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disneyprincemuke · 5 months

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kiss all your tears away

alternatively: we haven’t talked in almost 4 days (next)

in which she and logan don't walk into the paddocks together for the first time all season and sends everyone speculating about the status of their relationship friendship

(series masterlist)

she hikes her bag up her shoulder, pushing the sunglasses up her nose. she taps her card against the reader before she can step into the paddocks.

when she'd woken up this morning, she laid in bed with two packs of ice over her eyes to try and reduce the swelling of her eye area. when she’s gotten up to look at herself in the mirror, it did depuff but didn’t entirely erase the evidence of all the crying she did.

she dropped george a text message early this morning, asking if it was okay to be wearing sunglasses everywhere on the paddocks without looking like a complete fool — it’s just a rehearsal, after all.

george simply assumed she’s hungover or something of the sort, so he didn’t ask questions. he just told her he does it all the time.

so, here she is walking into the paddocks by herself. with her stupid bag on her stupid shoulder and a pair of sunglasses over her eyes to hide away from everyone.

oscar, who comes in right after her, almost walks right past her before he realised who she is. he just almost barely recognises her entering the paddocks with a bag on her shoulder and logan next to her.

oscar taps her on the shoulder gently, flashing her a bright smile. “alone today?”

“yeah,” she answers simply, a smile of gratitude stretching her lips when oscar slows his pace down to walk with her.

“oh,” oscar nods to himself. while he’s been slightly out of touch with her out of respect of their relationship, he still did grow up with her. he still knows her telltales when she’s got a problem. “fought?”

“yeah.”

“that bad?”

“pretty bad.”

“i won’t ask about it. but are you okay?”

“i guess.”

“i’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“hopefully.”

“let me carry your stuff,” oscar mutters, circling around her to her other side. he doesn’t wait for an answer — he just slides her backpack off her shoulder and throws it over his shoulder on top of his bag.

she opens her mouth to protest, but oscar is quick to shut her down. “i used to do it before logan. don’t act like it’s so new to you,” oscar laughs, shaking his head. “and it’s weird seeing you with a bag in the paddocks.”

“that’s true. i haven’t walked into the paddocks with my bag on my shoulder since i joined you guys in f2,” she grins shyly.

“let’s put your stuff down then come and hang at mclaren? lily’s just got a taxi to arrive from the airport.”

“oh, she’s here this weekend? she didn’t tell me that…”

“she was going to surprise you after the rehearsal,” oscar giggles. “so, what do you say?”

“okay, but only if lando makes me a cup of coffee.”

george tilts his head at the empty seat alex has left in the corner. “move to the corner, we’re going to hog the space and be shat on for acting like boyfriends.”

“logan’s sitting with us tonight,” alex answers simply with a shrug. “can’t fully commit to being your boyfriend tonight, mate, i’m sorry.”

“oh, how come?” george asks, furrowing his eyebrows. typically, logan would sit in the middle rows with his girlfriend. “doesn’t he usually sit with (y/n) or oscar?”

alex shrugs, bottom lip pouted out. “think they had a friendly squabble a couple days ago. he’s been weird since he arrived in vegas the other day.”

george surprisingly held on to the unspoken agreement he has with them. he hasn’t told a soul about seeing her in the gap between his door that one time. nor has told alex about it.

but he does talk to lando, which wasn’t a great conversation to start when he came up to him with a 50 pound bill in his hand. they danced around the information of knowing something particularly specific, and lando eventually blurted excitedly that he saw them on a date a few days back.

so maybe they fought. or worse, have they broken up?

logan arrives literally a second after the worst thought passes his mind. he takes the empty seat next to alex, greeting george with a small smile before leaning in to start a conversation.

he watches the door, curious at what’s exactly going on. he completely tunes out from the conversation, feigning intelligent answers and short reponses. his eyes dart over to the door whenever it’s pulled open, and sighing when it’s not the driver he expects.

he looks down at his watch. there’s about 10 minutes before the briefing starts for them. and, vegas is a race that had them come in a couple days prior to be briefed and conduct a short rehearsal for the opening ceremony.

luckily, there’s not much media around today, which would make tiptoeing around this issue a whole lot easier.

when the door is pulled open again, george lifts his head quickly, as he’s genuinely quite invested now. he raises an eyebrow and is taken aback by the girl holding the door open with a pair of sunglasses resting on her nose.

he’s absolutely forgotten the fact that she had texted him this morning about this issue.

she takes a step forward, but then takes two back. instead of walking in, she stays back outside the room with the door in her hand. pierre and charles walk in, thanking her softly before returning to their conversation.

there’s a momentary pause as she looks inside, where they’re seated, before she looks at somebody who’s in the hallway with her. oscar appears, motioning for her to walk in, but she shakes her head and simply points inwards to the room.

alex has chosen to settle for the wrong seats today, obviously. having logan sit right next to the door might be a bit more detrimental than he thought. but what would alex know? he doesn’t even know of their relationship.

oscar tries to fight with her, but she simply purses her lips. the australian slumps his shoulder before sharply turning on his heel and just walking into the room, followed by a distressed looking lando.

lando looks around, catching george’s curious eyes, so the man in orange simply shrugs tiredly at him.

she beckons for someone else in the hallway to walk in, but it seems that it’s a losing fight by the way that she’s continually waving her hands in the air to persuade them.

sighing, she just visibly sighs and winds her hand back to act out a punch. she drops her hands before finally turning around to take a step forward again.

if there’s any way that she announces her arrival, it’s typically by the scent of her strong perfume. her floral scent fills his nose, and it’s obvious that logan finally takes notice of her arrival.

because logan turns around, eyes trained on her as she walks in with an orange paper cup in her hand. what’s made everything stranger is that she simply walks ahead: she doesn’t spare logan another look as she walks down the side aisle to join max, oscar and lando who unfortunately only landed the front row seats.

george watches logan’s eyebrows furrow and press his lips together. logan shifts in his seat uncomfortably before turning back to continue their conversation.

“did you catch that, mate?” alex asks, nudging george’s arm with his elbow.

“what?” george tears his eyes away from the girl in front to look at the two men next to him. “sorry, i didn’t catch what you were saying.”

“right, so basically…”

she looks up at the giant yellow circle in front of her. she momentarily lifts her sunglasses to gawk at the ever changing expressions of the emoji face being projected.

“that’s so adorable!” she points out, reaching out to roughly pat max’s shoulder to get his attention. “look, it’s looking at us!”

“hey, your hands are not as light as you think!” max scolds, his arm darting out to catch her wrist in his hands. “you’ve got to make up with logan.”

she pouts, retracting her hand roughly from the older man’s grip. she drops her sunglasses back down to her nose and folds her arms over her chest. “what do you mean? you don’t like hanging out with me?”

“i do. trust me, i have the time of my life annoying the shit out of you,” max laughs dryly down at her. “but you are all over my hater hours. gawk at this… thing,” he points at the sphere, “with your boyfriend.”

“no,” she scoffs, simply shaking her head. she huffs and tries to walk past him. “forget it — i’ll just go and find yuki and hang out with him. he doesn’t try and push me away when i try.”

max sighs, rolling his eyes. he grabs her elbow and drags her back to him. he puts her in front of him, hands on her shoulders.

max reaches out and takes off the sunglasses, clipping it to the collar of his shirt. “you’ve got to talk this whole fight out with logan. stop ignoring him.”

“i’m not ignoring him. he’s ignoring me,” she insists, throwing a hand into the air.

“no, he’s not!” max cries, pinching the bridge of his nose. honestly, he didn’t want to enjoy this race in vegas. in fact, all he’s done leading up to this grand prix has been openly hate on the thought of even being here.

he didn’t factor in that he’d have to suddenly play the part of being an older brother and a therapist to the girl standing in front of him.

he has grown to be fond of her, yes, but he very much preferred not being put in the middle of all this.

“what?”

“yeah! he was literally boring holes into you when you walked into the rehearsal briefing earlier,” max points out. “and then he only left the room after you left; after you just walked right past him again without a flinch!”

“okay, listen! if you had the fight that we had, you wouldn’t make up so easily either, okay?” she rambles, hands on her hips in frustration. her puffy eyes are finally nowhere in sight. “you don’t even know what we fought about.”

“fine, then enlighten me.”

“we fought about this,” she circles her hands around them, motioning to the track setup around them. “about all of this! formula 1! it’s caught up to us!”

max furrows his eyebrows. “what do you mean?”

“i mean like i literally had the sebastian vettel vouching for me to get a seat this season,” she sighs, shaking her head as she recalls the fight they had before flying to vegas. “i mean like i’ve been in the points consistently since i crashed in baku and he’s struggling to even be on par with alex!

“how is that my fault, max? it’s not my fault!”

“you’re right: it’s not.”

“why does it feel like it is? i hate that this is happening to him, of all people! but how is it my fault that i’m delivering and meeting everyone’s expectations of me entering the sport?”

tears rush into her eyes. she presses the bottom of her palms into her eyes as her voice cracks, shaking her head hopelessly. “like, it’s not my fault we’re performing differently. i’m literally driving for my reputation and seat — i’m on probation with my team just as much as he is.”

max suddenly regrets poking her button. from what oscar tells him, they’re not typically the couple to have very big fights. it seems that he has misread the severity of the situation.

“oh, (y/n),” max frowns, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. he puts his hand on the back of her head, gently letting her nuzzle his face into his arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know.”

“it just gets increasingly difficult to comfort him weekend after weekend. i’m at a high, and he’s just-“

“i’m sure it’s not easy for him either,” max cooes, swaying side to side in an attempt to comfort her. “i am sure that it is not his intention to… make you ‘feel bad’ of what you’ve achieved thus far.”

“it’s just so hard,” she cries harder into his chest. “i want to be there for him, really. but it’s hard! it’s hard when my team is out celebrating after every race because of my points finish and he’s down with what’s happened with his race.”

max looks up at the sound of footsteps against the gravel, catching lando and george trying to make their way towards them.

he holds up a thumbs up to them, nodding gently enough for her not to feel it, to send them the other way. it’s bad enough she’s crying at the f1 track four days before a race with majority of the teams still in the paddocks.

he turns his head to the side, by the grandstands, catching oscar and sebastian’s stare of concern. he simply flashes them a smile and a reassuring nod. in return, he gets a firm nod from the race engineer and a thankful smile from the young driver.

from what he knows, she hasn’t told anyone about this issue. perhaps that’s why she’s stuck to him all evening?

“i don’t think we’ll get past this, max. that’s the worst part,” she sobs, pulling away to rub her eyes. she heaves as tears flow out of her eyes, lips quivering and voice cracking with every word she speaks. “how can we even? i don’t know what to do.”

max frowns. he pushes her head into his chest again, this time, resting his chin on the top of hers. he doesn’t exactly know what to say.

their situation is so unique, that even he — with as much trauma as he carries around — does not know anything he can say that would make her feel better. so, he just rubs circles on her back as he sways.

“i’m sorry this happened to you,” he sighs, readjusting to now press his cheek on the top of her head. “i really don’t know what to say. there wouldn’t be any words i can string together to make you feel better about this.”

from the distance, he can see alex walking out of the pitlane. the bright blue shirt didn’t really make him hard to spot in the first place.

alex is the least of his problems. because behind alex is logan trailing behind him quietly, completely taken a step away from the conversation alex holds with some of their team members.

“do you want to go somewhere more private? teams are coming out to scout the track, i think,” max whispers, moving his head to look at her face. “let’s go?”

“okay. it’s kinda weird i’m crying here anyway,” she manages to mutter a joke. “my sunglasses.”

max almost wants to laugh when she cries even harder, reaching out for the sunglasses he’s confiscated from her a while ago. she removes it from his shirt, then replaces it on her face.

while she had paraded about with her chin in the air all evening, now she walks with her head down. her hair is out of the braids that blythe had styled her with, now falling to her cheeks to hide her away from everyone else.

if max could have continued walking the other way to simply avoid the williams racing team, he would. but if he did that, they’d have made a complete round of the track on foot. which doesn’t seem like a good idea at all with her state.

max slings a protective arm around her shoulders, walking around her body to hold her away from the prying eyes of those that walk past them.

as they slowly approach the team in blue, alex grows mildly concerned at the weirdly silent girl. “is sh- oh, okay.” alex nods understandingly, holding a hand up to wave max for an apology. all because she’s heaving silently in her sob in max’s arm that immediately told alex to not intervene. “sorry.”

and max just knows they’d eventually find a way out of this fight they’re in. because he turns around to gauge logan’s expression: he’s stopped dead on the tracks with a lingering stare on the crying girl.

max just gives him a small smile, to which logan forces a grin before turning away to catch up with alex who calls out for him.

surely, there’s a way around this. right?

#whew #writing a long piece like this for logan and femdriver #was NOT on my todo list today #it just came to me #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial #disneyprincemuke vr

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just-a-creep-babe · 1 year

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61 for the smut thing? Can you do EJ

Ooooooh so i was sUper inspired during this one, and I’m thinking bout turning it into a multiple-part fic--would y’all be interested? 👀

Lmk if you enjoy ❣️ ✨

~Requests are closed but commissions are open!~

Join my Patreon if you’d like to support me!

Masterlist: x

61. “Just…once. Please. I just need to taste you once.”

It wasn’t a secret that the hybrid had a thing for you

But you didn’t know just how badly he wanted you

Or how often he found himself thinking of you

And how often that led to him rutting his stiff cock into his fist, desperately wishing it was you beneath him instead

You knew Jack was into you

But you didn’t know he was borderline obsessed with you

He passes you down the hall on Friday night, and your scent alone is nearly enough to drive him feral

You pause in your tracks, then call out to him

“Oh, Jack!”

God, just the way you say his name has the muscles in his abdomen tensing

He turns to you

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He tries not to cringe at how husky his voice sounds—you somehow always seem to coax a deeper pitch from him, almost as if by some kind of instinct

You smile, and god, he swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen

“Are you free right now?”

For you? Always

“I wanna get some training done,” you continue, entirely unaware of the way his heart is beating in his chest, “but I can’t find anyone else to spar with”

“I’m free,” he blurts the words out faster than intended, but only because the thought of you sparring with someone else makes his blood boil

“Great,” you smile again, and he can feel himself getting warmer, “are you ready for it right now, or do you have to change or something?”

“Now’s fine,” he hums

He gestures for you to lead the way, which you happily oblige

You make small talk as you walk down the corridor to the gym together

He could listen to you all day

He wants to hear every possible sound that can escape your delicate little throat; your laughter, your hums, your moans, your screams

Fuck, he has to distract himself

By the time you get to the training mats, he’s already partially hard

And though they won’t be fun to work out in, he’s thankful he wore his dark jeans instead of his grey sweats—he hates the thought of making you uncomfortable just because his damn pants might betray his arousal

“You really gonna fight me in that?” you laugh, and for a split second, he’s scared you can read his mind

But then he realizes you’re talking about his oversized hoodie, and relief washes over him

Wait—are you flirting with him?

Dumb grin on his face, he shakes his head and pulls the top over his head, tossing it out of the way into the corner of the room

“That better?”

He’s shirtless beneath it, and he almost can’t help but tense his muscles to give you a bit of a show

“Mmh, yeah, I guess it’ll do~” you tease

Fuck, fuck, fuck

He forces himself to think about Jeff and BEN to hopefully ease the way his pants keep tightening around him

He wants nothing more than to inhale your scent to see if there’s any change in your hormones

Does seeing him shirtless like this turn you on—even if just the slightest bit?

But he knows he’d be done for if he focuses too much on your scent

It’s already hard enough for him to control himself around you as is

You bring your hands up either side of your face, readying your stance, and he does the same

A mutual nod is shared, indicating you’re both ready, and then you’re making the first move

You step towards him and try to throw a hook

He dodges easily, then retaliates by kicking at the foot you’ve shifted your weight to

You stumble, but only for a second before using the momentum to try for another punch, this time aimed at his stomach

Again, he sidesteps it, his instincts making him unnaturally light on his feet

He wonders if he should let you get a few hits in; he’d hate to see you train with someone else just because he so obviously outmatches you

But while he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to fake out another punch, only to spin on your heels and give him a roundhouse kick

He tries to dodge it at the last second, but combined with his previous dilemma and the fact that he’s still very much so trying to conceal a boner, you hit him right in his side

He chokes out a groan, clutching the spot you landed the blow, and while you’re ahead, you take another shot, this time at his legs

He’s just as shocked as you must be when you get the hit in

He falls to his knees, and you’re about to drop your attack stance when he reaches out and grabs your ankle

His instincts take over for a split second, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you, pinning you down, and the both of you are panting heavily

Well, there go his attempts at hiding his hard-on

“Jack—“

You cut yourself off when you notice the way he’s looking down at you

The air seems to grow thick

Neither of you say anything

You both just lie there, staring at each other, sweaty body on sweaty body while you try to catch your breaths

And then, it happens

He makes the fatal mistake of breathing you in

Your scent is intoxicating

As soon as he gets a whiff, he can’t help but nestle into your neck to breathe in more of you

It’s not just your sweat—you’re turned on

You want him

His pelvis digs into yours, rolling circles between your thighs

“J-Jack—“

You gasp his name, and he almost has to stop himself from biting down into your neck right then and there

He wants to claim you, brand his mark into your skin

You’re his, you’re all his

The only thing stopping him from doing that right now is his damn fucking mask

“J-Jack, stop—“

His body freezes at the command

The word stop repeats itself in his clouded, lust-drunk mind

“W-we can’t,” you swallow thickly, “we can’t do this”

“…Why not?”

Any other time, it would’ve made him cringe to hear how much of a snarl his voice sounds like

But right now, he’s so horny, he can hardly bring himself to care

“It-it’s not—we just can’t. We’re just friends”

Friends

The word stings

He wants to spit it out, tear it in half because it’s in the way of him getting what he wants

A groan escapes him, something guttural and frustrated

You can’t lie—you want him too

He knows it, he can smell it

His cock twitches, and he notices the way it has more of your delicious scent filling the room

He buries his face into your neck again, cursing his fucking mask for blocking his lips from your skin, but knowing all too well it’s probably for the better

Breathing you in again has his hips rolling into you involuntarily

He can’t help it

He doesn’t even know if he’s really in control of himself anymore, or if it’s just the demonic instincts taking over

“Jack”

You say his name again, and oh, how he wishes it meant something different

“Just…once. Please,” he chokes the words out

He’s desperate

“I just need to taste you once”

He watches you bite your lip, brows furrowed, the need evident in your eyes

It’s pathetic, he shouldn’t be begging like this

But he’s so, so fucking desperate

He’s almost surprised when you finally make up your mind and give a shy nod

But it’s more than enough of the confirmation he needs

His hands travel down your form, trying to memorize every curve of your body beneath his touch

He’s almost salivating by the time he reaches your shorts

He looks up at you one last time, like he’s asking for permission again, and when you nod once more, biting your lip, he pulls the material all the way down

He thinks he might be in heaven when your bare cunt is revealed to him

You’re so wet you’re glistening

And your scent has his head spinning—to the point where he can’t focus on anything else

He wants to take his time, good lord, he wants to savor this, but he’s too impatient for his own good

He pushes his mask up to kiss at your thighs and hips, his sharp teeth occasionally leaving teasing nicks into your soft flesh

Your hands reach out to fist at his hair, legs spreading apart just the faintest bit more

When his tongue first makes contact with your folds, he groans deeply

He must be in heaven

He’s immediately addicted, hooked on the taste of your dripping sex

He grasps your thighs, tugs your legs over his shoulder, and firmly holds you in place

When he presses his lips to your cunt, just like that, he’s gone

He loses himself entirely to you

He sucks at your clit, lapping long strokes up your slit, and circling at your entrance

The way your body reacts to him, the way your cunt clenches every time he delves further into you, all those fucking sounds you’re making for him

He wants more

He needs more, so much fucking more

You pull his hair, whimpering his name, and he has to stop himself from grinding down into the training mat beneath him

He’s so hard, it’s almost painful

But as long as he gets to keep fucking you on his tongue, he’s over the moon

He’s so lost in you that he almost fails to notice the way your thighs start shaking around him

You’re getting close, and every nudge of his lips and tongue against your clit is making you moan even louder for him

“F-fuck, Jack— Fuck!—“

Your back arches, lifting off the ground

You look like a goddess

Even as you cum, he can’t bring himself to stop

You’re moaning and squirming, writhing in the palms of his hand, and something about it is driving him absolutely feral

He snarls, pushing his tongue deeper down your sex until he can feel you clenching around him

The string of curses falling from your parted lips is like a prayer he knows he won’t forget

He only stops when you start pulling at his hair, trying to tug him off of you

You’re shaking from the overstimulation

He, on the other hand, is throbbing in his jeans

He’s never felt so desperate

He wonders if he’s on the verge of triggering a heat

He licks at his lips, tasting your arousal off of his skin

The room is filled with your scent, and your taste is on his tongue, but if it were up to him, he’d still have more

And fuck, you’re so cute when you’re all flushed and panting after your orgasm

What he wouldn’t give to be able to see you like this all the time

He sits up, and he has to tense his muscles to prevent himself from shaking with need as you fix your shorts back on

He wants to say something, anything, but he’s at a loss for words

The word friends still hangs in the dead air between the two of you

It’s just about the only thing stopping him from folding you into a mating press and filling you with his seed

You look unsteady on your feet when you pull yourself up to stand

He looks up at you, still kneeling in front of you, and all he can picture is how good you’d look sitting on his face right now

Why must you make him so insatiable?

You make up some excuse about needing to go, looking shy and flustered and bashful all at once

He wants to say something that’ll convince you to stay, but he’s way too horny to think straight

And for the first time this evening, he’s thankful he’s still wearing his mask

It’s pushed halfway up his face, but maybe that’s just enough to conceal his expression so that you can’t tell all the depraved thoughts he’s having

He’s left there, kneeling on the training mat he just ate you out on, as he watches you leave

And he thinks fuck it, he’ll make sure that won’t be the only time he gets to do that to you

#creepypasta #eyeless Jack #eyeless Jack x reader #eyeless Jack x reader smut #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x reader smut

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teyums · 1 year

Text

Neteyam Headcanons ✽

Pet names. You’ve almost forgotten your own name at this point with how much he uses them. Calling you “mama” is definitely his favorite. You’ll be walking around your shared hammock, tidying up some things that were laying around when he’ll suddenly grab hold of your hips and pull you up and into him, your back against his chest as he whispers in your ear. “You’re so pretty, mama.”

He absolutely refuses to fall asleep first. There had been a night where he fell asleep almost instantly after returning from a hunt, not being able to cuddle with you before bed. You didn’t have the heart to wake him, leaving you restless and up until the sun rose the next morning. Safe to say when he opened his eyes to see yours with bags forming under them, he was not happy. Now every single night without fail, he’ll crawl into bed next to you and scoop you into his arms. You insist that he can go to sleep if he’s tired, knowing it’ll fall on deaf ears because he always refuses. He’ll rub slow circles into your back, brushing his fingertips up and down your spine every now and then. You fall asleep in minutes, he knows just how to relax you. Once his ears pick up on your slowed breathing, he’ll drape a light sheet over your bodies and join you.

The mighty warrior loves to cuddle, and he secretly enjoys being the little spoon from time to time. It hadn’t been intentional on your part, he turned over one night in his sleep and you followed, clinging to him for warmth. Being the oldest meant his duty was to take care of his siblings, yet no one was required to take care of him. Your arms around him, holding him instead of the other way around, made him feel safe. For once, someone was making him feel safe. Fast asleep, you didn’t realize you were in this position or that the two of you remained like this for the rest of the night until he brought it up the next day.

You and Neteyam were lounging in your hammock, an afternoon nap slowly approaching. It was rare that he got a lazy day, but today was Jake and Neytiri’s anniversary meaning the eldest Sully got the day off.

You laid with your ear pressed to his chest, listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart beat. He was awfully fidgety which was unusual, readjusting himself a few times as if he were having trouble getting comfortable.

You lifted your head and peered up at him curiously. “Are you alright, Neteyam?”

He cleared his throat and nodded, his fingers idly drumming against your thigh. “Yes, yes. I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“No reason,” You shrugged a bit and shook your head, taking note of his slightly nervous demeanor. “Just seems like you can’t get settled, is all.”

He paused, and for a second so did his breathing. “Yes, well- I was wondering if you could…. do that, thing you did last night?” Putting his thoughts into words proved difficult for him.

“Hm? What thing?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowed to match your puzzled expression.

“Um,” His cheeks flushed a faint pink, his hand coming up to scratch his head. He seemed… shy. “I had turned over in my sleep, and you held me. Like how I do with you, but the other way around. And I really liked it.” He mumbled.

A smile painted your lips once you realized what he was trying to explain, quickly nodding in agreement as the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel embarrassed for expressing something he wanted. And if you were being honest, you found his bashful behavior more than adorable. “Of course, my love. You make a very cute little spoon, anyway.”

Even though the two of you are already mated, he still likes to bring you courting gifts. When asked why, he simply says that having you as his own does not mean the effort he used to win you over should stop.

“Do you like it?” Neteyam questioned, his voice soft as he presented a beautifully woven, beaded choker in the palm of his hands.

You quietly gasped, bringing your fingers to your lips while you stared down at the gorgeous gift he held. “I love it, Nete.” You dropped your head to the side, bottom lip poking out into a pout as you tried to fathom how you got so lucky with him. “You’re too sweet to me.” A brief kiss was set onto his lips before you pulled away to look at him lovingly.

“You deserve everything and more, my love.” He grinned. “Let me put it on for you.”

a/n: the way this was in my drafts for so long and i’m just now posting it lol

#neteyam sully #avatar 2 #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar way of water #neteyam x you #neteyam fic #neteyam headcanons #neteyam fluff #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam avatar #avatar twow #neteyam x female reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Note

Hello and congrats on 5K!!!!!

I was unsure if I should send in my goofy idea haha but here goes! I was just imagining, the mc and the 141 having to do a mission super early in the morning. So the mc puts on some earbuds and just listens to the most grating or strange music to help wake themselves up. I imagined this with Soap or Gaz but whoever is fine ^^

Thank you and again, congrats on 5K!!!

—How Do You Listen To That?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞

It was three a.m. and already you were in full gear, bag slung over your shoulder as the C17 sat on the tarmac. Soldiers walked about, men and women loading up the plane with all manner of items your Task Force might need. You don’t mean to be rude when you walk past without more than a grunt in greeting, it’s just that you can barely keep your eyes open.

The debrief had been quick, nothing more than a few words by Price said when everyone had been called in from their barracks not fifteen minutes earlier. Off to another base somewhere in Egypt, you yawn into your elbow and try not to think about how hard it’ll be to stay awake on the fly over there. You needed to be boots on the ground right off the bat, so no time to rub at your eyes before you landed.

Your feet thump up the ramp and you drop your bag next to Gaz, who pulls his headphones out of his ears to rest around his neck. He sends you a glance, lips pulling in a tiny smile.

“Still with me, Love?” You send a blurry glare his way, tossing yourself down beside him into one of the uncomfortable chairs connected to the wall.

“Remind me,” your voice grumbles as Kyle’s hand grabs the seatbelt from your side, pulling it over you and clicking you in. “Why did I join up?”

“Well,” Garrick teases, “to see my face every day, Ma’am. Can’t think of a better reason.”

“You’re lucky you’re smart, Sergeant.” Pulling the strap to cinch the seatbelt to your abdomen, you shuffle into a more comfortable position and go to rest your head on Gaz’s shoulder.

“Is it mine or yours, then?” The man asks you, and your lips pull in thought. An arm extends around your shoulders, jostling you closer to a hard chest as you hum in approval.

“Mine—you choose the songs to Latvia.” A phone is casually moved to your hand and you take it with a muttered ‘thank you.’

Gaz sighs, leaning his head back and putting one of the headphones into his ear—you take the other and do the same, smile pulling at your lips. Your face still burns with fatigue; eyes fluttering against the lights as Johnny, Ghost, and finally your Captain all make their way to their own seats.

With every Op, there was a routine.

Johnny would fiddle with all kinds of hand-held puzzles he kept in his pack or write in his journal, Simon would read, and Price would go over reports or type up mission details—the upcoming intel that you’d all need to know before the real nitty-gritty started.

Gaz and you would listen to music.

It was sweet, you thought. A semblance of balance and stability before the ball dropped. Being close to him always felt like that.

Absent-mindedly, you scroll through song after song as Kyle rests his eyes, itching at the back of his neck as he holds you. Finding a song that’s sure to wake you up, not even knowing the band, you can tell just by the album cover exactly what it’s going to sound like.

Screaming, throaty wails; maybe even garbled voices that yell at a frequency so high it’ll make your ears bleed. You smirk.

Perfect.

Gaz’s relaxed demeanor is accented by a tiny smile, muscles lax and his face loose as the ramp of the C17 begins to fold in on itself before take-off. He holds you in the crook of his arm, feeling your sleepy heat and the way your face nuzzles his upper pec—you always alluded to a feeling of relaxation on days like these; when time was of the essence. In the few hours of having you against him, Kyle can finally let his mind rest—

“Bloody fucking hell!” The man calls as the grating sound of vocal bellowing strikes his ears. Gaz’s body jerks forward, snapping the headphones away from him as the rest of the men immediately look over to the scene of a horrified Sergeant and a giggling woman under his arm.

You laugh loudly, phone close to your chest and face burying itself into the panicked man’s neck.

Gaz blinks quickly, staring down at you with parted lips as the rest of the Task Force share a knowing look.

“Now,” he asks through a breathless exaggeration, “what did I do to deserve that?”

“I…I’m sorry,” you giggle out, giving him a firm side hug.

“Christ,” Kyle sighs, fake glaring down as a smile comes out over his face. “You’re trouble, Love, y’know that? Who can listen to that this early?”

You smirk in his face, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile. “It’s going to wake us up, Garrick.”

“Fuck, if that’s how you’re going to do it, I’d rather bash my damn head into a wall. Jesus.” You roll your eyes and give in, chuckling.

“Alright, Alright—no songs that involve people screaming directly into your precious little ears, Kyle.” The man knocks his head on top of yours, a smile hidden in your hair as the voice of the pilot wafts over the cockpit.

“...Thank Christ. ‘Bout pissed myself.”

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delfiore · 11 months

Text

—A SUMMER’S TALE.

pairing: vada cavell x reader

synopsis: the summer before college, vada joins mia's family on vacation in france and falls in love with the scenery, and a charismatic lifeguard.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: talk of the shooting

a/n: it's summer so you know my cmbyn flare ups are happening. i’ve been writing this for a few weeks now and i’m super pumped it’s done. pls let me now what you like, what you don’t like about this! i’d really appreciate some feedback!! and i’m sorry if i can’t reply to you if you comment on this as this acc is a secondary blog

The villa had one feature that stood out in particular—a hallway that ran through the base of the house, connecting the kitchen to the open grass area in the back. Even the tiniest gust of wind could collect into a large breeze to combat the sticky heat of the day.

Vada closed her eyes and lifted her arms by her side as she felt the breeze glide through her. She could smell an earthy, hay-like smell of flowers that had been bathing in sunlight wafting in from the garden behind the villa. It didn’t take much to notice; summer in southern France was in full swing.

I could live here, she thought. Four weeks of this? Away from the repetitive scenery of the American suburbs, away from expectations. Only a few minutes since she’s gotten off the car and seen the yellow walls and red bricks of the Mediterranean villa, and she’s been buzzing ever since. She’s never actually left the country before, and the long flight over was jarring, to say the least. But the beauty of what she saw as soon as she landed made up for it.

Mia had instructed her to come along upstairs to put her things away; Vada would be occupying the guest room next to hers. She swore her friendship with Mia Reed started because they both went through a traumatic thing together, but it was moments like these when she was grateful for the perks.

“I could use a nap,” Mia said, rubbing her face.

It was nearly nine in the morning when the girls finished unpacking. Mia’s parents had given them the morning to get settled and get used to the jet lag.

“I’m not too tired,” Vada said, “maybe I’ll go into town for the morning.”

“You sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. It’s about time I put my four years of high school French to the test.”

The road into town winded downhill, and she was grateful she used one of the bikes the Reeds had available at their villa, as she would have dreaded the trek back up, had she gone on foot. She mapped out exactly the way into the town square and was determined to check everything out before returning for lunch. Thank god for Google Maps.

She had also bought a paper map of the town in a nearby kiosk and, after nearly two hours of exploring, mapped out a general layout of notable places in town. There was a fountain in the middle of the square in front of a church that Vada would use as a reference for everything; from the Fountain facing the church going left would be the town hall and that little kiosk, going right would be the local post office and the way back to the villa, opposite the church facing ahead lead down a slanted cobblestone alley full of restaurants and gift shops, as well as the way to the beach.

It must have been in the high 80s (30s Celsius) that day, so Vada decided to reward herself with some ice cream in the town square before she headed back. It was so hot that when sitting on a bench in the shades, she still had to try and keep the ice cream from melting all over her lap.

“Lillian’s ice cream is nice, but it melts quickly. You should try Karim’s down the street.”

Vada looked up at the voice in surprise, as it was English that was being spoken to her.

“Oh, totally!” She replied quickly. “How did you know I speak English?”

“I haven’t seen you around here.”

“But I could have also known French, right?”

“Touché, but I also recognize a compatriot when I see one.”

You wore an oversized white button-up that barely skirted past your black shorts, and your flip-flops indicated that you might have had a better idea of what the weather was going to be like as opposed to her in her high-neck basketball shoes. Peaking out from between the hem of your shirt was a necklace in the shape of a hummingbird, dangling and reflected in the sun.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe a little." You grinned and shook your head from side to side. "Only tourists go to Lillian for ice cream.”

“So you’re not one, I assume.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no. My family has been coming here every summer ever since I was eight. These people are probably sick of me by now.” You chuckled.

This is your time, Vada, be smooth. “Lucky for you, you’ll have someone new to entertain.” She grinned and pointed at herself.

. . . Adequate.

The melodic laugh that escaped you gave her a new-found confidence, and she decided that it was to be her new favorite sound.

“Alright, since you seem to know the area so well,” Vada said. “What’s fun to do around here?”

Conversation flowed so easily between the two of you, she had almost forgotten that she only met you 15 minutes ago. Granted, you were also easy on the eye, and Vada would always remember the way the water from the fountain reflected in waves across your skin.

At one point she had started talking about the time her family got stranded in the middle of nowhere on a road trip to Phoenix. Vada felt like she was talking too much, but the way you laughed along with her story made her feel like it wasn’t for naught.

The bell tower of the church rang throughout the square. Vada widened her eyes and checked her phone, it was noon.

"Shit, I have to get back. My host family's gonna wonder where I am." She stood up quickly and collected her bike. The height of the seat and her haste caused her to stumble, and she would have fallen if not for you grabbing her by the arm and holding her up.

"Oh, okay. I’m sure there’s a story about a daytime Cinderella somewhere.”

She looked up and you were smirking. "Vada," she said. Maybe she shouldn’t have told you, Cinderella was fine, you didn’t know each other.

She could barely make out your attempt at her name on your lips before you nodded.

“Y/N.” You held your hand out for her to take. There was that touch that changed the course of her summer, the one touch that set into motion a journey toward a certain feeling that Vada had never felt before.

"Bye, Y/N!" She called behind her before rounding the corner, past the post office, and back to the Reed villa.

Mia had been waiting by the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Vada cycling uphill.

"Where the hell have you been? We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"Wait, could you get kidnapped here?" Vada’s face dropped at the thought, even though she was positively out of breath.

"You could get kidnapped anywhere, V."

"Well, I got lost." She hopped off her bike and set it by the entrance. "My phone died so I couldn't use Maps."

Her friend rolled her eyes and led her inside where a hearty lunch awaited. It was mid-June and apricots were in season for dessert.

It wasn't until late afternoon the next day that Vada regained the energy to go outside again. The jet lag had finally caught on, and she spent the morning asleep until noon. Mia had suggested going to the beach, which was great because she could see how things were, and either get into the water or take another nap.

Mia—being Mia—wore her bathing suit and a thin cardigan as her attire, while Vada decided on wearing an oversized tee and shorts over her bathing suit.

"Don't freak out. I've invited some friends. Just kids from the area," said Mia, once they arrived at the beach.

Vada stayed back, as Mia was greeted by several people similar in age to her, speaking in French at a pace her high school education couldn’t help her understand.

“This is Vada, she’s a friend from home.”

A curly-headed boy stood up from his lounge chair and sauntered over to give Mia a kiss on each cheek, then looked over to Vada and did the same. “Corentin, but please call me Coco,” he said and took both their bags. Vada didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Mia’s form a bit longer than normal.

“Come, Vada! Mia, where have you been hiding this one? I’m Marlène. This is Sasha.” The brunette pulled her by the hand and gestured to the boy sitting next to her. He was slender with blonde hair part in the middle. “We’re about to go into the water if you want to join.”

“Where’s Noémie?” asked Mia.

“Déjà à l’eau. No doubt to show off to the lifeguard.” Sasha snickered, nodding his head towards the water. He took another drag from his cigarette and rested his arm back against Marlène’s chair.

“Speaking of the lifeguard . . .” Vada followed Marlène’s gaze towards . . . you.

Her mouth hung open as she watched you, in red shorts and a white T-shirt, a whistle hanging from your neck. You pulled your sunglasses up to your head and gave Mia la bise.

Of course, she thought. She had hoped to see you again, but only when there was no one else around, and that you’d catch her by surprise when she was alone once more. She’d only met you, but she wished that she could have you all alone, not like a secret, but like a prized possession.

“And just how many people have died while you’re on watch?” Mia teased.

“Zero, but very soon,” you pointed at her, “one.”

When you turned to Vada, her breath hitched. “Hi,” you greeted with that warm smile again. Even in your work attire, she spotted that necklace next to your whistle.

“Y/N, this is—”

“Vada, the daytime Cinderella. We met yesterday in the square.” You replied. “Did I forget to mention I work here?”

Vada was grinning like an idiot, her cheeks tinted pink at the nickname. “Yup, you did.”

“Y/N!” Over jogged a gorgeous girl, even Vada had to admit. Her black bathing suit hugged her curves perfectly, and though her hair was completely wet, the water droplets clinging to her olive skin made her glow. “T'as prévu aller en boîte ce week-end, ou bien? J'ai chopé l'info qu'y a un nouveau DJ en ville, et il envoie du pâté!”

She was clinging onto your arm, and speaking way too fast for Vada to understand, but she picked up on some keywords: ce week-end, and nouveau DJ.

When she finally noticed Vada there, her excitement subsided, but she walked over anyway to greet her, like an afterthought. “Salut. I’m Noémie.”

“Hi. Vada.”

Just as quickly as you arrived, Noémie had led you away, talking your ear off about something that Vada didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop on. Her eyes followed your form, picking up on the way you kept your arms by your side even when Noémie was practically hanging off of you. In a sporadic moment, Vada thought she saw you looking back over her shoulder at the friend group, and maybe toward her.

“Your phone died, huh?” Mia poked her elbow into her side with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Vada murmured. “What’s the deal with them anyway?”

“They were together last summer,” Sasha replied, then turned to the others. “Plan cul, how do you say?”

“A fling, but Noémie seems more attached than Y/N ever did,” said Coco.

“No doubt Y/N has already found a new paramour for the summer,” Marlène commented.

“It’s summertime. Anything’s possible.”

As much as she hated it, you plagued her mind, much more than she cared to admit. She didn’t want to think about what your initial conversation meant to you (if it did at all), or what the lack of words in your second meeting meant. She didn’t want to think about Noémie either, how she seemed so confident to get your attention, and an up-and-down look from her made Vada want to crawl into a hole.

She remembered the handshake. The speed at which she rode away wasn’t entirely to get home in time before Mia’s parents called the police, but to get away from the butterflies that burst in her stomach that moment her hand firmly shook yours. She’d seen how you greeted your friends, but to her, she offered a handshake. Though the gesture itself was completely platonic and can be passed off as a farewell between two strangers, she felt a sense of exclusivity, that American camaraderie you shared with her in a foreign land. Common courtesy as a mode of intimacy. Revisiting it now, Vada recognized it as a sign of attraction and an apprehension to the speed at which it enveloped her.

She would see you around town in your work uniform after your shift, sometimes you’d be talking to people, sometimes you were the buyer yourself. No matter the person though—from the tourists asking for directions to the old owner of the bookstore by the fountain, they always loved you and talked to you like you were their best friend. She’d see you from afar, wanting to talk to you, but then get anxious the moment you spotted her a give her a friendly wave.

Then there were times when you would come by the Reed villa. Philip and Andre always received you like you were an esteemed guest, gifting you fruits from the trees in the backyard. She loved to see how you acted around different people, and to the Reeds who had known you for years, you were awful shy.

“Invite your parents over. We should all have dinner sometime!”

“Oh, my parents aren’t here this summer. My dad’s busy with a conference in Singapore, but they’ll drop by at the end of July.”

Even the times you were invited to stay for supper, it was clear you knew how to hold a conversation over the dinner table. She wondered if you were studying to be a politician because you seemed to charm everyone and had the best manners. Mia would not-so-subtly yield the spot next to you for Vada, and secretly, she was glad to be sitting next to you.

For the first time in her life, she felt a force holding her back, preventing her from reaching out. Maybe it was because she had only known you for a couple of weeks but felt like you’d always been there, like a puzzle finally piecing together.

And every time, right before you left, after you had said goodbye to the Reeds, you’d find her somehow. “Bye,” would be all you said with an adoring smile, but Vada would be thinking about it until the next day.

She and Mia met up with the group again one night, this time at a nearby open-air disco. When she arrived, she could spot Sasha and Marlène already twirling each other around on the dance floor, she was laughing as he spun her around, cigarette between his lips. She felt a pang of envy, imagining that it was your arms around her waist instead as you spun her around without a care in the world, in front of everyone. Let them see. Let them see that you’re mine and I’m yours. If she were being honest, she only agreed to come just so she could see you again. She found you sitting at a table with Coco and Noémie, chatting away.

“Hi.” Her attention was focused on you. She couldn’t be more sober, and she wished she had taken a few puffs before coming.

As if having read her mind, Coco pulled out a couple of joints, lighting one and taking a puff himself before passing it to Noémie.

“You partake?” You shouted over the loud music.

“Oh, she partakes.” Mia nodded enthusiastically. “The first time she did weed she smoked most of my joint. Then proceeded to blabber on nonstop for two hours.”

You let out a laugh. “I like this one!”

She hated, despised even, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be near you, to impress you, to feel special in your eyes as you were in hers. It was human nature; everyone liked feeling special, but somehow getting validation from you would make her ten times happier. She sat two seats away from you—next to Mia and Noémie—and once in a while, she would try and dart her eyes over to look at you ever so subtly. On a couple of occasions, her heart would jump when she noticed you were already looking back.

A few minutes later, Vada started to feel the effect of the weed, and Mia must have too because she pulled her toward the dance floor. Looking back, she saw you talking to Noémie. You didn’t look too happy and neither did she, having her arms crossed in front of her chest. Then, she walked outside and you followed her impatiently. When you returned, a polite smile was on your face when you noticed her looking for you.

“Are you okay?” She shouted, the weed had made her feel bold.

“Yeah! Everything’s fine.” You shouted back.

It might have been the weed or it was something that’s already been there, but Vada couldn’t take her eyes off of you. She took you by the hand, and there was that same spark of electricity again. You let her guide you, your hands never leaving hers as you moved with her.

It was about a quarter to midnight when everyone decided to split because frankly, everyone was too tired to continue. Vada said goodbye to Sasha and Marlène, the latter of whom gave her a big hug and repeatedly expressed her delight that Vada had decided to join them. Coco, already sober, offered to drive Mia home, but his ride was a scooter.

“Sorry, les gars,” Coco smiled sheepishly and asked Mia if she was ready, to which the girl only nodded.

“I’ll walk you home.” You said quietly, surprisingly timid. “Promise me you won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

She huffed through her nose and gave you a shove, but she was grinning. It was just the two of you now. Her pride was on the line, and so was her heart.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice cut through the stillness of the night. Before that, the only sounds were that of your shoes brushing against the ground and the soft sighs of the ocean.

“Is everything okay with Noémie?”

You averted your eyes, your hand coming up to play with the hummingbird on your neck.

Maybe she shouldn’t have. “Shit, did I overstep?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just Noë being Noë, she was out of line.” Your walls were up. “We were always close, she was the first friend I made here. And last summer we slept together.”

“Oh.” Her steps faltered.

“I stopped it before it could progress into anything beyond that, though. I’m just not ready.”

Vada nodded slowly. Loud and clear. Maybe that was the signal she needed, the insecure part of her thought it was that, but when she was with you, all she wanted to do was listen to the other part.

“I slept with Mia once, sophomore year.”

You looked over at her, seemingly surprised. “Mia? Huh. Never would have thought.”

“It was just that, though.” She flashed you a smile.

Vada felt that surge of closeness between you, your arm swinging beside her as you walked. The obsession with finding anything to relate to you prompted her to say it, like Hey, I’m like you, I know how you feel. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to tell you, she might have screwed up.

You mirrored her smile, but something about it told her that your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Tell me what you’re thinking, Y/N. She wanted to get inside your head and know everything you were thinking, to go all the way with that closeness. Even as friends, one has to start from somewhere.

It was radio silence from you for the next few days. Vada came up with all the excuses as to what it could have been, and when she grew tired and angry at herself for thinking so much about you, she tried to distract herself by doing other things. She helped Philip collect figs from the trees in the backyard; she looked up the fortress nearby you told her about the day you met and biked all the way over there, even though it was a half an hour's ride each way; she finally took out the book she packed with her and began reading it whilst sunbathing. It was starting to feel like a summer that she should be enjoying.

Her mom called and was happy to hear that her daughter was going outside and doing fun things. “The people are nice,” Vada would say, “I met some of Mia’s friends.” And in true Mom fashion, her mom would quickly squeeze in a “Don’t do drugs and use protection” to which she ended the call and almost threw her phone across the room.

She would also call Nick every other day. I met someone, she said one day after having finally gathered the courage to vocalize her crush. Girl, I know. Mia had told him. When? Literally the second day. She said you were so obvious.

It was as if the weather knew too. It started raining all day when she decided to go to the beach one day, souring her mood entirely. She would sit by the entrance in the backyard watching the rain, and sure enough, she was thinking about what you were doing on the opposite end of town.

“It’s unlike you to be so hung up on someone,” Mia told her when they were hanging out in Mia’s room.

“I’m not hung up on someone,” her words trailed at the end, mindlessly flipping through the magazine in front of her.

“So am I just crazy for thinking that you want to pounce on Y/N every three seconds?”

“Okay, but what about you and Coco? He follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy.”

“Coco’s just shy,” her friend blushed. “And stop changing the subject.”

“There’s nothing between us, at least not yet.”

“So you do want something to happen.”

“Shut up! Mia!” She hid her face behind her hands and writhed on Mia’s bed in embarrassment. “I’m not talking to you about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” Mia held her hands up as her laughter subsided.

“Look, I just want to—” Vada took a moment. “I want to test the waters, okay? Y/N is special, and I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Mia nodded, understanding. “I just don’t want you to be misled. I mean, you’ve seen how it was with Noémie.”

“I know.” Vada smiled softly. “I know what I’m getting into. Zero expectations.”

She wanted to believe what she told Mia too, but then when she saw texts from you the next day, there was no hiding that a connection was what she so tirelessly wanted, and needed.

hey it’s y/n Sent 3:23pm

mia gave me your number, i hope you don’t mind Sent 3:23pm

call me when you see this? Sent 3:24pm

Damn you, Mia, but also, thank you.

She didn’t work up enough courage to call you until later that night. Of course, it could have been something dire, but then you would have called her first, right? I am such a wimp.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she rubbed her hands against her shorts. “it’s Vada. You wanted me to call you?”

“Yeah. I was gonna just text you, but I don’t know . . .” You hesitated for a moment. “Anyway, you ever been to Antibes?”

“No, why?”

“Well, I’m going there on Friday for my apprenticeship, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I’m just giving some manuscripts to my mentor, and then leaving them with him for a few hours to review, so we can make a fun day out of it. It’s a one-hour drive, so I don’t plan on staying overnight.”

“Friday you said?” Vada took a deep breath to still her racing heart. “I don’t think I got anything better to do that day.”

“Great!” You said. “I’ll pick you up at 9am?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Cool, see you then!”

There was something frightening about when things go exactly how you wanted them. It was inch-perfect, the puzzle pieces just slotted in place as if they were always fated to be. You were the first to reach out; she thought it would be easier that way, she’d just have to take your hand and come along. But there was a certain apprehension that Vada had as if she was walking straight into the lion’s den like a deer blinded by hunger. What if she loses her heart? She was aware of the dangers of heartbreak, of course—she was no fool—but the thought of giving her heart to you, then watching you walk away with it like an unwanted gift was too devastating.

Mia was practically bouncing off the walls when Vada told her about the phone call, saying that in all seven years of knowing you, she had never been special enough to receive a call. She didn’t exactly say the latter part, but she all but implied it.

On Friday morning, Vada woke up earlier than usual, made herself some breakfast, and was already waiting at the door with a backpack by 8:45. No later than 9:05, you arrived with a Volkswagen Golf, sunglasses on, and a bright smile.

“Music?” You offered, turning on Bluetooth. “Also, if you need a pee break, please tell me. Bladders can be untimely.”

“Noted,” Vada giggled.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from the music you let her pick and the fun facts you enlightened her with about some of the landmarks you drive past.

“That one I believe was built in the later 1600s and owned by a minor Provence viscount. It was also in a strategic location for the military until it was abandoned after the French Revolution. Also, the viscount built the castle for his second wife, but she died shortly after giving birth to their child.”

“That’s a little sad,” said Vada.

“She was also 14 when she died and he was in his 50s.”

Vada grimaced. “Maybe death was a sweet relief.”

“Yeah. It was more common back in the day than you think.”

“How do you know all this?” She brought her legs up against her chest.

“I like history. I like to learn about the areas I’m in, and in the time that I’ve been here, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to learn.”

She watched your side profile for a moment. “You mentioned some manuscripts. What is it for?”

“Is this an interview now?” You laughed and glanced over at her, and she looked down with a blush. “It’s for my bachelor’s thesis. Technically I don’t start writing until next year, but I like to practice whenever I can. This one that I’m giving to my mentor is a collection of essays.”

“Can I read them?” You looked over for a moment, then reached behind you to grab a file of paper and handed it to her.

Vada settled back and opened the first pages, and read in silence. She could feel you spare short glances at her from time to time, nervously watching for her reaction, but she was so engrossed in your writing it almost didn’t matter that you were sitting next to her. This might have been what it feels like to peer into someone’s soul, to see the traces of fresh blood as they lay their heart onto paper.

It was a beautiful sunny day, the waters shone a deep turquoise, and the French Riviera looked glorious as ever. And yet, she could only get lost in your words.

“This is beautiful,” Vada breathed, setting the papers down on her lap. “You’re amazing.”

You looked ahead at the road, eyes covered by shades, but your large grin was unmissable.

You parked the car on the side of the street in front of several apartment buildings. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” Vada only nodded and watched you cross the street with the manuscripts in your hand. She liked how it felt between you two, and she would gladly accompany you on every trip until you were sick of her.

Mere minutes later, you returned. “I hope you’re ready for the best adventure of your life.”

Only, she knew it would be.

You first led her to the market in the vieille ville, where you bought some fruits and snacks for the way. Vada also got to witness firsthand your bargaining skills, asking for a price and then pretending to walk away until the vendor becomes desperate enough to settle. “I used to be really bad at this, but then I watched my mom do it, and now I kind of just do. These vendors hike up their prices for tourists like crazy.” You walked away proudly with a bag of food.

As the both of you walked through the picturesque alleys and streets, you proceeded to tell her more about the city and its history. She listened carefully, hanging onto every word that left your lips. You told her about how Antibes was first named Antipolis and part of Ancient Greece before it was built by the Romans in the time of Julius Caesar; how in the Middle Ages the city fell under the fiefdom of the Grimaldi family, the main branch of which is now royalty of Monaco.

“Sorry, you gotta stop me before I go on a tangent,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’ve been talking for ages.”

“No, I like it.” She said quickly. “I like listening to you talk. It’s no surprise many artists were so taken with this place.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Hemingway, Picasso, and Monet all had a fascination with this city.” She had to look that up, but you didn’t need to know that.

“That’s right,” you nodded. “In fact, I’ll show you the spot where Monet painted one of his paintings later.”

After lunch, you both walked along the city walls that looked out to the beach.

“I’m just saying, Ratatouille piqued a lot of interest in the dish, and it wasn’t a coincidence. I mean, I’ve never tried it but I’d love to, just because it looked so good in the movie.” Vada said.

“You’ve never had ratatouille?!” You exclaimed loudly making Vada laugh. “Man, it’s a staple here in southern France! I’ll have to make you some because that is just criminal.”

“Okay, Chef Remy. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Actually, I’ll make a whole batch for you and the Reeds too. They always give me fruits from their backyard,” you said. “How did you meet Mia anyway?”

At the question, Vada’s smile collapsed into a frown. “Um . . .” You watched her, a confused look on your face. “I’ve always known who she was. I mean, it’s Mia, you know? But one day we met officially in the bathroom at school.”

“Oh,” you voiced. You must be confused as to why that was so hard to squeeze out, but the latter part, the part she kept hidden, she had been trying to squeeze out for two years.

“We were in the bathroom while there was a shooting going on.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you only ended up watching her. Then, a moment later, “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, it’s fine.” Vada shook her head. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.” Your eyes softened and you looked like you had kicked a puppy.

“I know,” she said, taking a breath.

“I see it on the news all the time, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to be there,” you said quietly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Vada hated having to talk about it. If she could have it her way, she would bury it deep down so it never sees the light of day again. Still, she has to talk about it to her friends, her family, her therapist sometimes. She hated talking about it because she’d have to see the way people’s faces contort uncomfortably as they scramble to find consoling words to say. They don’t make her feel any better, and she never liked people seeing that broken side of her reflected back at them.

But when she looked at you right now, there wasn’t a trace of ego in the way that you look back at her. Deep down, she had always wanted to lay it on you, to give you a piece of her, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Because she wanted you to see it.

Vada found your hand by your side, soft and comforting. She kept her eyes on them; her hand and your hand, intertwined together. You embraced it and rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb before kissing it. A kiss of friendship, a kiss of love, a kiss of two young people in a city far from home together who had only just met. A kiss that said I see you, I hear you, you’ve got me around your corner.

“You wanna go grab some dinner?” She asked.

Dinner turned into even more talk. Towards late afternoon, you said you wanted to catch the sunset before going to the spot you claimed Monet painted the city. It was a quick drive, but you pumped your fists in the air when you got out of the car and were happy with how the sun rolled over the city just right.

“Come on, you’re gonna miss it!” You jogged towards the edge of the water, beaming like a little kid. It had become natural between the two of you to share skin-ship.

Behind the trees, there it was. Across the blue water, Antibes basked in the last few rays of sunlight in stoic tranquility, just as Monet had seen it. Perhaps she was in one of Monet’s paintings, frozen in time, stuck with you.

She found your hand again, your left this time, and once again your gaze followed, but this time, you trailed your gaze to her eyes. God help me, she thought.

There were so many things Vada wanted to blurt out, and she was close to it. Holding back was never her strong suit, but once she got a good look at the depth of your eyes, she felt that they were better appreciated in silence. Words don’t do anything but snitch on you anyway.

She didn’t need to, because the moment she turned to look at you, she felt you grab her face gently and lay the softest kiss on her lips.

The sun continued to glare, yet Antibes stared on.

Did Monet ever paint lovers?

Liar.

Vada felt like she’d make a mistake for giving in to it. She saw her younger self in the square that day, by the fountain, eating ice cream. She saw you talking to her, and she wanted to scream and tell herself to stop, to save herself the heartache. No one else was to blame, not even you, only her.

Antibes was a week ago, and she hasn’t really spoken to you ever since. She replayed the kiss over and over in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly the moment when you decided that keeping your distance would be the best course of action.

But then she remembered the way you acted alone with her was much different than how you were with the others around. She saw the way your eyes linger on her when you thought she was admiring the sea. She noticed the way you smiled bashfully when she brought up how good your essays were in front of your mentor. She remembered how you never let go of her hand when she grabbed it while you watched the sunset.

Marlène and Sasha had been a big help in getting her out of her slump. Mia was there to cuddle with her the first couple of nights after Vada told her everything, but rendezvous with Coco had kept her busy. But Marlène and Sasha were cool, and probably one of the healthiest couples she’s ever seen at the age of 20. She felt like their adoptive child hanging out with them, especially when Sasha would greet her by endearingly calling her Petit Vada.

“And have you talked to her?” Marlène asked, leaning over the lounge chair. She and Vada had been sunbathing and swimming at the Reed villa that afternoon.

“No.” Vada sighed. “It’s just—I just don’t get it! Why does she have to be so mysterious all the time? Like one moment we would be fine, and the next she’s somewhere else, someone else entirely.”

“That’s Y/N,” Marlène chuckled and took a sip from her margarita. “You know, when I and Sash first got together, he wasn’t as talkative as he is now. In fact, I was the one to ask him out. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and tell them.”

“That’s so easy to say,” Vada muttered, and put her face in her hands.

“That’s the kind of attitude you should save for when you go back to your other life, your American life. Are you going to university this fall? Summer’s halfway over, you know? Are you going to mull over it and let it pass by you?”

“Yes.” Vada’s voice was muffled through her hands.

“Carpe diem, mon chère.” Marlène shrugged. “It’s cheesy but it’s true.”

Andre being the ever BBQ dad that he was, decided to host a get-together with some friends that night, and encouraged Mia to invite hers. Everyone that Vada met at the beach showed up, including Noémie, except for you.

“She said she was busy,” Noémie waved it off. Vada pursed her lips. The fact that you talked to Noémie first stirred uneasy envy in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t have the stomach to sit outside and spoil everyone’s fun with her sour face (most of all she didn’t want to give Noémie that satisfaction), so she made a plate for herself and ate in the living room.

“Hey, kiddo,” she looked up and saw Philip walk past her toward the kitchen. “Not feeling the party?”

Vada made a face to indicate a yes, but she didn’t want to explain further. “Just not really in the mood, sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can’t stop Andre from barbecuing when he has the urge or he’d literally combust.”

She nodded and smiled. “We don’t want that.”

“We’re serving fruits now. Want me to get you some?” He pointed at her empty plate.

“Yes, please. Thanks.” She hesitated for a beat. “Hey, Philip?”

The man turned around.

“How did you know that you wanted to marry Andre?”

Philip contemplated for a second, then walked over to the couch where she sat, leaning against it. “I didn’t wake up one day and choose to propose to him, Vada. It’s just one of those things when you start to notice that gnawing feeling in your chest. And you’d have to ask yourself, ‘Would I be fine going the rest of my life without them?’”

Vada nodded slowly and smiled as the man went back to the kitchen. She opened her phone and went to your messages. The last text from you was from a week ago. She began typing.

can we talk? Sent 8:47pm

A mere five minutes later, you responded.

of course Sent 8:47pm

meet me at the fountain at 10? Sent 8:48pm

see u there Sent 8:48pm

Vada found you walking back and forth by the Fountain, one hand in deep your pants pocket, the other holding a cigarette between your thumb and index, and puffing it as if it would give you a lifeline. She got off her bike and set it by the railing of the Fountain where you stood.

“You smoke?”

“Not usually,” you attempted to smile, shaking your arms as if to shake off an invisible burden. You were anxious, it was clear.

Vada didn’t know what to say next, so she leaned against the railing of the Fountain, rolling a pebble back and forth underneath her shoe.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you earlier. I was busy.”

She nodded half-heartedly, not looking up. She wished you’d come up with a better excuse than that.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Angry’s a strong word, Y/N.”

Another puff. “Are you discontent with me?”

She should have prepared herself for the nit-picky bullshit from a writer. “I don’t have a valid reason to be upset with you, not really. Unless I’ve been reading this wrong.”

“You haven’t.” You answered quickly and met her eyes. “I promise. It wasn’t very mature of me. In fact, I think I acted like a total idiot. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you regret kissing me?”

“No, not at all. And you have to believe me.” You sighed exasperatedly, and she almost felt bad because you looked so anxious.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Vada stepped towards you, facing you head-on. “You’re asking me whether I’m upset with you, but I don’t even know what you’re thinking most of the time. And then you disappear as though I did something wrong! How fair is that?”

You nodded and took another drag from your cigarette. Then, you dropped the butt on the floor and stomped on it. “I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Vada scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

You stood up from your spot against the railing, your face now inches from hers. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

She felt the exact moment her body became as light as a feather as your lips pressed against hers. Her hands clenched by her side, and come up to hold onto your shoulders, because she was afraid her legs might give out under her. You angled your face and deepened the kiss, and Vada sighed into your mouth. This is what the poets all wrote about, the inevitability of giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long. She’s caged in you in between her body and the Fountain, kissing you and touching you as though her life depended on it.

You moved to lower your kisses to her neck, but she leaned back and saw a dark look in your eyes.

The sound of a street musician playing the saxophone in the distance somewhere echoed through the square. Wordlessly, Vada took your hand.

She followed you by bike towards your house, which was towards the end of the street closer to the beach. You returned to speaking only one or two words to her, telling her to put her bike by the door next to yours, to take her shoes off before coming in, and whether she wanted some water.

“Nice place.” It was another thing that she never thought to ask you about, nor did you tell her. But it wasn’t a surprise that your family was loaded too, considering the vacation home in an area like this.

“Thanks. It’s my parents’, though.”

“What do they do again?”

“Well, my mom does interior design and my dad is a football agent.”

“Football agent? Who does he represent?”

“Mostly American players in Europe; Christian Pulisic, Luca de la Torre, Gio Reyna. I remember my dad bringing me along to dinner with Sergio Agüero once because he considered a move to LAFC. That was pretty cool.” You stood against the wall in the hallway, next to the staircase, kicking your feet aimlessly. The small talk was to cover up for something else.

You fell into a deep silence. Vada took a step forward under the yellow light of the hallway and took your hand, stroking it gently.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked quietly.

You and she both knew you were way past just kissing. This was new territory, and there would be no going back after this.

You nodded, and she surged forwards to kiss you slowly. This time, it felt different. You kissed her without the chastity and fear of being looked in on but without the hunger of overcoming lust. It was a perfect blend of passion and appreciation, a marriage of everything felt within the past few weeks.

You lead her upstairs, towards your room. Once inside, your lips were still glued to hers as you let her walk backward, though your eagerness made her trip on your feet and fall onto the mattress.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. ‘M sorry.” The two of you burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to make it up to her with a shower of kisses.

As her giggles quickly turned into pleasant sighs, she decided to surrender herself to you, to her deepest desires ever since the day she arrived. You had charmed her from the moment she laid eyes on you. But now to feel your hands on her in all the right places took her to new heights of pleasure that she’s never experienced before. How beautiful it was to be herself, to be here in this moment, and to cherish and be cherished by you. But most of all, to hear you whisper her name and profanities in the most sinful and vulnerable ways, so unlike your polished and composed self in front of other people.

Vada, Vada, Vada . . .

She awoke in the morning, the sun piercing through the horizontal slits of the shut windows. There was sweat sticking to her skin, but she didn’t want to get up and shower, not when you were still soundly asleep, arm loosely wrapped around her torso. It was then that she realized that you both were still very naked, but she reveled in the skin-to-skin contact like it was giving her strength and vitality. The golden hummingbird sat on your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

Vada caught the moment your eyes fluttered open and focused on her. Then a smile.

“What time is it?” You asked.

Vada leaned over to check the clock on the wall. “7:41.”

You grumbled. “My shift starts at 8:30.”

“You better chop-chop then.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t.” Vada placed her chin on your upper chest. “Stay here with me, and we can recreate last night.”

You chuckled and kissed her once. “That sounds really tempting.”

And yet, you moved to get up, but she held you back. “Five more minutes.”

“Only five?” You smirked.

“You don’t think I can do it in five?”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat and settled back.

Vada had to let you go eventually, you let her stay at yours and do as she pleased. She suddenly remembered that she never texted Mia back about staying out overnight, and sure enough, flipped her phone over to a few missed calls and text messages. After texting her back and reassuring her that she was okay, she got up and went to take a shower.

You came back around four and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it felt like forever until you walked through the doors again. And the moment you did, she pounced on you like a lion.

“I’m so sweaty,” you laughed but soon became lost in the sensation of her lips against yours.

You made love again that afternoon. Vada could almost picture the routine that she and you so easily fell into, how the puzzle pieces fit together so seamlessly. It almost felt like she had cheated somehow to feel this way, that it truly felt as magical and wonderful as it was laying in your arms, both of you stark naked. You had showered and smelled much like lavender. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t asleep, as she watched your chest rise and fall steadily. Sometimes you would murmur something and she would talk to you quietly, knowing you were tired from a day’s work at the beach.

“I knew I liked you from the first day, at the Fountain,” you said.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!” Vada looked up and hit your chest playfully.

“I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away!”

“Jesus Christ,” she sat up and put her face in her palms. “Y/N, I wanted you so badly. Like, I could not go a day without thinking about you. It was actually becoming unhealthy how much I did.”

“Oh? I’m flattered.” You smirked and rubbed her knee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because . . . After Antibes, I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

Your face dropped slightly. “I was scared to get close to someone. I think I caught myself then after we kissed. It was scary how much I wanted your company.”

Vada could understand. You’ve only known each other for three weeks. What were you to each other? Maybe it didn’t matter, there was something comforting about just existing as two souls being present with each other. She realized that the fear she’d harbored about losing her heart was all in vain; you never took it for yourself, you’d only pressed your hand against her chest and encouraged it to keep beating—to keep being hers—while you’d hoped that she would do the same to you.

“If you could go back to that day at the Fountain, and do it differently, would you?” Vada asked.

You thought for a second, then shook your head. “No. I always want to remember you this way.”

Vada swallowed thickly and avoided your eyes. “We’re leaving next week.”

A silence hung in the air, unspoken words stuck in her throat. Tell me to stay. Tell me you’ll come back with me. Tell me you’ll never love anyone else. Tell me you’d forget about me so as to soothe the pain.

“Then let’s make it count,” you brushed a hair from her eyes. “We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to love each other.”

She dreaded the flight back home, having to pretend leaving you wouldn’t be as hard in front of Mia and her parents, and about 300 strangers. She’d miss biking everywhere and the beach and Lillian’s ice cream (she had grown to like it over Karim’s). She’d remember Antibes and Monet’s spot. She’d remember your face and how you seemed to appear in every memory of this trip.

Vada felt you brushing your finger under her eye and realized that it was wet. Then you brought her into your arms and held her tight as she hid from the world in your neck. You cooed and somehow it made Vada feel worse and started crying harder, clinging to your skin desperately.

She’d find space for the grief she was going to feel in her heart somewhere because she knew she’d rather live with the pain than be without you again.

The last week started on a Wednesday. Vada did the usual things she did the last few weeks—go to the beach, bike to town, hang out with the group; she wanted to soak into that last semblance of her summer routine before she had to leave, and everything would be different. She hadn’t given college much thought either. Deciding to move halfway across the country for it was the least stressful part of the whole process, as she was going in undecided. Mia was happy though, because they would only be a few hours apart by train.

Until then, Vada was too afraid to ask you about what would happen after the summer ended. If she asked, it would mean that it was close and it was real. You’d go back to school in Paris and start on your thesis, and everything would go back to the way it was.

Everything would go back to the way it was. As if nothing happened.

She had lived four weeks with you, how was she ever going to go the rest of her life without you?

She met up with you after dinner one night at the beach. The tides had come in much closer and were pulling on her heartstrings mercilessly. In and out, in and out . . . You were as quiet as the night, your eyes gazed towards the distance somewhere, looking pensive.

Still, she was afraid to ask.

“I lied,” you finally spoke. “I wished I had told you sooner how much I liked you.”

Vada remained silent and nodded. “We’ll call.”

“It won’t be the same.”

She knew too that it would never be the same the moment she leaves France. She realized that though she was afraid to ask, time was not on her side, and she didn’t have the luxury to be afraid anymore.

“Will you stay over tonight?” Vada asked, and you looked so happy that she did.

Once you stumbled through the door, you leaned in to kiss her instantly. Between wanting to kiss you back and suppressing moans, she told you to be quiet as you followed her upstairs, hand in hand. You failed, however, actually, both of you did, as your giggles trailed up the stairs and through the hallway. Vada would be lucky if only Mia heard you.

The day she left for the airport, you came over to say goodbye. You greeted the Reeds first, giving Philip and Andre big hugs, then turned to Mia to hug as well and kiss her on the forehead.

Vada waited in the backyard. She felt almost pathetic and needy for wanting you to come out here quicker. It won’t be the same.

“Andre gave me this to keep for my parents.”You held up a bottle of wine by the neck. “1983, nice.”

Your smile died down when you noticed her silence. “You got everything?”

She nodded. Wordlessly, she stepped forwards to wrap her arms around your frame. She thought she’d cry, but it was as if her brain was already actively shutting down trying to block out this memory to save her the future heartbreak.

You pressed her tightly against your chest and swayed her back and forth. Upon releasing her, you set down the bottle of wine next to your feet and took off your necklace.

“I want you to have this.” You opened her palm and neatly placed the jewelry inside. “That way, you won’t forget.”

How could you ever think that I would forget when I’m afraid I’ll never be able to let go of this summer?

“I wish we had more time,” Vada said.

“Bye, Cinderella.” Your eyes were glossy now.

The car door was wide open, waiting to take her away from you. For a split second, she considered dropping everything to stay.

She leaned in to kiss you once, deep and hard, “Bye, Y/N.” Then she walked away, the hummingbird clenched in her fist.

You followed her and watched her get in the car. You watched her close it with force and you watched her refuse to make eye contact with you, but you saw the way her lips trembled. You watched the car take her away from you and grazed the spot on your chest where the hummingbird was missing.

It was mid-July, the hottest day of the year, and yet, the ocean waves—blue as it gets—continued to crash against the shore, on and on and on.

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell imagines #vada cavell imagine #vada cavell x you #vada cavell #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader

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aidemint · 11 months

Text

To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown/reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown/you #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #hobie brown imagine #fluff #angst #kissing <3 yeah #miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #i wish this kiss were a canon event i really do #yeah uh hold onto your hats for the last part

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toasty-melons · 1 year

Text

Thinking about Coworker!Abby so hard rn that it’s making my brain hurt.

Coworker!Abby who’s so sweet to you that it takes everyone else by surprise because of her usual stoic nature.

Coworker!Abby who flirts with you so hard that you start smiling before she can even start talking now.

Coworker!Abby who protects you against mean customers because she knows you’ll cry if someone yells at you.

Coworker!Abby who doesn’t let you carry anything even remotely heavy. (Her big strong arms flexing when she lifts the box of supplies off the ground.)

Coworker!Abby who asks for your number for “work purposes” but always texts you throughout the day, especially if it’s yours or her day off.

Your face is dimly lit by your phone in the dark supply closet, which you’re totally not hiding in right now to avoid work. The grin on your face widens as your phone buzzes with a new message from your blonde headed coworker Abby.

‘get your ass out here’ you can’t help the giggle that spews out of your mouth as you open the message so that it’ll show as read. You expect her to text again with a ‘answer me dammit’ but instead your met with the closet door swinging open. Her large frame blocking most of the light, but some still peers through around her, lighting up the room. Your grin only grows as you throw your hands up, feigning innocent.

“Don’t laugh, you’re in some serious trouble pretty girl.” Pretty girl. Every time she calls you that your stomach always erupts with butterflies. Her voice is hushed as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her or catch you.

“Don’t be such a goody-goody and come join me. We’re slow anyways it’s not like anyone will care.” She hesitates at your words. She clearly wants to join you but she’s torn between you and her work.

You know that you won when she rolls her eyes and closes the door behind her, shutting out all the light and the room going dark again. She takes a few steps over to you and sits down beside you on the makeshift seat of boxes. The room is small so her side is pressed up against yours, and it makes your heart speed up. She’s so close you can smell her cologne, it’s strong in way that it’s all you can notice but it’s not overbearing.

“So what do you do in here?” Her voice is quiet, clearly she’s still a bit apprehensive about hiding during her shift. So you unlock your phone, the screen now lighting up both your faces as you open Tik Tok. You hear her groan and mumble ‘oh my god,’ under her breath.

“What?” You look over at her wide eyed and slightly offended.

“This is what you do in here? This is so boring.” You scoff at her and pout.

“Well what do YOU want to do then?” You watch as her mouth open and then closes. She shifts slightly and leans over, her elbows resting on her knees. Looking away while shrugging.

“I don’t know.. we could.. talk?” She picks at her finger nails as her voice gets smaller. A little smile and a blush creep onto your face, thankfully hidden by the dark room.

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet like hers, somehow making the room feel even smaller than before. She peers over at you through her eyelashes and it makes your heart skip a beat at how pretty she looks. You tear your eyes away first, too flustered to maintain eye contact.

“Did you know that when you do your hair like that it makes you look really pretty.” You’re caught off guard at this. This isn’t something unusual for her to say but maybe because of the small room and how close she is, it feels more intimate than usual. You feel your whole body flush and heat up, looking over at her you’re met with Abby’s face so close to yours. Your breath hitches and she grins. She leans in ever so slightly, your lips almost touching.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” You feel her breath against your lips and it makes your heart skip a beat. It takes a moment before you can respond to her.

“Don’t. Please.” She grins even wider and you can’t help the little smile making its way onto your face again.

“Well.. since you asked so nicely.” Her lips are on yours not even a second after the words leave her mouth. Her hands find their way to your body, one cupping your neck and the other rubbing slow, soothing circles against your side.

The kiss is sweet and gentle at first, but when you breath into her mouth shakily she can’t help but deepen the kiss. She licks your bottom lip and you’re more than willing to let her in. Her tongue pressed against yours makes you whine slightly, your hands coming up and cupping her face, pulling her away from you.

Her eyes are heavy and you’re trying to catch your breath. You stroke the apple of her cheeks your thumbs and giggle. She smiles as you place a sweet peck against her cheek.

“As much as I would like this to be considered talking, we’re still on the clock.” She nods and swallows thickly, her hands and yours slowly removing themselves from each other.

“I’m sorry..” Your eyes widen at her sudden apology and your hands fly up and wave widely in front of you with concern.

“No no no, that’s not what I meant, I liked the kiss, I mean I like you. I-.. i’m just not really a.. kiss before dating kind of girl. But.. I really do like you Abby.” For a moment you’re met with silence, causing a split second of regret to slip into your bones.

“So.. can I take you on a date? Because I really like you too.” She has a slight grin on her face, one that oozes confidence but her voice says otherwise, a slight shyness to it.

“Yeah.. yeah I would really like that.”

#abby anderson tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby x reader #abby x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby tlou2

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austonwithan-o · 1 year

Text

“Don’t look, it’s not worth it.”

Literally obsessed with this man so I had to write something… I’ll make a master list eventually

!!!No warnings really just kissing

(Not edited… I’ll edit later)

“Baby I’m gonna take a shower, care to join me?” Auston asked with a slightly playful tone at the end. He got up and stretched emphasizing the veins on his tatted arm. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I just showered and plus we both know if I get in the shower with you it’s gonna be hours before we get out.” You said curling under the warm comforter. He gave your butt a light smack, “I’ll be fast.” He said grabbing a fresh towel you just folded at the edge of the bed. You shut your eyes for a few minutes, replaying the conversation you had with Steph at brunch that morning.

“Y/n it’s not even worth it! Auston doesn’t look at his DMs and he doesn’t even care what those girls say!” The blonde said, sipping her margarita, “please it’s not worth reading what they say. It’ll just make you miserable, I’ve been through it, most of the WAGs have been through it and it’s my job to keep you, my bestest friend, away from potential heartbreak.” Tossing her words around in your head and decided she was ultimately right, you backed off for a bit. You knew Auston wasn’t seeing anyone else behind closed doors but the question of what those girls in his DMs were saying to him was burning your brain and you needed answers!

Auston took long showers so you knew you still had a bit of time before he got out. Crawling across the big bed, you unplugged his phone from the charger and clicked it on reluctantly tapped the instagram app. Nothing looked odd, just a few hundred new instagram followers, comments and likes. He had a few DMs but you knew it was him and Mitch’s meme war goin on. His DM requests were filled and you felt your stomach drop a bit. Hesitantly you open them and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. His inbox was littered with fans genuinely saying nice things but most of them were girls gawking at him. You scrolled for what seemed like hours reading things like, “you could do so much better Auston” “I’m always down for a fuck if you’re in Phoenix” “I can’t believe your still with that puck bunny skank” That’s the one that really got you. “Why is he with me?” You thought, tears welling up in your eyes. You kept scrolling reading more and more you didn’t hear the water turn off. Minutes later Austin stepped out with a towel dangerously low on his waist but you were too caught up reading to notice.

Your eyes were glued to his phone still in shock at all the mindless hate you were getting. “Y/n what are you lookin at?” His face looked slightly confused. He soon saw the red in your eyes and the sniffles coming from your nose. He quickly threw on his boxers. “Whoa whoa baby what’s wrong?” He asked scooting over to you, effortlessly scooping you into his lap pulling the covers over the both of you. He grabbed his phone and saw the DM of the girl asking him for a quick fuck. His expression shifted into worry, “Y/n you know I’d never cheat on you right baby? I never read these.” Your head hung low and you could feel the tears welling up into your eyes trying your hardest not to let them spill. You didn’t know if you should feel worse for looking through his phone or the comments you just read. You felt yourself slipping deeper into his embrace, his scent overtaking your senses, his freshly showered hair dripping beads of water onto your face and shoulders, calming you down. The tears started streaming and your breathing got shaky. “Auston why are you with me?” He grabbed your chin lightly turning your face to meet his eyes. “Y/n why are you asking me that? You’re the reason I get up every morning, you’re the reason I thank God everyday for a new day, baby I can’t imagine a life without you. I love you with my whole being y/n and you need to understand that.” The tears kept pouring out of your eyes like a fountain making him hold you closer. You tried looking away but his grip on your chin wouldn’t let you. His lips connected to yours making you melt into his touch. You shifted your body, swinging your legs over his sides, straddling him, arms lazily around his neck. His arms wrapped around around your waist pulling you even closer into the kiss his mustache tickling you making you smile into it. “I love you y/n. I hope you know that.” This man was whipped on you and you knew it and he knew it too.

PLEASE REQUEST THINGS I NEED MORE IDEAS TO WRITE!!!

#auston matthews #nhl players #nhl fanfiction #auston matthews x reader #toronto #toronto maple leafs #hockey #hockey players #mitch marner #nhl eastern conference #nhl playoffs #maple leafs #nhl fic #nhl #nhl hockey

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oumaheroes · 3 months

Note

Congrats on 1000 followers!! If you're still taking requests, I'd go absolutely feral for some of your scotfra! I love how you write modern nationverse with where characters reminisce or philosophise about the past <33

Phi I... I strayed. Okay, I strayed way off topic because this came to me so clearly that I couldn't not write it. I hope that you like it, even though there is no nationverse philosophying ;u;

Characters: Scotland, France (ScotFra)

-------------------------------------------

Starscape

Their home hits him with unexpected force as soon as he opens the door, the brass handle cool against bare palm. The smell of their lives together, clean linen and cedar aftershave. Walls cluttered with photos, Alisdair’s large leather armchair in the corner, Francis’ collection of Vogues tucked neatly besides Alisdair’s nature books into a handmade bookcase- collected fragments of two lives turned into one. A busy, friendly, assault of the senses.

Francis is in the kitchen, warm yellow lights and background radio above the metallic clatter of their cutlery drawer.

Alisdair sloughs his coat off, drapes it over the sofa, and walks in to join him.

‘Hello there.’

Alisdair can hear Francis’ smile through the words as he hugs him tightly from behind where he is at the counter, chin to shoulder. His arms go around him to their places automatically, right hand to Francis’ left hip.

Francis tilts his head back and up to try and meet his eye, ‘Good day?’

‘It’ll do.’

Francis snorts and cups his cheek lazily with one hand, reaching to place an empty pan on the stove, ‘Better than nothing.’

‘How was yours?’ Alisdair is loath to let him go but Francis wiggles free, gently nudging him back and away to let him get on with things. Alisdair retreats to the table in the middle of the room and watches.

‘Oh, you know. Same old same old.’

‘Tell me.’

Francis gifts him with a raised eyebrow. He fills up a pot with water and sets it salted to boil. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do you remember that new woman from a few weeks ago?’

Alisdair casts far back in time to find the name Francis might be referring to and finds too many to filter. ‘I remember you telling me about her.’

Francis raises an eyebrow, ‘Tina.’

‘Ah. Tina.’ He had forgotten Tina.

‘I cannot understand what is driving her to-‘ Francis sighs and clicks his tongue, ‘I don’t want to judge, but-‘

Alisdair smiles, ‘Yes, you do.’

Francis waves a hand. ‘Yes, fine. I do. But still, I am aware it’s not my place to say older people can’t randomly move jobs out of nowhere, and obviously they can learn how to do something new, but it’s...’

He stops, ties his hair up, and Alisdair's smiles widens. ‘Some people are slow, and I understand. It’s irritating to train them but I understand. Everyone has their own pace, and all that. Christ, I sound like Arthur when he’s being his most pretentious.’

Alisdair wants to call his brother then and has to swallow the feeling away, eyes fixed on Francis to keep him focused.

Butter to pan, salt to onions. The smell in the air is sweet. Condensation softens the windows, fogs the dark shadows of their garden beyond the glass. Francis moves whilst he talks, stepping lightly from one task to another.

‘But she’s not just slow to train. She’s someone who keeps questioning things, rather than just learning them. “Why do it this way, that way is much better.” Or, “In my last position, we did X Y Z blah blah blah”. Horrible. Aggravating.’ Francis tips mushrooms into the pan and shakes his head, ‘Anyway. Today I found out that she didn’t just move to join the analyst team because she wanted some sort of end of career change or have a last-minute depressing existential crisis. She was asked to move down. Because she was terrible at her job.’

Francis grins at him, his smile sharp teethed and wicked, ‘No wonder she’s so picky with everything. I got the feeling that she thought that we and what we do were beneath her but now-‘

Alisdair cuts him off before he can finish. Away from the table before Francis can stop him, he presses his mouth to Francis’, then to his cheek. Cups the back of his head in his hand, kisses his neck and feels the beat of Francis’ heart jump his pulse strong against his lips.

‘Stop it.’ Francis swats at him but the gesture is half-hearted at best, ‘You’re going to make me burn dinner.’

Alisdair kisses him again, Francis’ long hair soft and undone in his hands. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I care.’

Francis never burns dinner. No matter how busy the day or how many tasks he’s doing at once, dinner is never something to be sacrificed as part of a greater good. No matter how hard Alisdair could have tried to force it, in their life burning dinner was not a thing that would ever have happened. Today is no different. Francis extracts himself just in time to save things and Alisdair lets him go, knowing he needs to in order for things to work as they should.

The taste, once Francis is done, is perfect- one of his best meals, in Alisdair’s opinion, a warm mushroom soup. Thick bread- not homemade, Francis laments, but good enough- lightly toasted and thickly buttered. Alisdair savours every bite, takes small spoonfuls to draw out the experience for as long as it can go.

After they’ve eaten, the cooking a perfect mixture of memory and longing, they retreat to the living room sofa to fall deadweight against the cushions.

‘That was too much food.’ Francis says where he sits against Alisdair’s chest, their legs together under blankets before them on the L-shaped bend. ‘We keep on eating portion sizes that are way more than we need.’

Alisdair disagrees entirely. He is slimmer now, of course, much slimmer, but Francis doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the meat of Francis’ thigh and then grips it tight, ‘We’re doing just fine.’

Francis rolls his eyes and tuts but Alisdair sees the smile in his eyes, ‘No, not that. I mean that it’s expensive.’

‘It’s doable.’

‘Not with the sheer amount of lamb that you’re eating.’

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘It’s the costliest of all of them.’ Francis smiles and reaches up an arm to play with the short hair at the nape of Alisdair’s neck, ‘This needs a cut.’

‘You said you wouldn’t cut my hair anymore.’ Alisdair reminds him. Francis’ hand is warm, so warm, and Alisdair closes his eyes. ‘You said I complain too much.’

‘You do.’

‘Only because you threatened to shave me.’

Francis laughs lightly, ‘It would suit you.’

‘Well. That's why I complained.’

Beep.

Alisdair opens his eyes.

‘Shall we watch something?’ Francis sits up for the remote on the coffee table.

‘Only if it’s not a period drama.’

Francis sighs, weary, ‘Emma is not just a period drama. I’m told it’s a brilliant film.’

Alisdair wrinkles his nose and then grins at the look Francis gives him, ‘I’m sure it is. But are you going to be able to sit there quietly and not bitch about the costume design?’

Francis blinks at him. ‘Yes,’ he says after a while, ‘Obviously.’

‘Fucking liar.’

‘I will! I won’t say anything.’

‘I’ll bet you a fucking tenner you won’t be able to stop yourself saying something.’

Francis glances at the TV, then back to him. ‘Fine,’ he says after a moment, ‘If it’s shit research, I won’t be able to help myself. But that doesn’t detract from it potentially being a very good film.’

‘Besides shit costuming.’

‘… So I’m told.’

‘But see, there you go.’ Alisdair leans forwards, ‘You’ll have a great time nonetheless but I won’t be able to focus on anything because-‘

Beep.

Alisdair wavers, ‘…because I’ll have you going off making comments all the time and I’ll forget what’s happening and-‘

Francis looks scandalised, ‘You don’t know the story anyway?’

‘Why the fuck would I know the story?’

‘Oh for the love of-‘ Beep. ‘We have to watch it. That’s it, I can’t have this.’ Francis clicks on the TV and scrolls to Netflix, ‘What on earth was your mother thinking. You’d think with the amount Arthur goes on-‘

‘Arthur was the weird one. I-‘

Beep.

Alisdair feels a tightness in his chest. He tries not to think of the cause.

Francis turns to him. ‘What?’

Alisdair’s tongue feels heavy, throat tight. ‘What.’

‘You were saying?’ Francis prompts. ‘Something about you and Arthur.’

His hair is tucked behind on ear but strands have fallen free. Alisdair wants to reach forward and brush them back but he can’t move. He feels hollow, belly empty.

He takes a deep, long breath in. His lungs fill, then release. Under his fingers, he feels the whorls of the sofa upholstery on the arm rest. Feels the warmth of Francis near his outstretched leg, face buttery yellow in the lamplight by the wall. It is all so real.

‘Right.’ He runs a hand over his face, ‘Arthur was the one who read all the books. I was a normal child and young man, and went outside. Made friends.’

‘I read those same books.’ Francis presses a hand to his chest, ‘And I feel I came out quite normal from the experience.’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’

Francis nods, sagely, and tilts his head to one side. ‘You’re not entirely wrong. I’m with you, after all.’

Alisdair nudges him with his foot, in the softness of his stomach, and Francis laughs.

Beep. Oxygen levels critically low. Warning.

Alisdair should have turned the alarms off.

Francis settles back against him and Alisdair leans back against the sofa, tucking them back in as he goes and wraps his arms around Francis, hold him tight. Here, like this, it would be so easy to forget. To think that this was happening, and was still something he could have and return to. Francis is so solid, so real.

Beep.

But Alisdair cannot forget. Thousands of miles above earth, his body free from gravity, he watched as without warning mushroom clouds peppered through the skies below him. Rushes of clouds shot across oceans to collide with another wave, and then another, until the planet fell still.

The silence was loud. Space pressed in against the glass, a thick, dark nothingness that stretched on and outwards around him. Endless stars dull when there is no one waiting to share them with, Alisdair has found.

He still has no idea what happened. Whether it was planned, who started it, who could be left. He waited weeks for something, endless days on a knife’s edge by the comms system, unable to leave in case something came through or his planned replacement arrive to relieve him. Sleep in broken chunks, too tired to stay away any longer.

He doesn’t know now how long it has been. He stopped checking the days. There was nothing that could be done for him, anyhow. What good is it to know details of his final days, when the grand fact was that no one was coming. He lived because he was too scared to die, and that was that.

And now, here it is.

Warning.

Alisdair had remembered to override the auto-safety control that diverted power to essential systems, at least. That was the important part.

Warning.

It could warn him all it wanted; he wasn’t going to change anything.

Oxygen levels critically low.

A few more days with the bare essentials to sustain life, or this. One last go at the hollo-systems, one last story to play.

Warning. Oxygen levels critically low.

Alisdair had been holding back on playing this one. Eking out the power left on his ship for as long as he could, everything non-essential closed off to- why? To live? To remember?

Just in case, maybe. Just in case.

In his arms, the programmed memory of Francis shifts under the blankets and sighs through his nose. The film has started, Alisdair hadn’t noticed. The colours and sounds all curl and bleed together, flashes of something distinct stand out before falling away like a motion blur. Francis breathes in Alisdair’s arms, his face calm and easy, and Alisdair watches.

Beep.

This is how he wants to go.

Beep.

To go home to a life that only he can remember. Kept safe here in memories and code, a final goodbye.

‘I love you,’ he says. His voice cracks, ‘So, so much.’

Francis turns his head. He reads something in Alisdair’s face; Alisdair sees the flicker in his expression as he notes that something is wrong. But memory and code can only go so far, the real Francis would never have seen him like this before. Alisdair doesn’t know how he would have reacted. Whatever his husband’s virtual echo sees in Alisdair’s drawn, wasted face, it is not something that he was designed to see.

So, he smiles. Sees him as whole. ‘I love you too.’

The living room darkens, shadows fill the edges. Alisdair closes his eyes and buries his face in Francis’ shoulder. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

Francis turns slightly and wraps and arm around and under Alisdair’s back, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

#aph france #hws france #hws scotland #aph scotland #scotfra #hetalia #hws #aph #heroes writes

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vendetta-if · 10 months

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Hello! Just wanted to drop by and say that your story and writing style are amazing.

And on a separate note, I’ve had this ask for a while now, and was contemplating whether or not to send it in, but then I saw you answer that other ask about the ROs special interests/hobbies. So now I can’t get it out of my mind lol. I was wondering how Rin would react if reserved MC decided to bring them to their “secret place” where they go to unwind and recharge, only to find out that it’s a music room with the perfect ambience, floor to ceiling windows, and a grand piano that is nestled in the middle of it all. Then MC plays several pieces for them (MC is a secret virtuoso pianist, but Ash and the fam know ofc. MC keeps it to themself ‘cause music is something intimate to them so Rin is the first person outside of their fam that they share it to 💕.) Then maybe at the end MC says something along the lines of “Stay.” Cuz well, we all know everything that happened to MC. If it’s alright with u ofc. Either way, thank you and I hope you have a great day/night dear author!

Aww thank you for the kind words! 💖 And the scenario you’re talking about is so sweet 🥺 I love it, especially since Rin is a classical music enthusiast (thanks to their mom).

I might have gotten a bit carried away and the little drabble ends up being longer than expected and might even be considered a short story, but I hope you and other Rin-mancers can enjoy it! 🥰

* * * *

You groan quietly as you bring your hands up to your temples and start to massage. Forcing precognition visions too much, or to see too far ahead is never a pleasant experience and you can already feel the familiar and loathed throb forming around your skull.

But, as always, it’s a side effect that you willingly take on for the greater good of your family and their allies. And right now, you’re doing it for the Morozov—namely Sasha.

“Hey,” you hear them say quietly from beside you, the concern is clear even through that one word alone. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a minor headache,” you answer, trying to keep the strain out of your voice with mixed results. “It’ll go away on its own in due time. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But still, a pain in the ass to handle…

There’s a moment of silence as your words hang in the air. You can’t really see what Sasha is doing or what expression they’re wearing on their face or whether they believe what you just said. Your eyes are shut in a vain attempt to curb the headache from getting worse.

A gentle touch to your shoulder almost make you jump, and you open your eyes to see Sasha’s living room coming into focus before finally turning to face them. Their face is carved with a mix of guilt, concern, but also something that you can’t really put your finger on. Hopefulness? A hint of excitement even?

But before you can analyze it even further, Sasha quickly avert their gaze shyly and you swear you see hints of a blush spreading on their cheeks. Or maybe it’s a trick of the afternoon light from the window behind you.

“I… I want to show you something. Maybe it’ll help you with your headache as well,” they mutter quietly before quickly adding, “But only if you want to, of course!”

You blink at them and your mouth moves before your mind can even catch up. “Sure,” you reply.

Sasha perks up and they reach down to grab your hand, pulling to help you get on your feet. You don’t resist at all and let them guide you through their penthouse. You’re still stunned and you can’t help but stare at your joined hands.

You’ve been to the penthouse a few times, but never went farther than the living room and kitchen area, and Sasha is leading you down the hallway toward a door at the end of the corridor.

Sasha opens the door and you’re a bit surprised. The room seems to be a leisure room with the far wall and the wall to the right fully covered in full-length window panes overlooking the city. To the left are two tall bookshelves and a little cozy seating area and in the middle, like the crown jewel of the room, is a grand piano, the brand “Steinway & Sons” is plastered on the side proudly.

“Didn’t know you play piano…” you say, running your fingers on the smooth surface of the piano as you step closer.

Sasha rubs the back of their neck shyly. “It’s a hobby of mine that I… never really bother telling those outside of my family about.”

“I know a lot of people who wouldn’t stop cawing about it if they could play the piano,” you chuckle quietly and Sasha does the same as well.

“Well, you said you’re having a headache, so I’m thinking that… I can maybe… play you a song. Maybe it’ll help,” they stutter a bit, looking anywhere else but at you.

You smile, “Sure, I’d love that.” And you see Sasha’s face light up. “I’ll be sitting right over there.” You point at the nearest armchair before walking towards it and plopping down.

And then, Sasha starts playing. In just the first few notes, you manage to identify the song. It’s “Liebestraum No. 3” by Liszt. “Dream of Love” the title translates to and befitting of it, the song is beautiful, and whimsical, and airy, reminding you of a gentle day in Spring, and Sasha plays it masterfully.

You wonder if Sasha is trying to tell you something from this choice of song…

Usually you close your eyes to savour the song even more, but this time, you find yourself entranced and you can’t look away from Sasha. You feel your headache subsiding as your eyes involuntarily trace the way the afternoon light that’s streaming from the window hit their face, giving it the appearance as if it’s glowing. Their long and slender fingers seem to float and glide up and down the ivory keys as the song hits its crescendo before slowing down once again.

And soon, before you can even realize it, the song is over and Sasha looks at you as you stare at them. You blink, snapping out of your stupor before trying to play it cool, as if you haven’t spent the last few minutes or so staring at them.

Clearing your throat, you stand up and make your way towards them. “Thank you for the wonderful performance. It’s a beautiful song.”

Sasha smiles sheepishly, “Glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite songs as well. Does it help, though? With your headache?”

You nod, “Yes, it worked really well. It seems I know what song to listen to now whenever I have another headache.” And truly, the headache is nothing more than faint pulses now, but whether it the work of the song, or Sasha themself, you don’t know.

Sasha laughs softly. “How about another song? “The Swan” by Saint-Säens or maybe Chopin’s “Nocturne in C Sharp Minor” is more to your liking?”

Rin hesitates. They would honestly love to stay longer and see Sasha play more songs, but also, they’re worried about making things feel awkward. After all, this room feels like Sasha’s personal space, a “secret garden” of some sorts, and you’re intruding on it.

“Thank you for the offer…” you start and you can see Sasha’s smile faltering, making you feel even torn inside. “I should probably go home… I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Wait,” Sasha says quickly, hand closing around your wrist. “Stay. Please. I enjoy spending time with you…” they mutter shyly.

Ah… You see… This might be as close to a confession that you’ll be getting for now, but still, it makes your stomach flutters all the same—not that you’ll show it outwardly though. That would be too embarrassing for you.

“If you would have me, then…” you reply coyly, smiling inside as Sasha drags you down to sit beside them on the spacious piano bench.

“Yes, I would,” they huff adorably. “Now, what song do you have in mind?”

* * * *

For those who are interested, this is the song that MC is playing in the drabble (and it is indeed one of my fav classical music pieces as well along with the other songs MC suggests 😆).

I would honestly love to learn to play it if not for my pretty small hands that make it harder to reach the far-spaced-out notes (Damn Liszt and his large hands! 😭).

“Liebestraum No.3” by Liszt

youtube

#asks #drabble #ro: rin #char: mc #ro reactions #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #cyoa game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive games

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heyiwrotesomethings · 11 months

Note

a part 2 of Absolutely Not! thanks

Absolutely Not! Prt II

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Demon Reader

A/N: Prt1 Really didn’t know what to do for another part so just a little catnip cop out. Hope you still enjoy it! Word Count: 1,436

Uzui couldn’t believe what buzzkills the other Hashiras were.

“Come on, it’ll be funny! Don’t you wanna see what’ll happen?”

It’s inappropriate, it’s in bad taste, that’s dumb, not worth my time, I’m an unflashy unfun loser blah blah blah. Not even Rengoku would join in, although that should not have been that surprising.

Well, Uzui would have fun on his own then. He wasn’t sure if it would work… but he was down for a little experiment. Kochou couldn’t be mad at him for a little joke if it was for science, right?

He smirked at the small potted plant in his hands. All he had to do was sneak this to the cat demon and watch the chaos unfold. How could no one else be curious if catnip would be effective on a cat demon?

Uzui silently navigated the halls, snooping around for the demon. The demonic presence she had was weak, so it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where she was. But he could feel that he was getting closer. He smiled, got ready to put on the charm, and turned the corner, running right into… Shinobu.

“Uzui-san,” she blinked, mildly surprised, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Kochou, hey!” He kind of wanted to avoid her if he could help it, but given that she kind of had a demonic aura about her at the moment, he never stood a chance, “Do you know that you’re giving off a demonic energy? Kinda weird.”

Shinobu sighed, “No, I didn’t know that, but given how many head bumps (Y/n) insists on giving me, I am not surprised. Now why are you here? You look perfectly healthy.”

“What? Can’t a Hashira pay a fellow Hashira a visit?”

“They can, but you never visit me unless you need something. What do you have behind your back?”

“Oh, what? This?” Uzui presented the plant as if it was the most unassuming thing in the world, “My wives picked it out. Just a little thank you for when you took care of Hinatsuru when she was sick. I told ‘em I thought it was kinda unflashy but they thought the little purple flowers were cute so, here you go! Put it somewhere everyone can enjoy, yeah?” He put the pot into Shinobu’s hands.

“Uzui-san,” Shinobu twirled the potted plant in her hands, “do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Huh?”

“I know what you’re doing. This is nepetalactone, catnip.“ Shinobu was still all smiles, but an unmistakable shadow seemed to fall over her eyes. “Just what were you hoping to accomplish here?”

“H-hey— I didn’t know!” Uzui waved in hands defensively, “Like I said, my wives—“

“Your wives had already gifted me a lovely fruit basket a few days ago.”

“Well would you look at the time! I better go home, nice talking with you, Kochou!” And in a puff of smoke he was gone, leaving Shinobu alone with the catnip.

“He is much too old to be acting like such a child.” Shinobu shook her head in disbelief.

She looked back down at the plant and sighed. Now what was she going to do with this? Tea might be good, but she really didn’t want to risk exposing (Y/n) to the catnip in any form… no matter how curious she was about how she would react.

“To the woods with you then.” She decided, making her way through the mansion to the nearest door to the outside. As long as she didn’t run into (Y/n) along the way, all would be fi—

“Get out of Shinobu-sama’s house!” (Y/n) hissed as she skidded around the corner.

“Ah!” Shinobu hopped from one foot to the other as a chipmunk scurried between her legs and zoomed down the hall.

Having not seen Shinobu, (Y/n) ran into her before she could stop herself and they both fell to the ground. The pot upturned in the fall, covering them both in plant debris and soil.

“Oh no, Shinobu-sama, are you okay? I’m sorry! Someone left a door open somewhere and a chipmunk got in, but don’t worry I’ll… I’ll… oh, what is this?” She asked almost sluggishly rolling a leaf between her fingers. Shinobu snatched her wrist to make her stop.

“(Y/n), we must wash this off immediately, do you understand? Oof!”

(Y/n) face planted into Shinobu’s chest and the loudest purr Shinobu had ever heard from the demon began to rumble through her.

“(Y/n), are you okay? We should really get up.”

Slowly, (Y/n) rose her head and all Shinobu could see was a black abyss, her irises had been completely swallowed up by her pupils, something Shinobu had never seen to this severity. Sometimes when (Y/n) saw a bird through the window or she got the zoomies, her pupils would round out, but never to this extent.

“(Y/n)?” Shinobu tested again.

(Y/n) didn’t answer her, but her purring did get louder. She flopped back down and began rolling around nuzzling Shinobu every other roll across her body, further smushing the catnip as well.

Shinobu wanted to be serious, they were in the middle of the hall and covered in dirt, but she couldn’t help but chuckle as the cuddle attack persisted, (Y/n) leapt on top of her and attached to her back when she tried to get up.

Suddenly (Y/n) stiffened, alerting Shinobu to look ahead down the hall. The chipmunk was back.

“Kekekekeke!” (Y/n) clicked, bracing herself against Shinobu’s back in a hunting stance.

“Don’t you dare use me as a starting block. If you are going to act more cat than demon, then you had better shift before you cause any real damage.” Shinobu warned.

But (Y/n) wasn’t in a very rational state of mind to heed that warning. She sprung off of Shinobu’s back and chased after the chipmunk on all fours, slipping and tumbling multiple times because of the restrictiveness of her kimono.

“Oh no,” Shinobu got to her feet as well, mentally apologizing to whoever would have to clean the mess on her behalf, “(Y/n), come back! You better not eat it!”

With how hepped up she was in catnip, Shinobu was worried she’d hurt herself or someone else on accident so she couldn’t leave her alone. She ran after (Y/n) and it was thankfully not to hard to catch up to her. With her terrible coordination at the moment, she kept banging into walls and slipping on the floor. Shinobu tackled her and pinned her to the ground, trying to block the fleeing chipmunk from (Y/n)’s view. She really hoped someone else would take care of the little pest.

(Y/n) struggled and wiggled against Shinobu for a moment, but another hit of that sweet, sweet catnip had her docile as a lamb again before long and the purring started up again.

“There we go… just relax.” Shinobu lightly scratched behind (Y/n)’s ears, a known favorite spot, she smiled when (Y/n) snuggled into her hand and closed her eyes.

Then the cat demon began to shrink, but having seen the process on multiple occasions, Shinobu didn’t flinch. With an amused breath, she untangled the cat from the bundle of clothes and neatly folded said clothes before setting the cat on top of the pile and taking the whole thing in her arms.

“Let’s get you to bed so you’ll have a safe place to rest while this wears off.”

Shinobu placed (Y/n) on the bed and then got to work, placing all the contaminated clothes into the wash and putting on something fresh. She laid out a new kimono for (Y/n) as well to wear once she awoke. Then she took a moment to watch her sleep, all curled up in a ball.

Part of Shinobu really wanted to go to Uzui’s house and put laxatives in his afternoon tea, but in the other hand, a dusting of blush highlighted Shinobu’s cheeks, the over-excited cuddling had been rather sweet, pleasant even. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to grow a little catnip in the herb garden from now on. In smaller doses she could probably get the cuddly ratio she would like best.

Of course (Y/n) was rather cuddly normally, but Shinobu had felt a little jealous since Mitsuri came to visit a few days ago. Mitsuri was a cat whisperer and that extended to cat demons as well apparently. Shinobu would have liked more reassurance that (Y/n) liked her more, but of course she was too stubborn to tell the demon as much. The next time Mitsuri came to visit, Shinobu would have a secret weapon up her sleeve to keep the cuddles to herself.

#demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader #requests #anonymous

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carloswilliamcarlos · 2 years

Text

Eddie Sleeping HCs

He definitely doesn’t go down to sleep easy, especially before he meets you. Too many thoughts, too many echoing memories keeping him kicking the blankets around and cracking his knuckles a million times as he stares up at the ceiling. So he learns to get himself a little buzzed (and sometimes a lot buzzed) just so he can make it all fade away. For a few rough years, it’s more of him passing out than it is falling asleep, leading to him waking up in last night’s clothes and leaving some questionable stains on his mattress.

But when he meets you, he doesn’t have to sedate himself anymore. In fact, the first time you fall asleep together, he doesn’t even realize he’s dozing off. He’s snuggled up next to you, limbs all intertwined and eyes barely peeking out above the covers. He twists his fingers through yours and swipes his thumb steadily back and forth over your skin, planning to keep watch while you drift off. But before your eyes even begin to close, his blink shut completely. His breaths grow heavy and fall into a slow, even rhythm. His mouth hangs the tiniest bit open, sweet little snores sounding from his nose. He’s completely out almost instantly. Your bed is just so warm, your scent is just so you, your hand in his is just so soft and makes him feel so safe, like a little kid crossing the street with his mommy. His thumb finally stills and you lift his knuckles to your lips, brushing soft little kisses over them until you join him in a blissful slumber.

Eddie is really impossible to look away from, even when he’s sleeping. He puts on quite a show, although he’s completely unaware of it. He mumbles in his sleep A LOT. Every now and again you’ll get a very clear sentence or phrase, which you often recognize from conversations you had earlier that day. Sometimes it’ll be deadly quiet in the middle of the night and he’ll just say, “yeah,” out of nowhere, it’s the most bizarre thing. But almost every night you get some sort of mumbling, his lips twitching to form words you can’t quite make out.

AND HE SMILES IN HIS SLEEP ALL THE TIME AND IT MAKES YOU LOSE YOUR GODDAMN MIND EVERY TIME. The corners of his mouth will just start to curl up, only for a second or two, and it’s the best secret about him no one else will ever know. Those smiles are yours and only yours. Not even he knows about them.

He laughs in his sleep, too, and sometimes nods his head to a beat you can’t hear. Sometimes his arms stretch around your waist and tug you in tighter, and you just want to die.

He’s definitely not a morning person, definitely always looks more than a little disheveled and puffy and worse for wear when he first wakes up. He lets you smooth his hair out just a little bit while he blinks into the daylight and tries to comprehend the fact he’s awake or even alive.

And the second he hits you with that morning voice… it’s over.

Some days he doesn’t wake up until he’s already been rutting into you for several minutes and is seconds away from cumming. Once he’s conscious, he wastes no time sliding into you in earnest, something you gave him the green light for early on. The morning sex doesn’t last long, but the instinctual grunts and moans that leave his lips in the process are more than you could ask for. And once that first orgasm really wakes him up, as it always does, it’s always followed by at least a couple of your own, depending how much of your morning he can get away with stealing.

And then he wants cereal. A lot of it. Now.

So you stumble together into the kitchen, joints cracking and a hand playfully slapping your ass. He sits you up on the counter and starts his groggy tornado from cabinet to cabinet, whipping you up a couple of bowls and humming a song in that deep fucking morning voice all the way. He hands you your bowls and stands between your legs while you both crunch away. Sometimes he looks mischievously into your eyes and jumps right into making plans for the rest of the day. Sometimes he lets his head fall on your shoulder between bites, still not quite ready to be conscious. Sometimes you just smile at each other and say nothing, stealing kisses on each other’s cheeks and foreheads and jawlines and noses.

It always ends with him whisking you off the counter and into the shower before switching on his stereo and joining you. He sings in the shower, mostly to make you laugh. You give each other Mohawks with your shampoo suds. It’s disgusting, and he can’t believe he ever survived a morning without it.

#I’m a SIMP ok I’m a SIMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#imagine how tired we are of it!!!!!!#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson hc

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saulocept · 1 year

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are u gonna stay the night?

pairing: sebastian sallow/reader/ominis gaunt [poly]

rating: g

summary: Ominis comes down with the flu, and it’s up to the two of you to make him feel better.

notes: based on an idea sent to me a while back! sorry if it took me too long to get into it, but uh. it’s here now and i hope its ok :) as always, some liberties were taken but uh. yeah

You don’t find him in any of your classes the next morning. You try not to panic at first, ignoring the dread that churns in the pit of your stomach. It’s a strange feeling at first, though you try not to think too much about it. The day’s still not over yet; there’s still a lot of time left for him to show up, and for all you know, he could just be late: staying up late and losing track of the time, or accidentally sleeping in. It’s happened enough times to not seem far-fetched, but it’s a rare enough occurrence to be sort of alarming.

Still, you try not to worry, chalking it up to the late-night antics he and Sebastian frequently get into. Antics. Even the term makes you snort a little, as if the whole thing is just innocent, harmless – the kind of trouble any student could be capable of getting into. But you aren’t stupid; you know it’s just another term for Dark Arts – something no one around here seems too keen to speak about, as if even uttering its name would make it somehow real, happen.

It’s no secret to you. You’ve joined them in their secret lessons a few times, driven more by curiosity than a real desire to harness the power; it doesn’t escape their notice, of course, Sebastian’s especially, and though at one point, you’d expected the revelation to drive a wedge between you, it doesn’t. They don’t tell you off, or kick you out of their little group. The invitations still come and go, waiting for your notice, your approval, though without the urgency that the previous ones seem to have.

Not that you’re complaining, really. You’re just glad everything’s out in the open now, and that it doesn’t ruin your relationship with either of them, or both.

Now all that’s left is to wait for Ominis to arrive. It’s a little hard to focus on your classes when he’s all you could think about. Every once in a while, you find yourself looking up at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds, wondering what it’ll take for him to finally show up. Breathless, sweaty. Apologetic. Hair ruffled from all that running, hurrying. Cheeks flushed with shame, embarrassment.

Hours pass you by, but still, there’s no sign of him. It gets to the point where it becomes worrying enough that you deliberately skip one of your classes, seeking Sebastian out in the Slytherin common room in search of answers. You’ve been in this place enough times that most of the other students recognize you as his friend. You’d think that being around here often would stop them from giving you odd looks, but for some reason, it never really goes away.

You’ve learned to tune them out by now, pressing onward and pretending they aren’t really there, but you can’t deny that it’s still a little daunting, especially when they’ve never bothered to keep their staring a secret. Still, you know you can’t back out now, not when you want answers.

You find Sebastian sitting on one of the chairs in the corner, flipping through the pages of a spell book. You stop in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face to grab his attention, and he frowns, closes the book and places it on his lap. Seeing that it’s just you, he smiles, stands up.

“Hey,” he says, giving you a small wave in greeting. “What brings you here?”

You don’t waste any more time. “Have you seen Ominis?”

“No,” he says, furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He pauses for a moment, thinking, “He didn’t show up last night at the meeting place, so I’d assumed he’s busy.” He grows quiet again for a second, staring at you thoughtfully: “Isn’t he in your class?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t show up either.” Here, you pause, frowning as you contemplate all the possibilities; none of them seem any good, but you shake your head and bite your lip, trying not to show how worried you feel, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good to panic this early and without reason, “Do you think something’s happened? Should we check in on him?”

“I don’t see any harm in it.” He shrugs. “Where should we go?”

“Let’s start with his room?” you offer, uncertain.

“Okay.” He gives you a nod in return then reaches out to take your hand in his, pulling you along with him. “Let’s go.”

Sebastian guides you through the hallways, his hand never leaving yours. You walk past the other students, who stare at you more oddly now than ever. You catch the question in their eyes, that quiet intrigue, their gazes glued to your interlaced fingers. Ah. You suppose it’s a little surprising to see him this affectionate to someone else, especially someone so new. Like you. Or that he’s so open about it.

You turn your head, chance a glance at your companion. He doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. Or maybe he’s just too focused on something else to care. Instinctively, you press a little closer to him, as though it’d somehow hide you from view, make you invisible.

He squeezes your hand, and you look up at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face. “Don’t mind them,” he says, as though he could somehow read your mind. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes still glued ahead, though you feel his thumb tracing circles on your skin, gentle, reassuring. “They’re just curious.”

“I know,” you say, though your voice is weak, a little uncertain. He gives you a sideways glance, the corners of his lips quirking into a tiny smile.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly, softly. His thumb is still tracing circles along your skin, almost distracting, “We’re almost there.”

“Okay.”

You find Ominis’s room after a while. It’s not easy work; not that it’s located anywhere hidden or anything, but all the rooms are identical enough that you’re not sure where to knock at first. Even now, you’re still not sure if you’ve stopped by the right room, though you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Gently, you rap on the door: three times, just the way you’ve been taught. Some kind of code, just to let him know it’s just you. No response. You try it again, louder this time, thinking he might not have just heard, but the result is the still same. With a frown, you press your ear against the door, but all you hear is silence.

You lean away from the door, turn to face your companion. He’s staring at you with a raised brow, waiting for an answer. You shake your head. “I don’t think he’s here,” you say, glancing worriedly at the door once more, then turn back to look at your companion, biting your lip as you wait for a response, “Should we go in?”

He’s quiet for a moment, lips twisting in an ugly frown. It’s clear he’s worried too, even if he doesn’t say anything about it. He moves toward the door, and you step aside, give him space, opting to watch him instead, curious to see what he’d do. Like you, he gives it a gentle rap: three times, well-used and familiar. No answer. With the frown still on his lips, he reaches out, twists the knob experimentally. It yields easily under his touch, unlocked. He turns to look at you, his gaze half-curious, half-expectant, as if waiting for your permission.

You nod, signal for him to do it. It’s not as if you’ve got much of a choice; you’ve come here for answers, haven’t you? You’ve come here in search of your mutual friend after all, and if it turns out he isn’t here, then at least you’ll have some clues to fall back on. There must be an answer somewhere in his room, even if he isn’t there to provide it.

And if it turns out you’ve visited the wrong room after all, you can always walk away and pretend that nothing’s happened. Sebastian nods back at you, squares his shoulders in preparation before twisting the knob one final time, pushing the door open.

He gives you another glance, then slowly steps inside, gesturing for you to do the same. Carefully, you follow after him, closing the door behind you. It’s not a large room, not very spacious, but it’s still enough for a single person and their belongings. You glance around you, observing your surroundings. It’s a little dark; the curtains are all drawn. The only light comes from the sun outside, spilling through the cracks: soft, almost hazy.

It’s enough to help you navigate around, and you do so with ease, turning your head this way and that as you walk around in search of clues, some answers. Sebastian follows after you, keeping close, though both of you are quiet, too lost in your own thoughts to make conversation, small talks.

You don’t sense anything wrong at first glance. Then again, it’s not as if you’ve been here often enough to know if things are out of place, or where things are supposed to go. Most of your visits here happen only at night, pitch-black and quiet: sneaking in and out, quick and fleeting. You’ve never stayed long; mostly you’ve stayed in Sebastian’s room, because it’s the closest, and he’s the one who arranges most of your meetings, anyway.

Still, you take in as much of the room as you can, certain you’ll find some of your answers here. The room’s a little messy: sheafs of paper scattered carelessly on the desk, weighed down by a half-empty paper cup, forgotten. You wince a little, trying not to gag; it looks like it’s been there a while now – a few days, maybe, perhaps even more, no doubt stale and cold, absolutely disgusting to the tongue.

You turn your head to the side, look at your companion, “Is his room normally this messy?” You keep your voice quiet, soft as a whisper, not wanting to make too much of a sound.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, shrugging. He matches the tone of your voice, whispering as well, “We should keep looking.”

You frown, looking around you once more, “Do you think he’s here?”

He frowns as well, matching the expression on your face, though this time, he doesn’t give you an answer. He walks around the room, poking and prodding, and you follow after him, making sure to stick by his side. The two of you reach the bed; there’s a lump there beneath, huge enough to be a person, still and not quite moving, and you blink a few times, not convinced it’s real.

You move closer, sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress depressing under your weight. “Hey,” you say, voice quiet, almost uncertain. From the corners of your eyes, you catch Sebastian staring at you; he doesn’t mimic you this time, though he’s careful to stay close, standing by your side, waiting. Like some kind of moral support, you think; you look up, give him a grateful smile – something he’s quick to return – before you turn back to the person-shaped lump on the bed, “Ominis?”

There’s no response at first, though there’s a quiet rustle that comes from beneath. A second later, a familiar head pops up from beneath the blankets, eyeing you blearily. It’s Ominis, looking more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. His gaze quickly lands on you, and for a second, confusion flashes in his eyes, as though he doesn’t quite recognize you. It’s gone in a second, and a moment later, he licks his lips, says your name.

You smile, reaching out to brush the stray hair away from his eyes. He closes his eyes, leans more into your touch. Your heart melts. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replies. He sounds different this time: a little strange, though you can’t quite put a finger on it. He must’ve sensed your worry, because a moment later, he tries to give you a smile, though it comes across as weak, more tired than reassuring, “Just tired.”

You frown, not quite convinced. Now that you’re here, you can finally have a good look at him. He looks disordered: hair wild and unkempt, tangled. It’d be an adorable sight if the situation’s a little more different, not at all like this.

Still, he must’ve sensed you staring, because he huffs out a breath, breaks the silence between you, “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t in any of our classes today,” you reply. You turn your head, look up at Sebastian. He still hasn’t moved where he is: standing just beside you, though he gives you a quiet nod, urges for you to continue. You nod back, then press on, turning your focus back to Ominis: “We got worried; we thought something was wrong, so we came to see how you’re doing.”

It’s not technically a lie. You did come here for him, after all, even if you don’t quite expect him to be here, buried beneath the blankets.

“But it’s still early.” He frowns. “Shouldn’t you still be in class?”

“You weren’t there,” you say, as if that’s enough of an answer. From the way his lips twist into a frown, you’re sure that it isn’t, and that he’s disapproving, “We kind of ditched.”

He seems almost surprised by your admission, though Sebastian cuts him off before he can say anything else, “Oh, come on, Ominis,” he protests, like he already knows what the latter’s going to say, “It’s fine. It’s just one time.”

Ominis frowns. For a second, he looks like he wants to argue, say something more, but then he shakes his head, huffs out a sigh – a sound that all too quickly turns into a cough. Not quite knowing what to do, you stand up, move toward him, ready to assist. But he only shakes his head, waves you off with a hand.

“Are you sick?” you ask, sitting back down on the bed, eyebrows furrowed in worry, “Do you need anything?”

“No.” He shakes his head. It takes him a moment to speak, find his voice, “Just tired.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. Helplessly, you glance toward Sebastian, meeting his eyes and giving him a pleading stare. He knows him longer than you have, after all, and if there’s anyone who can make him listen, you’re certain that it’s him. He sighs exasperatedly, though he follows after you anyway, moving to sit beside you on the bed. You scoot a little to the side, making room for him, quiet as you watch him press a hand against Ominis’s forehead, checking his temperature.

Briefly, he turns to look at you, then shakes his head. Uh-oh. That doesn’t seem like a good thing. “It seems like you’ve caught the flu,” Sebastian says, turning back to his friend. Here, his voice grows quieter, conspiratorial. There’s a playfulness to his voice that wasn’t there before, “What were you doing last night, hm?”

“Nothing.” Ominis is quick to protest, seeming far too embarrassed that you can’t help but laugh. “I was resting.”

“Well, if you need anything, just say the word,” you chime in, eager to help.

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine with some rest.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything,” you begin after a moment of quiet, smiling hopefully, “Maybe we could just keep you company instead?”

Ominis frowns. “You’re not just using that as an excuse to keep slacking off, are you?”

“We’re model students!” you protest passionately, as if the very idea has never once crossed your mind. It has, of course, because even if you’re a model student, you’re still a normal student like the rest of them, with frequent urges of rest and procrastination. Still, you don’t need to admit it out loud, “We won’t even do such a thing.”

Sebastian snorts, shaking his head. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “That’s just you.”

You glare at him in response, though he only laughs at you in return.

“Still, if I really have the flu—” Ominis cuts in, and the two of you turn at the sound of his voice, waiting for the rest of his words. He sounds almost dubious about it, like he doesn’t quite believe it. “I don’t want you two catching it.”

“We’re fine.” You don’t wait for him to say anything else. It’s a little hard to fit in, especially when the bed’s too tiny – enough only for a single person, and not for three, let alone two. Still, you manage, and quickly, you lie down beside him, wrapping your arms around him and cuddling close, resting your head against his chest. Ominis hums under his breath, wrapping one arm around your middle and keeping you close. You grin at him, though you’re sure he can’t see it. “We don’t get sick easily. And we don’t plan on leaving you alone.”

He snorts in disbelief. “We’ll see about that.”

You stare expectantly at Sebastian, who sighs and shakes his head, looking like he wants no part of this. Still, with enough coaxing on your part, giving him the puppy eyes you know he’d never be able to resist, he finally climbs in after you. You scoot again, trying to give him enough space to fit into, but there’s hardly enough that you end up sandwiched between them, your limbs awkwardly tangled together that you don’t know where you end and where they begin. Still, you’re not sure you’d trade this for anything else.

“Good night,” you say to no one in particular, smiling. The only thing that greets you after that is silence, but you press on anyway, the smile still on your lips. “Sweet dreams.”

#renwrites #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader

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inkedreverie · 7 months

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bucky barnes x female reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Bucky struggles to cope with the pain after Steve dies.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬: friends to lovers, sad/grief sex, angst with a happy ending, p in v sex, unprotected sex, major character death,

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫❜𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Anon requested smut with heavy feelings and my inspo immediately chose this. I hope you like it!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐈𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

It’s not the same.

That’s what he keeps telling himself over and over in his head. It feels like a part of him is missing. And deep down he knows a piece of him died the day Steve left. It also doesn’t help that everywhere he looks reminds him of Steve. Around his apartment, on the TV, and outside when he decides to walk, down the sidewalk.

He buries himself in his work and, for the most part, it works. His mind is preoccupied with mission reports, training, and taking care of his weapons, but then, when he’s on a mission, that’s when it kicks in. A painful reminder that his best friend is no longer by his side.

But then again, he still has her. Over the past few months, he finds himself coming to her for comfort. Bucky pours out his heart to her, and he knows she won’t judge him because everyone is grieving in their own way. Everyone on the Avengers can feel the absence.

So, when he asks her if she wants to join him at one of his favorite bars, she’s not surprised. And a part of him knows it’s silly. Bucky can’t get drunk because of the super serum but at least he can relish in the feeling of the alcohol, burning his throat, the soft music reverberating off the walls.

Tonight, though, something shifts. The tears that he usually tries to hold back, his throat constricting and his heart feeling heavy once more—it becomes too much to bear.

He looks over at Y/N, gulping hard before he breaks the silence. “I miss him...” he croaks out, looking up at her through dark eyelashes. “I still see him. Everywhere.”

There it is. Out in the open for all the world to hear. Except, of course, the world doesn’t seem to pay attention when he talks. Except when his skin begins to feel sticky from the sweat, he can hear the vibrations through the wood beneath him, the warmth radiating off his body when her fingertips make contact with his cheekbone, slowly turning him around. His mouth goes dry, eyes trailing from her lips and moving slowly up her face until he’s staring at her eyes once more.

She reaches up with her other hand, thumb gently swiping under his right eye, collecting the tears that have since fallen down his face.

Her voice is soft and reassuring and he’s almost sure it’s the best sound in the world. “I miss him too,” she pauses, letting go of his face. “C’mere...” she trails off, her hand moving from his knee down to the back of his head.

Without hesitating, his arms slipped underneath hers, face resting against her chest, letting the warmth take hold of his entire body. She gently rocks him back and forth while humming a soft lullaby, making him feel safe and secure.

It’s been a while since he’s let his guard down like this and he finds himself snuggling closer to her warmth. Bucky doesn’t care that they’re in public, that people are staring, or that Steve’s face will show up on the television screen nearby—because that all goes out the window when his only thought is to seek her comfort.

He may have lost a part of him with the death of his best friend, but she’s doing an excellent job of keeping that part alive and breathing. It feels natural and comforting to have her touch. Her lips press lightly against the top of his head. And not once does she shy away at his body resting against hers. If anything, she doesn’t let up, just tightening the hold around his shoulder, bringing him into her even more.

But with it being their first time getting this intimate, neither one of them fully knows the effect it’ll have on them. “I miss him too,” she whispers. The way her thumb softly rubs the back of his head in slow circular motions, nails running lightly across his scalp.

Bucky feels an overwhelming need for affection, like an addict chasing that next high. So much so that he presses further into her touch, needing her to soothe his inner demons.

There’s a weird feeling, but it isn’t necessarily an unwelcoming one either, the way their heartbeats are syncing. That’s never happened before. It almost seems like it’s intentional. And for some reason, the thought of their bodies connecting that deeply, as simple as a synchronous rhythm, scares and thrills him at the same time. There’s something there.

She always says the right words that put him at ease. Makes his heart feel less constricted, and the pain starts to dwindle. Her hand glides across the nape of his neck. Bucky tries to relax as much as his body would allow him to, but then his eyes flash to her lips and it hits him... hard.

How in the last month did he not realize how beautiful they look? All full and plump, inviting him, welcoming him, drawing him in. Why didn’t he ever think of kissing her or hell—why he didn’t act on impulse is beyond him.

Slowly, but deliberately, her head tilts slightly, and he finds his head moving forward as well, stopping only a breath away, nose brushing ever so slightly. That’s where everything comes to a screeching halt.

At one point, his hand slides up to her shoulder, gently squeezing as his forehead drops against hers. Her breathing begins to hitch and now that he’s been in her bubble, there’s no doubt their faces will probably burn together. Her eyes slide open. “Are you sure?” Her voice is raspy.

When he finally catches his breath, his thumb and forefinger find the purchase of her chin, gently coaxing her lips towards his. This is probably the dumbest thing he’ll ever do. But somehow he has a gut feeling, he knows it’ll feel different.

She can only exhale sharply before Bucky’s mouth meets hers. At first, he can only kiss her bottom lip. She sighs with contentment. For someone who’s rarely ever done this in his lifetime, his self-confidence grows with each kiss.

Her hands shoot up his chest to snake around his neck, and she’s clutching the fabric there like a vise and he knows his clothing will be wrinkled afterward. Her chest brushes against his. And holy fuck, she’s not wearing a bra, and the way her hardened nipple makes contact with him sends a shockwave down his spine.

She deepens the kiss, her tongue stroking along the crease of his mouth, gently nibbling the supple flesh that’s soft, warm, and perfect.

She tastes better than he imagined. Fruity and crisp from her drink. He traces the curve of her spine, savoring her body, when a moan leaves the back of his throat.

Just barely though. She parts her lips, her teeth grazing his lower lip. Bucky has been trying so damn hard to ignore the aching pain between his legs. A carnal need takes hold of his entire body and when he’s about ready to push her into her seat, he takes his chance to sneak a little deeper. Just a taste. And fuck him, because she gives him everything in return. She’s bold, and strong, and like fire.

Before things can go too far, he pulls away. Partially gasping for air and completely head over heels in love with the woman sitting across from him. Bucky watches with hooded eyes as her swollen lips turn into an ethereal smile that not even the brightest star can shine upon. “We should probably go...” he suggests with a small smile. The first smile she’d seen since Steve’s funeral. She nods.

Once he slips his gloves back on, she turns towards him, her chest pressing against his. “Thank you, by the way. For earlier, it meant a lot that you asked me here,” her voice is a faint whisper.

Bucky tilts her chin upwards to connect their lips once again in a gentle, intimate and private way. Only for him to have. Only for her to share. “You know I wouldn’t do this with anyone,” his hand shoots out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing her hand as they make their way out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

A feeling settles deep inside his chest as a strong gust of wind causes her body to move forward, crashing into his. He can tell by her soft giggles, and the crinkle of her eyes that she’s cold, and he would do everything to protect her. “Sorry,” she mutters as another harsh blast causes her hair to sway dramatically.

Her eyes flicker momentarily before he envelops her frame in his own, his chest pressing firmly against hers, sending her further into the hard surface of his chest, enveloping her entirely. “Oh...” she trails off. She blinks repeatedly, struggling to find the right words before he drops a light, affectionate kiss on her cheek. Her soft hair blows delicately in the night air.

Her fingers thread through his, pulling him gently, never once letting go of his hand. “What?” She frowns as the two stop right in front of Avenger’s Tower. “I’m just really lucky to have someone as kind, considerate, and funny as you in my life. My heart’s been shattered.” A faint blush crosses his cheeks, ears turning a faint shade of pink.

He smirks, watching her tuck the piece of her behind her ear as a sudden heat travels up her neck, warming her features. She reaches out to smooth the stray hairs, tenderly gliding her fingers along the stubble before reaching the small spot on his jaw.

“Can I touch your arm?” His laugh is loud, yet bright and refreshing, like a cold beer on a hot summer day. She lifts her gaze to his face, her smile growing bigger and brighter.

“Are we already at the part where we explore each other?” He muses playfully. She shakes her head in response before leaning into his touch. He wraps an arm around the small of her back, gently leading her over towards the building, up the short set of steps, and into the building.

She is grateful that the elevator ride is silent, even though she can feel the unwavering tension coursing between the two. She briefly looks at the mirrored surface before sneaking a glance at him and this time, she is pleasantly surprised at the sincerity reflected back. She tilts her head, meeting his gaze.

Her stomach suddenly filled with a new sensation, leaving her body to move against his. They sway slowly from side to side before leaning her forehead on the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. She smiles when a burst of laughter fills the small space, followed quickly by his sharp gasp as the doors open and the lights illuminate the floor.

“Who the hell designed this place, anyway?” He exclaims, stepping past the doors.

“I’ll have you know, Tony Stark designed this,” she declares, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance. She stifles the grin, then clears her throat, focusing her eyes elsewhere instead of meeting his challenging stare, lest her whole facade collapse.

His gaze doesn’t linger long, though; instead, his stare shifts down her frame. He sighs. “Well, I guess it could be worse.” Her smirk widens even more at the slight hint of uncertainty beneath his teasing tone. She forces out a snort when all she wants is to giggle.

Bucky shakes his head before taking her hand in his, leading them to his bedroom. There isn’t any sense of awkwardness, not with her. She is, for lack of better words, natural. Simple. Easy-going. Not pretentious like all the other women he used to bed.

Her movements are deliberate, slow, and calculated. He has to remind himself that what he felt back then is nothing compared to how she makes him feel right now, right here, right now. They both sit on the edge of the bed, knees touching.

Their chests are heaving, his mind fogged with desire. Her hand glides through the rough scruff along his face, causing him to lean in the comfort of her embrace, kissing her back. She trails soft kisses up along his jaw and neck, savoring the way her lips fit perfectly along his heated skin, causing shivers to run down his spine.

There are so many ways he wants her to touch him, but the most urgent need is for her to touch him where he’s needed the most. He grinds against her once more, feeling the heat radiate off her body, his breath hot and labored as his hips rock harder, and his mind becomes overwhelmed with her.

It’s strange; the way her eyes still meet his, burning with fiery intensity and he cannot look away, doesn’t want to, as her hands continue to roam free down his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps with the trail her fingertips are leaving in their wake.

“I need you, Y/N. I need you to take away the pain. Even if it’s just a few minutes.” He shudders and leans forward, capturing her lips in his, devouring every inch. Their bodies were alive, consumed in the sensations and neither was thinking clearly; their emotions had taken a firm grip on them, leaving them to give in to their desires.

His lips moved down her neck and shoulders, finding a sensitive spot that had her shivering under his attention; a small whimper escaped from her lips. His mouth soon found hers again, the passion between them growing stronger with each kiss, each touch.

The muscles in her abdomen clenched at his words and his touch, which seemed to intensify with every brush of his hand along her skin. “It’s alright, Buck. It’s okay.”

His hands move down her body, unzipping her jeans before pulling them down. He lays her back gently before shedding the rest of their clothes, skin against skin.

“You ready?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. Her heart jumped and her pulse quickened, beating frantically in her chest, her blood flowing hot with excitement, lust, and need. The only reply she could muster came in the form of a shaky nod.

She wanted it. Wanted it so badly, that the slightest bit of friction against her slick folds made her arch her back slightly and bite her lip in anticipation.

She looked down to see him leaning above her, looking down at her with eyes clouded with desire. His shaft pressed against her entrance, and she moaned again, wanting and craving more. “God, Y/N. Please, please, let me hear you say it,” he growled lowly into her ear as his hands slid under her backside, lifting her slightly.

“Please, Buck, just take me,” she gasped out.

“I love the sound of those words from your pretty little lips,” he smirked. “Tell me again.”

“Bucky...”

He placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them apart before driving himself inside her, relishing in her whimpers of pleasure as he slid deeper. The warmth and tightness of her wrapped around his cock almost took him over the edge. “Fuck, that feels good, baby,” he groaned, slowly thrusting into her.

His movements were agonizingly slow as he began rocking back and forth, each time burying his length deeper within her warmth. The familiarity of their connection, the way their bodies were so close, and the way she responded to his touches sent bolts of electricity throughout his body. He felt her shudder, her eyes closing tightly, and she let out a long gasp of satisfaction.

After several minutes of steady pumping, Bucky shifted so he could lean over the top of her, and he brushed his thumb across her lips. “Open your eyes, Y/N,” he murmured softly in her ear. “I want to see the look on your face when I make love to you.” He heard her breathing become shallow, and she obeyed, her eyelids fluttering open.

“You’re beautiful, doll.”

She arched her back slightly, pushing herself down onto him. “Yes,” she breathed out, her voice quivering. “More,” she pleaded, gripping onto him tightly.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he rasped.

Bucky rocked his hips faster, sending the bed rocking into the wall with each hard thrust, causing the wood to bang loudly, echoing through the room.

He watched as she writhed underneath him, biting her lower lip as his rhythm increased, sweat dripping off his chin, mixing with the fluids from their passionate sex. Her body trembled violently and her heart was hammering in her ribcage. Her eyes flew shut, and her hands rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“Fuck!” she hissed between gritted teeth.

The muscles in her thighs tightened as the wave of euphoria spread throughout her whole body. He felt her walls contracting around him, and he smiled against her throat. He loved hearing her come undone by his hands... no, his touch... no, his words.

It drove him insane how easily he could get lost in her moans, and her whimpers. He loved her sounds. They sounded so fucking angelic. And oh god, how he loved the way her fingernails would rake down his back and leave angry red marks, bruising his flesh and bone, painting the canvas that is his skin.

For a moment, he forgets about the pain and grief that lingers in his chest. His mind only filled with thoughts of her, wanting and needing him and only him. Nothing else. Nobody else. “Sweet Jesus. Shit...” His breaths turned heavy, and ragged, and his hands gripped at her hips, pulling her body into his as the final tremors coursed through him.

The scent of sweat, sex, and her perfume swirled around the air creating a perfect blend of aphrodisiac aromas that invaded the chambers of his brain, imprinting themselves into his memory forever, along with the image of her lying beneath him, her body trembling as the aftershocks continued.

She could feel the energy surging between them, and she sighed contentedly, opening her eyes and gazing at him lovingly, a serene expression on her face.

They stared at each other silently for a long while before he finally leaned in to capture her lips, kissing her deeply, and when they parted, he moved away from her slightly. Her eyes locked onto his, searching them for something... anything, to grasp onto as the waves of euphoria swept over her, pulling her under, drowning her in its blissful embrace.

There was a subtle twinkle in his blue irises shining brightly, as though they contained specks of gold dust and flecks of light from the morning sky; an ethereal glow, dazzling, beautiful, and powerful enough to send shivers down her spine and make her insides flutter uncontrollably.

Bucky could sense the changes taking place within her, although he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the specific cause of such sudden reactions, nor could he figure out whether it stemmed from pure physical exhaustion or emotional overload.

Whatever the case, his breathing became steadier as her eyes met his once more and the corners of his lips lifted into an adorable grin that was unlike his typical stoic expressions.

Her face relaxed, and the tension left her muscles. Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek, running along the coarse stubble before landing softly against his face. She let out a heavy sigh, feeling somewhat relieved as her vision grew blurry, and tears fell freely from her closed lids.

The emotions threatened to overwhelm her, but she fought to regain some sort of composure, swallowing heavily as a deep pang resonated within her chest and reverberated throughout the room. Bucky rolled off of her, now lying beside her as he pulled her into his arms.

“Shhh,” he murmured soothingly into her ear as he ran his hand over her bare skin, trailing down towards the curve of her hips.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, although she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

“No. You’re not,” he retorted sternly, as if admonishing a small child.

Y/N glanced back up at him, wiping away some of the tears that fell. “Bucky,” her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“What do you need, baby?” He whispered, leaning into her ear. “Anything you want, you can tell me. I can make anything happen for you, I promise,” he swore earnestly, his eyes glittering with hope.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe I’m just tired or overwhelmed or something,” she mumbled.

Bucky sat up slightly, adjusting his weight on the mattress. “Is it about Steve?”

At that moment, she felt a lump in her throat, knowing deep down that she owed it to him, at least to have an honest conversation regarding her feelings and to try her best to express herself without keeping her emotions hidden behind a mask of strength.

She nodded reluctantly, exhaling deeply as she squeezed his bicep. “Everything’s going to be fine, okay?”

A tear trickled down her cheek and landed on her leg, leaving a warm wetness against the cool skin of her thigh. “I’m scared, Buck. What am I supposed to do when everything changes? If I lose you and everyone else, then where will I turn?” She swallowed hard, wiping her eyes dry. “I’m sorry for sounding weak, but it hurts...”

Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she chewed anxiously on it as her body wracked itself with tiny hiccupping sobs. Bucky enveloped her in a hug, squeezing tightly, allowing the comforting silence to fill the void between them.

He understood that this type of intimate relationship didn’t necessarily require constant communication or dialogue; sometimes, simply sitting together quietly like this gave a sense of peace and security to both parties involved. And he needed that comfort right now. He wanted Y/N to realize how much he loved her. How special she was to him.

“I understand, sweetheart. It’s hard losing people.” He kissed her forehead gently. “It’s terrifying, knowing that nothing will ever replace the hole their departure creates. But you never have to worry about me. I’ll always be there for you.”

She sniffles, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“Just as Steve always was. No matter what.”

There are no words exchanged; instead, they remain entwined together. Neither one of them knows which movement to make first. Whether it’s initiating further physical intimacy or moving past the heaviness of the situation.

After a while, they decide that doing nothing is better than being awkward, so they stay in this position, enjoying each other’s company while silently praying that this will last.

Bucky presses a delicate kiss to her temple, murmuring a soft “goodnight” against her hair.

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot.#angst #smut and angst

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