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chasingpj · 1 year

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𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

"Hi, my name's Nico!"

pairing: platonic!nico di angelo x older sister reader

summary: you found your pugsley addams

warnings: brief mention of injury, grieving a family member

category: one-shot but not really

a/n: this is probably awful but do i need to fulfil my big sister urge to protect our beloved nico? yes. yes i do. i got this idea listening to Here With Me by d4vd, if you want something to listen while reading <3

“Hi, my name is Nico!”

Tousled dark brown hair, big brown eyes, a toothless grin, and a squeaky voice. Strangely, he doesn’t cower at your eyes, sizing him up. Either he doesn’t care or he’s clueless to your judgment. You're sure it’s the latter.

How could this tiny boy, with too much life in his eyes, and too much excitement in his voice be a child of Hades? Considering your father’s exciting track record with children, this wasn’t what you were expecting when Chiron mentioned you had a brother moving in soon.

He’s just so… lively.

The blinding daylight outside poured through your agape curtains and it surrounded his small frame like a giant halo.

The sight was violent.

It gave you a headache.

“What’s your name?” He waits antsy for your answer and you debate on even giving him one.

Father told you he didn’t have any living children besides you. Considering the boy in front of you, it was a lie, or he had forgotten about him. Either way, you plan on arguing about it later.

How dare he give you a roommate. Let alone a roommate barely in the double digits. This boy could have a tantrum today, and you didn’t sign up for babysitting.

“My side.” Your fingers point to the left of the cabin which is furnished with a bed, shelves, a desk, and a nightstand you got shipped to camp. “Your side.”

Lazily, you point to the right. The lone bunk bed that initially occupied the space is tucked there, ready for the roommate you never thought would arrive.

After three years, you had debated on getting rid of it, maybe donating it to the Hermes cabin. Gods know they need it but you guess keeping it was the right choice.

“Inside voice only. No laughing, no whining, no groaning, no screaming, and especially, no crying.”

The boy’s face falters into a slight frown. Your unblinking, emotionless face had settled into his awareness. For the first time since he’s arrived, he looks down at his feet. “Okay.”

Your vision follows his movements as the boy retreats to his side of the room. His suitcase drags across the floor, making a wretched sound and it shoots irritation straight into your chest.

Harsh words threaten to spill from your lips but they get caught at the back of your throat.

At least he’s compliant, you consider. Better bubbly and compliant than bubbly and stubborn.

★・・・・・・★

“Psst.”

Did you imagine it? The sound was so faint and quick, you weren’t sure if it even happened.

Voices in passing weren’t foreign to you. The occasional energy likes to linger around.

If it was that, you refused to spare a single movement to signal you heard anything at all. A bothersome ghost wasn’t really in your plans tonight.

There wasn’t a twitch in your face or a pause in your breathing that gave you away. And as you do every night, you remain laid on your back, hands lightly folded and rested in the middle of your stomach.

“PSST.”

Great.

The second time was filled with so much urgency you couldn’t conclude it as a trick of the ear. Suddenly, you’re filled with dread. And it wasn’t from the possibility that when opening your eyes, you may find an entity looming over you. Honestly, you wished that’s what you were expecting. At least then, you’d be more interested.

But no, you knew the sound came from no one other than the pest who sleeps across the room. Even now, you are fully aware of his small presence beside your bed.

You had to give him credit. At no point did you hear him approach.

A silent stride just like yours? Maybe you actually are related.

“What?”

Nico tenses up, his hand flings back to his side. He was just questioning if you were even alive, judging from your barely rising chest. Not sure what to do after your lack of response, he thought giving you a little poke would get a reaction but from your tone just now, he was glad he didn’t get to test that out. “T-the statue…” Nico didn’t dare look over, gaze set on your blank face. “What about it?” “It blinked.”

Nico rubs his sweaty palms on his pajama pants, feeling the looming presence of Hades's statue.

The past few nights, while lying in his bed, he kept returning to the same conclusion. He couldn’t be the only one who thought sleeping in a room with a giant statue was kinda creepy.

Sure, it was just stone, but at times, it felt like it was looking at him. He thought he was just imagining it at first. Bianca did say he had a habit of spooking himself out but it didn’t stop him from sleeping with the sheets over his head.

Tonight, however, amongst the deliriousness of waking up, he made the mistake of looking over. His vision was hazy, but he was sure of what he saw. The statue had blinked. Clean and quick as if it was supposed to do that. It was more than he’s ever seen you blink, and he’s been with you for almost a week.

“It does that sometimes.”

“What?” Nico’s voice was laced with so much emotion you could imagine what face he was making. Behind your eyelids, you envisioned the scared face Mr. D made you identify recently in therapy. It was so comedic to you, you almost smiled.

“Go back to sleep.” A whine immediately leaves Nico’s lips, and your hand moves up, arm bent at the elbow, your pointer finger in the air. “No whining.” “But—” “Still whining,” you point out, and Nico remains quiet for a moment. Taking consideration of his silent movements earlier, you assumed he retreated to bed, but as he cleared his throat, you wished you could roll your eyes with them closed.

“I’m scared.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

“I don’t know. When I’m scared, my sister—”

“I’m not your sister.”

Nico frowns but remains in his spot unmoving. As the seconds passed, your awareness of his presence started to irk you.

“Ugh.”

The tired glare on your face makes Nico cower, and you sling your legs to the side. Another sigh leaves you and you march over to his side of the room. He waits as you rip the fitted sheet from the top bunk and throw it over the statue.

“There. Happy? He can’t stare at you if he can’t see you.”

“Now it just looks like a ghost,” Nico shifts, fear still on his face.

There’s a smack as your palm meets your forehead. A child of Hades scared of a ghost? You were about to tell him to get used to it but before you can nag him an idea graces your mind.

Quickly, you walk over to your desk, hands searching for a black marker. Once in your grasp, you drag a chair to the stone and stand on it.

Two circles for the eyes and one smiling open mouth.

Moving away to see your drawings, you decide it was a refreshing sight compared to the usually stoic face of the god.

“Better?” you ask, tone still bored as you cap the marker.

Nico’s eyes light up, a smile growing wide on his face. Who would be scared of a happy ghost? He nods brightly, and you make your way down, eyes rolling at the entire situation. “Go to sleep,” you command, and Nico nods, more willing than he was a few minutes ago. As you both return to the covers, the boy glances across the room one more time. “Good night,” he calls, and you stare at him for a moment.

He always says it despite you never saying it back. Under your gaze, he waits expectantly, but it never returns. Just as every night, you lie down without a word.

★・・・・・・★

Capture the flag isn’t your cup of tea.

In the summers, you never participated. The bright sun, the humidity, it all made you want to claw your skin off.

Usually, you get out of it but Mr. D pointed out there was no reason not to participate since most of what you hate about it isn’t a problem this time of year. One comment from him and Chiron takes it upon himself to ensure you attend.

You hated it.

Forced to strategize with Thalia and Percy, you are reminded the weather wasn’t the only thing you despised. It was dealing with everyone else too.

"I'll take the offense," Thalia volunteered. "You take defense."

"Oh." Percy hesitated. "Don't you think with your shield and all, you'd be better defense?"

"Well, I was thinking it would make better offense," Thalia said. "Besides, you've had more

practice at defense. What do you think, Y/n?”

Your gaze flickers between the two waiting expectantly for your opinion.

The tension between them has been something else since they’ve come back from retrieving Nico and losing Annabeth in the process. It’s not like there wasn’t any tension before but right now, you can smell the power struggle and it stinks.

“I don’t care. Argue amongst yourselves.”

With that, you turn on your heels, looking for the boy who surprisingly isn’t standing behind you like a shadow. Your eyes search the crowd for a few seconds until you spot what looks like a pile of floating armor next to the Stoll’s.

A small sigh leaves your lips. Whoever gave him that definitely is setting him up and judging by the poorly contained laughs of the Stoll’s, you can guess who’s rooting for Nico’s downfall.

The boy, painfully unaware of this, just beams at you, too excited for the game ahead. Lazily, you make your way towards him and immediately, he’s bouncing happily, his mouth ready to bombard you with questions.

Your palm rises before he could and he freezes, obeying your silent command. “You need to tighten that.”

He looks down at himself, his helmet swinging down into his eyes and he struggles to pull it away. “Which part?”

“All of it,” you snap. The sadness that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t have affected you but you straightened up, closing your eyes to recollect yourself. “We’ll get you better armor afterward.”

Nico nods, gaze softening as you adjust the straps of his armor. You tug on them as much as you can, jerking the boy left to right with the movement.

Once every strap couldn’t be tightened anymore, you step back to take a look. It didn’t do much but at least his plate is snug against his chest.

“Okay kid, stay out of the way and be careful with that thing.” Nico looks down at his sword, which is probably too heavy for him. “We need to get you another weapon too. Gods, who did your orientation?”

Nico points over at the Stoll’s who are occupied with other campers. Sending a glare in their direction you huff, “Of course.”

"Heroes!" Chiron calls, swiftly getting everyone’s attention. "You know the rules! The creek is the boundary line. Blue team—Camp Half-Blood—shall take the west woods. Hunters of Artemis—red team—shall take the east woods. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. No intentional maiming, please! All magic items are allowed. To your positions!"

“Do I get magic items!?” Nico screeches causing you to cringe. Whipping your gaze in his direction, he cowers sheepishly, his eyes filled with hesitant apology. “No. Remember what I said. Stay—” “Stay out of the way and be careful with my sword.” Nico finishes your sentence and he smiles at the evident distaste in your expression.

Your eyes flicker along his frame. “And don’t get hurt.”

★・・・・・・★

Nico, to no one’s surprise, got hurt.

Honestly, you couldn’t be upset at him, it’s not his fault he got caught in a spell cast.

A certain Circe camper did a fine job at missing her every target, leaving Nico standing in the outfield like a giant bullseye. The force alone sent him back a few feet and he slid across the field like a rag doll for a few more feet afterward.

As he lay there limp in shock, you genuinely thought he died. Before you could wield the ground to swallow up his attacker, he groaned and stumbled back on his feet.

Lucky for her, disappointing for you. You haven’t gotten around to doing that trick in a while.

“Well, you definitely have blunt force trauma injuries, everywhere,” Fletcher says, removing his hands from Nico’s abdomen. The boy reclined in the cot flinches at the bruises already forming along his ribs.

It looked pretty bad. So much so that you decided it would be cruel to tell him to stop crying.

“But you don’t have internal bleeding in your lungs so at least you won’t drown in your own life source.”

Despite the smile Fletcher flashes at Nico, it doesn’t affect the look of horror on his face.

“Nothing Ambrosia and Nectar can’t fix. You’ll be fine in a couple of days.” Fletcher helps the small boy sit up in the cot. He passes him a small cup of Nectar and orders him to drink up while he gets what he needs for the sling Nico’s arm will be in for a little bit.

A sniffle leaves the boy as he observes the drink he’s left with. “What does it taste like?” “It depends on the person,” you sit back in your chair. “Usually tastes like something nostalgic, a favorite food or drink. You won’t know until you try it.”

Nico nods, hesitantly taking a sip. As the flavors settle on his tongue, his eyes progressively widen. Next thing you know, he’s swallowing it like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“It tastes like the almond cookies they had at the Lotus Casino!”

You nod in response, having some memory of Nico telling you about the Casino he and his sister lived at for a while. He’s told you plenty about it, you just weren’t listening most of the time.

“I liked those the most because it reminded me of the cookies my mom would buy us.”

Nico looks down at the cup, his smile faltering by the second. There’s a shadow clouding over his orbs and you quirk an eyebrow. The sadness overtaking his features looked strange. Sure you’ve seen him upset but you knew enough to recognize this expression as anguish.

“What is it?” Your words came out more monotone than you intended. Shifting in your seat, you wondered why you even asked. Vulnerability wasn’t really something you sought after. It puts a bad taste in your mouth.

“I was just wondering if Bianca would taste the same thing… but she never ate the cookies with me.”

A hum leaves your lips. You don’t know much about that sister of his but you knew two things: first, you were here while he was hurt and she wasn’t. Second, her absence made Nico upset.

“I understand.” Your vision is set on the small window beside you. Set on the fields of campers ahead, you ignore Nico’s burning stare. “I don’t like the taste of my nectar or ambrosia.” “Why?” “The flavors remind me too much of things I want to forget. Your sister probably didn’t eat those cookies for the same reason. It’s too much. Too many things tied to the things you like the most.”

Nico’s silent, staring at the paper cup in his hands as if he was searching for something.

“Nico, there’s one thing you need to know.” He averts his gaze over to you. “You’ll make friends, you’ll have lovers, you’ll have family but at the end of the day, the only person you truly have is yourself.”

The boy shifts in his place, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t let people steal parts of yourself from you. They’re going to disappoint you, expect it, and don’t be sad about it.”

Silence followed somber and stuffy silence. For once, you were glad Fletcher returned in all of his child of Apollo gleam. He was better at cheering Nico up than you were, that’s for sure.

★・・・・・・★

“What do you mean ‘He’s gone?’” Percy slowly retreats from your advances. Twice already, he’s stared at the glowing eyes of a child of Hades and the second time was even more intimidating.

“He just disappeared,” Percy stutters out. “It looked like shadows took him, and then he was gone.”

Schist. You didn’t even know the little rat could shadow travel. By now, he could be anywhere. You’ve been on him about training, but he still had that childish clumsiness to him. His chances of survival would be out of pure luck.

A groan leaves your lips, knowing you’d have to go find him. If it were anyone else, you would have let them be, but this unfamiliar urgency in your chest wouldn’t allow it. You had to find and drag him back by his ear if you had to.

Your eyes roll at the son of Poseidon, and you turn on your heels without a word. So much drama because of that sister of his.

Rushing down the stairs of the pavilion, you conjure the shadows to form a portal that’ll lead you straight into the forest.

Di Angelo, you better be alive when I find you.

★・・・・・・★

How does a 10-year-old with short legs get so much distance?

After hours of searching and instigating some fights with monsters, he was nowhere to be found. Concluding that, maybe, hopefully, he found his way out of the forest, you have to settle with waiting for him to return. If he returns.

Tired legs take you up the porch steps and you shrug off your coat the moment you step through the door. As the warmth graces your chilled skin, a floorboard creaks.

“Nico?”

“Y/n?” Your name comes out of his mouth like a desperate plea as he reveals himself out of the shadows. With rosy, tear-stained cheeks, and watery eyes, Nico bolts in your direction, and for a moment, you think he’s going to attack you.

It would be a bold move. Though, with his speed, he could get a good hit but he ended up doing something much worse.

He hugged you.

His small frame flings into you, short arms grasping your waist as if his life depended on it.

“Percy broke his promise,” he cries, hot tears running down his cheeks and dampening your shirt. “Bianca,” he shutters. “He told me she died.” His frame shivers harder, the action almost too violent for his frame. You weren’t sure how but his grip tightened, “What am I going to do?” Get over it.

The hostile thought was a knee-jerk reaction. Your mouth was about to relay the message but you stopped yourself, the words getting caught in your throat.

The logical answer didn’t feel right. Why didn’t it feel right?

Suddenly you’re aware of the sunken feeling in your chest. Its foreign nature made it hard to distinguish whether it hurt or if it was discomfort.

This is odd.

Nico cries and cries, and by now, the clothing of your shirt is sticking damp to your skin. The longer you stood there, stuck on what to say next, you felt an urgency as if your response was timed.

Rarely were you lost for words. Actually, you can’t recall a time when you have but right now you stood with your mouth open like a fish out of water. “You stay here,” you say abruptly. Nico pulls away, eyes glistening in the ray of moonlight seeping into the room. He’s so small.

Not that he’s not small on any other day. His narrow shoulders droop and turn into themselves from the weight of the news. He looked fragile, searching for something other than his grief and he’s searching for it in you.

It wasn’t often someone came to confide in you. Your advice was always too abrasive, and cold, and never did you have the urge to give something different.

That’s what made this moment so strange. As Nico waits expectantly, you can’t find it in yourself to disregard him.

“You stay here,” you repeat, the words delivered before your brain could process them.“And you train, and make friends, and find your own way around life.” Nico frowns, sleeve wiping his nose. Amongst his sadness, something flickers in his eyes. “Stay here with you?” With you.

You couldn’t begin to decipher what that question made you feel. Forget the question, its delivery was hopeful and that surprised you the most.

The feelings were almost overwhelming and before it completely flooded your senses, you shoved it to the side.

“Who else?” You clear your throat in an effort to get yourself together. “Is there anyone else who lives here besides me? Does the statue count too?” The question was genuine but something about it made Nico crack a smile.

“Anyways, you’ll see her again.” You shrug, stepping out of his loose embrace.

“I will?” “We’re the children of the dead. We can just find her.” Find her so I can kill her again.

Nico sniffles, the sound snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Stop crying,” you blurt out, and the boy blinks, face pink. “Crying doesn’t fix anything,” is all you say before returning to your side of the room.

Nico swallows, trying to suppress the tears.

You were right. Crying doesn’t fix anything but even though it was true, his emotions were all too much for him. Sniffling softly and wiping his face with his sleeve, he retreats to bed. “Good night,” he says, voice quivering.

Nico crawls into the covers, the fatigue hitting him the moment he rests against the spring mattress. Unexpecting, he wraps himself up, eyes shut tight in hopes he’ll be asleep soon. “Good night.”

Nico’s eyebrows furrow. He finds some strength to lift his head just enough for you to be in his line of vision. Blinking in surprise, he swears he saw a smile on your face. It wasn’t teasing, or happy. It was comforting, as slight as it was. It wasn’t much but to Nico, it made him feel like he’d be okay.

Without another word, you slid into your covers and went to sleep.

★・・・・・・★

“Where’s the brat?” With crossed arms and a look of determination, you stood authoritatively at the double doors of your father’s dining room.

The god sits at the very end of the grand table, skeleton butlers wait on either end of the room to serve him. On the polished mahogany wood, the bulbs of the many crystal chandeliers lined up across the ceiling reflect like ornaments. As Hades wipes the sides of his lips with a cloth napkin, the side of his mouth quirks as he catches Nico peeking behind your back like a child behind a mother’s skirt.

Since when have you been maternal?

“I’m sorry, who?” Your father asks with fake confusion. The smile on his face already gave you a headache. You weren’t here to play games, you meant business.

“You know who.”

Hades clears his throat and his eyes flicker over to Nico. Quickly, the small boy retreats nervously, eyes set on your back. “I don’t know where your sister is, boy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cut in. Nico wasn’t going to speak, the boy practically shivering in his father’s presence. Even as he refrains from confrontation, he’s in awe at your comfort towards the god.

“There’s dead people in and out of this place. You think I would know?” Hades asks and a hum leaves your lips.

“I would think you’d at least keep track of your kids but if you’re going to be this useless to me, I’ll find her myself.”

“Wait.”

You halt turning on your heels and raise an eyebrow. There was a moment of disbelief, your father helping and not making everything so difficult for you, for once? You wonder who could have possibly granted this miracle.

“She’s somewhere down here,” Hades says and you wish your expression could get straighter. “Wow, I would have never figured that out. Thanks.” Grabbing Nico’s sleeve, you begin dragging him out of the room.

“She’s not in the meadows, I checked. I don’t think her life has been judged either but Charon said he rowed her in. I can feel she’s close.”

You sigh. Finding her is proving to be more of a challenge than you thought. By now, you would think she’d be judged and categorized wherever the judges saw fit. However, from the dead ends, you’ve stumbled upon so far, you consider that she doesn’t want to be found. As annoying as it is, the chance to prove you can find her was enough to get you to keep going, “Noted,” you mumble, already deciding where you will look next. “Close the door on your way out!” “No.”

★・・・・・・★

“Okay, listen here…” You move a little closer, eyeing the name tag on the frightened guard. “Atrius. Have you seen Bianca? She looks like this kid.” Pointing at Nico, the ghost peers over your shoulder.

“No, I haven’t seen her.” As definitive as that statement was, he didn’t sound so definitive. His bones clinked together as he shivered in your presence.

“I don’t like when people lie to me.” You stare into his empty eye sockets. One moment passes and then two and then three and still he hasn’t budged. Irritation buzzed at the back of your skull. You had the time but none of the patience to play hide and seek.

Nico stands a short way behind you, partially concerned for your victim. He wasn’t sure what you were going to do if you didn’t get what you wanted. The skeleton flashed him a look and even with no skin on his face, he could tell it was pleading.

“Help me!” He was saying without a word.

The boy doesn’t move from his spot though, instead looking away sheepishly. Pleading or not, he looked scary. That and Nico really wants to find his sister. “I’m not lying!” He insists and it annoys you even more. Quickly, in one movement, you grab his leg and tug so hard it comes straight out the socket. Tossing it to the side, your eyes don’t leave him as he yelps, falling straight to the ground. “Tell me where she is, or I’m tossing both of your legs into Tarturus. Last chance.”

Atrius wails at your threat, the sound was so hysteric you almost missed his confession. “She’s hiding in Lady Persephone’s garden, amongst the pomegranate trees!”

Nico flinches when you whip around. Already he was unsettled by your interrogation methods but nothing prepared him for your face.

You were smiling. Your eyes looked lit up.

Not gracing him a look, you walked right past him. From his surprise, his brain never gave his body the signal to move. Instead, he averts his attention to a distraught Atrius whose more than relieved he finally got you out of his bones.

Right as he’s about to look away, Nico jumps in his skin as the skeleton looks right at him once again. It was only then did he find the courage to move. Walking backward, he smiles sheepishly. “Um… thank you,” Nico’s tone is apologetic. Across the courtyard laid Atrius’s leg and the boy takes a step in that direction but is halted by the sound of his name. “You’re coming or not?” You ask him, foot tapping with impatience.

Not wanting to keep you waiting, Nico forgets about retrieving the guard's limb. “Sorry about your leg!” He shouts behind him, hoping the apology was soothing enough as he joins your side.

The young boy stares at the back of your sneakers as you make your way through the underworld. Already he’s seen some things that spooked him out too much. This was like walking through a horror maze for him.

For you though, he notices you’re more comfortable around here than you did at camp. Your usually confident stride had purpose and authority. He wonders if he’ll ever walk through here the same way you do one day. A part of him hopes he does.

“Alright.” Nico halts, almost bumping right into you as you stop in your tracks. “We walk through here silently. Watch where you’re stepping, if you crush one of Persephone’s plants, I can’t help you.”

The boy’s face contorted with fear. “What do you mean you can’t help me?” He couldn’t decipher the look you flashed in his direction but it sent your message well enough. Don’t step on one of her flowers and you won’t find out.

Nico’s small nod is enough to get you moving. With silent and slow steps, you walk along the paved pathway toward the cluster of trees in the back.

It hadn’t settled into Nico’s awareness that his sister was hiding. You could tell. He was still hopeful and excited to see her and you can imagine if he knew, he wouldn’t be happy about it.

You’re not happy about it, that’s for sure. What even was her problem? If there was anything Nico deserved, it was to see her before she gets sent to the meadows or decides to reincarnate.

Once you approach the trees, you shuffle through them. You’re thankful Nico’s naturally taken the role of your shadow because he mimics your sneaking, staying out of sight with you.

He probably thinks your caution is due to Persephone arriving at any minute. You feel this strange tightness in your chest, he really has no idea you’re trying to sneak up on his sister so she doesn’t have the chance to run.

Right as the thought passes, you catch sight of something moving in the trees. Locks of brown hair wisp through them and the pulse in your neck picks up. It seems you’re not going to avoid a chase.

Nico barely had time to catch up as you bolt through a straight diagonal through the trees. You admire her audacity to try and get away. The smile that stretches across your face is from amusement alone.

As Bianca makes a sharp right, you gather the shadows at the tree's stumps and will them to consume your body. Nico blinks and suddenly you’re gone. His quick steps come to a stop as he looks around, trying to catch any sight of you. Then he hears a cry of pain and he moves fast in that direction.

The only thing on his mind was the possibility you got hurt. Even if you were in your father’s territory, were there still monsters that could attack you? Even worse, what if you stepped on Lady Persephone’s plants? If you can’t help him in the scenario he did, what was he gonna do?

His pace quickens as he hears another cry and finally, he bursts through a wall of vines.

Still clouded by his concern, his brain barely processes what he stumbled upon. There you were, fingers grasping tight at his sister’s ear. Bianca groans and struggles in your pinching grasp and you look up at Nico with a gleam, like a fisherman who just got his catch of the day. “Got her.”

“Nico?”

Bianca freezes at the sight of her brother. There’s a silence that follows and you’re surprised Nico didn’t immediately bombard her with questions.

The girl straightens up once you let go of her and as your arm returns to your side, you catch the tears brimming Nico’s waterline.

Yeah, this is when you clock out. Your work here is done.

“I’ll… wait for you over there,” you point through the trees and at the meadow of flowers that wasn’t too far. It’s enough distance to be an earshot away.

Nico nods, his eyes unmoving from his sister.

Once you’ve shadow traveled to your spot, you didn’t dare look in their direction. With your eyes planted on the flowers, you wait for Nico to return.

The boy didn’t take too long which left you lost for words. He didn’t look happy when he met you in the garden. His eyes held a feeling a part of you understood.

“I want to go home.” He frowns.

Home. You didn’t even consider camp a home and you’ve been there for three years.

“Okay.” Your voice was right above a whisper.

Whatever happened back there was the end for him, the last time he would see her. Knowing how that felt, you waited. Just a moment, maybe two. If Nico had any reservations or second thoughts, you gave him time. When nothing came, you hoped whatever happened, he’ll find peace in it.

The shadow gathered slowly, first at your feet then at your legs and soon the two of you were traveling through blurred shadows and harsh winds.

★・・・・・・★

“Who did this?” You weren’t sure if the streaks of water on Nico’s face were from his eyes or the toilet water soaked in his hair.

The boy sniffles, cheeks and nose flushed from his embarrassment. After the incident, he rushed back to the Hades Cabin to wallow in self-pity but his assumption you wouldn’t be there was wrong. He didn’t want to admit what happened, scared he would disappoint you for clearly losing this battle.

His mouth opens to answer but nothing comes out. He considers lying but as you raise an eyebrow, he grows too anxious to come up with one.

“Nico,” you say his name firmly and the frown on his face deepens. “It was Clarisse and her siblings, they-” he gurgles out through his watery whines and you sigh. “They…, I-”

“Breathe.” You kneel to his height and take a deep breath, waiting for him to follow. He does, his chest filling with air and he releases it shakily.

“They surrounded me in the bathroom and Clarisse shoved my face in the toilet.”

His lip quivers as he recalls the memory. Nico’s eyes flicker across your hardening features and you rise from your spot. “Go clean up,” you demand, already heading to the door.

“What are you gonna do?” “I’m going to fix it.”

★・・・・・・★

Gravel crunches under your shoes, without a single weapon you persist into the camp’s arena. Clangs of swords and grunts could be heard from outside of the entrance and as you made your way through the doors, there were the Ares’s campers sweating and panting from their already hard day of training.

Clarisse stands there authoritatively, the swing of the grand door grabbing her attention and the snug look on her face had set off a slight rage in your chest.

You were ready to wipe it off. If only she knew what she had coming. “Did Nico tell on us?” One of her brothers asks mockingly, your presence already known to the entire group. They stood, waiting for a fight as they make no effort to sheath their swords.

A smile almost graces your lips before you could even execute your plan.

“His big sister is fighting his battles for him.” They laugh and joke at your brother’s expense and something snaps in your mind.

The ground suddenly sinks into itself, and Clarisse and her siblings stumble to the side in confusion. Before they realized what was happening, there was no chance to run.

A sinkhole, perfectly round and deep enough to trap them forms right under their feet. They roll and drop to the bottom, coughing at the gravel waterfall surrounding them.

You hear their shouts and complaints and you make your way to the edge. Looking down at them, you ignore their demands to be let out.

“No one messes with my little brother.”

As if on cue, there’s a screech in the distance and it immediately fills their expressions with dread. A lopsided smirk appears on your lips and soon the shadows of massive wings appear overhead.

You whisper a demand to attack in ancient greek and the harpies swoop down with a call like a battle cry. There’s a collective panic of your victims and a laugh leaves you, watching as they spear their swords in the air at every charge towards them.

Calmly leaving the chaos you’ve caused behind, you find an audience. Unaware of their bewildered expressions, not because of the scene but at the joyful smile on your face, you hoped you’ve sent a message.

Be nice my brother or else.

masterlists

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympian fanfic #nico di angelo #nico di angelo fanfic #nico di angelo x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympian fic

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arizariia · 8 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara As Your Boyfriend Headcanons

This is just the first of my work from TikTok that I'm reposting here. I made a few changes, so it's not exactly the same.

Warnings: None Pairing: F/M Word Count: 691

Prepare to be treated like a princess. He's such a gentleman with you. The type to always show up 10 minutes before a date, hold open the door for you, have a bouquet ready, etc. He is the type of man who insists that you don't have to split the bill. He'll pay for you.

Miguel would prefer to sit down and plan dates with you. He wouldn't feel comfortable with surprise dates until he's known you for some time and is more in tune with your preferences. These planning sessions can result in him stressing out too much about it.

Since there's no way you wouldn't be smaller than him, he gets a kick out of picking you up. He also likes to place things on high shelves, so you'll have to stand on a chair or get him to help. He finds it adorable.

He will always be the big spoon. You'll fall asleep on your side of the bed and wake up in his arms. He's a cuddle monster, even though he doesn't want to admit it.

He wouldn't be against PDA, but the most he'll do is hold your hand and give you quick pecks on the cheek here and there. He's a bit of a prude in public.

If you have any hobbies, Miguel will do his best to get into them. At the very least, understand them better. If it's something nerdy, you'll definitely walk in on him looking at the Wiki page for whatever fandom you're in while wearing reading glasses.

Miguel is a provider, and his love language is gift-giving and acts of service.

His gift-giving can range from buying you that cute dress you said you wanted and tickets for a luxury cruise. He wants to spoil you. This results in him unintentionally becoming your sugar daddy. Since he's usually busy with work, he thinks giving you things can make up for his absence.

If he has the time, he loves to cook for you and prepare your meals. Grocery shopping is also quite enjoyable with him, and he always encourages you to come with him to the store. However, he will side-eye you if you gravitate towards junk food. Cooking is also therapeutic for him. Even if you can cook, you'll usually sit off to the side, watching Miguel work his magic.

When you start living together, he starts doing some of your chores. You'll have to tell him to divide them instead.

At first, Miguel would only call you by your first name when you started dating. It takes a few months for him to address you by a term of endearment. Usually, he would call you by a Spanish endearment, but occasionally, he'll use an English endearment.

Arguments with him aren't frequent. When they do happen, Miguel will shut down. He hates it when these scenarios, especially if he's the cause of the problem. Miguel tends to be the first to apologize in these cases. He will also cut up some fruit for you as a peace offering. However, if you need space, Miguel respects that and waits until you're ready to talk. He isolates himself when that happens.

If you're shy or are the type to withhold your opinions, he's actively encouraging you to express yourself more. He would also make jokes that you're too nice.

If you're not Mexican, he's gonna share his culture with you. If you don't know Spanish, he's gonna teach you. Don't worry. He's surprisingly patient with you. He also wants to learn more about your own culture.

He's a good singer, and he takes full advantage of it. Sometimes, it's to serenade you. Other times (AKA most times), he's just being goofy. He keeps doing it because he knows you like it. Don't mention it around his colleagues. He'll get embarrassed.

Telling you that he's Spider-Man wouldn't be something he'd reveal to you for a long time. When he finally decides to do the reveal, it's more of a spur-of-the-moment decision. But let's be honest, you figured it out months ago. There's only one man in Neuva York who's that double-cheeked up.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader

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friendly-neighborhood-boricua · 8 months

Text

Squint And You'll See It

Summary: Sirius and his potions partner are trying to brew Polyjuice Potion for class, and he can't seem to figure out why she won't wear her glasses.

Notes: Sirius Black x shy!reader. All fluff, really. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I'm weirdly self-conscious about the sounds I make, how loud they are, if they could annoy/distract people, etc. so I wrote this just to comfort myself about it lol. I ended up using Y/N a bunch because using too many pronouns in a row makes my brain bristle so oh well. Still though, this is the sweetest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy! <3

Y/N squinted up at the blackboard as Slughorn collected the class’s attention once again, and Sirius just about melted. The all-too-familiar scrunch in her nose and the crease between her brows gave him more comfort than he probably should have taken from her struggles to see the properties of Chinese Chomping Cabbage from so far back in the classroom. After an especially rapid flurry of blinking, she scribbled a couple notes on her parchment before fisting her knuckles in her eyes tiredly.

Sirius nudged her gently. As if it wasn’t already, the honey-doe eyes she gave him had his heart overflowing with a plush fondness.

“Your glasses, love,” he whispered, nodding to her book bag, which hung off of the back of her chair. Y/N looked at it, then blinked twice. The glasses were a new and quite helpful development—one she hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of using yet. She eyed the bag again.

“I’m alright,” she whispered back and returned to her notes.

Sirius frowned. “You sure?”

She nodded, giving him a light smile.

Sirius frowned slightly but returned to his notes when Slughorn chided him for having his eyes elsewhere. But how could he be blamed? Only a madman would rather learn about ingredients than watch her.

For a surprisingly long while, Sirius managed to stay focused on his notes, sometimes copying Remus’s, who sat on his right side, and only occasionally sneaking glances at Y/N, who sat on his left. After what felt like an eternity, Slughorn finally let the pair work on their Polyjuice Potion at a work table in the far back of the classroom. Sirius had come down with a nasty case of spattergroit several weeks previous and missed a week and a half of the brewing process. Unfortunately, Y/N had missed several days herself due to a family matter (now resolved with nothing to worry about, she had assured Sirius countless times), ending in the complete devastation of their original Polyjuice batch. And so, Y/N, unwilling to take a bad mark, and Sirius, ready to do just about anything to keep spending time with her, decided to make another batch.

“Do you want to gather the ingredients or shall I?” she asked as Sirius scooted his stool closer to hers (to better reach the cauldron, of course).

“I can get the ingredients,” he said, flashing what he hoped was his most charming smile, and she blushed.

“Alright, I’ll, erm … I’ll work out our next instructions …” Sirius nodded as Y/N fell into her reading, smiling to himself as her brows furrowed once again to scan the page.

Sirius skirted the classroom towards ingredient shelves, passing by James, Peter, and Remus, who all raised their brows at him with smirks. He simply rolled his eyes, rummaging through the shelves until he had gathered the correct ingredients. But when he turned around, ready to make his way back to Y/N and their Polyjuice Potion, he was met with a horrible sight: Remus, holding a tight-lipped frown in a near-futile attempt to ward off a smile, Peter, doubled over with laughing cramps, and James, turned around in his chair and arms wrapped around himself, raking them up and down his back in a sultry fashion as he pretended to make out with someone.

With a peeved sigh, Sirius chucked a bundle of knotgrass at James, seed pods bursting and small nettle-like seeds clinging to James's hair. Of course, the three burst into peals of raucous laughter. Sirius groaned, and quickly made his way back to the back work table as Slughorn chastised the rest of them.

“Sirius, are you alright? You’re looking a bit … erm, warm.”

Sirius’s ears burned even hotter, and his eyes flew to examine the grout between the floor tiles.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m perfect, lovie.” He set down his armful of glass jars and clay bowls, trying desperately to change the subject. “Found what we’ve got to do yet?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Just here, it says we must add three bits of boomslang skin—”

“Got that here.”

“—crush the bicorn horn and add that—”

“Got that as well.”

“—and then there are some cooking instructions, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Sounds good to me, love.” Sirius smiled warmly.

The two worked in harmony, Y/N checking and double-checking that she was measuring everything correctly and Sirius adding the ingredients once she had prepared them. The two worked in sweet, warm peace, managing only one easily-averted disaster, all while keeping quiet as Slughorn continued to teach the rest of the class. There was a strange sort of domesticity to it that made Sirius’s heart skip beats, and he imagined himself with Y/N in their future home, huddled around a cauldron and brewing something to keep them warm on a Siberian night—

“How long should it be at a high temperature again?” Sirius asked, forcing himself from his daydreaming and adding the crushed bicorn horn.

“Erm …” Y/N’s nose practically brushed the page with how closely she peered at the instructions. With the smallest sound of annoyance Sirius had ever heard, her head moved to allow her eyes to travel along the far wall, where a dozen or so posters displayed recipes for a variety of potions. She sighed lightly, squinting heard and pushing herself on tiptoe (as if it would help).

“Use your glasses, love,” Sirius suggested but was quickly brushed off.

“‘M fine, really,” Y/N murmured, eyes still squinting.

“Sweetheart,” the word caught Y/N’s attention, and she fell back onto her heels, eyes barely meeting Sirius’s before drilling into the bubbling cauldron, “you’ll give yourself a migraine. Use your glasses.” Y/N glanced uneasily from Sirius to her bag on the back of her chair and back. Sirius’s brows furrowed. “What is it, love?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Then … wear your glasses,” Sirius reasoned, and she let out a little huff. “Why don’t you want to wear them, lovie?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to wear them, it’s just …” Sirius watched her with soft, almost concerned eyes.

Y/N sighed, pushing herself onto the stool with knees pressed together. The thought was silly, but she had known Sirius long enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go.

“The buckle on the bag, it’s …” Sirius’s knee knocked gently against hers. “It’s loud—it clatters about when I open it. Catches people’s attention. And my glasses are in the bag, so if I open the bag, people will stare, and then people stare at me when I have my glasses on anyway—not that I’m not grateful for the glasses! They’re a great help for seeing the board during cl—”

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, and he almost felt bad at the pout Y/N dealt in return. “First of all, love, people stare at you and your glasses because you look fucking divine when you wear them. I should know.” He brushed her arm playfully with his, and she flushed a brilliant shade of red-pink. “And second, no one thinks anything about your loud bag buckles, I promise.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I just—I don't want to disrupt them is all …”

Sirius chuckled again, but still, Y/N didn't make a move for her bag. It took only a moment and a half of contemplation before Sirius burst into the most fake-sounding fit of coughs ever created in the history of this Earth. Nearly the entire class turned to stare at him as he seemingly hacked up a lung, and he hung himself dramatically off of the table’s edge to play it up just that little bit more.

“Mr. Black, are you quite alright?” Professor Slughorn asked, eyes slightly wide with concern.

“Y-yes, Pro—” Sirius coughed a dozen more times, discretely winking at Y/N, who seemed to get the point and quietly retrieved her glasses from her bag. Not a soul noticed.

#sirius black x you #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #marauders era #sirius black fluff #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader #sirius black x shy!reader #sirius fluff

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Hiii! Maybe you can write something with reader having like 20 plants in her dorm. Like a plant mom!

Thanks for requesting :)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 979 words

“This isn’t gonna work,” you scold, nudging the spout of your watering can carefully between leaves to the center of the pot. “I gave you the prime sun spot, and you’re still gonna wilt on me? That’s just ungrateful, Phin.”

There’s a knock on the door, and do a once-over of your room before going to meet Eddie at the door. He’d let you know he’d be coming by to pick up the flannel he’d lent you the other night (you’re disappointed you don’t get to keep it, though you haven’t let him know that), but he hasn’t been in your dorm before; you always wait outside when he’s supposed to be picking you up. Thankfully, you’d remembered to put away the folded laundry on your bed, and your space is looking decently tidy.

“Hey.” Your grin is already in place as you open the door, your dopamine centers responding to Eddie’s presence the same as they respond to the aroma of cookies in the oven or your favorite song coming on the radio.

“Hey, you.” Eddie’s smiling too, peering around you to see into your room. “Who’re you talking to?”

“No one.” You open the door all the way to show him, and Eddie’s eyes go wide enough to show white all the way around his irises. “Just Phin.”

“You…you have a fucking jungle in here.” Eddie’s gawping, seeming unable to focus on any one plant as his gaze skims your room. You suppose it probably would look like a bit much if you weren’t used to it. You’ve got greenery lining your windowsill, pots taking up half your desk, vines drooping down from your shelves. You’ve had to put a few on the floor too, since the only other surfaces in the room don’t get enough sun. All in all, it’s a lot of green in not a ton of space. Eddie seems at a loss for words, but then his eyebrows twitch towards each other and he blinks. “Wait, who’s Phin?”

“Phineas,” you explain, gently touching the leaf of your baby pothos. You’d propagated him from a giant one you’ve had for years, but he’s struggling a bit as he roots in his new soil.

Eddie’s looking at you like you’re a marvel now too. “They have names? You talk to them?”

“Of course they have names. And talking is supposed to help them grow.” You soften your voice just slightly, throwing a cautious look at Dorothy over on your shelf. “Though I sometimes wonder if some of them are more introverted than others. Some of my spider plants don’t seem to appreciate it.”

Eddie grins in that familiar toothy way that makes you wonder if he’s going to tease you, but his voice is warm and sweet as honeyed tea when he says, “Well shit, sweetheart, I didn’t know I was coming over to meet so many of your friends. I would’ve dressed better.”

You laugh, gesturing for him to follow as you go sit on your bed. “I wouldn’t worry about it, I don’t think they can even tell us apart. Which is a shame, because I devote so much care to them and they wouldn’t know me from Adam, but oh well.” You let your gaze skim over Eddie as he gets comfy beside you, laying down on his side and propping one head on his hand. He’s got on another flannel, under which is a Black Sabbath t-shirt. His jeans are faded, with a stain that looks suspiciously like chocolate just above the knee, and his hair is taking well to the lack of humidity in the chilly season, curls bouncy and defined. “You look nice anyway, so.”

Little lines spread like cartoonish rays of sunshine from the outer corners of Eddie’s eyes. “Daww, thanks, sweet thing. Sure you’re not just buttering me up so you can keep my shirt?”

You look to where you’ve left it, washed and folded primly on your desk. “I’m not,” you promise wistfully, “but…if that would work on you, I can start.”

Eddie takes your hand and begins tracing the lines of your palm absentmindedly. “You can have it. I mostly just wanted to see you. And I got to meet the roommates, so double bonus.” Your heart swells like a hot air balloon, big and warm and buoyant in your chest. Eddie turns your hand over, stroking gently at the skin below your knuckle. “What happened here?”

You lean over to see, laying down next to him with your shoulder pressed against his bicep as he runs his thumb over a tiny cut on your middle finger. “Oh, that was Willie.” You nod towards the cactus on the edge of your desk. “He scraped me while I was moving him to a bigger pot.”

Eddie glares in the cactus’ direction. “Little fucker,” he grumbles, kissing your finger lightly. “You can’t let these guys push you around, babe. You’re too good, you’ll take care of them no matter what. I think I’m gonna have to start coming around more to lay down the law.”

You don’t think of your plants as nearly so villainous as Eddie paints them, but you’re not going to argue against his being in your room more often. You tilt your head until it hits his shoulder. “If you think so,” you say noncommittally.

“I do,” he confirms, turning your hand back over and bringing it to lay on his chest, both of his clasped over it protectively. “You’re my best girl, you know? I can’t let you be bullied by a bunch of leafy assholes.”

“They’re generally nice to me.” You smile against his shoulder, and Eddie’s kiss is a gentle pressure on the top of your head.

“For now, sweetheart, but they’ve got you surrounded. Think I’d better stick around for a while, just to keep an eye on things.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x self insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fandom

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year

Note

I'm feeling sooome...bed sharing. That good ol only one bed trope with Daryl. It's over done sure, bit my heart just loves the shit out of it. Thank you so much for sharing your talent and writing for us!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairing: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: season 4

― summary: after being separated from everyone when the prison fell, you found yourself paired up with daryl, the man that, to him, you had been unknowingly pining for.

― warnings: literally none! it's all fluff!

― wc: 875

⋆ a/n: bed sharing is such a good trope! i'm a sucker for it every single time! this was such a fun right and honestly it made me all tingly inside.

masterlist | AO3

When the prison fell, your future and hope fell with it, only leaving a black pit of survival deep within your chest. You were grateful that Daryl had found you, tugging you along with him. Maybe it was because he was the only one that could ever bring you the feeling of safety in a time like this, or maybe it was because you were in love with him, unbeknownst to him.

You two had been on the run for what seemed like ages, your legs aching, skin sticky and sweaty, your stomachs empty as you fought away the feeling of exhaustion and irritability. You guys had been desperately trying to find somewhere to settle down on behalf of trying to find everyone else, which was quite difficult mind you. So, when you both had stumbled upon a gas station, you could’ve started crying, and if you were going to be honest, you kind of did. You had hoped there were still some snacks left despite the few cans that were split amongst the two of you.

You were more than eager to enter the run-down place, and surprisingly there were no walkers, just the putrid smell of rotting flesh.

“Hold on a damn minute, woman.” You heard Daryl grumble from behind you. “I’m okay, and there’s literally no one here.” You said as you scanned the shelves, eyes lighting up as you spotted a few bags of mini-potato chips. They were most likely stale, but you were in no place to complain, food was food now in days. “Ya don’ know that.” His crossbow was still raised. “If it makes you feel better, then you can double check everything, D. ‘See if I missed anything.” It was a compromise that you knew would bring the older man some peace of mind. He did exactly that, opening the back room before saying, “It’s clear.”

You followed up behind him, your eyes landing on a relatively clean mattress on the floor. It was no bigger than a wide twin bed. “Oh my god, I’m going to cry.” You gasped dramatically. You could hear him snort as you flopped down on the comforter, a wave of dust exploding from either side of you. “Well, that’s charming.” You laughed, Daryl biting back a smile as he disappeared back to the main part of the store.

As night began to fall and dinner was eaten, it was safe to say that you and him were completely pooped for the day.

“I’ll take the floor ‘nd you can take the bed.” His words left no room for an argument as he had already begun to lay out a blanket that he had found. “Are you sure, Daryl? That ground does not look comfortable or.. cleanly.” He just shrugged, flopping down on his back as he grunted. “’Had worse.” He mumbled. You just sighed out an, “Okay.” Before laying flat on your back.

You had no idea how long you had been awake, looking up at the rotting ceiling while your hands rested clasped together on your stomach.

“Daryl, you awake?” You whispered, as if you were afraid something could hear you. “Mhm.” Was your grunted response. You swallowed your nerves, fidgeting with your fingers. “Could you uh- could you maybe come up here with me?” A moment of silence settled over the two of you, and before you could chide yourself for asking a dumb question, he was up and moving, his movement causing you to scoot over. Your bodies were pressed together, hip-and-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. His body heat was welcoming, comforting even as you resisted leaning your body further into him.

“Thank you.” You said quietly. “Ain’t no problem.”

“This is more comfortable, isn’t it?” You teased, never breaking eye contact with a certain spot on the roof that looked like a leak. You could feel him nudge you light-heartedly with his shoulder. “Do you think everyone’s okay?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Yeah, they’ll be alrigh’, they’re strong.” Your arms dropped down at your sides, your hands brushing up against one another’s. Your heart rate picked up, body beginning to feel hot as butterflies swarmed your stomach.

“I’m glad I got lost with you, Daryl.” You were being brave, bold even as you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. Finally, you turned your head to look at him only to find that he was already staring at you. “I love you.” Your confession came out in a bated breath, like you were afraid of what he was going to push you despite his hand tightening around your own. Daryl didn’t know what to say no matter how desperately he wanted to say that he felt the same, that he loved you too. His eyes fell to your lips before looking at you again.

It was as if there was a silent agreement, your heads moving until your lips brushed up against each other.

“It’s okay, D. I want this.” You said with a soft smile. He finally kissed you. It felt like everything was finally falling into place. When you separated, he was blushing, the tips of his ears a bright pink.

“You’re a damn good kisser.” You complimented.

“Shut up.” He said bashfully, but equally teasing.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 10 months

Text

close to home | chapter thirty five

plot: the reader adjusts to Alexandria

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,266 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

After sunset, your group made a camp in the main house's living room. Blankets and pillows--pillows--were tossed around. Food was cooked in an oven for the first time, and everyone had their fill of water. While there was still a questioning tone in the atmosphere, everyone mainly seemed relaxed.

You were sitting in your makeshift bed for the night. Maggie was a few feet away from you with Glenn, and Daryl was sitting on your other side. Despite the differences between you now, you felt your heart pull when he moved next to you.

Deanna showed up and was blown away by you all sticking together, and you found out that she had given almost everyone jobs. It was news to you, and you were glad she hadn’t given you one just yet.

After she left, everyone settled in for the night. Per usual, watch rotations were put up, but you lucked up out and didn’t have to. And with the pillow, it was the first night you slept through in a long, long time.

The next day brought more weirdness. You walked around the area with Rick and met some people, including a woman named Jessie--who Rick seemed keen on talking to--and a few others. It was actually a boring day, and you didn’t know what happened with Glenn, Noah, and Tara until they told you about it later that night.

You thought Nicholas was an asshole.

The next day, Deanna assigned you your job. You were to work with a woman named Olivia. With so many people being added, Deanna wanted you to help Olivia keep track of what’s coming in and out of the community. Boring, you knew that, but it was better than Carol’s job. And you thought the idea of working the wall was insufferable.

You worked with Olivia for the most part of the day. She was fascinated by your stories about beyond the wall, and you told her about the prison, and how the council kept track of things like this. She even liked your suggestion of how to organize the shelves. You decided you liked her a lot. She was timid and ignorant of the world, but she was nice. And you knew she was a pushover, which could benefit you.

You also heard about this party at Deanna’s house, which you first thought was a joke, but then you just thought it was absurd.

You couldn’t find Daryl all day. Rick told you he went outside, and you were worried. But he was adjusting, and you knew he needed to do what he needed to do.

***

“This is ridiculous,” You told Michonne a few hours later. You were both getting ready for this party that seemed to have a silent nonnegotiable tag.

“I think you look pretty. Green suits you.” She said, hiding her laugh.

You gave her a sidelong glance and rolled your eyes before looking back at the mirror. You wore a blouse and soft bell-bottom-looking pants, almost like yoga pants. You would’ve worn it long ago, and you objectively thought it was a nice outfit. But this wasn’t long ago. And the entire thing felt stupid. You felt more comfortable in a dirty v-neck and jeans than this.

Michonne walked up behind you in a nice outfit as well and worked at pulling out your braid. “Play the part, like Carol. We gotta make this work.”

You sighed and nodded, watching your long hair fall out in waves. You couldn’t remember when your hair wasn’t braided, probably back at the prison. You looked at Michonne through the mirror. “I’m trying. I just can’t… turn it off.” You tried to explain.

“I know me too. But there will be food and probably drinks.”

You smiled at that thought and turned around. “Alright, alright, let’s go.”

***

The party seemed to be in full swing when you and Michonne arrived, and you saw some of your group scattered amongst the strangers. Rick was already there, and you did a double take at him in a button-down shirt.

Michonne made you take a drink, and then you went over to your cousin and Glenn, who were with Noah, Rosita, and Abraham. Maggie smiled at you, and you shared a look that would’ve been clear this is insane signal to anyone.

But you had to admit, the atmosphere was like it used to be. You tried your best to remember dinner parties with Liam. Your family sitting around the table, your sisters and their partners. You didn’t know if they were alive. Your parents you knew, Liam put them down in the beginning, and you buried them. But your sisters, they could be anywhere.

“You okay?” Rosita asked you.

You nodded and sipped your drink, the alcohol buzzing through you quickly. You hadn’t had a drink in a while. “Yeah, just…” You trailed off.

“Me too,” She gave your arm a squeeze.

“Have you seen Daryl anywhere, by chance?”

She laughed, her cheeks flushed, and you could tell she’s had at least a refill. “I’m sure your boyfriend is fine; I saw him earlier with Aaron when they got back.”

Your cheeks burned, “He’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, tickle my dick and call me Richard, he’s not?” Abraham asked.

“No,” You shook your head. “Did you both think we were together?”

“Everyone does. I thought you two were together this whole time.” Rosita laughed.

Your cheeks burned even brighter, and you set your glass down. You heard Rosita laugh harder when you walked away, making it worse.

Food was your first object of distraction, and you stood by yourself at the window while you ate. Olivia approached you then with a man you hadn’t met yet. She introduced him as Spencer, Deanna’s son, and you tried your best to be polite.

When Olivia was called away, Spencer remained and made light conversation with you. You had to admit, he was cute, but he wasn’t what you wanted. So you fake laughed at what he said and then looked around the room occasionally. When you glanced out the window and saw a familiar shadow, your stomach clenched, and you excused yourself from Spencer right then and there.

When you walked outside, you looked around for Daryl, watching his figure walk away. You ran down the steps and chased after him.

“Daryl, wait!” You called out to him. When you finally got to him, you grabbed his arm, pulling him so he’d turn. “Are you going to come in?”

“Nah, ain’ for me.”

You crossed your arms. “I was looking for you today. I didn’t know you went out.”

“Didn’ realize I had to tell ya,” He grunted, tossing his cigarette.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you being like this?”

Daryl shook his head and turned to leave. As he walked, he said over his shoulder, “Just go back to ya damn party.”

You sighed and bit the inside of your cheek. Tears burned your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t understand why he was acting this way. He was protective over you one minute, sleeping next to you like always, and then being such a dick. You didn’t get it.

When you looked back at Deanna's house and the party, it was the last place you wanted to be. So you walked around the neighborhood to clear your mind, but you ended up at the house anyway, and you knew Daryl was downstairs--unless he’d gone somewhere else.

Rick had approved everyone to start sleeping in rooms, and you ended up in the room next to Carl’s. Rick, Michonne, Carol, and Daryl were also in this house with you, while everyone else piled up in the other house. You and Michonne were sharing a room for now. It was the only room in the house with two beds, so it worked out okay. And after sharing cars, tents, and sleeping grounds with over a dozen people the last month, sharing with just her was nice.

You angrily changed out of your clothes, cursing Daryl in your mind. You settled into bed and prayed sleep would come soon, but it didn’t.

You pretended to be asleep when you heard the rest of your group come home. Michonne was quiet as she changed and slipped into her bed. She was asleep in a few minutes, and the house was quiet again.

Your anger and frustration had dissipated in the hours you spent trying to sleep. Now only loneliness and hurt troubled you. You wanted to talk to Daryl and clear the air. You hated feeling like this.

Taking a deep breath, you climbed out of bed. The A.C.--something you still couldn’t believe you had--was blasting, and you shivered in the chilly air. You left the room quietly and walked down the hallway. You heard the familiar sound of Rick snoring through one of the doors and peaked into Carl’s room. He was asleep with Tora at the foot of the bed.

You walked down the stairs and around them. Carol’s room was on the main level, it what must’ve been an office. Her door was closed and the light was out. You quietly walked past it and opened the door to the basement.

It was dark, and you walked quietly down the stairs. The basement mainly had been finished. There was a washer and dryer unit and a bathroom, some type of sitting room, and then a room off to the side. It was Daryl’s room.

You knocked softly, and you pushed the door open when you didn’t hear an answer. Daryl was snoring away, and a TV in the corner was on. Nothing was playing; it just showed the DVD loop repeatedly. It lit up the room decently, and you glanced at Daryl.

He was in bed. His hair was disheveled and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was lying on his back, arms outstretched.

You felt like a creep, but it wasn’t exactly like you hadn’t slept next to each other before.

Slowly, you pulled back the covers to his bed and climbed in. You scootched as close as you could, the smell of his shampoo filling your senses. He finally showered.

Your presence must’ve woken him cause he jumped and reached for a weapon.

“It’s me,” You said. You knew he slept with a knife next to him at all times.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was thick with sleep. “The hell ya doin’?”

You rolled around so you were facing him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“So wakin’ me up is how ya do it?”

“You won’t talk to me. I had to make you somehow.” Daryl didn’t respond, but you didn’t expect him to. “Do you hate me now or something?”

Again, he stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I get it, okay? You don’t gotta worry about that from me anymore.”

“That guy you were takin’ to?”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What are you talking about? What guy? I was with Abraham, Glenn, and Noah the whole night.”

“Nah, ya was with some guy. Tall.”

You thought back to the night and your eyes widened. “Spencer? Olivia introduced me and we talked. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You got someone. To make ya feel better now.”

You looked at him with squinted eyes as you put together what he was talking about. “Do you… do you think I kissed you just to make me feel better?” When he said nothing, you smiled and rubbed your face briefly. “Daryl, I kissed you because it was you.”

“Ya drunk?”

You laughed and propped your head up. “No, I didn’t even finish one glass. Daryl, I know I was hysterical. I wasn’t in the right mind that day. But I didn’t kiss you just cause you were there. I’ve wanted to… I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while.” You finally said. Your heart was beating irrationally as you looked over at him.

Daryl finally turned to face you. “Spencer’ younger. Ya age.”

You shook your head and placed your hand on his bicep. “I don’t want him.”

He stayed silent and stared at you, and you tried not to feel frustrated with him. You knew a decent amount about his life before the world ended, and you knew even less about any relationships he ever had. You knew his self-confidence was in the gutter and that he never had the words to express what he wanted to say. But you needed him to try.

“You need to talk to me, Daryl,” You whispered, moving your hand to his face and cupping his cheek. “I need you to tell me what’s going on in that big head of yours.”

“I don’ believe ya, I just…”

You nodded, shushing him with a finger over his lips. You knew with him, even from the very beginning, that you needed to take certain steps first. “Let me show you I mean it, okay?” You said, moving closer to him.

You saw him nod slightly and you moved your finger from his lips and replace it with yours. Your hands cupped his cheek as you kissed him slowly. You moved even closer to him, your chest pressing against his. When you pulled away, your eyes met his. “Please tell me you feel the same way. I need words.” You whispered.

Daryl stayed quiet, looking between your eyes before he nodded slowly. “I do, (Y/N).”

#daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd #daryl twd #daryl x you

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geminil0vr · 1 year

Text

what'cha listening to? | fred g. weasley

tldr: fred seems to be making a habit of coming into the library and pulling off your headphones.

the playlist

word count: 3.9k

content: a little friends to realising crushes to... well, who knows? close proximity, sharing headphones, dancing in a dark corridor. a love letter to music, too.

Fred Weasley was insufferable.

Truly.

See, you and Fred had been good friends for a while now, him bothering you whenever he got the chance, you complaining to his brother, George, who only worsened whatever petty argument was taking place. And other than that, you enjoyed their company, his company, you did! But something about the way he'd make his way into the library every few days, scraping a spare chair across the floor to flop down next to you and snatch the headphones off your head, was making you feel all flustered inside.

Your cheeks would warm, your palms would get clammy, and as much as you were used to him and his brother constantly cozied up beside you for most of the day, stealing your bag, pulling at your hair, wrapping an arm around your shoulder whenever they saw fit, this was just different. It felt different. Intimate. And it shouldn't have.

This pattern sinking into your routine was something you'd slowly become accustomed to, ever since the first time Fred did it.

You'd settled down at a table near the back of the library, the orange headphones connected to your walkman pulled firmly over your ears, potions textbook flipped open to page 94, inked quill scrawling over a fresh page of parchment. Something about... no, you can't remember. You can only recall being bored out of your mind, head bopping discreetly to the song playing, lips slightly parted as if preparing to mouth the words.

You almost thought you'd been imagining things when Fred Weasley strolled around the corner, one hand secured to the side of the bookcase, the other stuffed in his pocket as he searched for an author by alphabet. Clearly not what he was looking for, his eyes darted to the bookcase beside you before doing a double-take and letting a cheeky grin stretch over his lips.

"I was wondering where you'd wandered off to!" he exclaimed, and you winced at how his voice echoed in the silence.

"What on Earth are you doing here?" you whispered in surprise, although somewhat content to see a friend (just not one so infuriating).

"Well, that's no way to greet your best friend in the entire world," He pulled a chair out from the side of the table, plopping himself down onto it and resting his head in his hands, elbows knocking against your textbook. You caught it before it could careen off the side and shot him a skeptical look, removing the cushion from your right ear.

"First of all, you must be kidding yourself," He frowned childishly, "Second of all, answer my question. I know you. You're not exactly a library person."

"I can be a library person!" You blinked at him, "Alright, fine. I'm here doing some very important research for a very secret project."

The corner of your lip quirked up unwillingly, "Oh, yeah? And what might that be?"

"... Fireworks."

"Well, would you look at that? I didn't even need to torture it out of you," He gave an exhausted look to the shelving behind you, and you fought a cheeky smile, "Hate to break it to you, Freddie, but someone already invented those."

He groaned, covering his face in exasperation, "No, no, better fireworks."

"Better than the ones from Zonko's?" Fred eyed you, and nodded slyly, "You two are certainly ambitious."

He shot a wink your way, finally noticing the subtle sound of music playing and the strange gadget on your desk.

"What's that, then?"

"Oh," you looked down at it, then back at him, "It's a Walkman."

"A what?"

"It's a Muggle thingy. Plays music."

"Oh..." Fred leaned forward to inspect it, eyes darting from the cable to the headphones fitting snugly over your hair, "The music, it's coming out of those?"

You nodded with a quick smile, zeroing back in on your textbook but preparing for the inevitable.

"Wicked..." he breathed, "Dad'd love that."

He was surprisingly quiet for a few moments, setting you on edge. Suddenly, chair legs were scraping across the polished floor, and out the corner of your eye you saw him sitting, arms leaning over the back of the chair, startlingly close and studying you like a project of his.

You tried to read, but the words blurred into eachother, and you broke. Your eyes darted to the side, "... What?"

"So..." He cocked his head, "What you listening to?"

You cast a look at him, defeated, then moved your gaze to the ceiling in order to focus on the melody, "... Kiss on My List, by... well, I can't remember, and I'm not gonna check for you right now," You looked pointedly to your work, "Why —"

Your voice lifted in question and before you could react, he was whipping the headphones off your head, stretching them (worryingly) wide and fitting them over his own ears. The cord couldn't quite reach, and so he leaned in closer to the cassette player, red hair tickling the wrist of the arm you had propped up on the wooden table. You could feel the steady inhale and exhale of his breath, skin pricking up at the warm air, goosebumps trailing up to the back of your neck. His eyes grew wide in curious wonder, lighting up, his smile lacking its usual mischief as he listened.

Looking up at you in the rather awkward position you were in, cable going through the crook of your elbow and you being much too frozen to untangle it, he bopped his head to the end of the Daryl Hall and John Oates song, tapping his foot against the wooden floor.

"This is really good!" he said, or rather, shouted, into the quiet of the library. You yelped, eyes wide, and stole them back — he frowned and sat back as you set them down onto the table.

Whispering through clenched teeth, you leaned over to him, cheeks still hot from the proximity, "Loud, Fred," you enunciated, "Very loud."

He pressed his lips together innocently, a silent apology, and you fought the urge to snicker at how well he portrayed the picture of innocence.

"Pince is gonna kill you once and for all, you know," You rose a brow.

He made a nonchalant sound, brushing it off, "Pince won't do anything. She's probably half deaf by now anywa—"

The sharp, urgent footfall of the librarian made him shoot up in his chair, untangling himself from the wire, tripping over the leg of the table and balancing ungracefully before making a run for the exit. He stopped for a second, beaming anxiously over his shoulder in goodbye, when Pince set off around the corner of a bookcase. His eyes widened and he raced out, the librarian only able to catch a glimpse of his hair before he fled out of sight.

She muttered something crude about 'his kind' under her breath and turned back'. You inhaled sharply, fighting a grin, hesitating, and then slipping your headphones back on. Christ.

A few days after, it happened again, though this time he was cautious, lifting the cushions to speak softly to you. The action made you tense in uncertainty, and you'd reach up and remind him not to stretch them too wide or they'd break. You found yourself listening to music you knew he'd like, so you'd have something to show him when he came in. You found yourself waiting.

After a few weeks, you noticed he'd never come at a set time. It was whenever he stumbled upon you, looking for something, or when he'd purposely come in to bother you, enjoying the way your nose crinkled at his attempts at distraction, or how your eyes would light up, almost imperceptibly, when he'd compliment a song or get an artist's name right. The corners of his mouth would crease when you asked him about a prank he was planning, a project he'd been working on — when you swore yourself to secrecy in order to hear every detail.

Rock the Casbah, Touch Me, Hooked On A Feeling, were just a few you started with. Then, it was Somebody's Watching Me, Got To Get You Into My Life, and We Didn't Start the Fire; anything you thought he'd like, you played, skipping your other favourites to get to the more upbeat songs, the ones that reminded you of him.

Joking quietly in class, as you were always too nervous to disturb the teacher, playing harmless pranks with you on people who had wronged him and his brother, your sense of justice more powerful than your fear of getting in trouble. When him and his friends would all sit around you in the dining hall, stealing your food, copying your notes with your reluctant permission. None of this compared to the easy hum of conversation, the muffled laughter — fighting to keep stoic in an otherwise peaceful nook of the library. You weren't sure when it had developed into more than just friends, when you'd gotten closer. You weren't sure, but something had shifted, changed. It set you on edge, uncertain, unable to concentrate on mindless tasks, and you cursed yourself: you'd sworn you wouldn't get distracted.

It was hard to focus now, too, the clock taunting you — almost closing time. The library was silent, save some quiet rustling from the front desk, and the sound of one of Fred's favourite songs, Dancing In The Dark, playing softly through your headphones. You rubbed your eyes down at your work, deciding to call it a day. You'd speed through the rest of it inbetween classes, or whenever History of Magic got too excruciating. You got up, smoothing your hands over your jeans and tucking your walkman inside them, then circled the table to look down at your textbook again, making sure you'd included everything you could in the first few paragraphs of your essay before setting out to pack your things away.

"You're here late," A voice rung out from behind you and you startled, twisting on your feet, dry quill in hand. You pulled your headphones down and around your neck, and he eyed the way your hair nestled against your skin, caught inbetween.

"God, Fred, you scared the shit out of me," You set the quill down pointedly, but your posture softened at the sight of him, cheeks dusted over with freckles, hair never quite in the right place. He looked like a wildfire, somehow soft to the touch, "What were you up to this time?"

He folded his hands over his chest in defense, "Why would I be up to anything?"

You blinked at him again. You'd played this game a thousand times.

"Okay, fine, maybe I was!" He threw his hands up and neared your table, examining the clutter and offering with a gesture of his hand to help you clean it up. He wouldn't do it properly, but you let him anyway, trying not to intervene and correct him like you normally would. You'd sort it out in your dorm.

"You wanna elaborate?" You cocked your head, brows drawn up.

He was careful, delicately placing spare quills into your pencil case, twisting shut the lid of your inkwell, shuffling together your papers. He knew how you were. You watched him.

"Nothing extravagant," he started, tilting his head towards you, eyes focused on the task, "Just played the prank of the year on Slytherin."

You joined him, tucking things into your satchel, "Oh, really?"

"Oh, yeah. They're not gonna know what hit 'em."

Your eyes met, and he grinned. Even through the haze of your fatigue, you smiled back, just as he handed you the last of your papers.

Before you could object, he was hauling your bag up and over his shoulder, complaining about the length of the strap, and waving Madame Pince goodbye. You checked you hadn't left anything behind and hurried after him, apologising curtly as you passed.

"Hey!" Fred cast a glance over his shoulder as you caught up with him, "Not fair!"

"Come on, Y/L/N. It's 8 PM. Past your bedtime."

"It is not."

He eyed you suspiciously and your brows drew up in exasperation.

"It is not!"

"If you say so," he said, clearly enjoying the way you were working yourself up, then glanced at the headphones resting on your collarbone, "What were you listening to?"

"Nothing interesting."

"Oh, come on, I wanna hear," he whined boyishly, and when you scanned his features, an obvious smile spreading, your resolve weakened. The both of you had stopped in the middle of the vacant hallway now, facing eachother, early moonlight streaming in through the windows.

You glared at him, decisively taking the headphones from around your neck and twisting the cushion to listen yourself. The corners of your mouth lifted, "I don't think this is really your speed."

"Hey, I like everything you play! I even liked that, uh, Everywhere one, from the other day,”

"You did?"

"And the one about the — the homies, kissing that girl, by um..."

"Weezer?"

He sped past, "And that other one, Under My Finger, was it? By those Rolling Stones?"

You grinned, "Under My Thumb, Fred."

"Right, that!" He softened, "I like everything you play me." You sucked in a breath, chest tight, and cleared your throat in order for your voice not to come out as tender as you felt.

"If you insist."

He pulled off your satchel, setting it down to the side and staring at you expectantly. You went to hand him the headphones, but instead he craned his neck down, and your fingers wavered as they placed the cushions over his ears. Warmth radiated off him — the scent of gunpowder, and cinnamon. You leaned back when he did, stumbling forward a little and apologising when the cord tucked into your waistband couldn't quite reach at such a distance. He smiled at you, undisturbed by your closeness, pressing the device firmly into his ears. He closed his eyes, began to nod his head slowly to the rhythm, and all was quiet for a few moments as he basked in the song. You listened along to the parts of the melody you could hear, low and nearly indistinct through the silence.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he looked at you for a second, before taking the headphones off and pressing his ear against one of the cushions, leaning down to your height. You furrowed your brows until he urged the other cushion toward you, and your breath hitched as you both listened to the song, heads mere centimetres away. Attempting to ignore the proximity, you shut your eyes too. Your chest thrummed.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace

I dream at night, I can only see your face

It came naturally to you, singing along to the lyrics under your breath, and Fred watched you, eyed the curve of your cupid's bow, the comfort rolling in waves off of you, the way your skin reflected the light. Shut his eyes again, a dim smile on his lips. Mouthed along when the chorus started up, to the words he recognised.

As the chorus came to an end, he slowly stood up straighter and you looked to him in disbelief, "No, no, this is the best part!"

You nodded in time to the music you could no longer hear, awkwardly shuffling the headphones back over his ears, disregarding the way your fingers carded through his hair. You knew this song by heart. You stared up at him, searching his reaction, and swallowed in disappointment when he hung the headphones around his neck. You stiffened as he casually slid the Walkman out of your waistband.

"How do you put the volume up?" He looked down at it, then back at you.

You blinked, recovering, "Um, it's just..." and reached to fiddle with a scroll on the top, "You just move this, up and down."

He followed your instructions until the music was loud enough to echo faintly through the corridor. After a few bad attempts, he finally slipped the cassette player into his own waistband, and began swaying along to it, grinning wide. The sting in your chest dissipated.

"I am the music!"

You panicked, shushing him, and he acquiesced, but continued to dance slowly in rhythm to your favourite song.

"Come on, Y/N," he beckoned, and you shook your head adamantly, "Come on!" he lilted, and began singing along to the lyrics clumsily, tripping over the words he was unsure of. He reached out a hand. You sighed, and slipped your own into his, ignoring the pounding against your ribs as he got you to sway with him.

You snorted at him under your breath, and, frightened, though unsure of what, you tugged at his hand, attempting to take yours out of his somewhat gentle grip, "The song's ending! What a shame!"

"Oh, not so fast," He freed your hand to point at you, "I know how this thing works."

"Is that so?" Hands feeling empty, you crossed them over your chest, looking over your shoulder to see if anyone else was around. Your anxiety settled somewhat when you recognised how truly alone you were. This moment was yours and yours alone. If only there hadn't been a live wire in front of you, unpredictable in every way: without him there, maybe you could've calmed yourself down.

He peered at you as you scanned the hallway nervously, and in an attempt to ease your nerves, circled you — Steal Away began, "Another song always plays."

You chewed at your lip, and he shuffled to the intro, finally mouthing along passionately.

C'mon and hold me

Just like you told me

Then show me

What I want to know

"My God." You groaned into your hands.

He continued, turning around you again, almost serenading you and clasping your hands in his with dramatic flair. Your face grew hotter.

"Fred!" you complained, as he spun you to one of his favourites, too.

"This is all your fault!" he exclaimed softly over the music.

"I know it is," You slumped your shoulders, feigning annoyance as he smirked cheekily at you, pulling you in, ruffling your hair.

Why don't we steal away

Why don't we steal away?

After a short while of being forced to play into his charade, you slipped out of his grasp, taking a few steps back and holding an arm out to stop him coming any closer. You patted your hair down, and wondered when and how you'd lost control of the situation so quickly.

"Come on, Fred. Song's almost over."

He nodded his head in time, making his way to you while grooving his shoulders, and you held back a smile, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip. You planted your hands on your hips.

"Is it?"

"Quite, yes."

"Really?" He sung, in front of you now and poking lightly at your sides. You dodged him, grinning but not backing away.

"Really."

"Really?" The tape ended, and he tilted his head down at you with a soft smile. He watched as your grin faded, your jaw set. The silence was humming in your ears, and you could practically feel your heart in your throat, hear you both breathing in sync.

"Enough, Fred," your voice sounded weaker, suddenly.

He swallowed, shaking his head, voice low.

"Why?"

You went to answer, went to defend yourself someway, somehow, albeit futile, when you both jumped at a clatter of footsteps down the hall. You straightened, shaking yourself out of a daze, and marched over to pick up your bag.

"We should get going."

He shook himself out of a stupor too, observing you as you turned around to face him, eager to get back to your dorm. This felt too much for one night. You were one heated glance away from a heart attack. When he didn't budge, you walked off without him, and after a few moments, he called after you.

"What about your Runman?"

You halted, satchel slung over your shoulder, turning around to eye him.

"It's Walkman. You know it's a Walkman."

"Okay, Walkman. And what about it?" He tilted his chin up, challenging you. You shifted in place.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, don't you want it back?"

Your voice got caught in your throat as you took a few steps forward, looking around. No more footsteps. The quiet was even more unsettling, "Yes, right. Just... give it here."

He patted it where it sat between his t-shirt and his jeans, and cocked his head.

"Why don't you come get it?"

Your throat felt as if it was closing up, palms itching, and you stuffed them in your back pockets. Searched for an even response, came up empty.

"Well, why don't you just come here and give it over?" You frowned, avoiding the way he examined you, the way he took a step forward. He was daring you. Daring himself.

"Okay," he said, easily.

"Oh, okay," you stammered.

He took another step, then another, and with a lower of his chin beckoned you to meet him in the middle. Despite how your feet brushed clumsily against one another, you reached him, a safe distance apart. You both stilled.

"Well," you faltered, "Give it over, then."

"Why don't," he started simply, shrugging his shoulders, "You come here, and get it?"

A silence settled between the two of you.

You wavered, struggling and frowning at yourself and your cowardice, squeezing your lips into a tight line. He raised a brow in question, and you wrestled with the knot of anxiety inside your stomach before pressing forward, stopping short when he took the final step towards you instead. A sharp inhale.

Moving slow, he took your headphones from around his neck and gently reached forward, leaning in close, letting his knuckles brush against your skin as he set them back around you.

You didn't protest, couldn't, as he eyed you cautiously, then gingerly drew your hair into his hands, up out from where it was trapped in the crook of your neck. Lowered it back down.

He fixed the cushions of the device, hands lingering. You exhaled shakily when he pulled back.

Not trusting your voice enough to speak, you took to watching his movements instead, tracking each intake of breath, the way his teeth tugged against his top lip. You had never seen him so concentrated, so serious. You wondered whether you'd been the first to see him like this. He stood with the tips of his shoes nearly touching yours, and you rolled back your shoulders slightly, unsure.

You both eyed the cable of your Walkman, stretched taut between you, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers reached for it, then paused, stalling. His jaw ticked.

"Oh, just come here," he breathed out in exasperation, running his fingers through your hair and cupping your jaw tightly in his palms as he pressed his lips against yours. You gasped into the kiss, frozen a moment before humming contentedly, bag dropping off your shoulder and to the floor, shaky hands reaching up to clasp his face between them.

The thin cable of your Walkman wedges itself between the two of you, and your hip presses into the play button. With a soft click, Get It On starts playing from around your neck.

a/n: play the last three songs while reading! or else! the urge to add a kate bush song in here was real. oh, to be listening to every breath you take, nearly cheek to cheek with frederick weasley. a gal can dream.

#sfw #hp #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #walkman #cassette #music #fic #harry potter #harry potter fic #weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fluff #fred fic #fred weasley fluff #romance #friends to lovers

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sunshinesteviee · 1 year

Note

🌹Can I request a blurb from list 4 number 13 "meeting as the best friends/wingmen/chaperones of their two friends who want to go out together, but not alone" with Steve please? 💗

okay this took me forever, but. i think i really like it, and i hope you do, too! lots of steve and robin being besties, and steve making a fool of himself on a date. 1.4k

“Steve, please. I never ask for anything, and I really like Lori. Please please please,” Robin begged Steve, eyes wide as she clasped her hands together.

Letting out an unamused laugh in the form of a huff, Steve continued to sort the tapes on the shelves, ignoring Robin’s pleading look. He repeated her words with a shake of his head, “You ‘never ask for anything,’ my ass. Robs, you begged me to take an extra shift today so you wouldn’t be alone with Keith.”

“You didn’t have to say yes!”

“Robin.”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender, though she did continue to give him her best pout, “I’m sorry, really. But please. I won’t ask again.”

Steve had a hard time saying no to Robin, especially when it came to her love life, but he couldn’t exactly say he was thrilled. He’d gone on a few double dates with Robin and her crush — paired with girls he didn’t know — and it was usually painfully awkward. They clearly didn’t want to be there, and Steve didn’t want to, either, leading to unbearable silence as Steve watched Robin attempt to flirt with whatever girl she was interested in at the time. Still, he knew she would do the same for him if he asked.

“Alright, fine, but this is the last time, I swear to god,” he grumbled, trying to hide his smile as Robin threw her arms around his neck and thanked him profusely.

—

“Can you at least try to look like you don’t hate your life?” Robin hissed under her breath, shoving her elbow into Steve’s side as they waited outside of the roller rink for their dates to arrive.

“Sorry,” Steve rolled his eyes, but did attempt to not look so bored as he leaned back against the wall and glanced at Robin, “I’m just… nervous.”

Robin laughed a little, scoffing, “You? Nervous?”

“You know I’m not a fan of blind dates!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Robin softened, leaning into Steve’s side and giving him an appreciative smile, “Thanks for coming with me. Lori said her friend is super nice. And super pretty. Totally your type. If that helps at all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve nodded, bumping his shoulder into hers gently. It was silent for a moment before Steve added, the hint of a teasing smile on his lips, “Did you choose this date on purpose? Roller skating? You’re the clumsiest person I know, you’ll have to hold her hand the entire time.”

“It wasn’t my idea. But either way, maybe that’s the point, dingus. Maybe if you’re lucky, y/n will hold your hand, too.”

—

Though Steve hadn’t exactly been looking forward to it, the date was going much better than he’d anticipated. You were totally Steve’s type — so pretty, and super funny and kind. Unlike other blind dates he’d gone on, it wasn’t awkward at all. You were easy to talk to, and even better, you had no problem poking fun at Robin and Lori with him. They’d left their milkshakes at the table, venturing off to the rink, leaving the two of you behind, sipping on the rest of your own shakes.

Steve laughed behind his hand as he watched Robin attempt to stand from the bench she’d been sitting on to put her skates on. She nearly fell over immediately, sending her arms flying for Lori’s help. Shaking his head, Steve grinned over at you and shook his head, “Robin is literally the most uncoordinated person I know. This is gonna be interesting.”

“Oh god,” you giggled, eyes going wide as you glanced over at your friend and her date, “Lori isn’t much better. When she told me we were coming here, I thought she was joking.”

“Shit,” Steve laughed, “maybe Robin just wanted me to be her ride to the ER.”

“I guess we’re just the babysitters.”

He huffed, though there was no real malice in his voice, and rolled his eyes, “I’m always the goddamn babysitter.”

“Well, babysitters can still have fun,” you gave Steve a shy smile, playing with the straw in your shake before glancing back up at him, “Do you wanna skate with me?”

Steve’s heart flipped in his chest, butterflies fluttering wildly as he nodded, maybe a bit too quickly, “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

“Okay, but no promises I’ll be any good at it,” you laughed as you started to slide out of your side of the booth, leaving Steve to scramble after you as you made your way to rent some skates for the evening.

“You can’t be any worse than Robin or Lori, from the looks of it,” Steve snorted, glancing over at the couple who were both clinging to the wall around the outside of the rink, “Besides, I’ve got you.”

After paying the fee for both of your skates — to which you tried to deny, but Steve had insisted — Steve found a spot to put on your skates. He plopped down on the bench, scooting over to make room for you as he untied his shoes. You sat down next to him, your shoulder bumping into his, causing you to stammer an apology, feeling like your face was on fire.

When Steve looked up from his skates, your breath caught in your throat from how close he was. If you wanted, you could’ve counted each of his eyelashes or memorized every single one of his moles. He gave you a gentle smile (one that he hoped didn’t betray his own nervousness) and shook his head, “’S okay. Are ya ready?”

It took a moment for you to come to your senses, and your face filled with warmth as you watched Steve stand up, holding his hand out to you. Nodding quickly, you took Steve’s hands and let him help you onto your feet, which caused you to roll forward, nearly bumping into his chest. You both stumbled a bit, causing nervous giggles to erupt between the two of you.

Though Steve was certainly not the most experienced skater on the planet, he started moving back towards the rink, still holding your hand in his. For as much as you’d been making fun of your friend, you weren’t exactly the best skater either, and you followed him clumsily, giggling, “Showing off, Steve?”

Steve laughed, a shy, quiet sound as his face colored with a noticeable bright red, even under the dim lighting, “I wasn’t trying to, but if I’m impressing you… yes.”

“It’s definitely worki-“ you stopped mid-sentence as you nearly lost your balance after following Steve onto the rink. Your free hand flew out, landing on Steve’s bicep to regain your balance.

His warm hand grasped yours quickly, and you could see that he was clearly trying not to laugh as he pressed his lips together and asked, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, never better,” you replied, reluctantly removing your hand from his arm, though you kept your hand in his, “I wanna see what other cool moves you have.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, babe,” he grinned, quickly turning around to face forward again, only to spin himself too hard and land on his ass, nearly pulling you down with him.

You were sure you’d never laughed harder in your life as you bent at your waist in an attempt to catch your breath, “Was that one of them?”

If you thought Steve had been blushing earlier, his face was now deep red with embarrassment. He let out a groan, hands covering his face, “Fuck, I’m never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

After another fit of laughter that Steve eventually joined in on, you held both of your hands out to help Steve up. The two of you struggled for a few moments; an awkward dance of trying to help Steve onto his feet while simultaneously trying to stay on your own. You almost toppled onto him at least twice and when he finally stood up, Steve huffed, “Okay, next time, we’re doing something that is a lot less dangerous. And embarrassing.”

“Next time?” you asked hopefully as your hand slipped into his, fingers slotting between the spaces of his perfectly.

“Yeah, next time,” Steve nodded, one side of his mouth quirking up into a small smile, “If you want.”

You nodded quickly, eyes shining, “I’d love that.”

“Then it’s a date.”

yes, you held hands the entire time. and if the whole thing had actually been an elaborate plan by robin to get the two of you together, she wasn't going to say anything.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #robin buckley #platonic stobin #besties for the resties #vday sleepover #sunshinesteviee writing #sunshinesteviee #blurbs #my blurbs #steve blurbs

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mignonricciardo · 1 year

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a helping hand | fd11

I’m making it my mission to become the premiere felipe drugovich account and feed everyone!!! this comes from a completely self-indulgent place (and on a few asks in my inbox rn with drugo thoughts)

summary: a certain conversation with your best friend leads to him teaching you some things he learned on the road (5.2k words)

warnings: friends-to-lovers, mostly smut, so much praise, mutual masturbation, handjob, cursing, terms of endearment

“Will you ever let me repay you for letting me stay here?” Felipe says from the couch, legs tucked beneath him as he searches for something on the television.

“There’s really no need to repay me, Felipe,” I answer, reaching to put groceries away on the top shelf. “I’d be staying here alone, so it’s nice to have you here when you’re in town for the team.”

“This is so much better than a hotel,” he smiles, leaning into the couch as he settles on playing music from the television.

“I’m glad you like my tiny apartment more than the nice hotel Aston Martin was going to get you,” I laugh, still reaching for the top shelf.

Music starts from the television, a slower bass thumping from the speakers as Drake’s voice rings clear in the apartment. I laugh as Felipe sings along quietly to the rapper’s new album, turning to look at him as his voice grows louder as he comes toward me in the kitchen. He plucks the flour bag from my hands, placing it on the shelf I had been reaching for. His chest brushes my back as he tips forward to leave the product before leaning back against the counter.

“All you had to do was ask,” he laughs quietly as I keep sorting through groceries.

“You don’t like watching me struggle?” I throw at him, grinning as he scoffs.

He crosses his arms across his chest, “Only sometimes. Consider that part of my thanks for letting me stay.”

I sigh, “How many times have I told you that you don’t need to thank me? I like having you here. I get to spend time with my best friend and not have to be home alone.”

“I hate crashing your place, though,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I feel like I’m disrupting all your plans when I can only give you a few days notice.”

I turn to face him, mirroring his stance as I lean against the sink and cross my arms over my chest, “What plans would you be interrupting?”

His cheeks tinge pink as he clears his throat, “I don’t know. A date? Bringing a guy over? Maybe a secret situationship you haven’t told me about?”

I can’t help the obnoxious laughter that rips free from my chest. Tears are welling in my eyes I'm laughing so hard, and I’m clutching my stomach as I double over with my back pressed into the counter’s lip. Felipe looks dumbfounded when I stand back up, baffled by my reaction.

“You think I even have anyone to bring over?” I wipe my eyes and can’t contain the grin on my face. “That’s cute, Felipe, but no. I promise you are not interrupting my nonexistent sex life.”

“Seriously? No one?” he asks incredulously, eyebrows raised and head tipped to the side.

“Seriously,” I nod my head, turning back toward the groceries still sitting on my counter. “I like it this way right now, though. There’s a lot going on, and I’m so busy I don’t really have time for someone.”

“Not even a hookup?” he asks.

I shake my head, “You know that doesn’t work for me, Felipe. I need something a little deeper than a casual hookup.”

He makes another comment to himself, and we settle back into a comfortable silence as he helps me finish putting away groceries. I tackle the fridge while he places stuff on my shelves, listening to my direction when he isn’t sure where I keep things. There’s a nagging feeling deep in my gut—an ever present reminder of my lack of physical touch as of late. I brush it off, noting that I should get back on a dating site just to test the waters. Settled on the couch, Felipe is still singing along to Drake’s new album as we both scroll on our phones. This setting—a comfortable silence that we could spend hours in—is why we’re such good friends. We’re rarely looking for the hustle and bustle of our other friends. When Felipe restarts the album on the television, I can’t help but let my curiosity get the best of me.

“Do you do casual?” I ask quietly.

He stops singing as he looks up from his phone to meet my eyes. He shrugs his shoulders softly, “I have. It’s not really for me, either. Sometimes it’s the only realistic option, though.”

I grin when he reveals this information, “So is there someone on the road? Maybe a torrid paddock love affair?”

He clutches his sides as he laughs, eyes squinting shut as he leans back into the arm of the coach across from me, “You’ve been watching too much Netflix, querida.”

I swoon at how his voice changes when he speaks Portuguese, always loving his use of the language, and I laugh at his comment, “It’s not so crazy to think, Felipe! You’re this young, successful driver who, by the way, is Brazilian. You speak multiple languages, you’re handsome, you’ve got amazing curls when you let your hair grow long enough. You’re like a full package, no? You’re sweet, love a day at home. It helps that you’re tall, too. Plus, your voice is deep. I know so many girls who would do anything to be with you.”

Felipe is laughing at my comment, but his cheeks are flushed from the onslaught of compliments I just sent his way. I continue as he’s clutching his sides, “I’m just saying! I find it hard to believe you aren’t seeing anyone while you’re traveling or going to these fancy events with an F1 team.”

“Believe it,” he says, stretching his legs out on the couch. “A hand is enough.”

I gasp at his comment, feeling my ears turn blood red and heat rush to my face, “You’re disgusting!”

He’s doubled over in laughter, “You’re the one who was bringing it up!”

“I didn’t ask for details!” I brush my hair back and fan my face.

He grins at my red cheeks, “Just because you’re not seeing someone doesn’t mean you don’t have to finish. You do know that’s alright, yeah?”

I screech as I cover my ears, “Alright, that’s enough! You still want dinner? I’ll start baking dessert now.”

He’s still laughing as I fly toward the kitchen, “You know I’m right!”

I begin prepping things for dinner, grateful to get my mind off anything other than Felipe and I’s earlier conversation. I’d been jumpy around the conversation of sex in any capacity—a clear indicator I needed to do something soon about my pent up frustration. I huff as I tuck hair behind my ears, unsure if it’s warm in the kitchen or I’m still worked up from the conversation on the couch. The silence is comfortable as music continues playing, and Felipe sings along quietly as he scrolls on his phone. I’m reaching for the bag of flour on the top shelf, pushed a few centimeters too far back that my fingers just brush the outside of the bag. I fall back from my tiptoes as I admit defeat.

“Felipe, will you help me? I can’t reach the flour.”

“Finally you’re listening! Good girl,” he grins, jumping off the couch to help me. He’s smiling as he walks over, reaching for the flour from the shelf. I’m staring dumbly, eyes wide and jaw slack as his words echo in my head. Good girl. He doesn’t notice my dumb stare as he sets it on the counter. “Was it so hard asking for help?”

“Thanks,” I manage to get out, staring at the bag the entire time and refusing to look into his eyes.

My hands are trembling as I open the bag, fumbling with the sealed lip. He notices it, taking the bag from me to open it. I try to protest, but I send the measuring cups crashing to the floor with my shaking hands. He helps me gather them.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, brows furrowed as he towers over me in front of the oven. “You’re acting nervous.”

“I’m fine. I just-”

My words stop, and I just look at him. My hands fidget with the measuring cups, eyes darting to look at the red cups before meeting his eyes. He looks confused, running a hand through his shorter hair and staring at me.

“I’m just a little frustrated, Felipe,” I say quietly, turning to the sink to wash the measuring cups. “Our conversation from earlier made me realize how long it’s been.”

He smiles softly, relaxing into the edge of the counter, “That’s okay, querida. I haven’t been with anyone since right before the season, but-”

“No, Felipe,” I mutter, face burning red as I turn to him and shut off the water. “It’s been a year since I’ve even done anything.”

He stares at me blankly, and his eyes transform to wide saucers as his mouth falls open, “You mean you haven’t even touched yourself?”

My face feels like it’s on fire, and I groan as I tip my head back, “Yes, Felipe, I haven’t even done that! I’ve just—I don’t know, I haven't been able to get there. I’ve been distracted and pent up, and then you just said good girl and I-”

“You like being called that?” he says, cutting me off as a grin takes root on his face. “I’m learning so much about you today. You haven’t even cum in a year, you like being called a good girl-”

“Felipe!” I scold him, face still burning. “Can we please not talk about this?”

“Why, querida?” his voice is quieter, and the rasp in his tone makes my head spin. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I just-” I spin to face him, and I’m suddenly hyper aware of how close he is. Did he always tower over me like this? Did his cologne always smell this good? I take a steadying breath as I shake my head to try to find some clarity. He waits for me to continue, hand resting on the countertop next to the long-forgotten bag of flour. My voice is quiet as I continue, “I have tried, but I just can’t get there. It’s like I have a mental block or something.”

He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip before he speaks, “Do you want help?”

“What?” I stare at him dumbfounded.

He’s close to me now, chewing the inside of his lip, and he pushes the bag of flour back from the ledge of the counter. Both of us are suddenly breathing heavier—when did it get hot in here? Felipe’s voice is low as he talks.

“Do you want help? Pointers, maybe,” he whispers. “I have to do this during the season, querida. I can tell you how.”

“Felipe, I-”

Did I want to? I can’t deny Felipe is attractive, but we’re best friends. Whatever this is—whatever he’s suggesting—isn’t what best friends do, but when he muttered good girl earlier or when his chest brushed my back as he put things on shelves for me, I couldn’t deny a part of me had wished it would happen again.

“Use your words to tell me,” he says quietly.

My eyes flutter shut as I heave in a sharp breath. I can’t get his cologne out of my nose, and my brain wonders what his hands would feel like on my skin. Fuck, this isn’t supposed to happen.

“We’re friends,” I whisper. “Friends don’t do this.”

“Maybe not, but you’re my best friend. We get to decide what that looks like,” he says, being sure to move no closer to me. “You deserve to let go of the frustration, linda. You deserve to feel good.”

There he goes again with soft spoken words and those terms of endearment that make me swoon.

“I promise nothing has to change if we don’t want it to,” he continues. “This is entirely up to you, but I don’t want you to make a decision because of me or because you’re scared this changes. We don’t have to change.”

“We don’t?” I ask quietly.

He takes a careful step forward, fingers tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, and his brown eyes capture mine and fill me with a sense of ease, “We don’t.”

“And you’re sure?” I whisper, eyes still locked on him.

He smiles gently with a nod of his head, and he leans in toward my ear, “I’m positive. Do you want to know a secret?”

I nod my head, and he leans in closer so that I can feel his breath on my ear, “I’ve thought about what it’d be like to kiss you. Every time I’m here, I wonder what would happen if I just did it.”

“Felipe,” I breathe, leaning in toward him.

“Sometimes, when I’m traveling and I can’t relax, I think of you, querida,” he whispers, fingers resting on the other side of my face. “I wonder what you feel like, the noises you make, what you like.”

My fingers clutch the countertop, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of Felipe all around me and his words weighing on my brain. He had thought of me?

“How will you help me?” I whisper.

“How do you want me to help you?” he responds, fingers brushing down my cheek and running beneath my jaw.

My breath hitches as the burning path his fingertip leaves behind, “I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Before I can do that, I need you to tell me what you want exactly, linda,” he whispers. “You can say it. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I want to cum,” I whisper, barely audible as something primal takes over.

“Good girl,” he grins, and a whimper falls from my lips. “Let’s go to your bedroom so you’re comfortable.”

Before I know it, Felipe is following me through the small apartment, our feet echoing down the hallway as I step into my bedroom. Is this happening? He asks if he can kiss me, and I nod my head gently. He rests one of his hands on my cheek, guiding us toward each other, and when our lips meet, my mind goes blank of anything besides him. I gingerly rest my hands around his neck, fingers burying into the short hair beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. Felipe is slow in letting the kiss build, letting me control the pace. I moan when our tongues meet, and I can feel his smile as he continues to kiss me. He moves to leave kisses across my jaw and my neck, and he chuckles quietly at my sharp breathing and stifled whimpers.

“You sound so pretty,” he whispers, and my fingers grip his shirt tightly. “Tell me, querida, why hasn’t it been working for you? What’s holding you back?��

“It’s like I lose focus. I-” I breathe in sharply as his teeth graze my neck. “I can get almost there, but then it disappears.”

“We’ll get you there, baby,” he whispers, and my knees nearly give way at his words. “When you’re ready, we’ll get you there.”

He continues his ministrations along my neck while his hands slip beneath my shirt to ghost fingers across my stomach and hips. He’s tantalizingly slow in his movements, laughing against my skin and grinning when I whimper for more or for him to hurry up. Just the feeling of his hands on my skin and the marks left by his lips have me teetering toward an edge I had missed for so long.

“Felipe, please,” I whisper. “It’s been so long.”

“Let’s get you on the bed,” he grins, leaving one last kiss against my neck.

I climb onto the bed, sitting near the pillows with my back against the headboard. I pick at my fingers nervously, watching Felipe as he sits toward the foot of the bed. He leans on one of his arms, sinking into the mattress near my knee, and his eyes trace up my body. A haze clouds my brain and fills my senses with Felipe. My skin tingles still where his hands had touched me. With some gentle coaxing, he has me leaning back into the pillows, hips angled on the mattress as my hair fans out around me. I feel his fingers on my ankle, sliding up the fabric of my leggings before resting at the top of my exposed hip. Another whine of his name falls uncontrollably past my lips.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he whispers, grinning as my hips make circles searching for anything from him. “This is about you.”

“I want you to teach me,” I whisper. “Teach me to feel good.”

“Are you going to be good and listen to me?” he asks quietly, a large hand engulfing my hip. I nod my head wildly, another please falling from my lips, and he leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead, “Good girl. I know you’re going to, linda. Lift your hips for me.”

I follow his words without a single hesitation, and his deft fingers dip beneath the waistband of my leggings to pull them from my skin. He tugs the fabric down my legs gently, dropping it to the floor, and he inhales sharply through his nose when he returns back to face me. His eyes are focused on my hips, fascinated by the wet spot on my underwear, and the whine that falls from my lips brings his attention back to my face.

“You’re already so wet,” he grins, hand trailing from my knee to my thigh. “That’s good, baby. You’re good. So, so pretty.”

“Felipe, please, I’m going crazy. I-”

All my words stop as pleasure racks my body in ways I never thought possible. He’s pressing a single digit to my clit, and the sensation is almost enough to send me over the edge. My jaw is wide open as if I were gasping, but no noise or breath makes its way out of me. I’m utterly speechless and breathless—lost in the feeling of Felipe pressing a nimble finger against me. He makes a singular slow circle, dragging the wet fabric across my clit, and that’s when a high-pitched whine makes its way past my lips followed by a string of expletives.

“You’re so sensitive, querida,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my stomach that nearly sends me over the edge with how close he is to my clit. “You never felt like this touching yourself?”

I shake my head, and he clicks his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head, “That’s a shame, baby. You should be able to feel good whenever you want. You own your own pleasure.”

I’m lost as he continues his slow circles, and his words string together in my brain. My body reacts to his voice, relishing in the raspy tone filling the room. I’m begging him to take my underwear off before I realize it, and he laughs quietly at my desperate attempts to grind my hips further against his hand.

“Can I see all of you?” he whispers, and I suddenly freeze as his fingers begin to lift the hem of my t-shirt.

He waits for me to answer, and when I nod my head softly, he whispers thank you before gently pulling the shirt over my head. He removes my bra in the same careful fashion, groaning when my peaked nipples are revealed to him. I cross my arms across my chest, starting to squirm away from him because of how exposed I feel.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, hands resting on my hips. “Don’t cover up around me, linda. You’re perfect.”

He begins leaving kisses on my collarbone as my defenses drop, and he’s whispering compliments into my skin as his lips trail across my chest and shoulders. Felipe pays careful attention to his featherlight kisses while his fingers rub circles into my hips. By the time he has made it to the waistband of my underwear, I no longer feel exposed as my fingers curl into his hair. He gets confirmation before he gently tugs the fabric down my legs. A nagging thought in the back of my head screams about being naked in front of him, but I’m too caught up in pleasure to care.

“Felipe, please touch me,” I groan. “Please, I want to cum.”

“You will, baby,” he whispers, pressing two fingers against me again as I gasp. “You’re going to do it, though. You need to be able to pleasure yourself before someone else can. I’ll be here talking you through it, but you need to know your own fingers.”

“Felipe,” I whimper his name as he grabs my hand, replacing his fingers with mine.

I gasp at the change in sensation, his warm fingers replaced by my cold ones.

“Good girl,” he whispers, knowing the term will set me off as it had in the kitchen. “You listen to me so well—so eager to do what I tell you to do. I know you like it when I tell you how good you are.”

“I love it,” I choke out, finding a rhythm against my clit that has me clenching the duvet in my other hand. “Fuck, I love it.”

“Can you go a little faster for me, linda?” his hands are gripping my thighs, and it causes me to cry out as I pick up the pace. Obscene sounds fill the room as I feel the knot forming deep in my stomach, and Felipe speaks lowly as he does, “There you go. Good girl.”

“Can I touch you?” I gasp. “Please.”

He smiles softly, brushing hair back from my flushed face, “This is about you, though. Don’t worry about me.”

“I want to,” my voice is choked as the pleasure mounts, clouding my brain as I squeeze my eyes shut. “I want to feel you, Felipe. I want you to feel good, too. Let me do that.”

“Fuck,” he groans as he stands from the bed, and I stop rubbing my clit to watch him. He lifts his brows as he looks at me, hands hesitating at the waistband of his sweats, and I nod my head as a promise that this is something I want. He follows quickly, letting his sweats fall, and my eyes are met with the sight of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers. He groans when he sees my expression—biting my lip and eyes wide as I unabashedly stare at him. I reach out toward him, fingers gently tracing along the cock as he gasps, and he lets me dip my fingers beneath the waistband to discard it on the floor.

“You’re so pretty,” I whisper, fingers gently tracing along the veins and circling around the flushed pink head. “Felipe, you’re perfect.”

“Linda, I-” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

“How do you touch yourself?” I whisper, hand softly wrapping around him.

He gasps as my hand grips him, “This isn’t about me. This is for you.”

“Will you show me?” I whisper, eyes cast toward his face as my fingers continue their slow movements on him. “I want you to feel good, too.”

“You want me to show you how I touch myself?” he asks quietly, voice raspy at the overwhelming feeling of my hand on him.

I look fucked out already—cheeks flushed and chest heaving, hair wild and eyes lidded. Felipe agrees, settling at the foot of the bed across from me. We’re propped up across from each other, tipped toward our respective ends of the bed frame to watch the other, and a heavy silence hangs between us. His shorter hair is curling from the warmth in the room, small curls near his hairline, and he watches me with hooded eyes as my eyes trace his body.

“Go ahead, baby,” he whispers, nodding toward me. “Spread your legs a little wider for me. There you go.”

I gasp as my fingers work circles against my clit, a part of me wishing they were his instead. Pleas and his name are falling from my lips in desperate whimpers, and they only grow in volume when I see his hand stroking his cock. He’s groaning as he does, breath hitching and gentle praise falling from his lips as he watches me. It’s a twisted game—watching the other get themselves off. Heat races up my spine as my legs shake, and I can feel the coil in my stomach tightening as my hips buck against my hand.

“Felipe, it’s not enough. Please,” I cry, any sense of shame out the window as I desperately search for something more.

“I’ve got you, querida. Keep going,” he groans, shifting on the bed as he abandons his own pleasure.

His hand settles over mine on my clit, pressing down on my hand and slipping between my fingers for constant friction. I lose myself—legs spasming as I come crashing down. It takes me by surprise. When my fingers stop, he continues to draw out my climax, and I’m writhing on the bed as I whimper with one hand curling around his wrist.

“So fucking pretty,” he rasps, fingers stilling but resting over my pussy. “I’m so proud of you. You did it, baby, even with a little help. You did so, so well.”

I’m just nodding my head dumbly, eyes shut as my hips grind slowly against his hand before stilling. My heart is pounding as blood pumps through me, and it feels like every part of my body is throbbing and heavy with exhaustion. He leans forward to leave kisses across my face and neck, gentle kisses as he whispers praise into my skin. It takes a while before my eyes crack open.

“Felipe, you need to finish,” my voice is raspy as I start to sit up.

My legs are still shaking as I shift to a kneeling position, and his hands steady my hips while I move. Rough palms slide against my slick skin, and butterflies erupt at the warmth of the contact.

“I’m okay, love. This was about you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Please, let me do this,” I whisper, hand gingerly reaching between his legs to brush against his head. “I want you to feel good. I want to know what you feel like, what you sound like.”

He groans loudly, letting a string of curse words from all his languages slip from his tongue. My hand grips him, sliding slowly up and down his cock to feel the velvety skin and protruding vein. I go no faster until he answers.

“Fuck, go ahead,” he rasps, eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on my warm palm around him. “We should’ve done this before now.”

He continues to let praise and comments slip past his lips, interrupted by cursing and sudden groans as my hand works faster up and down his cock. My thumb slips across his tip, smearing precum across the flushed skin, and I can’t help but moan at the sight of his hips bucking into my hand. When he whimpers faster, my wrist flexes as I work him, and I lean forward to leave kisses against his neck and jaw. His hips start to stutter as his thighs flex, and I already know he’s tipping over the edge before he chokes out a warning. White hot warmth lands on my skin, and I relish in the nosies he’s making—trying to commit them to memory before he stops.

“Come here,” he whispers, fingers curling beneath my jaw and pulling my lips toward his. “You’re so good for me. You’re so beautiful.”

It’s soft and warm and full of gentle caresses, and I sigh into the kiss out of pure content. When he breaks away, he tells me he’ll be right back before disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth in hand, and he whispers continued praise and compliments as he wipes my skin clean before turning to his own.

“Felipe,” I whisper as his hands continue to knead my hips and thighs, easing some of the ache that had begun to set in my muscles.

He shushes me, leaving soft kisses on my jaw and cheek, “We’ll talk about it, linda. I promise. Right now, just let me take care of you.”

I nod my head, letting him continue his lazy kisses and gentle squeezes. He kneads any tension from my body before letting me lay back on the bed. He follows suit, hair fanning out around his head as he wraps an arm around my waist. I curl into him, relishing the warmth of his bare skin against mine. We’re like puzzle pieces beneath the duvet—slotting together perfectly with legs tangles and cheek against his chest. We stay here for a while, talking about random things as we relish each other’s company. My stomach suddenly growls, interrupting our conversation as he laughs gently.

“You were making dinner, weren’t you? I’m sorry I pulled you away,” he laughs quietly, reaching toward the nightstand for his phone. “What do you want to eat? I’ll order something.”

“Dumplings,” I grin, tipping my chin on his chest to look up at him. “Thank you.”

He nods, brushing hair back from my face, “Anything for you.”

I listen as his phone is set back on the table, and I wait for him to look back toward me. He tips his eyebrows when our eyes meet, and his smile starts growing as he sees my grin.

“What is it?” he asks, chuckling when my cheeks flush pink.

“Well, since you said anything,” my fingers crawls up his bare chest, brushing over a sprinkling of short hair. “I want you inside of me.”

His jaw drops open as he groans, but a laugh follows his reaction, “You’re really going to hold me to my words?”

I nod my head, “You’re the one who said I should know what it’s like to feel good.”

He hesitates for a moment, eyes searching my expression for any sign I may be lying. My eyes light up when a smile spreads deeper onto his face, and he sighs in defeat as he tosses his chin toward the phone.

��Check when the delivery gets here,” he laughs, and I’m scrambling for the phone before he finishes.

“45 minutes,” I answer, throwing my leg over his hips. “Think that’s enough?”

He laughs as he nods his head, large hands sliding up the back of my thighs as his eyes follow my face, “Trying to make up for the last year?”

I nod my head, grinding a slow circle into his hips. He groans, and I feel his cock hardening beneath me again, “And then some.”

Felipe grins at my answer, using my hips as leverage to push me further against him, “That’s my girl. Always knowing what she wants.”

#felipe drugovich imagine #felipe drugovich smut #f2 imagine #f2 smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #felipe drugovich x reader

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armpirate · 1 month

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Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 13

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 15 minutes

The space in that big elevator seemed to decrease with every minute he spent there, and Y/n turning to him every few seconds wasn't of help at all. It just made him wish he had somewhere else to look so it wasn't so evident that his eyes wanted to be on her.

When Y/n first suggested going to her place the next day, he didn't think he was going to put himself in such a delicate situation where he'd have to fight his own instincts of looking even more nervous.

As she drove through Downtown Boston, San could only guess which one of all the high-rise buildings was the one she lived in. It only made sense for him to be that way. She was a woman that could afford spending four hundred dollars in just an outfit, and the same one who was driving the newest Audi model in the market. But, for some reason, he was still surprised when she opened the big door to her apartment and he was able to see her wide living room, only being topped by the views of Boston she had through her big glassware.

It didn't matter what he imagined as he got there, reality topped it.

—You live here? —when he turned to her, his eyes were wide open— By yourself?

—Umm yeah, for now, yeah. I'm living here by myself —she giggled, walking down the two steps that led to the open living room, leaving her jacket over the backrest of the white leather couch.

—I bet I wouldn't even hear Mingi and Wooyoung arguing if they were on the other side of the room —he mentioned excitedly.

—And you'd end up missing them if you went just a day without hearing them —she answered back, turning to him.

As he followed her steps, walking in her direction, he was aware of the crystal stairs that went up from the side of the living room, finally aware that there was more than what he was seeing.

—There's another floor?

—Do you want to see?

San wasn't aware of how quickly he nodded, until she saw her giggling cutely at his response, correcting himself and gasping to give an answer with a thick voice. What would Y/n think of him if he acted like a little kid over something so simple?

—There isn't much to see —she mentioned, walking upstairs—. It's just a small office that isn't really an office —she pointed to the desk, topped by two shelves filled with books—, my room and the bathroom.

She said it as if they were the most random places, but San was already calculating the upper floor was almost as big as the place he shared with his two friends.

—It really isn't that big of a deal.

Her words didn't go along with what he was seeing. The area upstairs looked even better than the one downstairs. And by the way she had a few more things over the bed and the small desk a few meters from the stairs, he could tell that she spent most of her time up there.

—Ah, that —she chuckled when his eyes fell on the few clothes thrown all over her bed—. I tend to take a long while to choose what to wear.

And that day was particularly difficult, for some reason.

She struggled knowing what to wear to the office, but it was always more towards the idea of looking professional -or more like a boss people in her office would respect. But that day she spent almost one hour putting and taking off clothes, just to end up wearing a pair of simple tight jeans and a salmon blouse.

—Oh, I take a long time to dress, too —he lied.

And that was how she ended up wearing the same pair of jeans he always wore, with one of his sweaters, which sewings were already giving up.

He sighed, looking up at her after scanning himself.

—I can tell —she nodded, moving her fingers on his forearm over the wasted fabric of his blue sweater—. Blue fits you well —she commented in a casual tone.

His whole body reacted to one touch; anyone else wouldn't have been able to feel through his clothes, but they all suddenly turned as thin as gauze as soon as she touched him.

—Are you okay? —she asked first, aware of how that slight tan was slowly leaving his face.

—Huh? Hmm, yeah —he nodded.

He felt disappointed when her fingers left his body, but he also felt relieved when she stepped back and gave him some space.

—I'm okay, why would I be feeling bad? —he started speaking a bit faster— You're being nice, there's no reason why I would complain.

—San —she stopped him before he ended up in a cycle that'd take him a while to get out from—, breathe. It was just a yes or no question.

He was being ridiculous, yet she was being so calm and smiley that he wondered if she was doing it not to make him feel even worse by the way he was behaving.

—Right —he nodded.

—I thought I told you to treat me like a friend —her words were scolding him, but her tone sounded funny.

As she shook her head, she kicked her heels away, throwing them somewhere next to her bed, but being too eager to have her attention back on him to care about where they fell.

The few seconds she stepped away from him, and moved her eyes away, it was the time he was able to look around her penthouse, although his attention slowly shifted to how the sunset was making the windows of the skyscraper in front of hers turn completely orange.

—It's beautiful, isn't it? —she mentioned, walking over to him— I really like this time of the day.

—You like sunsets? —his eyes followed her as she approached the railing.

She smiled to herself as she nodded.

—More than sunrises?

—I don't really get to enjoy sunrises. On weekdays, I'm already in my car on my way to work when it happens, and on my weekends I sleep through it. I guess that could be why.

Her smile, despite looking the same at first glance, looked different at the same time. But he kept himself from asking, he had no right to make her feel uncomfortable with any question related to that.

—I really like your house.

He could notice the way her mood changed at the slight change of topic, moving his head to look around as soon as he realized she was going to turn to him.

—Do you want something to eat or drink?

—It's not necessary —San shook his head.

—Don't be dumb —she answered after sighing—. What do you want?

—You don't have to —San insisted.

—You should learn to stop saying "no", and just let things happen —she scolded him with a disappointed tone—. Let's go.

Her fingers hooked around his wrist, pulling from his body downstairs again, while he just walked wherever she wanted him to be at.

The kitchen was a mix of metallic and black colors, it was wide and clean. He'd almost think she had never cooked there. By the way it all was shiny, he bet he could almost see his reflex on the marble of the counter.

—Wooyoung would love this —he assured,

—Does he like cooking?

—He pretends he doesn't —San muttered—. But he always ends up making dinner, and always keeps Mingi and me from stepping inside his kitchen. Well, he's started letting Mingi help him sometimes, I'm still banned.

—What did you do to be banned? It's not like you set the kitchen on fire —she chuckled, until she became aware of his tell-tale expression—. You did?

—No —he quickly shook his head—. Because Wooyoung came before it could happen —he continued—. How would I guess that chicken would be covered in flames because I poured beer on it.

—How... Did you use a lighter for it? —her eyebrows raised in amusement, holding back her laughter.

—They're always messing with me, saying I don't know how to cook, so I looked for the most amazing recipe on Youtube. I still don't understand —he clicked his tongue—, it didn't happen to the cooker.

—Maybe because he's a professional who has prepared that same recipe millions of times —she giggled while approaching him.

His heart skipped a beat when her fingers squeezed his chin cutely. Such a casual touch that it made him wonder if she was that touchy-feely with everyone, and if he was overreacting by wanting to feel her fingers on him again. Unlike him, she just walked past him to reach the double door fridge.

—What do you want? —she asked first, looking at him for the first time.

And San could only pray she wasn't aware of the way his cheeks were burning, as he tried to get his body to behave normally back again.

—Oh.

His attention shifted from himself to the fridge. She was looking at the cans of coke and the bottle of water on one of the shelves, while the rest were filled with vegetables and four boxes that didn't look like any type of food, but that he didn't care about much because his eyes were in a hurry to meet Y/n's again.

—Sorry... I don’t tend to have people over.

—It's alright. I could have just a coke —he tried to calm her down—. I'm not really hungry.

After she insisted on meeting up a bit later than the other time so he'd have time to have lunch, he managed to eat something through his nervousness.

—Are you sure? I could order something.

—What? No —he shook his head—. Besides, I already ate back at home.

Why did her eyes look so big when he looked down at her? And why did he step so close to her? Y/n could even smell the wooden scent of his cologne by just breathing in some air.

—I'll have a coke, then.

San moved first, reaching the can to take it out and practically escape from that slim and small place that her kitchen had become. And there he was on the couch, regretting almost immediately. Anyone else would've taken the chance to kiss her, to go forward. But he was an expert on missing chances, and that night with Y/n wasn't going to be an exemption.

His eyes followed her when she joined him in the living room, sitting a few centimeters away from him, sure that she was giving him the space she thought he needed.

—Why did you call me?

—Hmm?

He opened his can so effortlessly with just one hand that she was left thoughtless for a few seconds, only being able to think of how those hands would feel around any part of her body.

—Why did you want us to meet?

—The barbeque —she quickly answered, trying to draw herself back to reality.

But was it something she couldn't discuss by chat?

—Yesterday we didn't get caught because we were lucky, but I think we need to prepare better for the weekend. I know an asshole will try to annoy you with his questions, and I think it'd be important if neither of us doubt while answering.

—So...

—So we need to be on the same page. If at some point you're alone with my father, you should be able to give the same answer I give —she started to explain.

—Will I be alone with your father? —he panicked just with the thought.

—I'll try not to, but it could happen —she sighed—. We need to settle and memorize who you are exactly.

—Shall we make up a whole new person?

—You think so? —her head tilted to the side—. I think it's okay for you to be just you, with slight changes —she started to explain.

They both worked on those new details from his life, although San spent most of the time hearing Y/n and her guidance, as he tried to memorize each one of those details so he wouldn't mess up when he was asked about it. It was basically learning things about a whole new person, even if he was planning to keep most of the basic things as true as possible. He didn't mind, it wasn't like he was going to do it more than just that weekend. And he was willing to adapt to the type of lie she wanted him to be.

—So, San —she called him with a sudden snob and thick voice—, I hear you're an engineer and you're back at studying, I guess you needed to to thicken your resume.

—I actually worked in Inno Corp, sir —San tried to repeat what he memorized, sitting straight as he spoke—. But I realized I wanted something better, so I started studying for a Master's Program.

—Inno Corp... I never heard of it.

Y/n stopped, feeling her throat dry after forcing that heavy tone in her voice. She gulped on her coke as she kept looking at San, analyzing his body language as he answered.

—It's a small company in Vancouver. They work with several confidential tasks, so that's why you probably haven't heard of it.

—I bet that asshole won't be able to answer back to that —her legs shook excitedly against the floor.

Which was something she hoped for, because that company didn’t even really exist in the first place.

—Shouldn't we also talk about my family? Or the uni I went to?

—Why? I just want them to see you're a hard worker, able to do things by himself —she pointed out—. I don't want you to lie to that extent, it's unnecessary.

—What if they ask how I'm affording to live now without working?

—Do you think they'll ask that to an engineer who has been working for a year in a technological company in Canada? —her eyebrow raised— Most of those dudes won't go further than asking about our relationship, which started...

—With a blind date through a mutual friend. And it was instant love.

—They’ll probably be so threatened by you, that they won't make you speak about your work more than basic things they can understand, so they can avoid looking as dumb as they are —she sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

—But we could lie about my background, I don't mind.

—But I do —she interrupted—. I don't want to give the image that I can do things only because of the man that's standing next to me. If you come from a rich family , they'll find a way to turn it into something negative. So I would rather that you keep as true to yourself as possible, so at least we don't lose that.

San looked at her with a serious expression, seeing that sad smile back on her face. He wanted to ask her so many things.

—Can I ask you something? —she asked first.

—Related to the fake relationship?

—No, it's about you —she answered, receiving a sign from his hand to go on—. You have never kissed anyone for real?

—Why were you looking so serious while asking that question? —his tongue clicked in annoyance.

—Just answer.

—No, I've never given a kiss —he confessed.

—So, you've never...

—What? —San looked at her, trying to guess what she meant.

—... had sex?

He could feel himself getting smaller as he sank on the pillow of the couch, while his cheeks lightened up like Christmas lights. With a tiny move of his head, he shook it, answering her question without saying a word.

—So, your videos…?

—All imagination —he answered, still not looking at her—. And I think you already know where I get all that inspiration from, so it's not necessary to get into details.

Although she wasn't surprised about that, she was surprised at how he was able to make it feel so vivid and real that it would look like he's rolled on too many beds. But at the same time, she was able to tell there were some details that did betray him when she watched his videos, or when she spoke on the phone with him.

There was some nervousness and hesitation she wasn't able to decipher, but now she knew where it all came from.

—Why aren't you laughing?

—Why should I? —Y/n frowned at his question.

—I mean, isn't it weird?

—Not really —she shook her head, puckering her lips—. You're twenty six, you haven't kissed anyone, so what? A kiss is way more intimate than what people make it seem to be —when her eyes fell on his, he knew he wouldn't be able to escape them unless she moved them away first—. You know how that person tastes, how warm their body feels —as she said that, she slowly approached him building up that intimacy she was talking about—, and how their heart beats against your fingertips when you move your fingers over their neck —her tone went lower—. It isn't a crime you're being careful of who you share those moments with —she whispered—, and nobody should laugh at you for that.

When she moved her head back a bit, clearing up the air again, she could see San with his eyes shut close and his lips almost parted in the direction she was in. She tried to hold back that cute smile that formed on her lips, although it wasn't of help when she still showed a glimpse of it as she bit her lower lip.

—Don't you agree?

As soon as San opened his eyes, Y/n felt she was trapped in her own trap, feeling her heart beating a fit faster when she noticed the tip of his tongue licking his lips.

Was it safe to kiss him?

Was it safe to kiss her?

The sound of his phone interrupted the bundle of confusion and thoughts that were floating over their heads, making the heavy air around them disappear with the predetermined music of his iPhone.

Y/n had insisted on taking him more. Because it was late, because his house was far, and because she had a car that saved him from taking the bus or walking. He tried to keep her from leaving her house at that time, he didn't mind getting home so late -it wasn't the first time either-, but there was no one who could win an argument against her.

—Thanks for the ride —he thanked her—, and sorry for making you leave your place this late.

—It's not even that late —she tried to calm him down—. I also like driving, so it's not a big deal.

—Still, thank you.

They were alone in the dark, only lighted by the small lights of the different buttons in the car. It was intimate, it was close... Was it a good moment to kiss her? Should he kiss her?

—Oh, the lovebirds —Mingi interrupted.

San's jaw clenched at the voice of his friend. First, it was Wooyoung, and now it was Mingi. Both of them choosing the best time to interrupt something that could be a good moment.

—How are you, Y/n? —he leaned on San's window to be able to look at her.

—I'm okay, what about you?

—I'm good —he nodded—. Are you staying for dinner?

—I have things to do, but thank you.

—Yeah, she was just dropping me off —San commented.

—Did I interrupt something?

—Don't you think you were too slow to notice that? —San finally turned to him.

—It was nice to see you —he referred to Y/n—. Sorry, bro.

As Mingi walked away from the car, San tried to draw her focus back on him again.

—Can you send me a message when you get home? I mean, just if you want.

—I will —she tried to calm him down, knowing he'd enter that spiral if she didn't.

Before he could move away, her hands hooked around his neck and her head leaned to his, having her lips colliding against the curve of his lower lip, again making it seem as if she was kissing him.

And while he knew she was doing it because Mingi was possibly still outside, and she wasn't even kissing him on the lips, San felt his stomach turning upside down and his legs becoming weak as jelly.

—Have a good night —she whispered.

—You, too.

He was looking good, he managed to keep a cool position, until the moment of stepping out of the car came. He was so focused on looking at her, that he missed one step and ended up tripping on the pavement, almost falling in front of her car.

Y/n giggled at his clumsiness, and how he tried to play it cool even if he was still well aware she saw the panic on his face as he lost control of his body for a quick moment.

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clumsiestgiantess · 8 months

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Alright everyone, this prompt is done! I couldn’t help myself, or was just too cute a scenario

Whenever Sierra grumbled in that adorable way of hers, Scotch‘s heart simultaneously softened and sped up. He loved her in a way beyond words, and as for the coming child — it was impossible to say who he loved more. “Hungry again?” he asked softly, sliding gently to Sierra’s side. She nodded, placing her hand over her rounded belly before glancing discreetly at him. “I know you’ve already gotten me so much..” With a small smile, Scotch slid her hands into his own, and this time her gaze alighted on his. “Just tell me, sweetheart. Whatever you want, I’ll go find it for you.” A gleaming smile immediately brightened her features. “Well, since you offered, it’s pickles and peanut butter this time.” Scotch‘s face scrunched up at the thought. “Hey! You promised not to judge!” He chuckled, “I didn’t say anything!” Sierra smirked, giving him a light shove, “Your look said enough.”

After a few goodbyes and a kiss, Scotch picked up his pack of supplies, and headed uncertainly out the door. This was what put him on edge. Both he and his wife are borrowers, a species of creature similar to humans — though their range of adaptations differs greatly from their larger, more well-known counterparts. Their ears are slightly longer and rounder to pick up on acute noises, and their limbs are naturally double-jointed to give them better maneuverability while escaping danger. However, their most noticeable difference is their height. The average borrower only grows about four to five inches tall — six at the most. To survive, many live off of what humans have, simply because it’s easier for them to steal what’s already been made then make it themselves. Between fending off danger around every corner, and trying to stay hidden in a large and unforgiving world, making anything beyond necessities is only a fantasy for most.

Scotch shuddered at the end of his route through the walls. He and his wife had more than a few scares over the last few years. The old house’s cat was by far the most terrifying. It was the reason they’d moved away, after all. He and Sierra could barely consider themselves safe around such a dangerous creature, nevermind a child. The layout of this new place still confused Scotch some, but he’d quickly put to memory the layout of the kitchen after all the times he’d come for yet another random piece of food. What did she ask for? Pickles and peanut butter? He felt his face scrunching up a second time. “I have to get into the fridge again? Great.”

The last time Scotch tried opening the fridge, it took him nearly all night. A whole leverage system had to be set up just to pry it open. Tired, but determined to get what his wife asked so sweetly for, he made his way down the kitchen counter, across the floor, and back up to the fridge. From there, he had to set up the pulleys and whatnot to actually open the thing. After that, he had to get in and out as quickly as he could — quite a tedious process. The fridge sets off an alarm when the temperature rises a few degrees too high, meaning the door could only stay open for so long before attention was drawn to it. If he really had to, Scotch figured he could leave the door open to give himself a bit more time to escape. The humans would deal with it once he was gone.

Neither borrower knew much about the humans of the new house. They had only lived there a little less than a month. From what Scotch had seen, there seemed to be only two of them, and at least one of them was always in the house. Beyond that, they knew very little. Not that it mattered much; a borrower wouldn’t be caught dead with a human so much as looking at them.

With the fridge finally open, Scotch rushed into the frigid interior, scouring the shelves for a pickle jar. Luckily, he found it quickly and began yet another ascent. Using a handmade grapple — a trademark tool of all borrowerkind — Scotch pried off the lid and reached into the jar, knife at the ready. THUD THUMP THUD What?! How-? No! The sounds of a human walking towards the kitchen startled Scotch so badly that he dropped his knife into the jar. That was the least of his worries, though. Haphazardly throwing the lid back on, he rushed to get out of the fridge. Sure, he could hide in the racks upon racks of goods, but the human would undoubtedly close the fridge the moment they found it open, leaving him trapped inside. There really was no other choice, he had to get out.

Winding up the grapple into his bag, Scotch hurriedly jumped down onto the shelf from the top of the jar. This was a major oversight on his part. The shelf was made of metal wiring, which left gaps in its surface. They weren’t wide enough for a borrower to fall through, but a leg or an arm could certainly get stuck between them, and that’s exactly what happened to Scotch. The footsteps only grew louder as he desperately struggled to free himself, but he could already tell that there wouldn’t be enough time. The human would find him, and who knows what they might do then.

Scotch‘s heart stung at the thought of Sierra waiting for him back home. How long would it take her to realize he wasn’t coming back? She’d have to move again, alone. And raise their child alone. He couldn’t let that happen to her, he couldn’t. But when it came down to it, there wasn’t much he could do to stop the inevitable. The thought only worsened the pain in his chest.

In the blink of an eye, the refrigerator door was opened wider by someone who was easily thirty times Scotch‘s size. The human’s eyes wandered sleepily through the contents inside, but when they landed on Scotch, they lifted wide open in shock. “What the hell?!” Bryan yelped, jumping away from the strange creature in his fridge. He regarded the little thing for an astonished moment. It could be a weird mouse or rat, but it almost looked like… No, it couldn’t be that, could it? Bryan hesitantly reached for the thing, but just before his fingers made contact, a small choked voice rang through the kitchen. “Please- Please, don’t do this! I- I have a wife and a child on the way; I’m begging you!"

Bryan’s heart practically dropped out of his chest. That- It is a tiny person! They have.. oh. What does this little guy think I’m gonna do to him? Slowly, Bryan moved his hand from the tiny person to the shelf where they were stuck. Gently, he pressed their leg out of the wire shelving. Scotch could only watch in frightened awe as the human freed him from the metal wires. Very briefly, he thought the human might snap off his leg, but it wasn’t any more painful than it was when he got it stuck there to begin with. Both beings stared at eachother in silence, confused and dumbstruck by the other. They were both about the same age, and even wore almost identical expressions. In a moment, the refrigerator alarm sounded, startling them both.

“Here, let me.. let me close the door for a second.” Bryan offered an outstretched hand to the smaller man, and he reluctantly climbed on. Scotch didn’t quite trust the human, but he was afraid of being shut into the cold space, so he went willingly. After closing the fridge, Bryan set him down on the island counter a few steps away. He turned, glancing at the contraption still hanging from the refrigerator door. “What were you looking for in there?” he asked questioningly. Scotch stayed silent. “I’m not mad if you’re taking things,” he amended, “I just wanted to know. Maybe I could help get whatever it is you need.” Scotch gawked up at the large human. “You.. You would do that?” Bryan nodded, “Why not? What is it you want?” “Well,” the borrower rubbed the back of his head nervously, “Pickles and peanut butter, for my wife,” he added.

To both of their shock, Bryan suddenly belted out a laugh. “No way! My wife gets the same craving!” “You.. She’s.. You’re having a kid too?” The human nodded enthusiastically, “I’m Bryan, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.. tiny.. person. Sorry if that’s offensive or anything, I just- I have no clue what you are, man.” A relieved breath of air escaped Scotch‘s lungs. The human, Bryan, didn’t seem nearly as malicious as he first thought. Rumors are slow to pass around the community of borrowers, mostly due to their separated, secretive lifestyle. However, that didn’t stop hundreds of variations of tortuous human stories from passing from household to household. Humans are known by borrowers to be unnecessarily cruel and overly curious, but Bryan seemed more confused than anything else.

“I’m.. Well, I’m obviously not human, and that’s all you probably need to know.” Bryan’s eyes narrowed in thought and Scotch hastily added “I- I didn’t mean to be rude!” “Naw, that’s alright,” the human shrugged, “Clearly you guys aren’t very fond of us, though I don’t really understand why. I know we’re obviously bigger, but I don’t think either of us have done anything very scary.” Scotch sighed, “It’s just humans in general. My wife and I moved in recently, so we haven’t had the time to learn much about you two, specifically.” Another shock to the borrower: the human agreed with his secrecy. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. I know a few people I definitely wouldn’t want to be, like.. five inches tall around.”

Bryan returned to the fridge, grabbed a few different items, put them all down on the counter beside Scotch, then went to the pantry and pulled out even more. “Here, take whatever you want, for your wife and you.” “R- Really?” the borrower stuttered, amazed at the sheer amount of options spread out for him. “Of course, dude! It’s not like you can go to the grocery store and pick stuff up.” A human pacifist was one thing, but a human who was willing to let a borrower take from them was unheard of. “And you’re sure you don’t need any of it, yourself?” Scotch asked. Bryan chuckled, “It's not like you’re taking the whole jar with you! Just.. think of it as a belated housewarming present or something.”

At that point, Scotch was shocked he was still surprised by the human. “You mean we can stay here? Usually we leave if someone sees us…” “No, please stay! I’m gonna need someone else to talk about dad stuff with! I could introduce you to my wife, and maybe she can meet yours-“ “Woah, woah, one thing at a time!” Scotch cautioned, “Let’s just keep my existence a secret for now, ok?” Bryan felt it was such an awkward topic between his friends, all of which weren’t even married. Meeting someone in the same situation as him — or at least a similar one — was beyond exciting. He couldn’t help it if he was rushing the borrower some.

“Alright, sorry. You’re right. I got a bit carried away there.” Scotch stepped up to the pickle jar and peered in, finding his knife stuck in the middle of it. “My uhh, my knife is actually in here. I dropped it when you came over.” Bryan dug in and pressed it between the tips of his fingers, dragging it back out. Once that was taken care of, Scotch got to work slicing the tiniest bits of pickle to take back with him. As he worked, he gestured to a few other items he thought he might need. “Dude, will you be able to carry all of this?” Scotch shrugged, “I have to stock up while I can.” “Or you could just take it whenever you want,” Bryan offered, “I told you that you can have whatever.” “It’s still a hike to get it, though,” he countered. Bryan agreed. “So, are you as nervous as I am?” the human asked after a brief silence. Scotch glanced up at him. “About.. what?” “Your kid, man! God, I’m kinda freaking out about mine! They haven’t even been born, and I’m already having doubts whether I can raise them. I don’t know.. Do you think I’d be a good dad? It’s just.. a lot.”

Scotch stopped working for a moment. Setting down his pack and tools, he turned to examine the human in front of him. He couldn’t deny he’d been thinking very similar things over the last few months. “Just don’t mess up and you’ll be fine.” Both of them laughed loudly through the quiet house. “I’ll sure as hell try. When’s your kid-“ “Bryan? What are you doing down there? What are you laughing at?” His wife called from the bedroom upstairs, still waiting for the bottle of water he’d promised to bring her. “Oh shit; I forgot she’s waiting for me,” Bryan whispered quietly to Scotch. “Nothing hon! I just remembered something funny! I’ll have your water in a sec!” “Thanks!” The moment his wife called back, he began gathering everything into his arms. “I gotta put all this back now, but if you want anything else, feel free to get it. I just don’t want to leave it all on the counter.” Scotch nodded, “I think what I have is enough. Thank you, though. Honestly, I thought you were going to hurt me when you found me, for stealing from you”.

Bryan gave him a saddened look. “Naw, I wouldn’t hurt you! But.. you are still staying here, right?” “Yeah. I don’t think you’re a big enough threat to have to move for.” “Oh,” Bryan said with a tinge of shock, grabbing two water bottles from a package in the pantry. “What was such a big threat you had to move here?” Scotch shuddered, “The other humans bought a cat.” “Geez, that’s definitely not good for the kid,” Bryan remarked. “Well, I’m gonna head back to bed. Good luck getting everything back.” Scotch scoffed, “The bigger problem is going to be hiding it all. I think my wife would be a bit suspicious if I came back with all this.” Smiling knowingly, Bryan made his way to the hall leading upstairs. “See you soon?” Scotch nodded, hefting his back over his shoulder. “I’m here practically every night. Come down and talk about ‘dad stuff’ with me. Or help me with the food.” “Or both?” “Or both.”

Confirmation settled, Bryan headed upstairs and Scotch headed into the walls. It had been a strange evening of events, but both were grateful for the companionship. It was only a matter of time before the kids arrived, and Scotch had the feeling he would end up needing the human’s help with a few things. Even if he didn’t, it was still nice having someone new to talk to.

#funny thing about the borrowers’ names:#Sierra’s name comes from the Sierra Mist drink #And Scotch’s name comes from Scotch tape #There’s a good chance I’ll write a part two where the wives accidentally meet but that might be a while #have this for now lol #g/t #giant tiny

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biancadjarin · 2 years

Text

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

Chapter 1 : Kiss it Better

🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹

Part 2 here

Pairing : EM x Popular cheerleader

You’re reorganizing the shelves in the nurses office on a Thursday afternoon. You started spending your free periods after lunch here to get some extra service hours and to make your mom happy, a nurse herself. This day in particular you’re the only volunteer and it’s pretty quiet. Occasionally someone will come in with a headache needing some advil or a bandaid for a cut. So you’ve gotten really good at getting a head start on your homework while you spend your 5th period in here.

You’re turning the page in your geometry textbook when you hear a knock. Before you can stand to open the door, it’s swinging open and the school freak, Eddie Munson, is ducking into the room. “Hey I-” he glances at you before doing a double take “I- uh”. “Oh my god” you rush over to him and look at the blood running down his cheek and caked on his knuckles. “Come in, sit down here.” He winces, walking holding his side and slowly sits on the paper covered bench. “Thanks.” You smile at him, grabbing some gauze, alcohol, and a few other things from the cabinet. You quickly wash your hands and you can hear his labored breathing behind you. He sucks air in through his teeth as he squeezes his eyes and exhales with a little whine. “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon.” You assure him. “What happened?” He sucks his teeth “Got in a fight after Jason said some shit in the cafeteria. I’m so tired of that guy.”

“Oh…” you know Jason since you’re on the cheerleading team but you’re not really a fan of his. He treats your friend Chrissy like crap and you’ve spent more than one night at her house wiping her tears away after he’s said something stupid and hurt her gentle feelings. But you don’t feel the need to tell Eddie how you really feel.

Especially since it’s getting kind of hard to form thoughts. You’ve had a little crush on Eddie since you first met him last year when you were the new girl in town. A lot of guys had tried to talk to you, asked to take you out but none of them were who you wanted. Someone mysterious, charismatic, passionate, funny. You wanted Eddie. And then when the whole “hot, new girl” buzz wore off and the douches started to leave you alone, you focused more on classes and cheerleading, putting finding a boyfriend in the back of your mind. But you’ve always harbored this crush on Eddie.

“I didn’t know you were the type to get into fights..” He snorts, “s’not like you know much about me at all.” You raise your eyebrows and nod, beginning to dab at the cut on his cheekbone. He felt bad, he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he just meant the two of you didn’t interact much. He’d like for that to be different. But why would a sweet, popular girl like you ever even want to look in his direction? You continue to wipe the dried blood off his cheek and he sucks in a breath when you clean it with alcohol soaked gauze. “Sorry, but this will help it not get infected.” you say sweetly. He nods slowly watching your face as you furrow your brow and bite your bottom lip as you focus on his injury. Your heart starts to beat faster when you feel his eyes take in your face, his gaze falling to your lips and neck. You subtly squeeze your boobs together as you lean forward, hoping he notices your cleavage peeking out of your v-neck. His eyes dip down before blinking and looking towards the ceiling.

He clears his throat, “You um- you were in my English class last year? Y/N right?” “Mhm” you nod. Eddie had sat in the back of that class and hardly paid attention, when he bothered to show up at all. “You were always the first one to raise your hand when Mr. Brown asked a question.” He smiles, his memory of you distracting him from the throbbing in his hand. You feel your cheeks burn. Was he watching me in class? “Y-yeah I um.. English is my favorite subject.” He flashes a smile at you as you rub neosporin on his cheek. “Course it is princess”. His little nickname makes your heart skip a beat. You place a bandaid on his cheek, scooting back in your chair to take a look at your work. “Not me. I flunked that class. And most of my classes last year. S’why I’m here this year. Again.” He lifts his hands to emphasize. “Ahhh-“ he winces as he remembers the state of his knuckles. “Ok ok funny guy, try to keep still. Your cheek’s gonna be ok, just keep it clean, ice it when you get home and try not to get punched in the face again for at least a week ok?” He chuckles. “I’ll try.”

His eyes softening as he looks into yours. You feel a flurry of butterflies swirl in your stomach. How can someone so tough and scary have such sweet puppy dog eyes? You shake your head, pushing that thought away, “Do you think anything’s broken? Can you bend your fingers?” You gently slip his metal rings off of each finger and place them delicately on a paper towel. He flexes his fingers and shakes his head, poofy brown hair curling around his face. “Don’t think they’re broken.” You nod. You take his hand in yours and begin to clean. You scrunch your your nose and tell him “This is going to burn.” His lips form a little o as he exhales a gust of breath “ok I’m ready.” You pour alcohol on his knuckles and his other hand flies to your knee and squeezes. “Jesus! Fuck!” “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But we’re almost done.” You examine his knuckles closer, mostly just scraped up really, no bones or anything seriously broken. He grunts in response, his eyes screwed shut and his free hand still resting on your leg. You feel his thumb start to absentmindedly rub a rough circle on your thigh and your mind goes blank. All you can focus on is him touching you. You grab the cream and gauze. He peeks at his hand, exhaling in relief that it’s almost over. His eyes watch as your delicate fingers finish massaging the cream into his knuckles before wrapping his hand with gauze. “You’re really good at this.” Eddie says. “Well one upside to watching a lot of horror movies. Blood doesn’t gross me out like it does most people”. You smooth your fingertips over the wrappings to make sure it’s tight and then you smile at him, remembering what your mom always used to do when you would get hurt. You gently lift his hand with both of yours and give his knuckles a delicate kiss. He exhales a breath that he’d been holding in with a small laugh. “Sorry that was so weir-“ You say standing up and rushing to wash your hands again. Anything to hide your reddening face. “No, no, it wasn’t. That made it better” he smiled. That perfect Eddie smile. “Do you kiss everyone’s booboos?” He teases. You turn around and shake your head, “No actually”. “Well then I’m honored! But I think my cheek could feel a little better too…” he taps his pointer finger on the bandage there. The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach but you turn around and look at him. You step towards him and rest your hand on his denim covered chest, ready to lean towards his bandage covered cheek when you hear a banging on the door. “Eddie Munson are you in there?!” Your eyes go wide as you walk towards the door and open it. Principal Higgins towers over you as he shoots Eddie a look over your shoulder. “Fighting in the cafeteria and then hiding out in the nurse’s office? Honestly Eddie when are you going to grow up?” “I wasn’t hidi-“ “Enough! My office, let’s go!” Higgins turns and leads the way towards his office as Eddie rolls his eyes and begins to follow. He stops in front of you, his face inches from yours. “Thanks again princess.” He whispers with a weak smile as his hand reaches out to grab yours. He lightly rubs your thumb before letting go, disappearing into the hall. You begin to clean up the mess left from fixing Eddie up when something shiny catches your eyes. Eddie forgot his rings.

Once again my colorful conversations are inspired by the adorable @princesssmimi go read her stuff !

#eddie munson #em x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #self insert fic

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peakyblinders1919 · 2 years

Text

Haddie Harrington

Maybe there was a time when you had big plans. A time when, it seemed, everyone in Hawkins had big plans.

Until the Earthquake.

An event of life-changing proportions, those who got out, got out, never to look back. As for everyone else… they stayed behind for one reason or another- to help save their home, looking for and mourning loved ones- and they never quite got the chance to leave.

It took years to rebuild the small town back up to what it once was; old mom-and-pop shops on Main Street, flags flying from streetlights, general stores like Melvald's with stocked shelves and employees helping others make a living, old neon signs relit above diner entrances welcoming people into a place they could call home again.

Hawkins, Indiana never felt more like home than when its population was cut in half overnight, bringing a whole new meaning to small-town living for its 7,500 remaining residents.

There were many things to like about it though; the young girl trying out a new hairdo every week you think you went to school with at some point knew your coffee order, your morning commute was filled with sweet sounds on the staticky radio, views of trees and mountains, fresh air pouring in through the windows as you cruised down route 77 with no traffic in sight.

There was just one double-edged sword to it all- everyone knew everyone.

You couldn’t go to pick up dinner without the woman at the cashier asking you how your parents were, couldn’t dare go on a date to the theater on Main without your grandma and all her nosy friends reporting out on it at Sunday mass, couldn’t go anywhere for a little break away from someone you didn’t want to run into.

And no one came to visit. Ever.

The news stories about the odd town in the middle of the country that was home to the portal of hell doing well enough to keep tourists out, deter anyone from buying the dilapidated homes with for sale signs having a permanent residence on the dried-up front lawns.

It kept your life simple, your inner circle small, consisting of your family, your friends Nancy and Jonathan from high school, now engaged and living in a three-bedroom colonial down the road from her childhood home, Robin, who returned a few years after everything that happened, missing a bit of home just a little too much. What shocked everyone was when Steve Harrington, without a word to anyone, even you, arguably his best friend and love of his life, packed up the maroon BMW and left. He left with one trunk of clothes, a picture album, and a flimsy cardboard box taped shut to hold in his memories of Hawkins; his basketball jersey and trophy, his bat.

There was speculation among everyone as to why- maybe losing Eddie had been too much, maybe the scars on his torso from those bats ached more than he ever dared admit, maybe seeing Dustin mourn one too many times had finally done him in, maybe all the late nights at the hospital by Max’s side with the same results, maybe Nancy finally moving on, maybe the nightmares became too real. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He left with no plans of ever coming back. Nothing Robin or Dustin or you could say would convince him. At first, he’d talk to you all regularly, telling you all about whatever town he was calling home that week. Knowing him better than anyone, knowing him better than himself, you could hear it in his voice, that he was still missing something. That all these amazing places he was seeing and describing never felt like home.

And then he stopped calling. And he stopped answering. So you stopped calling. He talked to Robin a few more times, had a finalizing conversation with Dustin, and went radio silent.

That was 4 years ago.

To say it took four years to get over Steve Harrington when you weren’t even officially dating in the first place would be a bit of an exaggeration. But all while you helped Robin and her new friend Vickie rebuild the school, teaching Dustin and Lucas how to drive when they got their licenses, you saw Steve everywhere; a reflection in the window, someone wearing a yellow sweater you swore was him until he turned around. His absence was felt heavily by all, but at some point, it was impossible to pinpoint when, his ghostly appearance faded and you learned to move on, how to live without him.

Hard at first, the early years passed quickly as you did nothing but study, attending the local community college to earn a degree in childcare. Opening your preschool around the corner from the elementary school, a short, flat building with colorful murals painted on the walls, warm and bright and welcoming for little toddlers, you found a passion and dove in head first.

Summer was riding out on the coattails of the upcoming fall season. The sun began setting earlier each day, shorts and tank tops simply weren’t doing enough anymore, the sweet smell of ice cream and Pina Coladas and freedom in the air being replaced by cinnamon spice and crips leaves and responsibility. Bonfires weren’t just for fun on the beach, they were necessary as the leaves slowly changed color. Almost as coveted as the Fourth of July party, the Blyers’ Labor Day picnic was just as anticipated.

Drinks were flowing, sweet, and reminiscent of summer. Just like the seasons, it was an in-between time for you, the last days of summer vacation leaving you giddy like a schoolgirl and fearing the stress that was inevitably about to come. It had actually already begun, agreeing to attend the soon-to-be annual event if you could bring some work and have no one chide you for being too responsible.

Though Hooper had commented on it, saying you deserved every bit of time off you got, Joyce was quick to come to your defense, even helping you with some mindless cutting and laminating to make sure everything would be smooth for the first day of school.

Just as Jonathan placed the burgers and hot dogs on the table, Robin made her grand entrance, loud and wearing overalls covered with dried clay and paint, placing the chilled potato salad in the middle of the table.

“Can’t put the work away for a second, can you?”

“Why does no one give Nancy crap when she follows a lead at 2 am?”

“Because everyone here knows not to try me.”

It went quiet as you hugged Robin properly and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, ignoring her less-than-personal greeting. Your best friend since high school, you didn’t see her nearly as much as you’d like ever since she opened her pottery shop downtown, nestled in between the coffee shop and bookstore.

“Do you have this year's list?”

“Got it right here.” Waving in the wind like a white flag of surrender, you began scanning the names of this year's class. Somewhere along the way, it became tradition to practice reading the names, trying to pronounce them correctly, seeing who could pronounce them the worst, on purpose, and making fun of the really odd ones.

“Who names a child Ethel? That name should be reserved for 80-year-old women only.” Robin noted as she read over your shoulder.

“I like the name Ethel, I think it’s nice.”

Everyone looked at Johnathan for a beat.

“I rest my case.” Robin grinned.

Glazing over the list, there was nothing particularly out of order or important to note, until about halfway down. Right in the middle.

“No.” It came out as a whisper, one not quiet enough.

“What is it?”

“Am I reading that right? Please tell me it’s a… a spelling mistake.”

Robin’s eyes grew wide when they landed on what you were talking about, everyone around the table not wanting to be left out, silent looks of inquiry thrown your way.

There, in the middle of the list, was a name that made you stop.

Haddie Harrington.

“What?”

“Maybe there’s another Harrington…”

“Well, that means…”

“Steve’s a father?”

Which also meant Steve was married. Shaking your head to expel the thought from your mind, you read the name again.

“Hey, are you alright?” Robin's voice pulled you from your swirling thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, what are the odds it’s not what we think?” You shrugged, ever the bit opportunistic, Robin the realist.

“What are the odds it’s exactly what we think?”

It meant one thing.

Steve Harrington was coming home.

#stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff

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graveyard-party666 · 2 months

Text

Blood & Wine

And yet... you're always here.

New week, new chapter. This one was written long ago but i decided to make it longer. Almost gave up because of the verb tenses in that chapter. I still decided not to be bothered by that much and just post whatever i made.

Would it be weird if i decided to change the tense i used before for future chapters?.. 🤔

Anyway... here's the song for y'all.

Red has a stupid habit of plugging both ears with headphones. From a psychological point of view, her attempts to displace the real world, even for a second, are very funny. But even if for a moment she manages to forget about where she is and what she is doing, this is already a victory. From a therapeutic point of view, exactly.

Music has always been and is a part of therapy. There is hardly anything better than just dancing with headphones in your ears. Even if you dance in a place where strange to do so. But who can blame Red for this if the door to her office is closed and her stress and anxiety levels are off the charts? Well, of course, the folders won’t arrange themselves on the shelves.

Music is playing loudly through her headphones, and Red dances around, humming the song, as she places folders in alphabetical order on the shelves. Pedantry or OCD? Ironic.

The psychologist hears little except the music playing, and what difference does it make if the door to the office is closed?

A heavy hand falls on the girl’s shoulder. Red almost doubles over in horror. The last thing she expects is any visitors, especially if the door is locked. From the inside.

Red is unlikely to remember a single moment in her life when she turns her head so quickly. For a second, it seems to her that if she had turned her head a little faster, she would have simply broken her neck. A storm of emotions rushes through the girl when she sees an unexpected visitor. But one emotion is strongest of all - the desire to punch the visitor in the throat.

"Ghost, what the hell?!" the psychologist hisses at the masked intruder angrily. His face is covered by that stupid emo mask like always yet she can see the amusement in his eyes. "And how the fuck did you get in? The door was closed."

"I knocked, you didn't answer so... I just opened it." Lieutenant shrugs, stepping back, giving her space, as she takes off the headphones.

"Just opened it? Really?" Readhead can only skeptically look at the soldier, feeling the desire... desire to punch him. And maybe kiss him. Yeah, and desire to kiss him too.

"You are working with SAS soldiers." Ghost makes a simple yet real point. That's true. She works with the most dangerous men. The amount of skills they have that she doesn't know about is huge. Red doesn't even want to think about it.

"That was a cute dance, by the way."

Red could have sworn she heard the teasing tone in his voice. And for a moment she thinks she might choke him. She leaves no witnesses of her... dances.

"How long were you watching?.. Wait. No. Don't answer that." The psychologist shakes her head, falling down on the chair, feeling the embarrassment but trying not to give it away.

A light chuckle is heard from the masked man, which makes Red think for the millionth time about the plan of running away to the other side of the planet. This work is just too much.

She only shakes her head, taking the pills out of her bag.

"Did I scare you that much that you need sedatives?" Ghost asks jokingly, not understanding that what he has said is partially true.

"Antidepressants actually," Red speaks up after a short pause. She can see curiosity in his eyes.

"How are you working as a psychologist if you yourself need a psychologist?" Ghost looks at Red, smirking under the mask and waiting for an answer.

"No one would understand mentally unstable people better than another mentally unstable person," Red chuckles, hinting that Ghost himself is not as stable as he appears. No one on the team is one hundred percent fine and stable, and that's why they are so good at what they do.

"Being unstable is a blessing in a way..." Red smiles softly, swinging her high-heeled leg. "You guys use your rage and bottled-up feelings on the battlefield while still keeping a cold head and calm mind."

"I know you feel uncomfortable at the thought of me psychoanalyzing you," the woman continues, noticing the stern look of the man in the mask and a small glimpse of curiosity.

Lieutenant just lookes at her silently for a few moments before speaking up. "That wouldn't be much appreciated."

"Oh, I won't. People come to therapy in hopes of resolving their own issues. You, on the other hand... you prefer the chaos, keeps you on your toes, isn't it?" The redheaded woman tilts her head, as if looking straight through the mask.

"I wouldn't be here, in an elite military group, if my head was just chaos and nothing else," an annoyed sigh was heard from the soldier. "Psych evaluations are a big deal, you know?"

"Oh, yes, definitely... you are the best of the best soldiers, the most sane of all. And the most dedicated. You, my dear friend, know exactly why you do what you do as a job yet immense grief is following you somehow, instead of pride for many saved souls," she straightens her back, leaning closer to the soldier. "You are a badass, you know that?"

Ghost can't help but chuckle. "We went straight from you psychoanalyzing me, even though I asked you not to, to compliments." Lieutenant shakes his head in amusement.

He knew she probably wouldn't follow his request yet here he is, sitting on the couch in her office, watching her sort the papers and files.

"And yet... you're always here, Lieutenant."

Tag list: @cloudofbutterflies92 @chloekistune @justasmolbard

#blood & wine #blood & wine series #oc:red #self insert: red #cod self insert (maybe)

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ghostly-gifts · 6 months

Text

🎃🍷 Trick or treat! 🖤🎃

On this creepy Halloween night, @lady-guts has been haunted by the spooky ghost @wardog-of-the-endless, and they've left behind a treat!

Rating: Teen Tags: Fluff, First Meetings/Meet-Cute, Alternate Universe- Fantasy

Anakinn Theerapanyakun is staring at an absolute dive, and briefly considers the possibility that Tay’s phone has been stolen and he’s being led into an ambush. Though he’s double-checked the address twice, the modest bar beyond the window of Kinn’s Maserati doesn’t seem to be changing, for all that there’s no way he’s convinced it’s the correct location. Tay -Taechin Lerttravinont- is nearly as high in the Mafia food chain as Kinn himself, and as such is far more accustomed to dining on rooftop restaurants and drinking champagne more costly than most people’s cars. There’s no reason for him to decide that this humble hole-in-the-wall spot is the place to be, no matter what Autumn-themed event they might be hosting.

As he scowls at the cheerful lights draped over the entryway, Kinn’s phone chirps with an incoming message.

1 New Message

Tay: Are you lurking outside? Just get in here before you miss the show.

1 New Message

Tay: NOW, Anakinn.

“Alright, alright,” Kinn muttered, sliding the phone away and throwing the door open. “We’re staying.”

“Yes, Khun Kinn,” Big murmurs obediently, scrambling to follow him across the street and into the bar. Most Naga are better moving on tails than they are on feet, though it can cost both time and stealth for them to shift, but Kinn’s found Big especially loses grace when he’s caught off guard. At the moment there’s not threat great enough to prompt a transformation, so Kinn lets the near-frantic movement pass without comment.

Kinn navigates a narrow hallway, rolling his eyes when Big darts around him to navigate the blind corner into the bar itself. The group is easy to hear from the street and nearly deafening inside, for all that the space seemed small and shouldn’t be able to hold a significant audience. From the sound of things the space is beyond packed, and all of them are shouting eagerly about some entertainment Kinn can’t yet see.

He rounds the corner when Big drifts back to nod, and steps into an audience that’s shouting as they watch the show being conducted by a trio of flair bartenders. The two shorter ones are catching bottles tossed this way and that, winging them to each other for shelving when it seems they’ve been thrown the wrong direction. The center of attention is a tall man with golden skin, laughing brightly as he throws bottles and shakers this way and that, mixing drinks to slide down the bar with flirtatious winks and air kisses.

Tay catches the most recent drink with a smirk, tossing a look over his shoulder and beaming widely at the sight of Kinn. “Kinn!”

The cheerful shout catches the pretty bartender’s attention, and he lines shot glasses up with miraculous swiftness, tossing a vodka bottle with a spin before effortlessly tipping it in a casual pour. He moves down the line of glasses and fills the row of shots, tossing the bottle aside when he’s half-way down the bartop, with a row of dozens of glasses between him and Kinn and Tay.

“Isn’t he scrumptious?” Tay murmurs when Kinn’s at his side, grinning up at his friend and then looking back the row of shots. “Watch this.”

“You brought me to a dive for the bar show?” Kinn murmurs, obligingly leaning on the edge of the bar and eying the nearest shot. It’s within reach, but he doesn’t, at least not yet.

“It’s quite a show, baby,” Giving a flirty smile he leans down to nearly cheek to bartop, the bartender gives a flirty wink and then blows Kinn a kiss.

A spark of gold leaves his lips, a whisper that might be flame or might be a trick of the light. Except, the first shot catches fire, then the second, flame leaping in a cheerful line from glass to glass, dancing down the length of the bar and racing to stop just beyond Kinn’s reach, burning cheerfully in the lip of the last glass. Kinn stares at the dancing blue light, feeling warmth kindle in his gut.

The crowd screams and Tay laughs, throwing his head back and flashing the glimmer of shining silver scales that flow down his pretty neck. Though usually they can be explained away as body paint or glitter, in half of Tay’s high-fashion looks he doesn’t need to bother with explanations, and this close to Halloween he’s unlikely to keep his gifts underwraps.

Kinn’s torn between being surprised enough that his best friend is showing his siren traits so freely in public, and wondering just what the hell is smiling at him from down the stretch of mahogany wood. Instinctively he steps closer to Tay, wrapping a possessive arm around the back of his chair and leaning down till a conversation is possible above the din.

“Pretty, right?” Tay hums, sipping at his drink and watching as the bartender begins passing out flaming shots to those brave enough to reach for them. “His name is Porsche.”

“Hmmm, pretty,” Kinn agrees, eyes caught on the stretch of gold skin from jawline to breastbone, easily visible through the half-open black shirt Porsche is wearing. “And what, pray tell, is Porsche?”

“Anakinn,” Tay scolds mildly. “What a rude inquiry.”

“You knew I would ask,” Kinn glared at him. “You dragged me in here and gift-wrapped him for me to ask.”

“Can’t I just want to share a pretty bartender and my favorite hideaway with my best friend?” Tay murmurs, fingers idly caressing his glass. “You can appreciate the view without being rude, Anakinn.”

“Is it rude?” Kinn muses, watching Porsche take orders and flip bottles with ease, chattering away with his fully-engaged crowd. “No scales, but he’s a firestarter.”

“Maybe it was just flair,” Tay argues, just for the sake of it and not like he really believes.

Kinn’s betting he knows better, judging by the way he smirks at his beverage. “Could be, but wasn’t. You know him?”

“Just from trips here,” Tay shrugs. “He told me to cut Time loose months ago. Apparently he had a look.”

“A look,” Kinn echoes dubiously, attention slid back to Tay at the mention of his ex. “What does that mean?”

“Some men are cheaters, sweetheart,” Croons a smooth voice as the bartender -Porsche- appears in front of them, his warmth immediately noticeable even separated by the stretch of bartop.

Kinn feels his approach and snaps his head up immediately, eyes fixing on the flash of chest and then slowly gliding up the elegant line of clavicles and neck, the sharp cut of jaw, the elegant cast of his face. Porsche is stunning, and his smile and the gleam of his dark eyes tells Kinn he knows it. Even in the thick air of the bar he smells like sandalwood, with notes of amber and vanilla and neroli. He smells expensive, like something best experienced on a bed of silk.

Kinn would happily take him there, pin him to the bed in his penthouse apartment… maybe against the glass wall of the pool.

“And they look like cheaters,” Porsche continues, folding his arms on the bartop and leaning forward just enough that Kinn feels himself sway closer. “Not you though, sweetheart.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kinn rumbles, warmth building in his chest at the acknowledgement. “So you told Tay to ditch Time.”

“I told the most beautiful man in the room that his idiotic date was shopping around,” Porsche retorts, sharp and smooth with it. “I’m a bartender, darling, it’s practically like being a therapist. I just call it like I see it.”

“So you saw Time was a problem,” Kinn leans on the bartop. “And told Tay to cut him loose?”

“Technically,” Porsche purrs, leaning closer. “I told Tay I would cheerfully thrash and trash his date, no charge, and make sure he made it home without any pathetic hangers on. He thanked me and tipped very well, and then when I was right he came back and told me so.”

“Tay and Time broke up months ago,” Kinn notes.

“Mmmm,” Porsche nodded. “Pretty Tay and I have spent quite a bit of time talking about the men that have disappointed us.”

“I told Porsche there was only one man I could think of that never let me down,” Tay murmured, tugging playfully at the lapel of Kinn’s suit. “He demanded I produce evidence, so here you are.”

“Fairly prompt, too,” Porsche notes, sounding impressed. “Tay thought you might sit in the car for at least another ten minutes, and totally miss the Phoenix Kiss shots. He was prepared to be very disappointed.”

“Phoenix,” Kinn murmurs, and it takes everything in him not to growl.

The last Phoenix clan known in their world was wiped out nearly twenty years ago, by all reckoning. It both left the Theerapanyakul dragon clan as the clear dominant force in the Thai underworld, and weakened them significantly. Regardless of gender, the most powerful supernatural couple had always been a dragon and a Phoenix. Kinn’s own mother had been one, before mafia-fueled power struggles had taken her from the family. Kinn had more or less resigned himself to reigning as a solitary force, and suddenly a night out at a dive bar with Tay is changing everything.

“Mmmmm,” Porsche grins, swaying forward even further, a flame dancing in his dark eyes. “No need to ask who you are, Big Dragon, I could smell it on you when you walked in the door.”

“Careful, pretty bird.” Kinn growls, smiling as he watches a golden hand reach out and flick playfully at the open placket of his shirt. By some instinct Kinn raises one hand and catches the impertinent fingers, pulling them to his mouth so he can press a kiss to Porsche’s knuckles.

“My, aren’t you a charmer,” Porsche crooned, grinning at the gesture. “Tay was right.”

“When properly motivated, I am many things.” Kinn promises. I’d dedicate all of them to you.

By birthright alone, half of Bangkok belongs to this man. Staring into his gleaming eyes, Kinn wants nothing more than to offer up the rest.

“Mmmm, my work here appears to be done.” Tay notes, smiling as he slides a stack of notes under Porsche’s folded arms. “You two play nice, alright? Porsche, I expect to see you soon, hmmm? But not too soon, or I’ll be very disappointed in Anakinn. I always thought the world of him, to find out he has no stamina now would devastate that impression.”

“Tay,” Kinn growls in warning.

“I’m going first,” Tay cuts in. “You can have my chair, Kinn. I don’t think Porsche gets off for another hour or so.”

“Well not unless we duck out to the alley,” Porsche smirked. “But I probably shouldn’t drag down the king of the underworld on the first meeting… People will talk.”

“You could blame me,” Tay murmured, brushing a kiss over Porsche’s cheek before he does the same to Kinn’s. “Blessings upon you both, darlings… I’ll see you.”

Porsche blinks, smiling faintly as he watches Tay swan back out the door. “He’s certainly something, isn’t he?”

“Mmmmm,” Kinn hummed his agreement. “But I think, Pretty Bird, I’d rather talk about you.”

“Not so fast, Khun Kinn, I’m not quite that kind of boy.” Porsche flashed bright teeth in a grin that was more a challenging little snarl. “Some of us have work, rich boy. You just hold down that chair, I’ll get back with you soon.”

“Porsche-”

“Soon,” Porsche promised with a wink, sliding a glass of whiskey across the bar. “Here. Be good now.”

“Fine.” Kinn grumbled. “For now.”

With possibly the last Phoenix in Bangkok in his sights, Kinn could afford a little patience.

#kinnporsche #gift exchange #fanfiction #ghost: wardog-of-the-endless #haunted: lady-guts

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