and looking up into the stands at you to celebrate once he’d scored the winning point.
At first, it was surprising how proud his wins made you feel of him, a feeling that you explained to yourself by arguing that if he wasn’t giving his absolute all to tennis, then your marriage had basically been all for nothing. Although that did still ring slightly true, the truth was that you were simply proud of Patrick. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you were a unit now, which meant that his wins were your wins and vice versa. In some ways, it was kind of nice to be part of a team. Or at least his team.
You met Patrick down on the court, where he paused from packing his bag to immediately greet you with a kiss to the forehead, a small act of intimacy that was typically reserved for situations far different from the one you were currently in.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, pulling you in for a half-hug.
“I didn’t know I was coming either,” you instinctually wrapped your arm around him in response to his half-hug. “Great job out there. You kinda demolished him!”
“I did, didn’t I,” he said just loud enough for you to hear, still wanting to appear like a good sport. “I have to go get ready for the press conference. Do you want to meet me at my hotel?”
“Of course. You don’t mind me staying for the night?” you probed, despite knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have asked you to go to his hotel in the first place if he’d minded.
“You know I never mind you staying for the night,” he gave you a cheeky wink.
“You’re so sleazy,” you commented with fake disgust.
“You started it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling away from you and reaching into his bag to grab his hotel keycard. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.”
The moment you received a message about him being on his way to the hotel, you made a very lengthy phone call and request to the restaurant in the building. Technically, he shouldn’t be eating any of what you ordered, on account of him being on a strict diet plan, but you figured that he deserved it after playing the way that he did. Besides, Patrick liked thoughtful acts of service, and you figured that this would count as one.
“You know me so well,” he practically gasped as he stepped into the room, taking in the platters of food you’d laid out for him.
“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” you teased, though your sentiment was somewhat accurate, and it was clear that the two of you had grown to know each other far better over the past few months, you hoped that your friend wasn’t interpreting your words in too serious of a way.
The two of you laid out on the pristine hotel bed, eating the feast that you’d ordered without much dialogue between you, other than a comment on how good something was, or a request to pass an item to one another. It felt oddly domestic, and oddly enough, you liked it. Maybe you liked it even more than you’d been willing to admit.
“I’m gonna go shower,” he announced after tossing his napkin onto a cleared off plate.
“Want some company?” you offered, raising your brows at him in a playfully suggestive manner.
“Is that what this is all about?” he feigned offense.
“Maybe,” you trailed off. “Or maybe I just wanted to celebrate the greatest tennis player of all time,” you purred.
“Come on. You and I both know that is far from the truth.”
“Well you’re the greatest player in my heart,” you praised, much to his chagrin.
“Ugh. Shut up and come shower with me.”
As you sleepily ran your fingers through his damp hair, you were surprised when he broke his silence with a comment seemingly out of the blue. It was more of a mumble than anything else, but you’d grown accustomed to his muffled words over the course of your marriage.
“You’re so beautiful,” he randomly complimented you.
“You know you don’t have to compliment me to get into my pants, right?” you asked with a hint of laughter in your tone.
“I’m not trying to,” he pecked your arm–the limb he had the easiest access to at the moment–as if he was trying to emphasize his point, though all it did was bring heat to your cheeks at the reminder of the way he’d pressed slow and meaningful kisses along your calves and inner thighs while the two of you were in the shower. “You just looked so good today, I couldn’t not comment.”
“I don’t look good every day?” you asked facetiously, trying to deflect from the warm and fuzzy feeling his compliments and affection were making you feel.
“Of course you always look good,” he reassured you rather than playing along with your game of joking instead of addressing your feelings. “I just don’t tell you that enough.”
You weren’t even sure how you could respond to that. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight, but you couldn’t bear to match his genuinity with cheap jokes. The only real, genuine thought to pop into your head were three ridiculous words that you immediately batted away. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than randomly declaring your love to a husband who wasn’t really your husband in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage.
Out of ideas, you hit the lamp on your side of the bed. “I appreciate it. Goodnight.”
“Night,” he parroted back to you, remaining snug against your chest, despite the fact that your hands had stopped threading through his hair.
Deep down, you knew that those three words had been on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, too.
——
Being in the social circles of filthily rich people meant you often found yourself at random charity events, hosted by the nonprofits of families and business owners looking for a particularly large tax break for the year. Over the years, you’d felt that you’d seen and participated in it all: marathons raising awareness for a serious, but extremely rare disease, date auctions to raise money for a cause that certainly didn’t justify you having to go on a date with a man almost forty years your senior, or galas for nearly-extinct sea creatures that were essentially used as an excuse to stand around and network while drinking expensive alcohol and eating hor d'oeuvres.
You seemed to find yourself at a lot of events like the latter, including the one you were standing at now. The gala, which took place in the art exhibit it was raising money for, was a rather standard one, filled with the typical suspects who regularly attended those events.
It was slightly ironic to be at the event with Patrick as your plus one, as this was the exact type of event he would’ve texted you about an hour before it began to ask if you would play his concerned partner for the night who told everyone a flimsy excuse about him being under the weather.
It also served as somewhat of a reminder to you of the massive growth that your friend had undergone since the two of you became legally bound to one another. It finally felt like Patrick saw you as a true friend, instead of a reliable person who would do his dirty work. It finally felt like he cared. In some ways, your marriage was the best thing to happen to your friendship.
Patrick returned to where you were standing, this time with two flutes of champagne and a delicious looking appetizer in his hand.
“You’re too kind,” you said as he passed you your drink.
“Anything for my wife,” he mockingly bowed in front of you and you chuckled and shook your head. Over the past year, the two of you slowly became slightly more comfortable with referencing each other as husband and wife, but only really as a joke. You guessed that in a lot of ways, that’s what your marriage was—a ridiculous inside joke.
He was just about to feed you a hor d'oeuvre when you were approached by a wildly unwelcome figure: the man who had purchased a date with you a few years ago. Despite your one very awkward, stilted date, he never really seemed to get over you–which he made a point to prove at every event you both happened to be at. And unfortunately for you, his generous donations landed him on the guest list for the majority of these events.
You were used to fighting him off on your own, as he seemed to come and flirt with you regardless of how inappropriate it was for the setting of the event, or even when he already had a beautiful young bombshell hanging on his arm. At this point, you’d learned to just tune his every word out and flee as soon as you possibly could. He was annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous.
“Hey, honey,” he greeted you way too comfortably. You’d given up on asking him to call you by your name a very long time ago.
“Hi, John,” you reached out to shake his hand and cringed internally when he kissed the back of your hand.
“Oh honey, who is this?” Patrick immediately lept in, surprising you with his unsubtle passive aggressive tone and ridiculous use of a pet name.
“You don’t remember me? I swear, we’ve met a few times.” John asked, trying to smile despite clearly being agitated by the presence of competition.
“Some people are more forgettable than others,” he said with a shrug. “How do you know my wife?” He emphasized the word and you pushed down the small inkling of pride you were feeling. Whether it was from watching Patrick try to scare this annoying man away from you, or being so proudly referred to as his wife, you couldn’t be sure.
“Finally settling down, eh?” he directed at you, then directed his next statement to Patrick. “We went on a date back in the day.”
“It was for that one date auction thing,” you quickly added context, but paused when you took in John’s less than pleased look. He was a large donor at your own family’s nonprofit, and you were sure that your parents wouldn’t be too pleased with you if they found out he pulled out over you hurting his feelings. “We had a lot of fun, though.”
“We definitely did,” he chuckled and smirked. You wanted to punch him in the mouth. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”
It was clear that Patrick was not taking kindly to seeing you be flirted with so brazenly in front of him. Part of you wondered why he would be possessive, since part of your initial deal was that you could see whoever you wanted, even if that happened to be a creepy old man with a lot of money. The other part of you was enjoying seeing him so fired up. Particularly, seeing him fired up over you.
“Our schedule is just so busy. Between work and us trying to start a family, I just don’t know when we’ll have time to see you again.”
Trying to start a family? That was definitely news to you. Although, the idea didn’t sound awful. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to start a family with their closest, most dear friend?
“Well, she knows where to find me, right, honey?”
“Mhm,” you mumbled, looking into your glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I are going to go check out the exhibit,” Patrick announced, grabbing your hand and taking a step away from John.
“You two have fun,” he said before clapping Patrick’s shoulder and leaning in to begin a stage whisper. “Make sure you treat her right and cherish her. If you don’t, I might have to swoop in and do so myself.”
He winked at you and you bit back a gag.
“Don't you worry your wrinkly little head. Nobody lov- cherishes her more than I do,” he theatrically patted his back much like he’d initially done to him. “See you around.”
Did he almost say what you think he almost said? Surely you misheard him, or he was just playing up your relationship to scare away that creepy man. It really wasn’t anything to think twice about.
Once the two of you had walked away far enough to be out of earshot, you finally addressed what had just happened. “Thank you, bodyguard. You don’t even know how much I despise that man.”
“He seems like he’s the worst,” he agreed with you, looking back over his shoulder.
“That’s because he is,” you emphasized. “This is so random, but did you mean what you said earlier?”
Patrick suddenly paused, his face going pale like he’d just seen a ghost. You were a little confused by this reaction, as he’d said nothing to warrant that level of fear.
“Do you actually want to start a family? Obviously not now, while you’re still playing tennis, but maybe eventually? I know we don’t have the most traditional marriage, but, I don’t know. Neither of us are getting any younger, and it might be fun to co-parent with my best friend,” you were clearly rambling now, but luckily, Patrick came in to rescue you for the second time that night. He looked far less aghast now.
“I would love that,” he said to you with a genuine smile. You matched his with one of your own.
———
“Do you have any big plans for retirement?” a reporter asked for the final question of the press conference.
“Mostly just eating a lot of burgers. And maybe learning how to play pickleball,” Patrick responded, never one to give a serious answer to questions that weren’t explicitly about tennis.
It was a ridiculous note to end on, but it felt right. You’d found that to be the case with most things in your life that pertained to him–most notably your marriage, which ended up being far more than you ever expected it to be.
After the press conference had come to a close, Patrick met you outside by the car, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, then leaning down to peck your baby bump.
“How does it feel to be retired?” you asked, ruffling his hair while he was still bending down.
“It feels like you might divorce me,” he joked. Obviously your marriage deal was only meant to cover the time that he was still playing tennis, but after years of a complicated marriage that suddenly became significantly less complicated once you finally confronted the fact that the two of you very obviously loved each other, it seemed unlikely that your union would end any time soon.
You glanced down at your baby bump, then back up to him skeptically. “I hope you’re not being serious.”
“Come on, I never know with you. You’re the one who friendzoned me the entire first year of our marriage!” he exclaimed.
“That was a lifetime ago,” you countered before taking his hands in yours. “If you’re really worried, I have zero intentions of ending our marriage.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he grinned, stepping away from you. “Let’s get going. I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”
You nodded and obliged, passing him the keys before heading to the passenger side of the car.
Once you sat down, you were overcome with the urge to say something. You had spent so much time bottling up and pressing down your own feelings, that it was now hard to resist letting things out when they came to you.
“I’m so proud of you,” you blurted. “And I love you. So much.”
Patrick smiled at you genuinely, before his look turned into a slightly more devious one. “I love you so much, too. One might even say I love you more.”
“Don’t even start with that,” you laughed, not in the mood to have the kind of back and forth with him that you had at least once a week. Considering that you were carrying his child, you were pretty sure that you were the winner of the love competition.
“Fine. We love each other equally,” he conceded.
“That’s more like it.”
You tried to think back to one specific moment where your marriage had crossed over from being one of convenience, into a union with genuine feelings attached, and realized that you weren’t exactly sure. It could’ve been the first night you spent together, when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider what your relationship might look like beyond a simple friendship, or maybe it was even earlier than that, when you gazed into Patrick’s eyes as you read off your vows. The look of pure adoration he gave you was one that you had grown familiar with throughout the course of your marriage, but you hadn’t realized at the time just how genuine he had been. Or maybe even the moment Patrick asked you in the living room of your apartment, when you’d been the first person he thought of to carry out his ridiculous scheme, and you’d said yes despite every logical part of your brain that screamed at you to say no.
Whenever it began didn’t particularly matter. What mattered now was that the two of you fully intended to spend the rest of your lives together.
#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig fic#patrick zweig imagine#art donaldson x reader#challengers#challengers fanfic#challengers fic#josh o'connor x reader
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STAY
Max Verstappen x Horner!Reader
Warnings : Angst, walking out on pregnant girlfriend? idk, dick Max? (honestly idk why i thought of this the thing just came into my head) Girlies i’m so sorry if this is shit this is my first time writing for someone if F1, this is just fiction idk all the facts.
Summary : As Christian Horners daughter, you were bound to meet Max Verstappen. What happens when you get pregnant when he is on the verge of becoming world champion and he doesn’t want to become a father? What happens when 3 years later after leaving each other’s lives, you get invited to the Grand Prix and he sees you again, this time with a little boy who looks just like him?
This is my first ever imagine on here so it’s probably really bad but i’m trying yall, we’re gonna work on it.
When you first met Max, you were both 18, he had started driving for red bull and you had started going to your dad’s, Christian Horner’s, work for some experience.
Racing wasn’t something you were exactly into, but it was practically your families life, so you grew up on it. At 18, you had decided to have a go at working in PR & media, and the RedBull F1 company was the perfect place to do that. Then you met Max, and your whole experience there changed.
Up until that point, you had never met a boy like him, he was so different, so passionate about the sport and you had to admit to yourself that you liked being around him, and he liked being around you.
And a relationship started around a year after you first met, a whole year of shy smiles to each other, hugs in excitement when he won, ones that lasted slightly longer than they should have. A year after you met was when Max finally had the guts to ask you out, and you, privately, got giddy with excitement.
He was your first everything. Your first date, your first kiss, your first boyfriend, and the first one you had sex with.
You couldn’t get enough of each other, you were utterly in love with him and everyone could see it. Max was never very good at showing his emotions, until it came to you, that’s when he completely changed.
Then one day, 3 years into your relationship, two pink lines turned up on a stick. You and Max had always been careful, a baby wasn’t what was wanted or needed at the time, you both knew that, Max was focusing on his racing career, he was determined to be the very best he could without letting anything getting in his way, and becoming at father at 21 would do just that.
But he deserved to know, and in your heart you hoped that the love the two of you shared would make everything okay, that it would all work out. But it didn’t.
Max freaked out, saying he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t be a father, he wouldn’t be a father. He struggled with his relationship with his father growing up, he had barely gotten over that, and now his own child? No, he refused. And so you left, saying goodbye to him, you left.
And so you went back home to England, leaving Max behind, starting a new life with your baby. It wasn’t until 3 years later that Max would finally see your baby.
Otto had just turned 3, and he was the light of your world, his baby blue eyes and light blonde hair in slight curls was the thing that got you through each day.
Dropping Otto off at nursery, you got a phone-call from your dad.
“Hey sweetheart,”
“Hey dad, everything okay?”
“Listen, i know you’re probably going to say no, and that’s fine, but how about you and Otto coming to the Grand Prix this year? I know how much he likes cars, maybe he’d like to come and see them. He always go on about it, I thought it might be a nice idea to bring him out.”
You sighed, you knew how much your dad wanted to involve his grandson in the sport. Christian would always sit and watch the races reruns with him on tv when he got home, and played Disney’s cars with him when they saw each other. You knew your dad just wanted to do something special for Otto, but was it really worth the risk of seeing Max again, going through all the heartache again.
“I don’t know dad-“
“Max won’t be anywhere near you guys Y/N, I promise, you won’t have to see him, he won’t even know you guys are there.” You sighed again, know your dad was really wanting you to do this.
“You promise?” you asked, almost like a child.
“I promise.”
“I’ll think about it.”
And so you thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it until it kept you up at night.
It was only 48 before the Grand Prix that you had decided to go, and it was a tough decision, but for the sake of your son’s happiness, you gave in.
Getting there, you were greeted by your dad and his wife, Geri, who both immediately pulled you and your son into a hug. Geri looked at your son, “he’s gotten so big! I remember the day he was born, it seems like just yesterday.”
You smiled at her, it was true, the first 3 years of his life flew by in the blink of an eye, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest, not only for yourself, but for Max who never got to witness it. He would never get to see his first steps, his first smile, all because he didn’t want to. Everything in you said to be angry at Max, and while you were, you felt sad for him, because how sad that he would never get to see how amazing your son was.
Your dad took Otto out of your arms, cuddling his grandson who had a lightening mcqueen backpack on and a redbull baseball cap on. “Ready Ottie? We’re gonna go and see some cars, you excited?”
Otto squealed in delight, he fist pumped the air. “Yeah! Cars that go zoom?” He asked, in his sweet little voice.
“Cars that go very zoom,” Christian replied to him.
Running into Max almost seemed inevitable, even when your dad had promised you that he would be no where near you or Otto, but you hadn’t expected it to be because of your son running up to him.
Before the race began, before Max got into his car, before he would even be able to realise you were there, your dad had taken you and Otto to see the car, knowing your little boy would love it. Christian had promised you Max wouldn’t be there, he would be off getting ready for the race and doing some media responsibilities.
And he was, you and your little boy were enjoying yourselves, Otto go the chance to sit in the car, you and your dad got photos with him, he was giggling none stop, and you couldn’t help but feel this is how it could’ve been, just with Max being the one to show his little boy around.
Taking Otto out the car, your dad put him on the ground, holding his hand to keep him there. You and your dad talked more about the car, admiring it. You both hadn’t notice that the door had opened, and Otto had run straight towards the person that had opened it.
“Y/N?” the voice said, causing you to turn around, going pale.
Max was stood there, your little boy at his feet, his little baseball cap falling slightly over his eyes from the impact of running into Max’s legs.
You stood there speechless, not sure what to say after all these years. Your dad ran to get Otto, who giggled as his grandad picked him up, while Max just stared at him.
“He-Is that?” Max said, breathless pointing to your child, but you just stood there, heart beating out of your chest.
Otto made grabbing hands towards you, trying to get out of his grandad’s arms, “mummy!” He screeched, and you took his out of your dad’s hands, gathering his things in your hands, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“I’m sorry, coming here was a mistake.” You said quietly, trying to walk out the door where Max was stood.
“No wait!” Max said, not wanting you to leave, but you were now angry. He didn’t want you to leave now, but it was okay three years ago? Your heart had shattered when he wanted nothing to do with your baby, and it seemed to have shattered all over seeing him once again. “What’s his name?” He asked, staring at your little boy, who had the same eyes as him.
“Otto Max Horner.”
You could see Max trying to calm his breathing, his hands slightly shaking. Otto looked at Max, giving him a goofy smile, not understanding what was happening.
“Stay,” Max said to the both of you. “Just stay under after the race. Please just let me talk to you, let me talk to him, just stay for the race.”
You just smiled at him, sadly.
“You should have asked me to stay three years ago Max, it’s too late for that now.”
#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#f1 x reader#f1#formula one imagine#f1 imagine#red bull racing#max verstappen x reader#x reader#imagine#red bull f1
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1949 ⭑ Matt Sturniolo
Chapter One
summary : you move back home with your brother and click with his friends, though the tension is high with matt and it turns into something more
warnings : brothers best friend trope, slow burn, tension, sneaky relationship, swearing, eventual smut, slight traumatic past relationship with reader’s mother, and probably some other stuff
a/n : each chapter will have a different collage solely based on what takes place in it. kind of a new idea but i’m gonna run w it. if you don’t like it, use your imagination and pretend it’s not there xx
3.4k words
prologue
—
Surprisingly, after the long and heartfelt hug, things were quiet as the three of you make your way back to the car. Your dad insisted on carrying your belongings for you, leaving you arm in arm with Nate, who refuses to leave your side.
The lights on the car flash as your dad unlocks it, heading towards the opening trunk to place your luggage in it. Nate opens the back door for you, holding his hand out, motioning you to get in. You easily slide through, the fresh aroma of black ice filling your senses. A wave of familiarity washes over you, striking you with old memories you’re so fond of.
“Are you okay?” Nate asks from beside you.
You glance at him with a smile before furrowing your eyebrows, “Yeah. How come you’re not up front?”
“Oh come on. I’ve spent thirteen years without you, I don’t ever wanna leave your side again.” He admits with a bittersweet laugh, then pauses, “Wait, unless you’re more comfortable—“
You stop him from getting back out by grabbing his arm, instantly shaking your head. “No, please stay.”
He gives you a smile, taking place right beside you again. Your father opens the door on the opposite side, and starts to scoot in before stopping as he looks at the two of you in the back.
“Wait.. I have to drive?” He questions, feigning absurdity.
“Dad!” Nate chuckles, leaving you all giggling as your dad gets behind the wheel to get you all home.
Home.
It’s weird to think that. You’re going home. It’s you, Nate, and your dad in a city you used to love, but now seems so foreign to you. You can only hope things start to fit together again.
The car ride is silent, the three of you just taking in the abrupt new change. You’re over the moon to be back with them, but you can’t help but notice the difference. And of course, things are going to be different as it’s been thirteen years. You just didn’t really know what to expect.
As you watch out the windows, the scenery becomes slightly familiar and it takes you a moment to realize where you’re at. You recognize the side streets, every turn, every tree, every house. And then you’re there.
Your eyes widen as you take in the house in front of you. Slowly exiting the car, you view the house from top to bottom. It’s exactly the same.
“You never left.” You find yourself stating.
Nate comes to your side as your dad retrieves your bags, “We wanted to stay here in case you ever found your way back home.”
Tears prick in your eyes and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming mix of emotions. Without a word, you lurch into Nate’s arms, engulfing him in a massive hug. His embrace is warm and welcoming, making you realize just how much you missed him.
Pulling away, he gives you a sad smile, rubbing your arm in a comforting manner. Your dad places a hand on your shoulder, causing your attention to shift to him. You immediately wrap your arms around him, yanking him into a much needed hug.
“Enough with being all sappy and shit. Let’s get inside, it’s cold as hell out here.” Nate chuckles.
You smile and follow them in, your heart rate increasing with every step you take. You’re in awe once you walk through the door. It’s been years, but everything’s still the same, aside from a few upgrades. It still gives that welcoming feeling you’ve desperately longed for.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” Nate asks.
You look towards the staircase where your dad is headed, before looking back at your brother. He has a sort of hopeful look on his face, though you can still see he’s a bit unsure. You swallow the lump in your throat and give him a small upturn of your lips, nodding in agreement.
He starts up the same steps you used countless of times years and years ago, beckoning you to follow him. Your shaky hand grasps the railing as you do, the wooden steps slightly creaking beneath your weight. As you round the corner, you notice your dad standing outside the door to your old bedroom.
“Uh—we didn’t change anything, we kind of just left it as it was.” He starts, his tone of voice a bit nervous, “We did get a new bed when your grandma said you were coming back, figured you’d like more room as opposed to a twin. Oh, and your clothes were just pulled out to make room for what you have now. They’re packed away in the garage. I know your taste has probably changed, so we can do whatever you want with it. ”
You’re left speechless as you hesitantly cross the threshold. Your mind is flooded with old memories that you seemed to have forgotten.
“Well, we’ll leave you to get settled in.” Your dad says, “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“But—“ Nate is cut off by a tug from your father, pulling him out of the room.
As soon as the door closes, you turn back around to take it all in. Your eyes are wide as you observe your surroundings. Today is full of surprises, you almost don’t even know how to deal with it all.
Your walls are covered in that same pink pastel wallpaper, spare flowers scattered all across them. Your floor still has that white fluffy carpet that you were obsessed with when you were five. The chalkboard is covered from top to bottom with old writing from when you and Nate were little, but you notice something in the corner that looks a bit different.
I miss you so much sis
The tears flooding your eyes slip, streaming down your cheeks as your fingertips brush over the words. You wonder what it’s been like for them. Was it as hard for them as it was for you? Was it even worse?
You take a deep breath and continue around the room. Your small desk is filled with coloring books and writing utensils just like you left them the night before you were torn away from your family. Your toy box is overflowing with all sorts of things — dolls, stuffed animals, legos. You have a giant kitchen set on the side of the chest, one that you vividly remember you and Nate playing with. There’s a small bulletin board by your window, covered in pictures from your younger years.
Being with your family in your old house, your old room, brings so many feelings to the surface. You’re super glad to be home, but you feel so sad. Sad that you’ve gone so long without them, and you’ll never get that time back.
Taking a deep breath, you sit on the edge of your bed, before letting yourself fall flat against it. It’s soft and plush, just how you like it, and the fact that they remembered makes you smile.
You don’t know how long it’s been as you lay there in silence, but your eyes feel droopy and you’re practically fighting sleep. However, it takes merely minutes for it to consume you, and you drift off into a much needed slumber.
-
The sweet and smokey smell of syrup and bacon fill your nose, causing you to scrunch it up as you slowly become conscious. Your eyes are heavy and it takes a minute to adjust to the bright light shining through the window. After a moment, your body begins to wake up and you find yourself rolling over in search of your phone. Running your hands through your sheets, you sit up in a slight panic, only to feel the hardness beneath you in the back pocket of your jeans. You pull it out to check the time, shock flooding your veins as you read 12:47 PM.
“Holy shit.” You whisper to yourself, in disbelief that you slept so long.
You swing your legs off the bed, planting them on the ground as you reach your arms up to stretch. Your back subtly cracks, pulling a satisfied groan from you as your legs slightly twitch. Rolling your head from side to side, you stand up and follow the pleasant interruption that awoke you from your peaceful tranquility.
As you make your way downstairs, you hear shuffling in the kitchen. The sound of grease popping is heard, followed by a loud yelp. Quickening your stride, you round the corner and see Nate watching the stove from quite a few feet away.
“Um, are you okay?” You question, your voice still a little groggy with sleep.
Nate jumps at the sound of your voice, whipping around with wide eyes. “You’re awake!”
You give him a crooked smile, your eyebrows knitting together, “Yeah…”
He recomposes himself and points at the stove, “Sorry, dad had to work and I, uh- I was tryna make you breakfast.”
You bite back a grin and walk forward to the stove, turning the burner down. The extra grease popping ceases, it now only softly bubbling around the bacon.
“You just had the temperature too high.”
Nate chuckles, “I didn’t know you were a little chef.”
“Oh no, I just had to learn to fend for myself.” You match his laugh, pausing at your own words. “Um, sorry I slept so late. I didn’t even realize I fell asleep last night.”
“You’re good.” Nate shakes his head, “I know you were probably tired from the flight, different time zones and whatever.” You nod in agreement before he continues, “If you want, you can go shower and do what you need to do while I finish this. Just make yourself at home, it’s yours too.”
A warm smile graces your lips as you nod once again, “Yeah, okay.”
You turn on your heels, heading back to the stairs. You look back once more, watching Nate bounce all over the kitchen, and laugh to yourself at how he’s still the same as he was. Quickly you head upstairs, in desperate need of a shower to help wake you up and relax you.
Entering your bedroom, you go straight for your bags. You pull out everything you need in order to get ready for the day — a towel, washcloth, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a simple outfit to wear. After gathering all of your little supplies, you head to the bathroom.
Flicking the light on and shutting yourself in, you move to lay everything out on the counter. You place your washes in the shower, turning the hot water on. As you wait for it to heat up, you hang your towels on the shower rack, and begin to brush your teeth.
Once you finish, you strip from your clothes, and step into the scalding hot water. A content sigh falls from your lips as the water pellets continuously rain down on you. You run your hands through your hair, letting it soak up the water.
You find yourself staring off into space, your thoughts consumed by this new life you have to readjust to. You've wanted it back for so long, and now that you have it, you don't know what to do with it. You feel unsure of what's to come, the looming anxiety paired with an overwhelming sense of uncertainty. You just hope your family can help you navigate these new adventures ahead of you.
Snapping out of your thoughtful trance with bright red, and tender skin, you proceed to wash yourself up like you intended to. Having spent quite some time just staring off, you rush to finish cleansing yourself.
After you're done, you shut the water off and begin to dry off. Stepping out of the shower, you wrap the towel around your hair and move to the sink. You begin brushing your teeth while you air dry before getting dressed. Shaking your hair out, you hang your towel to dry, then make your way back downstairs.
"About time." Nate calls, "I was beginning to think you got on another flight without saying goodbye."
Your face droops, guilt taking over your expression as you stare at him.
His smile falls, "Too soon? I'm sorry."
You muster up a half smile and shake your head, "You're good, just wasn't expecting that."
You sit across from him at the table, both of you having a plate of breakfast in front of you. You notice a cup beside your food and look in it, eyeing its contents.
"It's tea. You still like tea, don't you?"
You grin, "Love it."
His face mirrors yours, and the two of you dig in. Your chewing falters for a moment, and you suddenly realize you should've waited until you finished eating to brush your teeth. Taking his thoughtfulness into consideration, you push past the bitter taste and continue chowing.
"Can I ask you something?" Nate breaks the silence.
You nod.
"What was it like?"
You figured he would hit you with that question sooner or later, but for some reason you're unprepared to answer it. You set your fork down and place your hands on the table as your stare at him.
"Uh," You pause, "It sucked. Mom was — I don't know. It just sucked."
He hesitantly nods. You can see that he has more questions, but he lets them go. There used to be a safe space between the two of you. You never had to worry about overstepping boundaries and swallowing your curiosity. You want that back.
"If you have something to say or ask, go ahead." You offer.
His eyes light up and he takes a moment to think. "Um, I-I just want to say that we know it wasn't your fault. Despite not seeing you for over a decade, I know how you are. It was hard for us, so I can only imagine how it was for you. We don't blame you for it. And if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm always here."
You feel a weight lift off your shoulders as you swallow the lump in your throat. You needed that. You needed to hear him say that he knows it wasn't your fault, because even though it wasn't, you were worried they would blame you.
"Best little brother in the world." You smile.
He chuckles and shakes his head, "What do you want to do today?"
"I have no idea." You admit with a laugh as you shrug, "Definitely wanna unpack, and maybe go shopping for new things. I only brought my essentials with me."
He nods, "We can do that."
The two of you finish your breakfast over small talk. Nate says he'll clean up while you start on your room, so you head up there.
You immediately pull your small speaker out, connecting your phone to it to play music. Getting started; you move all of your clothes into your dresser. You have a few perfumes and lotions that you place on top. A few pairs of shoes, you place in your closet. After emptying all of your bags, you're left with your journals.
Shortly after the move, you started going to therapy to help cope with things. Your therapist recommended that you write every day, even about the littlest of things. So, you did. Every single day, even when you didn't feel up to it, you made sure to jot down at least something — your feelings, what you did during the day, things you wish to do, etc.
Setting them in the drawer of your nightstand, you move onto your old belongings from when you were just a little girl. You gather the majority of everything, placing it all into several piles. You find yourself smiling at the memories resurfacing from going through it all. Oh, how badly you wish you could just go back.
"Hey." Nate's voice sounds from the doorway. "I brought this."
He holds up what looks to be a photo album. You meet him at your bed, both of you taking a seat as he sets it in between both of you.
"I figured maybe you would want to see some of this."
You eagerly nod, letting him open the album for the two of you to go through it. You find yourself smiling fondly at the old pictures of you guys as a family. There are pictures of you and your dad, you and Nate, Nate and your dad. You can't help but notice that your mother is nowhere to be seen in any of the pictures.
Nate seems to notice your confusion, and elaborates, "So, dad took them all out. It was hard for him; he was really mad at her. We still have them, I'm pretty sure they're just packed away in the garage with the rest of her stuff."
You nod, understanding that things had to have been difficult. You continue to go through the pictures, laughing together and commenting on every memory. However, soon enough, you're also nowhere to be found.
Your smile soon fades as you go through the pictures of your dad and Nate. From Halloween to baseball games, to dad teaching him how to golf. You even see a picture of Nate at graduation, and it brings a grave feeling to your gut. You've missed out on so much, and there's no getting it back.
Swallowing the pain, you point to a group photo of people you don't recognize. "Who are they?"
"They are my best friends." Nate smiles brightly. "They're triplets. That's Nick, Matt, and Chris. I met them in middle school, we played hockey together."
"Triplets, huh?" You say, "That's a new one."
"Yeah, they're amazing. Never a dull moment with them, that's for sure. They're pretty wild to be honest."
You give him a smile, "That's good. I'm glad you have good friends; you guys seem like you have a good relationship."
"It's awesome." He nods in agreement, "Actually, they want to meet you."
"Me?" You question, incredulously. "They know about me?"
"Really?" Nate gapes, "Of course they know about you. You're my sister, and they're my best friends. I talk about you nonstop."
Unable to help yourself, you're leaning over to pull him into a hug. He's always been the sweetest. He knows exactly what to say almost all the time.
"So, are you down?" He asks as you both part from the hug.
Your eyes widen, "Right now?"
He shrugs with a grin, "Yeah, why not?"
"O-okay." You agree, mirroring his shrug.
He pulls out his phone to presumably text them and have them come over. The two of you go downstairs before he leads you to the backdoor.
"They usually just come straight to the back, so we can just hangout out here if that's cool with you."
You hum in approval, already making your way around the backyard. Nate props his phone up against a flowerpot, running out into the yard with you.
"My sister's back!" He cheers, jumping on your back.
You stumble a bit, caught off guard, laughter pouring out of you as you quickly catch him. You turn towards his phone, a giant smile on your face. You're filled with a happiness you haven't felt in so long.
"I'm back." You copy, giving the camera a thumbs up.
He slides off of your back, picking you up and twirling you around. You let out a small yelp, joyous sounds floating in the air from the both of you. The two of you throw your arms up, cheering like maniacs, just like old times.
Your movement halts as you hear a car pull over the gravel in the driveway. Several car doors open and shut, before quick footsteps make their way to the back gate.
You're suddenly extremely nervous, bringing your hands together in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat when you see a hand reach over to pull the latch. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of your next move. Your heart races in your chest, and it's confusing to you. You're just meeting your brother's friends; it should never be this serious. But for some reason, as you listen to the creaky hinges swing the door open, you're met with a wave of undeniable tension.
—
a/n : sort of a lil cliffhangerrr lol. gotta keep yall on your toes :-)
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#lustfulslxt#joss speaks#sturniolo triplets#sturniolos#the sturniolos#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x you#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo angst#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo series#1949 matt series#brothers best friend
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Ruin My Reputation
pairing : cooper howard (the ghoul) x (fem) reader
summary : he’s soft for you
warnings : blood, drug use kinda, talk of shooting
a/n : just something short and sweet so the fallout brainrot subsides.
“You know damn well I hate when you show up like this.” You let your medical supplies clatter onto the table where the ghoul sits, waiting like a hurt dog. Eyes awfully resemblant of the animal.
It’s likely that the only reason he’s here, looking this run down, is cause he’s got no vials left. If you knew better, you’d hide yours. Or better yet, get rid of them all together.
“Now c’mon darlin’,” he pauses to sputter out a cough and take a deep breath, “I thought you loved seeing me.” Shakily, he grabs his hat off his head and places it on the table.
“I love you a whole lot more when I don’t have to worry about you showing up at my doorstep on the brink of death you old..” Your words trail off and whatever insult you were ready to throw at him is taken away by the stream of air you let slip past your lips.
“I told you to quit your worryin’, I ain’t gonna die on ‘ya.”
“Oh yeah? And what do you suppose it is you’re doing right now?”
“Well if you’d quit your yappin’ and get to fixin’ I’d be doing a whole lot better, wouldn’t I?” He offers an unwelcome smile, which disappears when he winces in his pain. You hand him a vial of his favorite yellow liquid before you get to unbuttoning his shirt. After downing the vial he opens his mouth again but you're quick to cast your eyes his way.
“Looks like I didn’t need your medical attention after all, huh? ‘S a damn shame.”
“Mhm, waste of my time. Well then, I’ll cut right to it, thought I told ‘ya not to come around anymore after the last time.” Your voice trails off as you disappear to the back room to grab him a shirt that isn’t littered with holes and dirt and a shit ton of blood. Most of which probably isn't even his. And he follows behind, limping, like he’s in a trance and can’t help himself.
You hear a grunt from the other room as you rummage through a small storage box of his discarded things. Anything he left over the months he had been making himself a frequent quest in your home was in this box. You wanted to burn it. All of it. Use those little bottles of yellow liquid as a fire starter and make him watch while you did it. But anytime you tried, you couldn’t actually bring yourself to part with the tiny symbols of his presence.
“We both know you didn’t mean that,” he appears in the doorway behind you, blocking your exit, “besides I always come to my girl for help when things get rough. She's got all the good chems.”
You throw the shirt into his arms, a bit harder than intended, but he catches it with the reflexes of a man who kills for a living. Because, well, he does. You’re not sure why but every comment is making you angrier about him being there. A chem stash, huh? That’s all he thought of you?
“I wish you wouldn’t. I ain’t got time to sit around and tend to you, wait for you to get all better and leave again.”
The shirt now hangs on his body loosely, buttons open, “Now what’s got you so sour tonight. Usually you're a lot kinder to little ol’ me.” He leans against the doorframe
“Maybe the fact that I’ve got a half dead cowboy making himself comfy in my home every two weeks doesn’t sit well with me. You ever think about that before you kick your dirty boots off on my carpet?” You pause to stare at him with a raised eyebrow, “Oh, which reminds me, you owe me a new carpet.”
“What’re you talking about, woman?”
“You got blood on my carpet.”
“It was already covered in blood and dirt anyway!”
“Well, you got more on it. I liked how it was. So now you owe me a new one.”
“Are you hearing yourself? Where would you like me to go for said carpet? Anything I find you is gonna look exactly the same as the one already sitting on your goddamn floor!” He moves in slowly, cautiously like he’s practiced the art a million times. “Now I know you’re not worried about that piece of fabric out there. What is the problem?”
He swoops in close, close enough to wrap his arms around your waist with his hands clasped together at the dip in your back. You don’t push him away, though you want to. Although, all you think about is how your gun is sitting merely 5 inches away on the end table beside you. You could shoot him, if you wanted. But you probably won't.
Cooper’s eyes find your avoidant ones, the rough pads of his fingers grabbing at your chin to make you look at him. He’d never raise his full hand to you, smart man. God knows you’d think he was moving in to slap you, and his hand would be gone before he could yell ‘yeehaw’.
“You know damn well that I worry about you Coop.” Your arm finds his forearm, tugging his hand away from your face, “I just want you to stay for once, so I won't have to worry about you dying in the middle of the wasteland somewhere.” His hands find the dip in your back again, running along your skin until they rest on your hips.
“Hey now, you know I can’t stay, I got business to take care of out there.”
“Yeah, it’s always business. Always. Well you know what, so do I. So go on and get ‘fore I shoot yer sorry ass.” You step away from him, pushing him out of your way but his hands are quick to find your hips again and pull you back to him. Works like magnets.
“Now you're just being dramatic.. Alright alright, if you ask me nicely I’ll stay for a little longer than usual.”
You stare at him, eyebrows flexed in annoyance but the rest of your face has seemingly cooled down. You don’t need to say anything, he’s already agreed. He looks down at you with a soft smirk, thumbs rubbing into your hip bones.
“You are the easiest woman to please in the whole wasteland.” You feel your eyebrows relax as one of his hands reaches up to cup your cheek in his rough palm. His lips part, gazing at you with deep adoration.
“Think you’re making me go soft darlin’, gonna ruin my damn reputation.”
#fallout#the ghoul#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout x reader#x reader#oneshot#drabble#female reader#fem reader
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✧.* nanami headcanons <3
He hums/sings while showering and feels embarrassed when confronted about it.
When someone he enjoys talking to speaks to him, he usually appears serious, but his expression is always unreadable. The expression conveys pure fondness for the person!! He enjoys hearing them ramble about their day, their lives, etc. He gives them a warm look.
Definitely a listener more than a rambler. He listens to people all the time, and remembers the small details about them. He tends to bring them up sometimes, which surprises the other person. But, he is extremely attentive to detail and loves getting to know people.
You know how in Korean dramas, the male lead is always a jack of all trades or something? Nanami is exactly that guy. Need assistance with your plumbing? He is there. Do you need to fix a lightbulb? He is there. Need help building a house? He is there.
He plays an instrument. He would play either the piano, violin, or flute.
He definitely enjoys watching movies in his spare time. When he is not doing anything, he enjoys watching movies. If he existed in the modern world, he would for sure have a Letterboxd account.
In a Modern AU, Nanami would undoubtedly be an English/History major. I do not care what anyone says. Maybe philosophy or business. But he would be one of those fine humanities majors you notice and immediately fall for.
Books are his specialty. He probably has several places where he goes to relax and read a book he recently purchased.
Speaking of books, if he gets a partner, he will read to them. He would cuddle them in bed, holding them in his arms while he read silently to them, pressing his lips against their ear, the soft, deep tone of his voice sounding like a musical masterpiece in their ear.
Pottery!! He enjoys pottery so much. He probably went to a pottery event/class when he was bored (he failed, the bowl looked like a deformed apple) but he really enjoyed the process. He definitely began to watch more videos on pottery and probably got himself a pottery wheel.
He is definitely an animal lover. he doesn't look like it, but he loves, LOVES, LOVES animals. If he sees a dog, his heart flutters but he doesn't touch it just in case. But, he's an animal attractor of course. The dogs are all over him at the dog park, and he smiles a little while petting them.
Speaking of animals, he probably has a cat. The cat is named after a food for sure. It is most definitely a type of bread or sandwich or a nut. For example, Pistachio or Baguette.
Super gentle with children. He genuinely enjoys being around them. Ask him about having children He will Be On Board.
HE WOULD NOT BE MEAN. The amount of people I have seen mischaracterize him by making him mean just because he's serious. No. He is just introverted and serious and needs to be comfortable around a person.
During relationships, he genuinely enjoys checking in on the person he is dating. He is always there for them, comforting, cherishing, and listening. He tries to get off work as soon as possible so that he can spend time with his significant other.
If he is shown too much affection, he does not snap or become angry with the person. He just blushes. He just lets out a soft "hm" and pretends to be serious, but his heart is racing, and his cheeks, ears, and neck indicate otherwise. He also gives them a slightly surprised look that quickly turns to his stoic look.
He definitely bought baby shoes at a store just because he thought they were so cute. Mans just wants a baby.
He would be both a girl and a boy dad. I do not care what anyone says; he loves both. If he has a son, he will do everything in his power to raise him as a gentleman while also showing him a lot of love and affection. If he has a daughter, he will be so gentle with her while also raising her to be a sophisticated, strong young woman.
Genuinely would be the grandpa of the friend group. Come on. Just look at him.
As a teenager, he probably would do the emo hair flip thing because his fringe kept getting onto his eye. Gojo probably laughed his ass off.
Secretly really touch-starved. People think he is not affectionate, but he is, just not in public. He would most likely grab his significant other while they were doing something and attack them with kisses. He probably likes being a little spoon sometimes even though he looks like an old man. He is clingy, okay? But not overly clingy. Sometimes he needs his own space.
Loves kissing their partner's beauty moles. The ones under their nose, the ones on their ear, the ones on scattered around their face, the ones in other areas... Wherever they are located, he will kiss them.
Sometimes he needs to be reassured. He needs to know if he is doing okay, if he is treating a person well. It looks like he does not need it, but he genuinely sometimes gets insecure about how others perceive him or how well he treats them. He worries about hurting someone's feelings.
Loves to try and hype up his partner with extreme amount of compliments. He is truly the number one simp and hype man.
I am a strong advocate for the fact that Nanami loves people of color. Like he will date a person of color. I don't CARE. I am Afro-Latina let me have my headcanon in peace : (
Once again. He is NOT mean. He will not yell. If he is angry, he is calm. He does not yell and if he does it is extremely rare. But he would never in his life yell at his partner or children if he has any. The only way he shows disappointment is by staying calm.
Speaking of being angry, he is not the type to show silent treatment. He would much rather talk rather than give a cold shoulder. He is a grown man. He knows how to communicate, people.
Old-fashioned nicknames. That is all. My love. Darling. Sweetheart.
He is probably fluent in several languages. I understand he is overly perfect, but he is perfect in my eyes. He probably takes the time to learn languages so that people feel included. Plus, he genuinely enjoys learning about different cultures.
Owned a bakery or worked as a chef at some point in his life. Maybe even a barista.
Helps old ladies cross the street, assists people with heavy bags, is courteous to his neighbors, and is the grandson of every old neighbor ever.
Probably is the type of guy to sit down on the couch and not try at Just Dance, and ends up winning.
Despite being serious, he would genuinely be bad at the game Among Us. This is so random but hear me out.
Favorite ice cream flavor is probably coffee or pistachio. Maybe even basic vanilla. He is not a big fan anyway.
Jazz music, classical music, old music is his speciality. In high school during his emo hair era he more so listened to 90s rock/punk rock.
His most used app(s) on his Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra is WhatsApp and Candy Crush.
Definitely has a whole closet of clothing and browses through them every night to see what suit he wants to wear for the next day.
When he shops or gets food, he goes to local family owned shops. He does not go to Starbucks for his coffee. He goes to the local family owned coffee shop.
Dry texter but if he gets a partner who is not a dry texter, he genuinely begins to pick up their habits. If they type with emojis he begins using emojis. I apologize but he'd unironically use the laughing crying emoji. "Haha! 😂". Okay but genuinely, he would actually keyboard slam at some point. He sends them a photo, they go like "jshekehdkehdjdlsjdl" and one time they did the same thing and he was like:
"....Kshskshdjxbsnab." You know?
He is low key sassy. He was affected by sassy man apocalypse. He hides it in that serious exterior of his but he gives the biggest side eyes sometimes, crosses his legs too.
Snores like a dad. Bro was probably recorded by Haibara while he was in the dorms and bro was snoring like a regular ol dad. Drooling too. What a silly guy.
Anyway...
Overall, the best man ever. He is the man ever and that is why he is not real. Unfortunately.
forever angel <33
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami headcanons#nanami kento#kento nanami#nanami kento headcanons#kento nanami headcanons#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#jjk#jjk headcanons#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#my hcs#nanami hcs#i love him#the love of my life#i need him so bad#i wish he was real#why isn't he real#whyyyy#i'm crying#i love you nanami#my current hyperfixation#he will be the death of me#i am obsessed with him
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𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | L.W (part.1)
SILVER SPRING ⸻ leah williamson x swimmer!reader.
warning: angsty, mentions of marriage, heartbroken (L & R), confused (R). English isn't my first language!
In London, the vibrant city that pulsated to the rhythm of football, Leah Williamson shone like the Sun, illuminating the Emirates Stadium with her grit and talent. Y/n, on the other hand, an Olympic swimmer, was the Moon, gliding through the crystal-clear waters of the pool with the grace and strength of a celestial body.
Leah, the fearless captain of Arsenal, was admired by crowds, her radiant smile and unwavering leadership making her an icon of the sport. Y/n, on the other hand, conquered the world with her perseverance and discipline, each stroke bringing her closer to Olympic glory.
Though Leah and Y/n admired each other from afar, their worlds seemed to coexist in different orbits, like the Sun and the Moon. Leah, always surrounded by spotlights and applause, craved a quiet and cozy love. Y/n, dedicated to her passion for swimming, saw marriage as an obstacle to her freedom and dreams.
One day, fate brought them together at a charity event. Leah, enchanted by Y/n's beauty and determination, approached timidly. Y/n, admired by Leah's strength and humility, felt an unexpected connection.
"Hi, I'm Leah," she shouted over the loud music.
"Y/n, nice to meet you, England captain."
"The pleasure's all mine, gold medalist."
Over conversations and secret meetings, Leah and Y/n discovered a deep and sincere love, a feeling that transcended societal expectations. But, like the Sun and the Moon, they also carried their own dreams and ambitions.
Leah, wanting a future with Y/n, proposed marriage. Y/n, overwhelmed by the love she felt, found herself in a dilemma. Her heart belonged to Leah, but her soul longed for the freedom of the water.
"I can't, Leah."
"What?"
"I can't focus on starting a family with you right now."
Leah was still in shock by the woman in front of her's response. She was sure Y/n loved her with the same intensity. She was sure she was doing the right thing, the woman just got up and walked towards the door, since clearly the movie had been ruined. Y/n, on the other hand, sat on the cold living room floor while her shared dog lay on her legs trying to comfort her. Marvin was a Golden Retriever that Leah had given her for her birthday after finding out how much she loved the breed, he was a constant reminder of how much Leah cared about her and how they were already a family. This crazy decision of hers was already affecting their son.
She was already regretting her actions and how she was being arrogant putting her career above her perfect relationship, but now it was too late and Leah was probably at Lia's or some teammate's house. Tears streamed down her face, she was feeling so stupid for letting the love of her life walk away.
Days went by and Leah still hadn't spoken to her or even sent a message, she was living on autopilot. She entered the club without greeting any teammates and just changed in silence, training non-stop. In addition to taking advantage of the times when Lia asked to pick up Marvin to stay with Leah for a week and since the dog was shared she agreed immediately starting to accept the end of her relationship. Lia was angry at what she did to her best friend, but sad to see her state as she packed the dog's things.
"You're an airhead, girl," she said, and you just shrugged, trying to ignore the woman's words, just smiling faintly when your dog barked trying to get your attention. "Don't ruin your family, he needs you two together." You looked at her a little surprised, not knowing what to say, just lowering your head as you both walked away.
It was exactly a week after Marvin left and without the dog at home you spent more time training until the peak of exhaustion, doing several laps of different strokes each time wanting to break your record. Your cell phone was on silent so no one could disturb you, you were swimming butterfly and it was clear how much you liked the stroke, your favorite, you had such a great facility. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins, pushing her to surpass her limits. But then, a sharp pain shot through her calf. A relentless cramp seized her, paralyzing her movements.
Panic took hold of S/n. She tried to fight the pain, but it was futile. Her arms grew heavy, her legs refused to obey. She began to sink, the crystal-clear water turning into a suffocating nightmare.
In her last moments of consciousness, images of her life floated through her mind: the Olympic glories, Leah's love, the promise of a future together. Anguish and regret gripped her. She had sacrificed everything for her dream, but now, with death lurking, she realized that Leah's love was what mattered most.
#sapphic#arsenal#wlw#woso x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#lia walti#angst#wlw love#lesbian
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Giyuu, Sanemi, and Rengoku With Baby Fever
TW: mentions of pregnancy, Sex, fem reader
Giyuu Tomioka
He hadn't put much thought into domestic life- after all, you were his first real relationship. However, when he lays eyes on your happy smile and the way you fussed over the three younger demon slayers, he can't help the feeling that pools in the pit of his stomach. A primal need for you, for a family. He's not particularly proud of the human weakness he currently experiences but each time he looks your way, his strength melts away, leaving only his desire to create life with you.
His smile is small but amused at how you motherly coddle Inosuke, attempting to wipe the mass of dirt off his face, despite his protests. Tanjirou seems almost as enamoured by your sweet behaviour as Giyuu is.
You can tell something is different with Giyuu- the way he holds your hand is just slightly tighter, the way he looks at you ever so slightly hungrier than you've seen. He stares off into space in contented silence, and you feel he is happiest in those moments. The idea made you curious as to what he was daydreaming about.
'Three children, maybe more' he thinks, pink tinging his cheeks at feeling so soft for you. He imagines what life outside of the corp- life with you- would be like. Blissful, peaceful, connecting but of course with moments of excitement and frustration that come from raising children. Maybe your children would have his hair and your eyes- or perhaps they will look the opposite, or exactly like you or him.
His cheeks once again flare up when another thought hits his head.
'And (y/n) would surely only become more beautiful over the years'
"Giyuu~." He is snapped out of his fantasy by your hand over his. "What are you thinking about?"
He gently squeezes your hand, looking deep into your eyes with humility as he thinks through the right words to say.
"We've been married for a year, and we haven't talked about it yet. I would completely understand if you object... but i have a request, that involves both of us." you listen eagerly to him.
"Sweetheart, i will always try my best to understand your wants, there's no reason to seem so nervous," you smile tenderly at him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. The apples of his cheeks burst into flames at your touch, butterflies erupting underneath the skin of his shuddering chest.
"(Y/N) I love you. I will always love you... And if you will be so kind, I would like to start a family with you"
He sees your face break into a smile, which makes him smile. Before he knows it you're climbing into his lap and kissing him with a passion that fills him with a need he has never experienced.
Kyojurou Rengoku
Kyojurou was sure he wanted children at some point, and as your husband, he made you aware of this, in case it wasn't for you. For the most part, your husband had great self-control.
However, it always seems to slip away when his younger brother makes a comment, about how your baby would probably have bright hair like theirs. At first, it's just that thought, but soon he's thinking about baby names, daydreaming and kicking his legs behind him giggling. You easily notice your cheerful husband becoming even more giddy than usual- not to mention far more physically affectionate.
He finds every excuse under the sun to get you under him. He takes his time, forehead pressed against yours, enraptured in pleasure. Your legs are pressed to your chest; a new position for you. The sheer depth is enough to make you dizzy, even without moving.
Kyojurou looks deeply into your eyes before kissing you passionately, sensually, as if the world is ending.
"Honey, i think we should have a baby!" he huffs out in between languid thrusts. You thought he'd never ask.
"Me too, Kyo~"
Sanemi Shinazugawa
Sanemi doesn't not want kids. He just feels he would be a bad father given all of his hangups. He worries he won't be emotionally available for a child, or might accidentally scare them when he is angry.
So this feeling is conflicted within him. On one hand, he's utterly in love with you and the way you care for Genya is heartwarming to the point of actually convincing him he might be ok if you were by his side. On the other, he was terrified of being a bad parent.
Sanemi swears you look so pretty holding your friend's new baby. You hold it like you're accustomed to it like it was yours. And you just look so fucking happy like that. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he- no, he couldn't just rush into these things. But you look so pretty he's having a hard time rationalising anything.
He sits beside you, peering down at the baby that tries to grasp at his fingers. It's actually sort of cute, he thinks. Then you look up at him, and he's caught off guard by a vision of you and your own baby. Your friend has to physically bite back giggles while she watches the motions of Sanemi's thoughts. She knows what's happening better than he does.
She sparks up a conversation with you to see how flustered she can make the hashira on this topic. "You know, past the halfway mark I gave up putting on my own pants- it got too annoying when I couldn't see over the bump and boobs. My husband had to help me instead!"
It seems to work like a charm. Sanemi almost zones out, thinking about how you would look pregnant. Without realising it he is salivating at the thought of your swollen chest and round tummy. 'fuck,' he thinks, 'that sounds good'
Half an hour later he's rushing to leave, hastily pulling your coat over your shoulders and waving goodbye to the baby. He didn't dislike being there in any way- he'd just rather be somewhere else with you. He tugs you down the road, looking at you with a strange new fervour, eyes darting to your lips and tummy.
Your friend closes the door behind you with a mischievous grin. "I'll give it a week before she's pregnant<3"
#demon slayer fluff#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer imagine#demon slayer rengoku#demon slayer#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi x reader#kny#kny x reader#rengoku x reader#sanemi headcanons
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My hurt/comfort request:
Reader and eddie somehow survived the upside down together, despite spending time in the hospital afterward for a good few weeks. Now it's well after all that hell, but reader isn't doing well mentally. They keep pushing Eddie away, indulge in drinking far too much, and rely on pills to feel numb. But the PTSD is strong, and nightmares won't go away. Sleep is a luxury now.
One night reader risks calling Eddie while drinking, only to hang up after a few words feeling like it was a mistake. Eddie doesn't take it lightly and comes over to find reader on the floor with a bottle of alcohol, crying and shaking from their last nightmare. Comfort ensues.
Feel free to change anything if you write this!! I know it's a pretty heavy prompt but I rarely see people explore the PTSD side of things with these characters. We forget how much hell the show actually portrayed. (Apologies for the long request lol)
Thanks so much for the request, lovely! This is exactly what I was looking for!
cw: mention of PTSD, reader’s deteriorating mental heath, and abuse of both alcohol and medication, hurt/comfort
You didn’t know how you did it, but after being dragged through hell and back, you had barely escaped death in the Upside Down. Both you and your boyfriend Eddie had been experienced the most unimaginable injuries, seeking immediate help at the hospital even though you knew that they wouldn’t believe how you had gotten hurt so badly.
Both of you had spent weeks there, racking up outrages bills as you were nursed back to health. Eddie had been worse than you, though, having to be on life support, but you were definitely suffering more mentally. Even though you had escaped the Upside Down physically, you hadn’t been able to in your mind.
All of the horrific, traumatic images replayed in your head on a torturous loop that you hadn’t been able to shake. It was as if you had never left even after months of being back in the real world. You couldn’t think of anything else. Especially when it was time to go to bed. Even falling asleep next to Eddie didn’t help. You still somehow always woke up screaming.
Eddie did his best, but it was so hard to watch you fall apart right before him. The person that he loved the most was in absolute shambles and you wouldn’t let him help you. You just insisted that you were fine and told him to leave it alone whenever he suggested alternatives to your unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Instead of seeking therapy like you probably should have, you resorted to the pills you had been prescribed for your anxiety and alcohol to numb your pain. If you weren’t drinking, you were popping pills after pill, and when you were really desperate, you’d combine them, even though it said very clearly on the bottle not to mix them with alcohol.
Over time, you favored your new obsessions over your own boyfriend. You found yourself pushing him away, not wanting to hear his judgement, even though you knew very well that he’d never judge you. He just cared for you in a way no one else did and it made him sick to sit by and watch you self-sabotage.
You sat on the floor of your bathroom, surrounded by empty beer bottles, your phone right in front of you, practically begging you to call your boyfriend who you hadn’t spoken to in weeks. And it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. It was because you couldn’t. You had convinced yourself that he had been upset with you and you just didn’t want to hear it.
But you did want to hear his voice. It was one of the only things that brought you instant comfort, never failing to make all your worries fade away. You knew he would have picked up if you called so you didn’t know why you were so nervous.
You picked up the phone and used the rotary to dial his number, surprised you could do it with how drunk you were. It rang once before your picked up, Eddie’s lovely voice ringing through the phone.
“Y/n?” He asked, breathless, like he had been holding it for too long.
“Eddie,” you cried, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, desperately wishing he would hold you in his arms. You knew he would if you just asked. Why couldn’t you ask?
“Y/n, oh my god. It’s so good to hear your voice, honey. What’s wrong?”
“The nightmares-” you cut yourself off, terrified to tell him what they were really about. You felt like talking about them would make them even worse.
“What about them? Have they gotten worse?” Eddie could always somehow read your mind. Maybe that was why you worked so well together. If you were even together anymore. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he would have broken up with you because of you pushing him away. You thought you deserved it.
You didn’t know why, but you pulled the phone away from your ear and put it back on top of the rotary, scooting away from it once it rang again. You knew it was Eddie and you didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Calling him was a mistake.
You curled up and buried your face into your knees, letting out soft sobs as the nightmares flashed in your head. They were always the same. Always a reminder of the trauma you had gone through. You in Vecna’s clutches, so close to death until you found yourself in Eddie’s arms, him cradling your almost lifeless bodies in his hands, letting out wail and wail as he begged for you to come back.
You cracked open another beer and shotgunned it, before laying on the cold, hard tile, left alone with nothing but your thoughts. Nothing could fix it, nothing could save you. You were just hopeless.
The bathroom door bursted open and you sat up, startled by the sudden noise. There, in the doorway was your boyfriend Eddie, a duffle bag in his hand. He let it fall to the floor and headed toward you before dropping to the tile and pulling you into his lap.
You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his neck, sobbing into it while he ran his hands up and down your back as a way to comfort you. He was always so good at it.
“I’m sorry I hung up on you,” you told him when you had run out of tears. He just shook his head and brought his hands up to your face, stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been going through things that people couldn’t even imagine.” Eddie knew how much you were struggling and it broke his heart that you were blaming yourself for doing what you needed to do to heal.
“But I pushed you away.” Your eyebrows furrowed and you suddenly felt silly for thinking that Eddie would have been mad at you. He couldn’t have been mad at you if he tried.
“You needed your space. I’ll always wait for you, you know that.” You did know that. He had told you those exact words time and time again, especially in the past few months, when you had been going through your darkest times.
“I-I thought you were going to break up with me.” Tears started welling up in your eyes again and Eddie was quick to wipe away the ones that fell.
“Why would I do that? I love you. Nothing could make me want to leave you. You know that, right?” Sometimes he was concerned by how much he loved you. That he would defend you even when he knew you were wrong. He was always just so desperate to be on your side.
“I do now,” you nodded then looked around at all of the empty bottles that surrounded you. You couldn’t believe that you had consumed all of that alcohol in such a short amount of time. Maybe it was time to quit and get some help. You owed that to yourself after all you had gone through. “I-I think I want to go to therapy. I’m sick of feeling this way, so empty and hollow.”
“Honey,” he pulled you into a hug before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
“You are?”
“Always,” he nodded. “Not everyone can see that they need to make changes in their life and you did. Even if it took you a minute to get there.”
“You’ll help me?” You asked, twirling a strand of his hair around your pointer finger.
“Don’t I always,” he chuckled. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you some water and then head to bed. I feel like you could really use some sleep.”
Eddie helped you up from the floor and carried you to the kitchen to get some much needed water. You looked up at him as he took you down the stairs, wondering how you had gotten so lucky as to have someone like him that was so caring and willing to help you even when you had treated him like absolute shit. You never thought that you had deserved him, but maybe after getting some help, you’d be able to work on that and realize that you really did deserve to have him in your life.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort
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Do you think he was ever in love with Bedelia like he was in love with Will? I ask this because Bedelia says they were both the "brides of Hannibal". But Hannibal never courted her like he did with Will, Bedelia came into Hannibal's life much before Will but he never pursued her like he did with Will. Mads said he wanted a future with Will unlike with other people he hooked up with Alana, Bedelia or Anthony. He took her to Italy as a consolation prize when Will betrayed him. Even in Italy H was pining about Will all the time and telling Bedelia how much he loves Will. I know he slept with Bedelia but he probably slept with Anthony too and he slept with Alana, Hannibal is a hedonistic guy who sleeps around. For him sleeping with someone doesn't mean he is in love with them. But when Will confronts Bedelia, she pretends as if Hannibal held them in the same regard which is obviously not true. Hannibal would choose Will over her in a heart beat and even she knows it but yet she acts as if Hannibal sees them both equally. I don't understand why? 😭 Why do you think?why make herself seem like a competition when she is not?
I think you're misunderstanding the meaning of "bride" here. It doesn't mean beloved. It doesn't mean favorite. It doesn't necessarily mean sex. It means something more like what Chiyoh meant when she called Bedelia "his bird": "He puts us [birds] in cages to see what we'll do."
Hannibal collects people, generally. Most of his therapy patients are collectibles. He collects them because he sees potential in them for "becoming," for expressing an inner potential that interests him and that he thinks, in his own way, it would be good and true to themselves for them to express. (This generally amounts to some kind of murdering or violence.) He may be interested to see what will happen when his collectibles are transformed, but he doesn't find it terribly hard to imagine or predict. The people he has sex with don't even all fall into this category; I don't think he particularly was interested in Alana's potential becoming, for instance, though things did work out that way (but, in some ways, more at Will's hand than at Hannibal's).
That said, the category of "collectible" is large and includes both Will and Bedelia. However, there's another category, a subset, within that, which Will, Bedelia, Chiyoh, and Abigail occupy: that's "bird." These are people whose behavior is less predictable and therefore more interesting and engrossing. In the process of transforming his collectibles-in-general, he doesn't necessarily show these objects of interest much about himself. His true self, that is, rather than the mask. The four I just named get more of a look. However, Chiyoh and Abigail get their views not entirely at Hannibal's choosing: Chiyoh is from his past, and Abigail figured a fair amount out herself. (It's more complicated than this, but for that reason I don't think it's helpful to get into these two further here.) There are, as far as we know, only two people who've gained much insight into him entirely of his own volition: Bedelia and Will.
Both Will and Bedelia are people Hannibal collected and then cultivated in order to have someone to share himself with. I am not saying that that meant he felt exactly the same way about them, or that he shared the same things or to the same degree. But Hannibal put his therapist in a position to murder not only because he saw that potential in her and wanted to bring it out, as with all collectibles, but also to gain a certain degree of control over her so he'd have a therapist he could actually talk to. It's hinted in their pre-Florence sessions that she does not want to continue being his therapist but feels she has little choice.
Hannibal saw that collectible potential in Will and, like Bedelia, wanted him to be someone he could show himself to, albeit in different ways and to a more profound degree. Less utilitarian and more romantic. He made it very clear in the s2 finale that he wanted that more than anything: "I let you see me, know me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it." (Or something like that, I'm paraphrasing from memory.)
What is necessary for him to select these two people to be seen by is for him to respect them, in his own way. He does not respect all his collectibles, though he's interested in them. He respects Chiyoh and Abigail more, but in a "precocious child" kind of way, rather than anything peerlike. But, Bedelia: he does actually listen to what Bedelia says. He forces her to let him play patient to some degree, but, within the role of patient, he squirms at some of her insights and defends himself the way a patient who feels that their therapist has power does. He values her input enough to subject himself to it. He enjoys her company enough to take her to Florence. She can't "surprise" him the way Will can, and he's not enamored and fascinated with her the same way. But he does hold respect for her. If we were to view what I said about the patient dynamic he has with her as a BDSM thing (which....it is), he chose her to play the dom, which is a pretty big deal, really.
I don't disagree with you that his interest in Will is qualitatively different. But they have both, at different times, been someone he chose to know him. That's a special status. It is also a status of being kept, to some degree: Bedelia didn't have the option not to be his therapist, and, as Will feels once he gets sucked back in after his time with Molly, he never really had the option to escape either. Birds again.
In the "We've both been his bride" conversation, it's Will who comes in with an aggressive, competitive energy, not Bedelia. He calls her "bride" first, and she responds by saying that Will has been too--i.e., why are you so mad at me? Why are you displacing your feelings here? (That is, she's being a therapist.) Through the whole conversation, Bedelia is actually trying to get Will to see that they aren't the same, and that Hannibal cares for him and belongs to him in a way he didn't to Bedelia. It's just that to get Will there, she first has to get him to admit that he has been attached to/chosen by Hannibal at least as much as she has, before she can show him that his position goes further. She's not setting herself up as a rival at all. Will came in angry because he subconsciously saw her that way, and she is working with that starting point to get him to understand better. This is the conversation that leads Will to ask, "Is Hannibal in love with me?", which he never could have brought himself to consciously articulate without her guidance.
I wrote a whole post just about this conversation, if you'd like further explanation. See also this and this from @bonearenaofmyskull.
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Tears and Poetries - Namjoon / RM
Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”
Prompt request: HERE
Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader
Pairing: Namjoon x reader
a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)
It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure.
Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment.
And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already.
The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement.
So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river.
You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it. Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold.
Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching.
“Hello? Are you alright there?”
The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light.
Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”
“You sure?”
You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction.
“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating.
The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.”
You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like.
“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.”
He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you.
There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you.
The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing.
“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you.
“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”
“You’re a singer or something?”
The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”
“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look.
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”
You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”
“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice.
“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”
He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”
“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.”
“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure.
“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”
“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”
“Uh, sure…”
You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience.
“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.”
You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down.
“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”
His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason.
“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”
You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”
“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”
“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed.
“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched.
“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…”
You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak.
“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”
“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes.
“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”
“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treats you like utter shit. It’s valid.”
There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next.
You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it.
“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.”
Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue.
“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.”
“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you.
“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”
He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue.
“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!”
Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you.
The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants.
“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…”
“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.
“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way.
“What’s your name?”
You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again.
“You first.” The guy gestured.
You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager.
“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile.
“Now where did I hear that name—“
“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”
“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”
You both then exchanged phone numbers.
“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled.
“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”
“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”
“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.”
“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle.
“Wait!”
You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment.
“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth.
And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too.
He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”
You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”
You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night.
The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it.
“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”
You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”
After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it.
Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger.
So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???
Thank you for reading! 🌙
a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3
Prompt request: HERE
#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts scenarios#namjoon scenarios#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fluff#namjoon fic#namjoon x reader#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x you#namjoon imagine#bts rm#bts namjoon#kim namjoon
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Chapter 7: Have a Cow
From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series
Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader
Summary: You and Bucky are finding your stride until a surprise shows up on the porch
Word count: 2,750
Content/warnings: Light mob themes, farming, kissing, lap sitting, fluffy fluff
Author’s Note: It’s been a minute! Hopefully this kickstarts me to get a couple more chapters out soon. Please enjoy, be sure to drop any feedback, I love hearing from you!!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >
You sighed as you walked into one of your barns tucked toward the back of the property, recently transformed into what looked almost looked like a city loft apartment to accommodate for Bucky’s workers on the farm. You were carrying produce crates and one of Bucky’s henchmen, Peter, came to take them from your hands.
Ever since Bucky’s construction crew has been working in the mines, most of the food that you would normally be selling at the farmer’s market has been going to them. That makes it easy for you, though. A few of them have even been around the fields helping out to pick it themselves, too, giving you a little more time to sort through documents, contracts, and future plans, without having to stay up late like your normally would to fit in all the work.
All the men had been a great help, and exceptionally respectful, which surprised you. Sure, you expected them to be formal and well-behaved, but their actions seemed almost rehearsed, like they had been told exactly what to do. Peter, probably the one kid who you had taken a liking to, was the only one who would really hold conversations with you, though. You assumed part of it was due to his status in Bucky’s organization. He was young, but extremely smart, earning him a spot of minor authority. Although every time he opened his mouth, you were never quite sure what would come out. It could either be something honest and profound, or a weird nervous babble. Sweet kid, though, so no harm done. He was like the best parts of Jake and Curtis at that age.
As you handed the crate over, you looked around at the high ceilings, now lined with bulb lights and the cool tones that decorated the previously wood-heavy space. “I’ve always wanted a barndiminium, just never had an excuse to make it.”
Peter added your box to the stack in what appeared to be a makeshift kitchenette. No way they had time to hook up appliances and water lines already, right? “I know our men seem pretty gruff, but if there’s one thing they like, it’s comfort and luxury where they lay their heads.”
You laughed and nodded your head. Just like their boss, although he didn’t seem to complain as much anymore, laying on sheets that were probably about as old as him.
Peter continued shifting crates around, unloading certain items likely for whatever meal they had planned next once the next round of workers got off their shift. “And of course, boss wouldn’t want anything less than the best when it comes to you. Says this’ll increase the property value. And it’s all yours to enjoy as you please when we’re gone.”
Ah, there it was. The kinda thing Bucky wouldn’t say to your face, but Peter’s lips let slip like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. You tried to change the subject, unsure if you could confront those types of feelings to Peter when you hadn’t even built up the courage to discuss them with Bucky yet. You knew Bucky cared about quality, and had a little understanding of the extent he was willing to go for you. But you didn’t even want to think about a time when Bucky could be gone.
“Don’t you need permits for this stuff?”
He winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Plus, I’m sure the higher ups worked their smooth talking magic and their connections. They’re amazing with things like that.”
You hummed in agreement. You had seen and heard first-hand how effortlessly Bucky could have something done for him. The world was at his fingertips. Surely that rule stood true for most people around him.
“Don’t I know, Peter. But I’m sure you’ve got your own charms. Some of your own connections that Buck doesn’t.”
He gave you a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, sort of. But I’m not sure how much they’d really put me in charge of that stuff. Sometimes I just freeze up when I have to tell them things instead of them telling me what to do…I just get so flustered around Mr. Barnes.”
You nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’d say they trust you a lot for you to be in control of as much as you are right now. They definitely see through your nervousness. You’re doing a great job and I really appreciate you discretion and assistance around here.”
He gave you a soft smile. “Oh..wow, thanks.”
You nodded and turned on the newly laid floor, ready to head back to the house to continue your paperwork.
The mid-morning sun was at your back as you made your way inside towards the office. You were almost never inside at this time of day, so it was a wonderful pocket of time to be productive. You were greeted by Bucky sitting in your chair, shuffling though papers while he was on a phone call. He drew his gaze from the fan of parchment in front of him, smiling when he saw your face.
“Yeah, just keep an eye on her and increase security all around. Overlap shifts and monitor cameras 24/7. Thanks, Steve. Bye.”
You smiled as Bucky set the phone down. You had never heard him thank anyone before. As you took another step closer, though, you saw which papers he was looking through. Your own smile fell to see the contract from Cole for the hundredth time. Why was Bucky able to be so happy when this attempt at a forceful ‘offer’ was in front of him?
“C’mere, Honey.” Bucky gestured for you to come sit with him on your chair, but instead, you opted to take a seat opposite him, in front of your desk. There was work to be done and you couldn’t let yourself get distracted, even if he seemed oddly at ease.
You watched as his previously carefree gaze scrunched in on itself, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lips in a slight pout. As you plopped down in the old cushion, you crossed your arms and legs.
“Bucket, I’m doing this for the good of both of us. Talk business with me first, then we can discuss…accessory ventures.”
You nodded in gesture to the papers, hoping he’d explain why this all needed to be looked over again. Was it not enough that it was constantly running through your mind? You had the power to just say ‘no,’ as long as Cole didn’t keep pushing or have anything over your head, but things were never that easy, so what was really going on?
“Honey, come on. We’ve got a little time to be close. This way we don’t have to flip papers back and forth to read them.” His voice had softened from his phone call, nearly reaching a whine.
“James…” oh, you weren’t messing around. You were taking this seriously. “I can read upside down. It’s fine. Just talk me through what’s going through your head.”
He sighed and his chin met his chest in defeat. “Ever since Curtis messaged me that Cole tried to get into the bar and Lloyd had been with him, I just want to be extra cautious, which is why I’m going through these. Again. I’ve already sent them to my lawyer in the city, so he’ll confirm for me.”
You nodded and stood up, finally walking over to him. “So is this what you’re really worried about? What’s not in the contracts, but real-life threats?”
You walked around your desk, hips swerving to miss the corners as you finally stood in front of Bucky. He swiveled the chair so you stood between his legs and threw his forehead against your stomach. You held him close and stroked his hair before he moved to look up at you, resting his chin on your sternum and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yeah. I’m worried about you. And what’ll come when I have to leave. And just how involved Lloyd may be. I know I already told you about him, but I don’t think words can describe how much he truly doesn’t subscribe to caring for the well-being of others when they stand in his way. I know this is all that Cole has sent so far, but if Lloyd has anything to say about it, this won’t be the last push, but it’ll certainly be the nicest.”
You nodded down to him before gesturing for him to sit up so you could straddle his lap in the oversized leather chair. You held the sides of his face before leaning your forehead against his. You did your best to speak in a firm, yet placating tone.
“Jamie. I promise, I’m going to be fine. I was fine before you and I can take care of myself when you’re gone.”
He closed his eyes and sighed again. “I know, I know. But I just made the command to keep Peter here with you. He’s an extra precaution. You’ll barely notice him, and I’m sure having the help will be nice.”
You pulled away to smile and roll your eyes. “Bucky, he’s a kid. What’s he gonna do that I can’t? Plus, you know I like him. The last thing I would want is him putting himself in harm’s way for my sake.”
Bucky shook his head. “No, you know how capable he is. If I can see it, I know you sensed it from a mile away. He stays at least until it all blows over. Everyone is willing to do what is necessary to protect you. It’s what they signed on for.”
You knew that Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so instead, you simply kissed his temple and wrapped your arms around him, nestling against his neck. “Okay, fine. But he’s gonna become the buffest farmer you’ve ever seen when he comes back to you. I’m burning all his little suits. You’ll only ever see him in strictly flannel.”
Bucky let out a light chuckle as he rubbed your back, sitting in the chair and enjoying the moment with you before you mumbled against his neck in question.
“So you wanna tell me what Jake was really doing here? And what you did to make him into the same guy he used to be?”
Bucky hummed in thought at your question. He wasn’t quite sure if honesty was the best way to go here. Sure, you knew that everyone who knew about the mines had to come into town, but why have Jake help? And why didn’t Bucky hate him as much as you’d anticipated?
Bucky clicked his tongue before deciding on the diplomatic answer. “I just reminded him of his place and how valuable you are. Not much more than that. He’s smart if you direct the way he needs to think. I mean, he’s half the reason you’re in this mess, but he could help us get out if we do it right.”
“Yeah, okay Mr. Politician. Whatever you say. Just make sure you restock my duct tape. I’ve been running low lately and I’m not sure how that happened.” Bucky froze as you laughed at the reaction. Dang, he should’ve told the truth. You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t already know, you were just giving him the opportunity to let you in. Noted.
The rest of the week on the farm was fairly easy as you and Bucky worked in tandem, sporadically getting updates on the mine reinforcements and spells of assistance from his men.
But otherwise, you got along well. Bucky was truly learning the farm chores and operations, catching on quicker than you had anticipated. He only ran the tractor into one ditch and his boots hadn’t gotten stuck in mud at all. Now you were helping, or at least trying to help, him reach mastery in what you thought he would’ve caught onto easily: barking orders.
The two of you were out in the pasture, as you finally taught him how to use your sheep and cattle dogs. Sure, they were practically self-sufficient, but sneaky little things sometimes with their own agendas. Bucky, in an attempt to boast about all the independent work he had done the previous week, revealed himself for the actual issues he had experienced with them, obviously not unbeknownst to you.
After a long day of running around and nearly a week since hearing anything from Cole, you and Bucky were spent, walking back up to your house to have a nice night in, just sitting on the porch and enjoying the peace. As you got closer, though, you could hardly make out a small brown blob waiting there next to one of the posts. Was it a package? You hadn’t ordered any new equipment lately….and then it moved.
You threw an arm out in front of Bucky, both of you stopping stark in your tracks.
“Wait. Hold on. You see that?”
Bucky grabbed your arm close to his chest when you stopped, leaning over it and squinting until it became clear. What was that doing on your porch?
The two of you cautiously kept walking towards it, finally deciphering what you were looking at: a brown, fluffy, baby… highland cow?
You could hear it moo more and more the closer you got, eventually seeing it tied to one of the porch posts with a rope and a ribbon around its neck: both Turner’s blue.
You walked up to the calf cautiously, holding out a hand and cooing at it to ease its evidently nervous state.
“Shhh, shhhh, hey there little thing. What are you doing up here?” Sure, you owned a plethora of livestock, but none of these. This was, for lack of a better term, a house cow. Something Decks had begged you to get for years, but you never had the need or the time for.
You pet the tuft of hair on top of its head as you squatted down, grabbing the piece of card stock attached to the ribbon before looking up over your shoulder at Bucky. You could already see the anger rising in his eyes and seeping through the rest of his demeanor, fists clenched and body rigid as he nodded for you to read.
“Peach, take a taste of what success could be. Here, have a cow. -Cole. P.S. all in good faith”
Oh, Bucky was gonna have a cow, alright. You rolled your eyes at another ridiculous note. This was very evidently not a dairy cow from his stock, so you weren’t sure why Cole was trying to pull one over on you by claiming it was. And he didn’t even leave it with any feed or water for who knows how long it had been there up until this point. The main question was: why didn’t Bucky’s men intercept? You guessed they were probably under specific instructions not to, as to keep a low profile.
When you looked back up at him, Bucky was already on the phone. Even before you had gotten to the porch, he had sent a message to Peter to check the cams and make sure no one had lingered on the property after the delivery. This new development instantly put him on high alert.
He held the phone to his ear now, though, as it rang only twice before you heard someone on the other side pick up. “Hey Barber, I know you’re busy with that other stuff I sent you, but what do you know about corporate gifting policies?”
Meanwhile, you had untied the poor baby from the post and scooped it up, carrying it inside and to the kitchen while Bucky slumped into the couch. You gave the calf—at least it was a girl capable of producing milk and not a boy-which you definitely would’ve roasted Cole for—some water before taking her over to the couch and setting her down next to Bucky. You ran your knuckles against his temple in a soothing stroke before petting through his hair and giving him a kiss on his hairline. When you pulled away, thumb moving to stroke his cheek, you mouthed ‘it’ll be okay,’ only seeing his jaw unclench slightly at the reassurance. You moved to sit on the couch on the other side of the calf and criss-crossed your legs, petting her and listening to Bucky’s lawyer walking him through corporate gifting laws, now on speaker.
Next >
Bonus A/N: highland cows are so cute. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent a video of one getting a little spa day🥰
Series Taglist: @scuzmunkie @openup-yourmind @vicmc624 @hawkeyes-queen @blackhawkfanatic @morgthemagpie @buckybarnessimpp @calwitch
#Bucky Barnes#Bucky Barnes fanfiction#Bucky Barnes x reader#Bucky Barnes x you#mob bucky au#mob bucky#mob!bucky x reader#mob Bucky x reader#mob! Bucky x reader#mob! Bucky x farmer! reader#mob Bucky x farmer reader#mafia Bucky#mafia Bucky Barnes#mob Bucky Barnes#soft mob bucky#you catch more bees with honey#you catch more bees with honey series#chapter 7: have a cow#YCMBWH#outta nowhere#outta nowhere AU#baby cow#highland cow
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I made this other post about the Emperor and Ansur once, but I had more things I wanted to say and couldn't quite fit in without muddying my point.
This is perhaps a bit of a reach, but this is not the first time I've found a portrayal of turning into a monster that I relate to as a chronically ill / disabled person who became ill later in life. It has nothing to do with feeling monstrous (I don't feel monstrous) or even body horror, and everything to do with how disabled people are treated by society and even those closest to us.
Obviously disabled people don't go around eating brains. We are not dangerous any more than abled people are. But becoming a mindflayer (or whatever monster) is comparable in the sense that, it can happen suddenly, and then your whole life is different, your body is not what it used to be (maybe visually, maybe the way it works or doesn't work now), and you need certain accommodations in order to thrive or even just survive. But people treat you differently now, you're not really given any help, and truthfully a lot of people would rather you just be dead. You're abandoned by society to figure out your new life and all its difficulties on your own. If you're lucky, you have some people who care enough to help you. If you're not lucky, you do the best you can in your desperation.
And that's why it feels so messed up to me that Ansur just gave up on Balduran/Emperor once he couldn't cure him. He clearly believes this is still Balduran, as shown by how he speaks to him when you meet him. So in his mind, he wasn't even trying to kill some creature that just had Balduran's memories. He was trying to kill Balduran. Who forcibly underwent a change to his body and accepted it and decided he still wanted a chance at living.
Edit to add: I'm pretty sure the Emperor even says it wasn't easy at first, so he didn't immediately embrace being a mindflayer. He came to accept it with some time, and that feels even more significant to me.
Like I said, I know becoming a mindflayer is not exactly the same as becoming disabled because mindflayers are dangerous. But also like I said, in my other post, the game shows us there are options to living ethically as a mindflayer. It's just that no one even helped the Emperor try to find them. And even so, he did his best on his own by eating criminals (which there is proof of, in a transcript).
I don't even blame him for disguising himself to the player at first. Look at how society treats freed mindflayers. Look at how the Emperor's own best friend and lover treated him. It makes perfect sense to assume we would hurt him or refuse to help him too.
Some people are so quick to forgive the companions for all the messed up things they've done because they have trauma. The Emperor has been through shit too though. He wouldn't admit to having trauma, but he was kidnapped, had his body forcibly changed, had his mind enslaved, had his lover try to kill him, had to kill his lover in self-defense, and was enslaved a second time. Sounds pretty traumatic to me.
Anyway. It's probably random to end this by talking about books, but that's what I do (literally, I also have a book blog), so. The other stories I also related to in this way were Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman (vampires) and Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella (werewolves). Maybe look 'em up, if you like that sorta thing.
#bg3#bg3 spoilers#bg3 emperor#bg3 the emperor#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate 3 spoilers#baldurs gate 3 emperor#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#chronic illness#disability
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Headcanon: Marcus tells you about his meeting with Teresa...(MarcusPikexf!reader)
Since you liked the first part so much, I decided to add something more to this situation.
Domestic fluff.
On the way back home, your toddler's mouth wouldn't close. You watched in awe as Marcus listened to everything patiently while driving the car.
At home, as promised, a delicious dinner was waiting for you.
And you didn't have to worry about anything. Marcus even took care of your son's evening routine. He bathed him, helped him brush his teeth, and read him a bedtime story.
You knew he was a great father to your son. And soon he will also be the perfect daddy for your little daughter.
You were just finishing applying lotion to your pregnant belly when Marcus walked into the bedroom. He looked so comfortable in a t-shirt and sweatpants. And yet it didn't escape you that he was a little tense. You noticed it at the station.
Marcus looked at you tenderly and sat down next to you with a quiet sigh. You immediately grabbed his hand and asked:
"Have you had a hard time at work?"
"No… It was actually fine. Why do you ask?"
"Because you seemed tense at the station and then on the way home."
Marcus immediately felt his heart warm. You knew him so well that you noticed even the slightest change in his mood.
"It's about that woman you asked about."
You frowned and had to remember. This woman was so insignificant to you that you had already forgotten about her.
"The one with the sour face… What's wrong with her?"
"It was Teresa… Teresa Lisbon."
You immediately sighed, understanding who this woman was.
"Oh, baby… I'm so sorry."
You placed your hand on his cheek.
Marcus smiled warmly and placed his hand on yours.
"I'm not sad… That's not the point. My broken heart was healed a long time ago thanks to you."
He turned his face to the side and kissed your hand.
"So what is it about?"
"She upsetting me. She acted like I was some backup boyfriend she could always go back to… I should have said so many rude things to her…" A hint of anger crossed his face as he remembered her inviting him out for a drink. "I should have screamed in her face that I have the greatest wife in the world and that I would be a complete idiot if I left you for someone like her… But…" He sighed heavily. "I was so shocked I didn't do it."
His confession touched you. This is your husband. Your beloved Marcus, who always wanted to tell the whole world how much he loves you. You knew that on his desk at the FBI office, he kept your wedding photo, a photo of all three of you, and, recently, a photo of ultrasound. (He will probably add a photo of your newborn daughter soon.)
You cupped his face in your hands and said calmly.
"Honey, your actions are much louder than your screams. Believe me… Teresa saw it all perfectly. She saw a loving husband and father. A man who has everything. Family, love, job, and future."
Marcus smiled widely and kissed you on the lips. Your words gave him so much comfort. But after a while, the worry returned.
"You are not angry at me?"
"For what, darling?"
"That I didn't tell you right away."
You shook your head. You really didn't feel angry. You understood why he didn't tell you right away.
"It wasn't the right time there at the train station. I know you didn't want to hide it from me."
Marcus kissed your hand and nodded.
"Exactly. I just wanted to take you home as soon as possible and enjoy you, not talk about someone who really is nobody to me."
He leaned back on the pillows and pulled you closer to him. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your head.
"Thank you for being such a wonderful wife and always being able to put my mind at ease. I love you, my love."
"And I love you."
Marcus began to tenderly stroke your belly. He rested his head on yours and closed his eyes. There was no reason to worry about anything.
Teresa was a hazy memory, a woman not worthy of his heart.
Now he had everything in his arms, his whole world. And he wasn't going to lose it.
Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#marcus pike#marcus pike headcanon#marcus pike x reader#the mentalist#teresa lisbon#Marcus deserves the world#domestic fluff
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👀
What is this about you say? Stay tuned!
Thanks to @trumpets0ng and @ladybugsimblr for letting me use your sims' credentials lol. Walker Pearson from Jett Studios (trumpet) was the photographer, and Alex Greene (LB) was the author. He also wrote Bailey Kay's article.
(transcript under the cut)
A well-dressed man walked into the studio, swaggy and confident, with more drip than a coffee pot. His perfectly tailored suit glimmered under the stage lights, looking just as expensive as one would imagine it to be. My initial thought upon seeing this cat with a larger than life personality was, “Oh, great. Here comes another industry brat.” Then, he walked up to my assistant, smiled, extended his hand, and said, “Hi! I’m Orange.” That’s when I knew I’d been completely wrong about him.
I started off slow.
ALEX: How’ve you been? How’s life treating you?
ORANGE: Life is wonderful, thanks for asking.
I’m excited about my baby sister being back on the west coast! She wanted to spread her wings and moved east; that’s where she met and married her guy. But she’s a mom now, and my parents are getting old, so she’s back. I can’t wait to spend time with my nephew and get to know my brother-in-law better.
ALEX: Wow, okay. It’s always nice to have the family close. So where have you been all this time, my man?
He leaned back into the sofa with a huge sigh and a smile.
ORANGE: Where have I been… I’ve been everywhere, man!
ALEX: Oh word?
ORANGE: Yeah, man. I pride myself on not being a prideful person…which is probably the most proud thing I could say.
He laughs at his own joke, wiping fake sweat away from his brow. And all at once, he had me. I was sucked into his energy.
ORANGE: I appreciate everything my parents did for me, but I was never interested in following in their footsteps.
ALEX: Never?
ORANGE: Not really. I was kinda artsy as a kid. I can sing, but I never had a passion for it. Don’t get me wrong…I’m a gregarious kind of guy, so I wanted to be in the public. Just not doing what my parents did.
ALEX: So what did you do?
ORANGE: Whatever I could. I didn’t want it said of me that my life was handed to me, so I moved out, got a crappy apartment, and worked as a barista for a while. People told me I was funny, so I started writing sketches and going to the comedy clubs.
ALEX: And then sim.TV called.
Laughter erupts, startling everyone on set. It’s loud and hearty and sounds like that uncle at the family barbeque.
ORANGE: It didn’t exactly happen that way, but yes…eventually. I honestly don’t know what happened. I’m guessing someone just happened to be at one of my shows and thought I would be a good fit for this new talk show they were planning.
ALEX: What does this mean for you?
ORANGE: Wow… This means… It’s so validating. I’m middle-aged now, and all my peers are off doing so many amazing things. It was really hard to resist the urge to go to my parents and ask for help. But the thing that kept me going was this moment right here. I knew that if I stayed the course, eventually something would happen, and I would have an immense feeling of pride. And I do.
ALEX: That’s so dope. So, tell us about the show.
ORANGE: It’s called “The Pulse,” and it’s all about keeping you entertained and informed about what’s going on in the entertainment world.
ALEX: So you’re keeping your finger on the pulse of the industry.
ORANGE: You get it. I’m so grateful for the opportunity because it’s so perfect for me. I grew up around it. I know all dirty secrets, but I also recognize and respect the beauty in it.
ALEX: So from your interviews, should we expect to get a different perspective of celebrity life?
ORANGE: I hope so. I don’t want to be just another talk show host, asking the same tired questions. One thing I want to do differently is get the audience involved. Everyone watching has their own reasons for being interested in someone, so if there’s something they want to know, I’d like to give them the answers.
ALEX: Okay! I like that. Kinda like, power to the people.
ORANGE: Exactly.
ALEX: So, why Nick?
ORANGE: Why not Nick? He’s the hottest thing smoking right now, and he’s not even working. I’m trying to get on his level! But seriously though, I think we’d vibe well. We’re similar in our values and ways of working, and I don’t think he’s ever done a TV interview before, so I think it’s fitting that he be my first guest.
ALEX: Best of luck to you, man. Thanks for sitting down with us.
#ts4 story#sims 4 story#sims story#Piersons and Friends#the piersons#orange bailey moon#nick wilkinson#the pulse
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