#or at least didn’t Understand that he was trying to express shit in his own way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

priniya · 9 months

Text

🔮 OPPOSITES ATTRACT

synopsis. a quiet slytherin and a loud gryffindor find themselves on a chilly evening, which results in something unexpected — at least for people around them. the oldest weasley’s daughter finds herself infatuated with nott’s only child and vice versa, even if their worlds seem so different, being apart just doesn’t feel right.

notes. theodore nott x weasley!reader. slightly sunshine x grumpy (pretend you’re a ginger if ur not). part 2 containing the date, thoughts?

theodore nott never thought he would be given a chance to love and be loved, upon all the terrible mistakes he has made. and maybe it seemed silly for a sixteen years old to say, but with an upcoming war, he wasn’t so sure if he could live through it.

theodore nott never thought he would have someone to call his own, someone to help him, when times get tough or someone who would understand him wordlessly. to be fair, theodore nott never thought he deserved anything like that, so the surprise on his face, when he found someone who was involuntarily willing to be his person was enormous.

he was walking around the crowded streets of the city, the dim lighting allowing him to see muggles running around with different expression on every other face he has passed — some of them were happy, cheering the slowly creeping holiday on them, some of them were exhausted and/or angry, probably from trying to find a perfect gift for someone and failing. just watching them gave him some sort of comfort, he had never had to look for gifts too much, his father wasn’t keen on being all festive and christmas was just any other day. the exception itself was looking for presents for his friends, which never had troubled him so much he looked exhausted.

he was in his thoughts, when he felt like he collided with someone. his eyebrows were squinted as he looked down on the red-haired girl, whose face was all red, either from cold or embarrassment. though, there was something so familiar about the girl that made him study her face for a brief second, the tea stain on his unzipped jacket didn’t seem to bother him at all, not as much as the familiarity of the girl.

��oh my god, i am so sorry, sir.” she let out ashamed that she didn’t look where she was going and that she probably ruined someone’s evening with her no sugar, lemon tea. it was then, when the familiar girl finally gave up and looked at the person she rudely bumped into.

“nott?” her words weren’t coated with layers of disgust and regret that out of all the people in london that night, she bumped into theodore nott. her words had surprised and confused undertones, almost as if she didn’t mind seeing him there. now, he obviously recognized his attacker — y/n weasley, a girl he sits behind in history of magic, a twin sister of potter’s best friend, someone who should hate him with burning passion.

“are you alright?” redhead’s question took him off guard.

theo was expecting something else, like a mockery of the fact that he was walking amongst muggles without hexing them all. though to be honest, theodore never hated muggles, well, yeah, he said some stupid shit, when he was younger and he was far from proud, but it was the need to appease his father. he definitely didn’t expect to see the worried manner in her, her brows scrunched as she tried to read his emotions, while standing in front of him in silence.

“theo…?” repeated y/n. he wasn’t alright and he didn’t know if he should show it. for merlin’s sake, he really wanted to get so much things out of his system, but venting to a weasley? he knew better than that — she would probably go around, and spread out the word about everything she heard from him.

nott was about to mumble something in response, when her eyes flickered with concern, demolishing all his justification why shouldn’t he talk to her for longer than needed. she was genuine, not caring that ron and harry weren’t on a good terms with him, she wanted to know, and help if possible.

so, theo simply gave up the act. “uh, no. not really.” he confessed, confirming all the suspicions she got to gather from observing him for a few minutes, when he thought of an answer. her expression changed from concerned to slightly sad, even.

before the boy could realize, he was sat in one of the small coffee shops beside her, a half empty, steamy cup of hot chocolate in his hands as they talked. something was so incredibly off about the way they conversed, first time in a while, he never wanted to conversation to end, just like when he was talking to his friends. his body itched at the thought that soon both of them would have to come to their respective houses and the talk would be just a memory that never happened again.

he had to admit that y/n’s presence was soothing. it was like the smell of a freshly printed new book, a cigarette on a foggy morning, a sensation of someone’s nails gently scratching the inside of his palm. the last one was a habit his mom developed to calm him down before she died, leaving him with an aching need for someone to find out about his perk and do it when he needs.

her muffled laughter filled his ears as he watched the girl cover her lips with a palm, he couldn’t help but smile. the gloomy atmosphere that he brought with his tiny vent was long gone, since she declared it her mission to make him feel better. so, since he wasn’t a big talker himself, she let him listen to all the stories from when she was growing up. even though he never experienced a family like hers, a family that cared for each other, it was comforting.

his eyes darted to the clock hung up on a wall, followed by hers and a long sigh that left his lips. his fingers ran through his curls as he parted his lips to bid goodbyes, though y/n was faster. “we could meet up here some other time, if you want.” she gave him a shy smile, the one he never thought he would see on her face.

y/n weasley wasn’t the shy type of girl, she was a big talker, a smart-ass with witty comebacks and a obnoxiously loud aura coating her small frame, though right now, upon his gaze that wandered around her face for quite some time now, she grew shyer.

“uh.” stuttered theo. “yeah, i guess it’s a good idea.” his reply made her smile go bigger, and in the back of his head, it felt like a reward for the decision he just made, some kind of reassurance that he did something good.

“perfect.” she grinned, taking the two of their cups and taking them to the shop’s kitchen, revealing that either she works there, or she’s just insanely crazy for barging into someone’s workplace as an unwanted stranger. “there’s a fireplace in the back.” weasley added, taking his hand in hers before he could even refuse (he wouldn’t though).

the tips of her long nails gently grazed his palm, when she led him the back, greeting a few of her coworkers. her touch on his skin ached, almost burnt, although if that’s what the insides of a normal, fireplace without floo powder felt like, he could grow to like it, only if a part of her body was pressed against his. few minutes later theo’s hand felt empty as he watched her disappear in green flames, having bid their goodbyes.

***

theo hated that feeling. this warm, strange feeling that coated his heart whenever he thought about the obnoxious gryffindor, who he met at those muggle streets. nevertheless, he found himself unable to think about someone else. he was replying to a letter pansy has sent him, and the only thing he had on his mind was y/n, he wondered if ginny told her about her little getaways with theo’s best friend, if all her brothers got back to their house, and — if she thought about him.

his hands throbbed. his fingers wrapped tightly around the quill, before putting it down on his deck. why on earth would he text her? it was one accidental meeting at some crowded street, one conversation that shouldn’t mean anything to them.

nott squeezed his eyes, the muscles on his face tensed as he focused on the paper in front of him, scribbling down a few words in his neat handwriting. a long sigh has left his lips, his eyes tracing the sentence he wrote for her. shit, why would he even do that? if any of his friends knew, he’d have been doomed — one weasley hanging around their friend group was enough, but he didn’t want to push draco nor blaise’s limits.

on a christmas’ eve, he went out for another walk, slightly hoping in the back of his mind that he’d accidentally bump into her again. this time, theodore would make sure to hear her laugh more often, to see her teeth, when she smiles or to watch as she gets shyer upon his gaze on her face.

his feet got him into a familiar looking café, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion — he couldn’t pinpoint from where he knew the place — and looked around. then, he heard it.

“theo!” a female voice rang in his ears. the boy turned his face, a smile slipping onto his lips as he realized where he was. the god damned café y/n was working at. “what can i get you?” a grin spread across her face, visibly delighted to see him there, almost as if she hoped for it.

her forearms laid on the counter as her body leaned a little closer, her hair pinned up in a ponytail that probably got ruined during her shift from running around the place, having a chat with each customer every now and then, a pinkish tint on her cheeks, maybe from the heat in the back or maybe, because he was there.

it took him a second to realize that he was staring with his mouth slightly parted. “uh—” he stuttered, getting a small, barely audiable giggle in response. “i just came to see you.” he blurted out. thank god his ears were covered by the beanie, because just by saying those six words got him all flustered.

“theo.” his name sounded so well coming from her. theodore wanted to hear it again, again, and again. it was melodic, like most beautiful song he’s ever heared. how could he get so whipped after one hangout?

“i hoped you’d come by.” she confessed shyly. “i have something for you in the back, could you give me five minutes? i gotta tell the manager i’m taking a break.” she beamed at him sweetly, rushing off to the back, taking off the green apron that hung on her waist in the meantime.

when she came back, she was still wearing the café’s shirt with a small, green logo, black jeans, and was carefully walking towards his table with a neatly wrapped package and on a top of that a plate with a big piece of some sort of chocolate cake, two drinks (the same as last time), and a cookie. her hair wasn’t in a ponytail anymore, ginger strands falling into her shoulders as she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

“you– you got me something?” a question left theo’s mouth, leaving him all surprised — the strange feeling warming him up from the inside. he took a big sip of the hot chocolate in front of him, hardly minding that he burnt his tongue, he didn’t want to say anything stupid. “y/n, we talked once and you… got me something?” he asked once again, not believing his own eyes.

the girl just smiled wider, passing the box towards him. “uh. yeah.” she answered, shrugging. “last time, you said that you never really celebrated christmas the right way, so… please open it.” she tried explaing herself, but gave up at the end, pushing the box further with her fingertips. “please?”

shit.

if she didn’t ask, if she didn’t give him those eyes and that smile. maybe he would be able to refuse, think of some lame excuse that wouldn’t hurt her feelings and give her the box back. but y/n was so sweet, and thought of him hard enough to prepare him a gift.

for half a second, theodore could see something flicker in her eyes, when his lean fingers gently pulled the green ribbon, ripping the gift paper afterwards. the gift turned out to be a sweater, a hand-made one that made the feeling come back to him.

the sweater was dark green, in the similar shade of his tie or the snake symbol on his robes, it had a large, dark blue letter T with a silver outline. his eyes scanned the piece of clothing, the corner of his lips going slightly upwards. “you got me your mom’s iconic sweater?” asked theo.

his mind was filled with different thoughts and emotions right now. he could never call y/n weasley a sweet girl, not because it wasn’t true, but because it would be an understatement — she was the sweetest, or at least somewhere in that range. his cheeks almost hurt from smiling at her, and never in his life nott had felt it.

“actually…” her cheeks started getting a little more pinkish than usual. “it’s based on my mom’s sweaters, i did it on my own. it might not be perfect—" y/n started rambling in nervousness, afraid that the boy won’t be happy about getting a meaningless piece of fabric from her.

“y/n, i love it.” theodore’s words were like honey to y/n’s ears, she gave him a small smile, not really expecting him to gently grab her hand out of sudden. the reason behind it? even theo didn’t know (probably to ease her nerves).

when he realized what he did, he wanted to take his hand back and mutter a quiet apology, the crime scene awkward as much as only possible. although, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that the pink on her face intensified, few more minutes of skin-to-skin contact, and she would turn into a tomato, so his hand stayed on hers, taking the chance and intertwining their fingers together.

“would you– uh,” the redhead started, stumbling over her own words, easily losing focus, each time his thumb stroked her hand, a tiny smirk hovering over his lips. “like to, uh, come here once in a while, you know… until the break’s over? keep me company, maybe?”

and he did. how couldn’t he? this girl was constantly on his mind ever since she bumped into him on the streets and spent literal hours at the café.

although, beside just keeping her company during the winter break — but also at school. he grew so fond of her (and believe me, it worked both ways) that cutting their fresh friendship short was something he couldn’t let happen. so… even though her younger sister was already swaying her way into theodore’s friend group, y/n seemed like a different topic.

theodore nott liked sharing. as unbelievable as it sounds, he really did. whenever he had something he enjoyed, he was willing to share, he was the type of person to give away his last cigarette to one of his friends, but the thought of sharing y/n weasley never crossed his mind. he wanted her all to himself, so… their hangouts always contained just the two of them.

small study dates in the library, late night walks around the courtyard, meet-ups in the room of requirement, picnics in the astronomy tower, while smoking some pot and cigarettes together.

back then, it felt strictly platonic. even if they called it their little dates, nott had a feeling they weren’t moving past the friendship line, while his emotions towards the girl were getting more and more serious. nevertheless, theodore was confident, but not confident enough to ask her out — to confess his silly crush without the fear creeping up on him that y/n would reject him and turn his dreams into nightmares.

***

the weather outside was getting better with each day until spending time inside the castle was unbearable. it was around the time, theo decided to finally push his luck and ask the girl of his dream out. ever since he woke up, he was nervously fidgeting with everything that got to his hands and when then classes were to start, it only got worse.

“you alright, theo?” a whisper left y/n’s mouth as she stood next to him in potions, her elbow nudging him lightly, trying to catch his attention.

merlin. the way his name sounded so wonderful on her tongue. if it wasn’t for the small attention-grabber, he would definitely accidentally ignore the question to daydream about how sweetly her voice is.

“no, i mean– yes, yes i am.” he stuttered. “i just– can i ask you a question?” she nodded, making his stomach turn around. “would you, uh– like to go out to hogsmeade with me? like on a date?” the question left his lips.

his throat went dry as he waited years for an answer (which was actually just about two seconds, theo’s brain just got really dramatic from stress), legs giving up, so he had to lean his palms on the table.

“f’course.” weasley grinned, not minding the blush that spread all over her face, just from the ask. “i thought you’d never ask, really.” she giggled, turning her eyes away for a second, before flashing him another beam of hers.

nott’s face was now bright pink. “i– what?” he was struggling to form a logical sentence. “you wanted me to–?” the boy was supposed to finish his thought, though it didn’t really sit well with snape who interrupted their little talk, postponing it until the evening.

the two of them were walking somewhere outside, laughing about something so insignificant, when the situation from classes popped into his mind. “so… about that date. you really want to?” asked nott.

he expected any kind of answer — yes, no, maybe, you should guess, nah — whatever was only possible. however, the feeling of her lips on his wouldn’t cross his mind. she kissed him. y/n has kissed him, leaving him breathless, when she pulled away.

“does that answer your question?” redhead chuckled, her fingers still curled up against the collar of his white shirt. he shook his head, still mind-blown. “yes, theodore faustus nott, i was dying to hear you ask me out on a date. whatever we have between us, i wanted it to move forward and go on a date with you.”

she laughed. “you really think i’d spend hours crotcheting a sweater for a guy i met few days earlier if i didn’t feel something? theo, i almost passed out when you touched my hand months ago.” another laugh left her lips that were now so close to his, clouding his mind with one certain thing.

upon hearing all those words, the boy couldn’t stop himself anymore, he pressed his mouth against hers, savouring the moment. cherishing the fact that she wanted him like he wanted her.

“the date is still a thing, yeah?” y/n smiled as her nose brushed his.

“you’re gonna love it.” he answered, grinning.

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #pansy parkinson x ginny weasley #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theo nott x you #theo nott fic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys fic #theo nott rec

2K notes · View notes

ambrosiagoldfish · 3 months

Note

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!

Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

436 notes · View notes

junrenjun · 17 days

Text

Comfortable

omega!joshua x beta!reader (mentioned alpha!seungcheol x omega!jeonghan, implied ot13 x reader)

genre: angst (kinda) with some good ole fluff

wc: 1223

warnings: reader has periods, mentions of blood, a/b/o dynamics

summary: joshua sees y/n having a bad day and finds a way to make her more comfortable.

a/n: Wow I actually wrote again! As suggested, I'm going to make this and "Understand" into a little series, with snippets of this ot13 x reader pack. I'll try my best to cover each member at least once. Anyways this means I need a name for the series so if you have any suggestions feel free to let me know. Also how did so many of you like/reblog Understand without telling me that I wrote ot8 instead of ot13 :/ (I guess that's what I get for writing at 3 AM). Enjoy!

Joshua knew something was wrong when you emerged from your room wearing your own sweatpants. Half of your closet wasn’t even your own clothes at this point. You had to have gone out of your way to put on something that didn’t originally belong to another pack member. Were you fighting with someone? Were the scents too much? Did you not want to be part of the pack anymore? He tried his best to push the negative thoughts to the back of his mind, but to no avail.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as you trudged into the kitchen in silence, stopping halfway through like you forgot what you came for. You didn’t greet him or even acknowledge his presence in the living room. Okay, something is definitely wrong.

Eventually, you remembered your purpose in the kitchen and scampered to the fridge, opening the freezer. After a few moments of shuffling and mumbles of, “where is it,” he heard a sniffle. Then another. Concerned, Joshua turned around, watching in horror as you dropped to the floor and started sobbing. The scent of distress permeated the room and he was quick to scramble to your side.

He crouched down next to you, reaching out slowly. You lifted your head slightly to look at the man in front of you, before throwing yourself into the omega’s arms. Joshua fell back onto his butt with a small oomph.

He couldn’t care less though, he just wanted to comfort his beta. He hugged you tightly, letting your tears soak into his shirt. After a few minutes, your hiccups started to slow and he felt it was the right time to ask, “what’s got you so worked up?”

You mumbled something into his shoulder. He furrowed his brow trying to understand what you said. “You gotta say it louder honey.”

A beat passed, then you lifted her head and looked away from him. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it has you crying on the kitchen floor.” He paused for a second, debating his words. “And clearly something has you upset. You’re wearing your own sweatpants instead of that pair of Jun’s that you really like.”

You snorted. Your scent finally cleared a bit and Joshua gave a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You sighed and looked longingly at the fridge for a second before turning back to the omega with a deadpan expression. “I thought we still had some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in the freezer but I guess we don’t.”

Oh. Joshua’s smile grew. “That’s it? I thought you, like, didn’t want to be part of the pack anymore or something.”

An expression of horror crossed your face. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

This time, it was his turn to deadpan. “You came out of your room looking like shit, wearing your own clothes, and then dropped onto the kitchen floor sobbing! Of course I thought something was wrong!”

You rolled your eyes, but Joshua saw the hint of a smile on your lips. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, before softly saying, “the ice cream really doesn’t explain the first half of that though.”

You laughed for a second before pointing to the calendar on the fridge, where a small red dot was drawn on the top right corner of the box marking today’s date. “I’m on my period Joshie. I don’t want to accidentally get blood on Jun’s pants.”

Suddenly, Joshua felt really, really stupid. It was all right in front of his face. “Oh.”

His surprised face was enough to make you cackle, and he giggled to himself at you rolling on the floor. This time laughing instead of crying. Joshua doesn’t really know what possessed him to blurt this out so abruptly, but sure enough he asked, “do you want to come sit in my nest with me?”

It was your turn to be surprised this time. “You want me to sit in your nest with you? Like right now?”

You didn’t think you had ever seen the omega be so shy since you started living with the pack. His cheeks turned red and he looked away from you. “Yeah I mean, if you are okay with it. It really helps me feel better during pre-heat, so I figured it might help you?”

Joshua finally looks back up at you and is relieved to see that you're smiling. You start to stand up, pulling him with you while saying, “okay Joshie lead the way.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up. He pulls you along to his and Jeonghan’s shared room. He’s grateful to catch the other omega’s scent coming from Seungcheol’s room. He figured he would be there, Jeonghan spends more time there than his own bedroom. And yes, Joshua is selfish enough to want some alone time with you (and maybe have an excuse to have you covered in his scent).

Finally, you both make it to his room. He feels you pause and linger near the door as he begins to rearrange his nest. He knows exactly what you are going to say before the words leave your mouth. “Are you sure you still want me in your nest?”

He deadpans to you for what feels like the millionth time that day and says, “y/n, if I didn’t want you here I wouldn’t have said anything. Now get your butt in my nest before I carry you there myself.”

Slowly, you approach the side of his bed, unsure of how to enter without messing up his hard work. You don’t miss the hoodie that you thought you lost pushed into the corner closest to his pillow. You run your hands across it before Joshua begins to get impatient and finally tackles you into the nest. As you make contact with the bed, his nose accidentally brushes against your neck. He takes a deep breath and inhales as much of your scent as he possibly can. Before he can realize what he’s doing, he’s pushing his nose into your gland and scenting you.

Your body stiffens and he pulls back, realizing his mistake. “Oh my god I’m so sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to scent you without asking first.”

He feels relieved when he notices the happy undertones peeking out in your scent. Your body relaxes underneath him and you grin up at him before saying, “do it again.”

Joshua doesn’t waste a single second, immediately burying his face back in your neck. A contented sigh leaves your mouth, and god, he would do anything to hear that sound for the rest of his life. You don’t leave him much time to dwell on it though, because you’re suddenly pushing him onto the bed and scenting him like your life depends on it.

He can’t help but giggle as your hair tickles his face and neck. “I guess you’re feeling better?”

You nod into his neck before pulling away to look at him and say, “it's still not ice cream but I’ll take it.”

Joshua is one step ahead of you though, he’s got DoorDash pulled up on his phone already and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream in his cart.

#joshua hong #joshua hong x reader #svt #svt x reader #hong jisoo #hong jisoo x reader #svt imagine #joshua hong imagine #hong jisoo imagine #a/b/o #lu writes #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #understand series

156 notes · View notes

nomnomnoona · 6 months

Text

ATEEZ IN LOVE - Jongho

Brace yourself, because Jongho's not going to be an easy one to crack. Because if you don't know him, you might not ever know he's in love with you.

We may even go so far as to say HE might not even know he’s in love with you until everything hits him like a truck, all at once.

Don't get it wrong, Jongho is a sweetheart. He's so easy to love, but he's a challenge to read.

To be honest, this whole thing is going to be a race between you and him. Who’s going to find out he’s in love with you first? You or him? Yup, read that again. I said what I said.

He might not even know he’s in love, but luckily you’re a lot more aware of him than he is of himself.

He’s a very aware and observant guy. But it’s normally only ever utilized when he’s watching other people or preparing for a performance. His quietness allows him to be observant.

But for some God-forsaken reason, he can’t apply any of that to being in love.

It’s not that he never felt it, but Jongho is never caught unaware. So when he began to realize he was looking for your smell on his jacket, or falling into a nasty mood because you weren’t around, he couldn’t quite articulate what kind of feeling was bubbling.

At first, he thought he was mad at you for becoming distant or changing, when really, it was him. He was seeing you differently.

And he didn’t like it.

Why were you glowing?

Why did he have the sudden urge to reach out and touch your cheeks?

Why couldn’t he stop staring at your lips?

And since when did you banshee singing voice sound like music to his ears? HIS ears? A national treasure. A UNESCO heritage site—Jongho’s precious ears, the aide to his angelic voice—his ears craved the sound of you squawking to a trot song.

Jongho in love is a lot to unpack.

Jongho is rarely ever confused. If anything, of all his hyungs, his intellectual compass conks out the least.

You see, while others brighten up, get erratic, or sadden when they're in love, Jongho somehow falls into bomb detonator mode.

You know how the bomb squad is so focused when trying to deactivate a bomb? Yeah, he gets like that.

It's like his insides are freaking out.

Suddenly he forgot how to talk to you. He can't make eye contact. He’s unable to function. How the hell are you even doing this to him?

The man retreats into a very silent meltdown. One where he just goes over and over the way the corner of your eyes wrinkle when you laugh or the way he imagines what kissing you would be like.

No one actually teaches anyone what love is. There’s no lesson about how to identify if you’re in love. It’s just one of those things you’re just supposed to learn in life as you live it.

That shit infuriated Jongho because he hates not understanding the reason behind something.

He then finds himself suspiciously prepared for first-degree murder whenever his hyungs bring up his unprocessed feelings for you or the chemistry you two have.

That one time Mingi pulled Jongho aside to check if he knew how to use a condom, gave Mingi one of the most prominent shin bruises he’a ever had.

Let the man figure it out on his own, guys.

Isn't love supposed to be blissful?

Why can't Jongho sleep?

Why doesn’t his pillow smell like you?

Where even were you if you wouldn’t be next to him or him you?

He may have resisted this for a good amount of time, but the moment it dawns on him that he's in love with you, things start to fall into place.

His gentleness takes over.

Jongho suddenly wants to do everything to protect you, express his loyalty, and make you smile. To him, loving you was always something he could do so easily. The challenge was realizing he loved you and was sexually attracted to you at the same time.

Jongho always knew you were someone he could never live without. It was only when he realized his love for you that he saw life beyond him being a constant friend. He now saw life where you were all he needed. He wanted you to see him as your forever person.

When you finally agreed to date him, you expected things would start slow. Instead, you walked right into the perfect date where you two did everything you wanted.

Jongho never forgets. He never forgets those times you pointed at things you liked or wanted to do. He realized how deeply he knew you all these years.

He never missed out on anything about you.

Though it seems as though he had just fallen in love with you, the truth is actually that he had loved you so much he was already in a place where loving you was his first instinct.

It just so happened that it took him this long to realize that he wanted you to be the only one he loved this way.

You were the only one he could see.

And though it took a while, he soon realized you were all he wanted to see.

#ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez jongho #choi jongho #atz drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez fic

198 notes · View notes

lau219 · 25 days

Text

Enemies with Benefits

Part 1

…………………………………………………………………………….

“You realize I don’t give a shit who you are, right?”

Staring down the three men who stood on the opposite side of the bar from her, Y/N cocked her head and served the one in the middle an arched eyebrow as she spoke.

He smiled amusedly at her, but his grin was also full of self-assurance, and he grabbed the bottle of liquor out of her hand as she looked at him, taking a swig from it. After he’d finished, he placed it smugly back down on the bar top.

“Well, you should give a shit, love. But maybe you didn’t hear me clearly the first time.” He paused for effect before saying his name again. “Arthur Shelby.”

But instead of the look of intimidation or regret he expected to see wash over her face, the woman behind the bar continued to just stare back at him with her same unimpressed expression.

“I heard you,” she replied, grabbing the bottle in front of them and placing it back behind the rail, “I just don’t care.”

Arthur’s cocky smile faltered just slightly at her statement, and he cleared his throat as she looked back up at him. He briefly shifted his eyes to the side, seeing his brother in his peripheral as he moved the barstool that stood next to him and casually sat on the edge of it, pulling out his cigarettes.

Sitting on a barstool, Tommy decided to humor Arthur a bit longer and let him think he was running this interaction. He continued to watch the exchange between his brother and the woman behind the bar, and he noted that, for all the frequent things Arthur was wrong about, he’d at least gotten it right when he’d told him that this woman was gorgeous. But Arthur had clearly misinterpreted her looks to mean that she was as easy to deal with as she was easy on the eyes.

“Again, that’s the wrong attitude,” Arthur said, trying to maintain an aura of control. “My brothers and I own every other club in this city, and we can make you a very rich woman, so it’d be in your best interest to care.”

Turning slightly to his right, Arthur indicated towards the younger man standing next to him.

“This is John,” he said as an introduction.

Y/N nearly rolled her eyes as the younger man looked back at her with the same cockiness as Arthur and gave her a wink. Arthur then gestured to his left.

“And this is Tommy.”

For the first time, Y/N finally looked at the man sitting on the edge of the barstool, and their eyes locked briefly before she gave him the same look of unimpressed judgement and then scoffed.

“You go by ‘Tommy’?” she said to him with a mocking smirk. “What are you? Eight years old?”

Keeping her eyes on Tommy, Y/N heard John unintentionally let out a short laugh at her remark, which he then tried to cover up by pretending to cough, looking slightly nervous. She could sense Arthur tense slightly in front of her, and as she waited for a response, it became clear that Tommy was actually the ringleader of this pompous little group, not Arthur.

But instead of saying anything, Tommy only continued to stare back at her, the intensity of his blue eyes unhindered by the cloud that passed in front of his face as he blew out the smoke from his cigarette. Offhandedly, she noted how sexy this man was, and it was a shame that she could already tell how much she was going to hate him, she thought to herself.

“Introductions aside, I think you should reconsider what we’re proposing, love,” Arthur resumed the conversation. “Along with the money, there are countless perks that come along with being associated with the Shelby’s. We’re a group that can make things happen for you.”

Turning her attention back to Arthur, Y/N leaned forward, resting her forearms on the bar as she looked at him.

“Arthur, honey, you seem to have a problem understanding me, and so I’ll say this one more time – slowly, and to all of you, in case your brothers here have the same hearing problem you do.”

She then turned her head to look at John, speaking slowly and raising her eyebrows in emphasis as she spoke.

“I don’t...”

She then turned to Arthur.

“...give a shit...”

Then to Tommy.

“...who you are.”

Upon finishing, Y/N stood back up, and the expression on Arthur and John’s faces nearly made her laugh as they stared back at her, not knowing what to say or do next. But when she once again looked at Tommy, she saw that his expression remained unfazed. The silent command he had over the group was emanating from him, and as his eyes held hers, his gaze seemed to be a contradictory mix of both condescension and respect.

As Arthur made to speak a final time, Tommy finally rose from the barstool, stubbing out his cigarette as he interjected before Arthur could say anything more.

“Alright, Arthur, I think you’ve said enough.” He straightened his suit jacket as he stood up, and Y/N unwillingly noted that the voice matched the man, deep and sexy.

“You and John may as well get the hell out of here,” Tommy continued as he looked at Arthur. “It appears you aren’t very convincing.”

Arthur looked both disappointed in himself and annoyed by Tommy, who then turned back to Y/N and held her eyes, not looking at Arthur as he spoke again.

“But Miss Y/L/N and I should have our own private little chat,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Something tells me I’ll have better luck getting her to listen.”

Without another word, Arthur reluctantly stepped back from the bar, looking slightly defeated but trying to maintain an air of confidence as he looked at Y/N one more time before turning around and walking away, John following behind him after winking at her again.

After they were out of sight, Tommy pulled the stool he’d been using closer to the bar and sat again, resting his arm on the bar top as he looked at Y/N. His eyes trailed over her upper half as she stood behind the bar, intentionally postponing speaking to him as she wiped down the counter and then spoke to the bartender who was working alongside her. Tommy watched as her hair brushed along her bare arms as she moved, her chest enticingly accentuated by the black sleeveless vest she was wearing, several necklaces hanging from her throat and dangling into the crevice of her cleavage. When she turned around to place several glasses on the back bar, his eyes immediately went to her ass, which could not have looked more inviting or squeezable than it did in the tight black pants she had on.

Turning and finally acknowledging him again, Y/N came to a stop in front of Tommy and placed her hands on the bar top, tapping her polished nails on the counter as she looked at him.

“I’ll stop you before you even begin, and let you know that you’re wasting both your and my time, Mr. Shelby. My club’s not for sale, neither do I have any interest whatsoever in hiring outside management. And while your...charming brothers seem to be unable to understand that, you strike me as someone who can process basic concepts.”

Finally showing a change in expression, Tommy smirked at her, and Y/N couldn’t help but think what a gorgeous smile he had. But she kept her own face neutral as she waited for him to respond.

“Arthur’s charm has easily won over several other women in your position before. Makes things a lot less complicated when there’s no need to negotiate. Can’t blame me for trying.”

Ugh, the arrogance, Y/N thought. This guy clearly wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.

“Well, as you can see, I’m not so easily manipulated – or stupid,” she said. “And now that you’ve used him to size me up, you and I can have a grown-up conversation. But it will be brief, trust me.”

Tommy smiled again, incredibly entertained and finding her confident and no-bullshit attitude refreshingly appealing and sexy. In fact, if they’d crossed paths under different circumstances, he knew he would have already had her in his car with his hand on her thigh as he drove her back to his place.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet,” Tommy said as they looked at each other. “Let’s not be too hasty, love.”

She cocked her eyebrow at him.

“That sweet talk might work back where you’re from,” Y/N said, “but here in the good old U. S. of A., women prefer to be spoken to without the bullshit.”

“Something tells me you’re not like other women,” Tommy countered, holding her eyes.

“That may be true,” Y/N replied, “but we all prefer the absence of condescension.”

Smiling again, Tommy leaned a bit closer, his eyes darting to her red lips before looking back up.

“Don’t you also prefer equal opportunity?” he asked her. “If you’re as smart of a businesswoman as you seem to be, then you understand the importance of considering all your options.”

She cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. Clearly, this guy didn’t hear the word “no” very often.

“Come on, love. How about you pour me and yourself a drink and we can talk about possibilities.”

“I don’t waste time on possibilities, Mr. Shelby. I focus on the here and now.”

“My friends call me Tommy,” he replied.

“We’re not friends,” she said.

He smiled again, shaking his head.

“One drink,” he pushed.

At that, Y/N turned her head, looking down at a dirty glass on the bar top that was half empty, the butt of a cigarette floating around in the abandoned brown liquid. Grabbing it, she slid it across the bar to Tommy, pushing it into his hand. Then she leaned forward towards him across the bar, stopping with only inches between them, and whispered in his ear.

“Have a good night, Mr. Shelby.”

Then she drew away and straightened herself, walking off and out of sight as Tommy looked after her.

Part 2

@nyxxie-pooh @febris-amatoria @natalie--rushman @hannibellector @xsweetcatastrophe

@beastofburdenxo @garrison-girl-08 @neonpurplestars89-blog @fuseburner @meister95

@betty21rose @devotedlyshadowytheorist @ceirinen @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree @aphroditeslover11

#modern tommy shelby #modern tommy shelby x reader #modern tommy shelby smut #modern tommy #modern peaky blinders #cillian murphy #cillian fic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian smut #18+ only

116 notes · View notes

astonmartingf · 2 months

Text

REAL LIFE RELATIONS — THE FIRST

mick schumacher x reader x liam lawson

series summary— the world of motorsports is vast, yet it is also very limiting. like an intricate web of relationships, connections can get you everywhere, and underneath the pinnacle of motorsports are the secrets waiting to be unfolded.

CHAPTER ONE — BABY IT'S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD

news catches to your parents while you spend time with them during the break, and new rumors begin at the start of the season

warnings: daddy issues, reader has nervous breakdown, even more conspiracy theories

previous ★ masterlist ★ next

“I’m surprised you found your way back home.”

Your father’s voice is cold and distant as you enter the front door, no bother sneaking around your own house. After your late night trip to a taco truck and two orders of fries, you decided to stay over at Yuki's, a place you both shared together when you wanted to get away from your own house.

Entering the living room, you catch your father at the dining table, in his pajamas, glasses adorned on his face with his hair unkempt, a cup of black coffee on one hand and scrolling through his iPad on the other.

Old you would’ve caused a ruckus by now, shouting in the early mornings causing your father to reply in the same fashion. One thing you learned late, is that you are your father’s daughter, no matter how you may act around each other, you’re both made from the same pieces of string. There’s no denying that, not at least to you.

The best way to avert the situation is to play it cool and keep calm, walking past him making your way in the kitchen. You situate yourself on the kitchen island making your own breakfast, the same butter and honey on pumpernickel toast since you came home from college. It became a comfort food, reminding you of home, rather, your father.

“I slept at Yuki’s, I planned things with him way before the dinner and I was running late, it’s rude to be late at plans.” Your father scoffs, nodding his head slowly. Your face falls flat. You’ve seen that expression before, disappointment, doubt, suspicion. Your appetite weans off as you drop the toast back on the plate, avoiding his gaze.

“I see… Care to explain this then?”

Raising your head, eyes following the screen of your father’s iPad— a news article of you, well Mick’s but you could see yourself in the blurry pictures. You sit frozen, trying to gain composure, hiding your own nervousness to your father. There hasn’t been a close call like this, not in the last five years at least.

Your eyes wander, rereading every paragraph double-checking, triple checking if your name is mentioned. The thought leaves your mouth dry as your hands begin to shake under the table, eyes flickering through the screen. Taking slow and deep breaths, you avoid your father’s eyes. Knowing for sure he’ll have another outburst- this time it was truly your fault.

Your father cares too much about you to not let this slide, he always put your privacy above everything else, to the point where you began to think if he wasn’t proud of you, or if he didn’t want to be associated with you.

It didn’t matter what you did, he always let you do whatever you want, as long as you're careful around the public. Your identity, a mystery to everyone, maybe it’s why you didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, maybe that’s also why you’re always with Mick or Yuki, you can be yourself around them.

Your perception of your own father confuses you sometimes, he would do all these contradictory things, like Pavlov’s dog you’d learn when to react to his affection, and when to keep distance. He’s always controlling what and what not to do, act, say, at some point you find yourself an extension of your father and not yourself.

It was whiplash, one second he’s singing you praises, the next he’s looking at you like the piece of shit under his shoes. Nonetheless, you’d learn to understand that it was all for your safety, as much as you loathe him, he’s your father.

There are things that can’t change.

“Of all the people… Mick? God YN, when will you stop acting out everytime things don’t go your way and grow up-”

“Stop it this instant.” You glance at your stepmother and step sibling as they walk into the kitchen. You stay frozen in your seat, hands trembling as tears slowly pool on the corners of your eyes. You look at her through your blurry eyes, desperate to leave, you didn’t want her to see you like this.

Especially your stepmother, but things don’t ever go your way, as much as you want to leave, your legs are stuck on your seat. Your heartbeat dampening the sound of whatever your father might be talking about, it only dawned then the gravity of your mistake. Not being with Mick, but the mistake of being seen.

You learned to live for so long away from the camera, you got used to not being seen. Sure you went on races but it was easier to control variables in the paddock. Seeing yourself on the front pages of a local newspaper-

“YN-” Standing on instinct, you face your stepmother, “if you want, you can leave.”

Wasting no time, you burst through the door- leaving your bag, you had nothing but it didn’t matter now. You walk around avoiding the main streets to the nearest park in the area, feeling grateful how you chose to sleep at Yuki’s last night. It was still early enough, not a lot of people your age, mostly elders and their breed dogs walking around the park.

You don’t know how long you spent adorning the lake, it could’ve been minutes or hours— not that it mattered, you’re enjoying the solitary time. From the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure, a blondie panting as he points in your direction. “You’re hard to find you know.”

Watching him sit down beside you, he pants catching his breath before situating his head on your lap, lying down on the grass. “I know what you’re thinking… but you need to wait until I catch my breath… I’m— I'm not letting you leave this time.”

Instinctively, you move your hands at the stray hairs sticking on Mick’s face. Wiping the sweat off his face using the sleeves of your sweater, observing his face, the sweat dripping off his forehead as he catches himself in labored breaths, eyes closed. Smiling to yourself, you relax in his presence, leaning back on the heel of your palms copying his actions.

Closing your eyes, you feel the cold air rushing through your face, the warm sunlight peeking through the branches of the tree, shining light on both you and Mick. Your breaths, slow and steady, taking in every moment, when you open them, you watch Mick’s intently gaze upon you.

“How’d you find me?”

Mick smiles before showing you his phone, a message from your stepmother saying you left. You roll your eyes hiding the laughter growing in your smile. “Of course she told you…”

“Who else if not me?” Mick shrugged, clearly not caring if your stepmother called him early in the morning, or late at night.

“If it’s you, of course I’ll come. I’m always one call away YN, for you especially.”

His statement earned a scrunch from your nose, cringing at his cheesy lines, “Even while you’re racing?”

This time it was him who grimaced at your statement, “Okay don’t play smart with me, if I could answer my phone during races, why not. But you know what I mean YN.”

You sit still in silence at his answer, playful or not, you knew Mick was sincere with his words, there are few people who you trust with all your life— Mick was one of them.

Which made it even scarier to you as you continue playing around with fire like this. Moments like these are a wake-up call to the burning fire already spreading out in your mind. Moments like these which make you think if you'd been a normal person, maybe your chances with Mick might be better.

Unlucky are you.

Pushing blondie away from your lap, you stretch your legs ready to leave. The blonde senses this and follows through your actions, timing his movements with yours, making sure he’s steps behind you leaving you space. It only frustrated you more, knowing how observant he is—

He who knows your quirks and the little things you do, your mannerisms, what you like and don’t like, he’s constantly there, showing up. Slowly picking up the mess you leave every single time you fuss or mess up, always the first one you call and talk to, always the one you look forward to seeing.

He’s always there.

And it hurts more knowing that one day, he might get up and leave— off with someone better, someone normal. Someone who isn’t you. And you’ll be left alone, still used to him, still looking forward to him, still you’ll be waiting for him.

“How does it feel to have offers left and right?” You bump your shoulders against Yuki as you walk around the Bahrain International Circuit with him. Your friend scoffs, looking back at you, “You mean to ask that to yourself?”

You press your lip into a thin line, hiding the smile growing from your lips slowly feeling bashful at his words. “My offers are yours Yuki, you know I won’t leave without you. I’ve been training to be your race strategist since forever, I think I’d rather be with you.”

“I heard from Helmut they’re interested in taking in a new race strategist for a second driver.” Your eyes widen slowly walking closer to Yuki, head glued beside him.

“A second driver for Tauri? Are they replacing you?” You shake his arm, whispering right by his ear.

Yuki scoffs, pushing your head to the side, “It’s for Red Bull, apparently they’re looking for a second driver for the next season.”

Raising your brows, you pull Yuki to the side of the track letting other members of the team walk first. Looking left and right, you check for other staff in the track doing their own session. Once the coast is clear you bring Yuki closer to you, “Where’d you get that? The season has yet to start, why are they looking for a second driver?”

Yuki shrugs his shoulders, “I have no idea, Helmut was asking about you since Newey wants to talk to you about something, I haven’t got a clue.”

You both continue walking, but your head is still stuck on the conversation earlier. How could Yuki know about that? You knew Helmut’s preference towards Yuki, he sang him with praises, which automatically puts Helmut in your good books. But is their relationship even that close to sharing information?

Apparently it is, but you can’t stop thinking about it, especially since Newey and Helmut asked for you— Yuki’s race strategist. Why would they want to talk to you? Unless…

“YUKI! Oh my gosh! Why didn’t you tell me sooner!” You pinch his arms, jumping in the middle of the track leaving the Japanese confused with your sudden outburst.

“You’re getting the Red Bull seat aren’t you?” You exclaim in full confidence, albeit a little loud for your own preference, it seems like no one noticed your scandalous statement as everyone continued walking along the track.

This time it was Yuki’s turn to burst out laughing, “Where are you getting those ideas from, like you said it’s the beginning of the season. I thought I heard crazy shit, but here you are spouting crazy nonsense.”

You deadpan, slapping Yuki’s arm— “Think about it, why would they ask to talk to me? A race strategist? Obviously this is about you. Yuki, I swear you’re getting this seat.”

Yuki nods along, not fully convinced, “Okay, let’s say they’ll be talking to you but they may just poach you away from me, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The more you think about it, the more you feel upset about it. “I don’t want to be separated from you. I’d rather stay in Tauri than move up.”

Yuki raises his brows, patting your shoulders, “As much as I admire what you’re planning for us, it’s not as bad as you think. We still have a whole season in front of us, let’s leave those thoughts for later and focus on what we have now.”

Gasping, you throw a hand in front of your mouth, fake crying, “When did you get so mature Yuki? I can’t believe we’re already acting like serious adults, thinking about our career perspectives.”

Earning a groan from Yuki as he shakes his head in disbelief, “Like I said, forget what I said and let’s focus on the upcoming season. Also, don’t you dare tell anyone about it, and expect a call sometime now. I haven’t told anyone as well.”

“Not even Pierre?”

Yuki shakes his head left and right, leaving you flabbergasted, “This is serious, serious isn’t it? Why would you tell me something like that? Who am I going to talk to about it?”

“No one. Not even…” Yuki raises his eyebrows hinting on the person he’s implying.

Another gasp escapes your lips, “HECK NO! Especially not blondie, if he knew, then he’s contractually allowed to tell you know who…” you trail as your thoughts eat you alive.

Yuki twists your body, making you face him as he grabs both your arms, “Which is why I beg of you, don’t tell anyone. I know we already talk way too much, but you can only talk to me about it okay? And maybe Liam…”

Your face morphs into a blank expression, eyes dilating at Yuki’s deliberation, “I happen to tell him… but that’s aside the matter. Do not tell any other driver, promise me.”

You gulp at the seriousness, usually these rumors fly around the paddock all-season round but I guess this was something that will actually come to fruition in the upcoming future since they’re keeping it hush hush. You nod your head, afraid to speak anything out into existence.

What’s not adding up is how Yuki knew, at first you thought it was Gasly who told Yuki who told you. But this— this was from Helmut directly to Yuki and then to you.

How you got involved into all this is shocking, even to you. By now Yuki is probably regretting telling you, but you admire his honesty in telling you beforehand rather than getting blindsided by Helmut and Newey calling you to the main office. Suppose you knew about both teams picking drivers from the same pool, but staff?

It’s all too coincidental that they asked for you, even as Yuki’s race engineer they could’ve just gotten someone in Red Bull to replace you, if it’s Yuki they want. Especially with your personal circumstances, a secret daughter of an F1 Team Principal, people in the smaller circles of the grid knew who your father is.

You don’t want to jeopardize what you built for yourself all these years. But like what Yuki said, it’ll be another problem in the future. Maybe then you’d have the answers to your questions. Especially when you know how he isn’t your true father.

For now it’ll be better to keep your head down on the low, and focus on Yuki— because at the end of the day, it’ll be just you two. Just then your phone pings, receiving a message from a person you haven’t heard in a long time.

amgf ★ superstars @woozarts @minkyungseokie @iienstein @eugene-emt-roe @laura-naruto-fan1998

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 angst #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fic #liam lawson x reader #liam lawson imagine #liam lawson fic

92 notes · View notes

urrockstar-xe · 7 months

Text

never enough - j.m x fem!reader

posted nov 2nd, 2023 12:16 am

hey, sorry i ghosted, I'm not doing to hot but here's something, I'm trying a little November challenge where i try and cope with life things where i write an imagine/blurb inspired by something that happened during my day, here's an argument i had with my mommy in a jj fic lol this isn't my best work but i hope u like it :3

this includes wording stating that the reader's hair is a texture that is easy to play with and the use of y/n and probably inaccurate JJ but i needed his comfort sue me

summary: How do you deal with having to have the very same (or at least very similar) conversations with your loved ones that involve what you're currently going through? Because that's the exact problem you’ve been having with JJ. angst to fluff??? kinda? hurt/comfort? idk

masterlist

wordcount: 1k

“You never do anything to show that you love me, JJ! You throw your arm around my shoulder and call it a fucking day”

Eventually what once was calm and civil and even mature conversations turn into screaming matches.

“I don’t know what else you fucking want from me, Y/n!” JJ’s voice bounced off the walls of the chateau which was luckily empty due to the small fire in the back.

“JJ, I expressed what I needed, I used my words and my actions to show and tell you exactly what I needed and you still couldn’t do me one small favor? I just wanted you to run your fingers through my hair a few times is that so fucking hard?” Your own voice was wavering in volume, sometimes louder and sometimes quiet, defeated even.

“I listen when you vent, I do better when we have a problem, I even fucking cancel my plans to spend time with you, nothing I do is ever fucking enough for you!” and there it was, the words slipping out of your dear boyfriend’s mouth before he could even think about it, the words that thrown in your face so very often, the words that made you question everything about yourself

He was trying, he was listening and he was being incredibly patient and understanding with you.

The look of regret from his words alone was enough to realize that.

Until that gross feeling of pride came onto you, possessing your entire being with the rage you’ve had building inside of you for months.

“Fuck you, JJ. fuck you, because I got upset with you and when I tried to walk away and blow off steam you got pissed and bitchy and didn’t fucking let me, and then when I explained my issue to you, you gave me a fucking attitude.” Your words were fast now, spewing out like a soda when you shake it too hard.

“I needed you! And I told you that! Just like you asked me to! How am I supposed to properly communicate with you when you tell me one thing and then turn around and do the fucking opposite!” it was less of a question and more of an accusation but at this point, it was hard to care.

You had tried responsibly talking to him, getting to a better place with him, but it wasn’t getting anywhere. Your relationship with JJ getting heavier on your shoulders and piling what smelt like loads of shit onto what you’ve already been struggling with.

“Y/n, baby-” JJ started but you were already out the door, feeling the guilt from ignoring him as you walked away yet still ignoring his calls even as your friends called out at the sight of you leaving what was supposed to be a night of freedom for the pogues.

When the next day came around the avoiding calls started, when JJ and Y/n got into a fight it caused tension in the entire friend group. There's a reason “pogues don’t date pogues” is such a big rule for you and your friends.

It wasn’t a rift it was just a fear, a fear of losing everything you all had,

all that you guys had.

But you couldn’t deal with the confrontation today, so you turned off your ringer and went about your day as normal, morning routine, work, go home, homework.

5 pm rolled around and you thought that maybe they had given up (feeding your delusional anxieties and fears at no fault of the pogues but still)

Then there was the knock on your door, and then another after you ignored the first,

This pattern repeated until eventually, you sighed, getting up from your bed to go down the hall and answer who you knew was your impatient boyfriend at the door.

“Hey, beautiful!” JJ’s voice was quiet as if he was astonished at the fact that you actually opened the door. The array of flowers sat loosely in his hands before he watched you look down at them and back up at him, wordlessly.

“Oh! This is for you, I uh, wanted to apologize.” JJ was almost stumbling over his words as he went to hand you the flowers, carefully examining you as you took them and moved back into your home,

He followed, mumbling more apologies before you set the small bouquet on the kitchen counter and turned to him.

“Listen, Y/n, You were right, I did ask you to be more clear on things you need from me and you were, and I, I dismissed you completely, I was just drunk and all over the place and I’m overworked like hell lately but these aren’t excuses and I’m sorry, my sweet girl, I really mean it” JJ’s words were calculated, he had thought about them all day and he did mean it,

despite this, there was still an aching feeling in your chest,

and the confusion and guilt you felt for still being upset about this stupid mistake caused the recurring tears to well up in your eyes as you stared at JJ’s chest, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh, baby” he whispered, quiet and delicate like if he spoke any louder you’d fall apart in front of him.

Carefully, JJ pulled you into him, not knowing what else to do but you let him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as sobs wrecked through your body, broken apologies barely being heard through your tears and shaky breaths but JJ still held you,

Playing with your hair and shushing you and whispering “It's okay, baby” to every little apology that slipped past your lips.

You stood with each other like this until you eventually calmed down, JJ had managed to lean against the counter and in turn, get you to lean on him.

“I’ll do better baby I promise” He whispered into your hair, hoping you could hear it through the small pains of your hiccups from crying.

“I’m sorry there's always something wrong with me” you mumbled back, the soft laugh from JJ catching you off guard as he pulled you back just enough to hold your tear-stained cheeks in his hands.

“There’s always somethin’ wrong with us, we’re pogues.” He teased, earning a quiet scoff from you before he shut you up with a soft kiss pressed to your swollen lips and then one on your nose, and another on your forehead.

“We’ll be okay, pretty lady, we’ll get through it,”

#jj maybank x you #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj mayback imagine #outer banks imagines #jj maybank #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank angst

359 notes · View notes

pianokantzart · 7 months

Note

I posted something somewhere about Papa Mario’s “these are boys” line being wholesome (and made more so because of who voices the character!) and I got some comments from people who hated the line because it was clear Pio “didn’t give a shit” about either of his sons and only accepted them once they gave him something he could brag about. In other words, he only “cares” about them when they make him look good. I don’t think this is the case, and I get the feeling you don’t either. Can you do a brief analysis on the character given what little we’ve seen of him? :)

Yep, I 100% agree with you. Mario and Luigi's dad may have his flaws, but he definitely cares about his kids.

The thing about Pio is that he strikes me as the family patriarch? At least for as long as the grandpa has been in his twilight years. Not only does Pio appear a lot more emotionally restrained than Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur, but he's bulkier and moves with a lot less pep. Either he's a good number of years older than either of them, works a far more physically demanding job, or both. Whatever the case, he takes matters with a lot more gravity, and his lapse of judgement at the dinner table seemed to be out of genuine worry rather than disdain or apathy. At first he did his best to talk about anything other than Mario's failing plumbing business, keeping his head down and eating his pasta while everyone else was either defending or teasing Mario and Luigi.

It's only when Mario directly asks his dad for his opinion that he gets right to the heart of the matter:

"I think you're nuts. You don't leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You're bringing your brother down with you."

It's harsh, but you can tell he means well. This is not the face of a man who "doesn't give a sh*t." This may be a big joke to Arthur and Tony, but to Pio it's dead serious. Mario's taking a huge gamble with his and his brother's financial stability. Yes, this is Mario AND Luigi's dream, and Luigi is perfectly capable of making his own decisions... but it's clear who's leading the charge and making a lot of questionable choices along the way. If Pio has a place of headship in the family like I suspect, then this statement has a lot more weight to it– he knows what it is to have other people's wellbeing rely on you. It's important Mario understands that if this longshot fails, he won't be going down alone.

Did Mario already know this? Yep. Was telling him he was bringing his brother down a step too far? Absolutely, but Pio was not trying to emotionally gut his son the way he did.

When Mario storms off, he looks blindsided by the reaction.

When everyone stares at him in surprise he asks "what did I say?" in a tone of genuine confusion. This was meant to be a wakeup call for Mario, not a slap in the face. Apparently, Luigi's inability to read a room is hereditary.

But Pio's not a man of pure stoicism, he's still a hot-blooded Italian at his core, so of course he gets so excited when his kids appear out of nowhere to decimate a giant turtle dragon and his invading army??? (Please note the way he's leaning way too far out of that window in his excitement. It's lucky he's got good core strength or he'd be falling right out of the third story into what is still an active war zone.)

When the smoke clears both Mia and Pio are climbing over wreckage to get to Mario and Luigi, well before a crowd has gathered to cheer. The "these are my boys!" was a continuation of the pride Mario's dad had already expressed before he realized anyone else was watching. He has absolutely no idea what just happened, but anyone with eyes can see that Mario and Luigi just did something fantastic! And as much as Pio sees Mario in the leading role– responsible for his and his brother's failures– he also sees him as responsible for their victories.

So yeah. Conclusion: Mario's Dad is a flawed guy who makes big mistakes, but there's no doubt in my mind that he cares a lot about his kids.

#anyways I'm on the Pio defense squad and my opinion will not be shaken easily #super mario brothers #mario movie #Mario Family #mario headcanons #mario analysis #Local father who is VERY bad at communication tries to teach his son the importance of responsibility #and accidentally delivers psychic damage. More at 11 #askbox #anon #long post

172 notes · View notes

antimonyandthyme · 2 months

Text

1k; alex/logan; after the australian gp

His phone was clinking incessantly. Very determinedly. Logan dredged up determination in equal counterforce to ignore it.

“Whoever it is,” Alex said, “is being clingier than cling wrap.”

“Not your best,” Logan said.

“Whatever. Why don’t you answer it?”

“It’s probably just Oscar.”

That got him an Oh? Alex shifted, groaning, stretching his arms out in a way that was not meant to be sexy at all, but somehow still painfully was. Logan stared down at the wrinkled sheets instead. He was shaky all over, but kept himself still. “What does he want?”

“To check on me, probably.”

“Good friend,” Alex said. His tone landed somewhere in the middle of a chromatic scale, careful, but not too wary, interested, but not too concerned.

I don’t know about you and George, but me and Oscar, we get along just—

It was too early to be this petty. “Yeah,” he said, and left it at that.

Except Alex had a bone to chew. His not-quite smile was sharp, his eyes a little too assessing. Logan supposed the morning-after spiral presented itself differently in everybody.

“What will you tell him?”

“That I spent the night fucking my teammate,” Logan said.

Alex pulled back, like that scalded. Okay, ouch.

Logan sighed. Oscar always said there was no point wielding a knife if he was going to feel bad about it, less than a second after. It was a habit he couldn’t rid himself of.

“Of course I’m not saying that. Just—that I’m sleeping in. Or something else believable. I’m not an idiot.”

“Didn’t say you were.” Alex ran his fingers through his hair, which barely served to dissuade any unruliness. He looked so rumpled it was almost endearing. Logan had the maddening urge to smooth him down, act as sandpaper to Alex’s edges. “Sorry. I’m not being. I’m not—”

“You’re being an ass,” Logan said flatly. “Can you have your freakout later? After we’ve showered, at least?”

Of all things. Alex’s smile softened, turned a little more real. “So you admit it.”

“Admit what.”

“You are mad at me.”

I’m not mad, Logan had said last night, when Alex showed up with a bottle of conciliatory wine and a hand rubbing the back of his neck, so unusually uncertain of himself that Logan felt the inane need to comfort him. Alex, I promise I’m not. Here, to prove how not mad I am, let’s finish this bottle together. See?

“I’m—” He shut his mouth. There were very few pretenses here. Eyes red-rimmed and bodies tender in the most intimate of places, sheets still faintly damp. “I’m being childish.”

“You’re not being childish,” Alex said shortly. “Something got taken away from you, and for what?”

Logan shrugged. It wasn’t Alex’s fault, that much was certain. But the taste on his tongue soured past morning staleness when he thought of James. “It was for the team.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Get out of here with that bullshit.”

“I should have crashed my car, like Max suggested.”

“That’s more like it.” Even the flyaway strands in Alex’s hair appeared delighted now. “Let it all out.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth twitched up. “What are you trying to encourage? Our own multi two-one?”

Alex scoffed. “When Williams makes better cars, maybe.”

It sounded impossible, even as people who had the patience to recognize dreams took what felt like eons to manifest. And anyway, Alex wasn’t the person he’d endure a silver war with. Logan’s phone was still making glass-shattering noises.

“You should reply.” Alex relaxed back into bed. They were both equally grateful for the distraction from their futures’ uncertainties. “Way it sounds, he’s about to have a conniption.”

Logan could picture it, Oscar’s not-anxious-anxious face, the line of his mouth flattening impossibly further the longer it took to get a response.

sorry, shit signal last night

Mate, the response was instant and borderline angry. Where are you?

in bed

Not technically a lie.

hungover

Ok, Oscar said. You good?

Was he? Alex was looking at him, expression threaded with amusement and an understanding reserved for teammates who only knew how to take things from each other. The night could’ve been worse spent. Alex’s mouth, hot against his, and his calloused hand, rough against his sensitive, greedy cock, was welcome enough to push James’ sympathetic face out of his head for a decent enough time.

i’m good. thanks. appreciate you asking osc

“You’re awfully polite for an American.”

“Fuck off,” Logan said.

There was another unopened text that surely Alex had caught a glimpse of as well. Logan tossed the phone aside. His lips found the underside of Alex’s jaw. Alex’s groan was exceedingly nice to listen to. The stutter in his hips, the surprised gasp he released, as Logan worked his way downward, was even more rewarding.

Later, showering—

“I’ll say no, the next time.”

Alex was playing with the suds in Logan’s hair, making snowmen that stuck out like lumpy marshmallows. The shower in the hotel room, like all showers in hotel rooms tend to be, had misty glass enclosure walls. Logan checked their reflections out in the mirror. They looked presentable, pressed up against each other. Friendly, like all good teammates should be.

“Good, good,” Alex said absently. He continued massaging Logan’s hair.

There was a small flicker of irritation. “I’m being serious.”

“I know you are,” Alex said. He smoothed the shampoo down, palm slick and comfortable, then scratched his fingers gently against Logan’s scalp. “You’re allowed, of course. To say no.”

You’re allowed, Logan heard in the silence that followed, to see where that takes you.

Coming from Alex, it didn’t sound that patronizing. More generous, really. Encouraging. Maybe they would have their own multi two-one, after all.

The text: Logan, I’d like to discuss some things with you today, if you have time.

Impossible, aggravating. James hardly needed to ask for Logan’s time. It was already his.

Logan leaned his head back, snug against Alex’s collarbone. The spray was pleasant, going around his eyes, courtesy of the shield Alex’s back provided. It was warm.

He thought about what to say.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #alex/logan

54 notes · View notes

blasphemecel · 5 months

Text

Shidou Ryuusei — Taming Demons

PAIRING: Shidou Ryuusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 7.6k TYPE: Humor, Roommates, Romantic frenemies WARNING(S): Threats of violence, canon-typical football derangement, there's a cockroach (and it's not shidou 😰)

It’s on a decent day that Sae meets you and Shidou. The weather is mild without any clouds to obscure the sky, the wind is nothing more than a pleasant breeze, birds are chirping, and most importantly there are no ugly and irrelevant middle-aged men from the JFA to bother him with their whining or otherwise offend his senses.

Too bad he’s on the way to some secret deprivation tank in Ego Jinpachi’s football-themed basement to appreciate any of this.

He’d been ballsier than usual, all things considered, which is an impressive accomplishment since his default setting is audacious. Yeah, saying he wants one striker and then demanding two is a little much even for him, but he’s not going to leave a stray behind. That’d be a waste.

It’s not like Ego didn’t try to warn him, showing him actual footage to review like this was evidence he needed to present in court while making a case.

In the first clip, Rin was calling you lukewarm (there was really no context beyond this), to which you looked at him like you didn’t even know who he was and said, “Peons should only speak to me while looking at my feet, so do that or exercise your right to remain silent,” and it made Rin so incredulous that he actually didn’t respond.

Then Shidou appeared to have found this funny because he came running into view at mach speed laughing his ass off, just to shove the soles of his cleaves in Rin’s face and say, “Lick my feet, Rin-Rin!”

Predictably this turned into some kind of scuffle (to Sae’s bemusement, Rin was losing), and then you joined in because apparently Shidou was ‘copying you,’ and when you accused him of that he became super offended, and at some point the video cut off.

Fine, Sae thought. Whatever.

The second one was ominously titled ‘The_[L/n]_Disaster.wmv,’ and it was cut out from the match this whole saga revolved around. It was normal for a while until you — for no discernible reason — fell down to your knees, pulled an… unsettling expression, screamed like a banshee and said, “I’m so bored! I’m gonna die!” before stealing the ball and shooting it into your own team’s net.

Understandably the field fell into an uproar, and some of your teammates straight up threatened to kill you.

“Who the hell do you think you are???”

You sat down like a petulant child, crossed your arms even. Everyone was too busy holding back their bloodlust so as to not pummel you into the ground and get a hundred red cards to make sense of your behavior.

… Honestly? A little weird, but nothing the Itoshi Sae can’t work with.

And then there was the last video, which was also the lengthiest. Whoever edited it had too much time on their hands. It was like a full-fledged movie with a romantic subplot (between Shidou and the ball or maybe his abstract interpretations of the act of playing football), conflict (the half hour long montage of him fighting everyone, overlayed with shitty dubstep music), and even a climax (in the literary sense).

Also strange, but not enough to put off Sae. After seeing all of this, though, he wondered if Rin managed to make at least one friend, but quickly squashed the thought. Not like he cares.

The final attachment was completely innocuous, an overview of your abilities and progress in Blue Lock, and both of you had unflattering pictures in your files. Ego’s underlying question of Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? still translated.

You’re not lumps of talent or whatever. It’s more like you’re diamonds buried in a deep pit of shit that no one even wants, but at the mental image of himself digging through feces, Sae disregards the metaphor.

If Ego’s idea for an ideal striker is a raging megalomaniac, well. He sure knows how to pick them.

___

Electrocuted like an inmate in a movie running into the fence while trying to break out of jail, muzzled like some kind of idiot dog that doesn’t know not to bite people, strapped down in a fucking straitjacket, what did Shidou ever do to deserve this? Humiliated, and not in the sexy way.

To think of all of these punishments, the most cruel one is still your company.

Just watching you is exhausting him, maybe even more so because he can’t stand up and restrain your annoying ass to make you stop screaming and rolling around and kicking and hitting and whatever (all things he believes are within his right and not yours, since you’re doing them in a way that is so not fun). He swears he’s never been tired before, but right now he has no energy, and he’s not even doing anything. You have to be some special new species of leech.

That’d be kinda hot now that he thinks about it, if you’d like… attach to him and suck out his blood. But for now he needs to stay focused.

Prior to your freak-out — he’s not even sure what you’re mad about — you had to write ‘I won’t score in my own goal next time’ all over the walls because apparently ‘if you act like a child, you’ll get treated like one,’ but you gave up not even half-way through and broke the marker after declaring you’re going to kill Ego.

“I think you need to be in a straitjacket, not me,” he says with a sly grin as if this whole situation is amusing. He does share your killing Ego sentiments, though, but you’re easy to tease. Despite his fatigue from the predicament, he is still dedicated to being an irritating piece of shit.

“I wish I was!” you say.

What?

You drag your hands down your face, stretching the skin. “I’m going to gouge my eyes out!” Then there’s some more facial expressions of mental anguish before you perk up after his words properly register in your head. “Oh, you’re so worthless and perverse, but this is actually a great idea. We should switch,” you say pleasantly.

“Worthless? C’mon, didn’t you watch while I was playing?”

You undo the muzzle so he’s the slightest bit grateful to you until you say, “Meh.”

You’re being disingenuous here and one of Shidou’s principles is real recognizes real, so even this is enough to piss him off, but then again there was also the other questionable and embarrassing thing you did. “If football’s a source of life, then you’re like a miscarriage. Or an abortion.”

“What! Why?”

Wow, you are such an infuriating and confusing hypocrite. He needs to take you out on a date some time. “‘Cause the only one who should get to shoot in your goal is… me.”

Your eye twitches, face scrunching to the left like a black hole is sucking in all of your features. He looks so happy with himself that you want him to die. “Shidou Ryuusei-”

“Not the full government name!” he cries out with fake dismay.

“-if you say something like this to me again, I’m gonna dismember you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There is a shit-eating grin of a man who knows exactly what you’re talking about on his face. A slight blush, even, but it points towards elation, not embarrassment. “And there’s nothing in here you can do that with.”

“The room has walls.”

“Don’t saaaay things like that,” he sings. “Not when I’m all tied up like a lunatic.”

What does he mean by this?

You’re not even making progress with unhooking the straitjacket since there isn’t much wiggle room between Shidou’s back and the weird stand thing, but Ego shocks you through the bodysuit to dissuade you from any further attempts. This time, when you slip on the floor, it’s not your fault. After a few pitiful twitches, you say, “That’s it. I’m gonna die.”

???

“I was beautiful.” You pose while still on the floor. “Please make up some cool last words for me. For my tombstone.”

“You went from killing Four Eyes to killing me to then killing yourself. Amazing range,” says Shidou with a whistle, once again acting like the situation is funny.

He watches you try to break your neck by forcing it in unnatural positions using your hands for a bit until the effort proves to be anatomically impossible. Long hours lie ahead of him.

___

Sae has been eavesdropping in front of the door for at least twenty minutes to assess the situation before walking in. There’d been blood-curdling screams, heavy sounds of thrashing (apparently you were trying to run up to the ceiling and kept falling down and throwing tantrums, which Shidou, again, found hilarious, but all it gave Sae was a migraine from having to listen to the commotion), and five arguments that never concluded because you two couldn’t stay on topic. Many expletives and creative death threats flew through the air.

It occurs to him for the first time that trying to control the two most selfish strikers on the roster is ambitious. You both operate on an incomprehensible level of egotism, with you acting like your teammates are unimpressive circus acts and Shidou’s tendency to play as if he’s a sole soldier on a mission to bludgeon everyone else on the field. Small fry who don’t take gambles like this here and there, though, aren’t worth anything.

“I love watchin’ people squirm and all, but not like this. Can you do something more exciting?”

“What’s gonna be exciting is the sight of your nail beds while I rip them off one by one.”

The sound of an exaggerated yawn. “Your fake threats aren’t stirring me at all. Look at me, I’m so bored. So bored and pathetic and restrained and please, I need a more refreshing view.”

There’s one last, grander thud. “I’m done,” you declare.

… Nothing, for a bit.

“You look so cute and harmless like this. Makes me wanna squeeze your neck till your eyes pop out.”

You don’t dignify that comment with a response.

___

This latest development is detrimental to your relationship with Itoshi Sae. Not that you have any kind of relationship with him besides striking up the U-20 deal, but you’ve been dating him in your head ever since you saw him play on TV a few years ago. You’re contemplating mentally breaking up with him for good. That’s how serious of an offense you’re dealing with.

It’s like you don’t even know me, Sae, you cry, though you don’t commit to speaking it out loud. He’s not even here to hear your bitchfest, anyway, so you settle for throwing your minimalistic bag of belongings on one of the beds with as much hate as possible.

Shidou waves at you from the other side of the room like you didn’t arrive at this complex in the same car, and like you didn’t spend eight hours in the punishment room together. Your scowl is really, really ugly, wrinkling your skin. Seriously, sharing an apartment is one thing, but the same room? The same toilet? There is no one you tolerate enough in the world for this bullshit.

After sorting through your belongings and doing a good job at ignoring whatever Shidou is saying, you step out and head towards the kitchen and rummage through the fridge and the pantry. It’s a little strange that you’re no longer in Blue Lock for the time being. You can go eat at a restaurant if you want to, but you find that Sae’s team has been gracious enough to leave some supplies to last a couple of days.

Shidou trails after you like an unwanted shadow. You examine everything one last time before grabbing a protein bar and taking a seat at the table, leaving you with the view of Shidou grabbing whatever he can before he dumps it all on the counter and opens the blender. You frown in confusion. “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking,” he says in a tone which suggests he finds you stupid for not understanding that at first glance.

“You can’t put raw meat in the fucking blender.”

“Yeah, I can.” He rips two packages with different spices and dumps them in. “Look, there’s even seasoning.” And then he shoves in a cucumber and an unpeeled banana.

You lunge towards him, cradling the blender, your snack forgotten. “You’re gonna get food poisoning, moron.”

“Then how come I’ve never had it before???” Shidou tries to take a hold of it again, wrenching it out of your hands before a game of tug-of-war ensues.

There is no way he’s serious. This must be some elaborate way for him to troll you. Your struggle for the blender, however, is more intense than anyone would’ve anticipated because your palms turn sweaty, with the blender slipping out once you attempt a harder yank. Shidou almost manages to save it from its imminent fate with a swipe, but his reaction is not fast enough and it shatters on the floor.

“Look at what you did.” You gesture.

“You got in the way of my cooking! It’s your fault.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Were you raised in a cave? A mountain? I will destroy you if I see you ‘cooking’ in my presence again.”

He rolls his eyes and mimes a blabbering mouth with his hand as if to say yap, yap, yap. You resist the urge to reach out and break at least one of his fingers.

With a huff, you stomp your way to the bathroom in search of a broom and dustpan to get rid of the glass shards, the rest of Shidou’s arguments about why a steak shake is ‘gourmet’ and ‘exotic’ falling on deaf ears. You’re also trying to think of a good place to throw away the pieces because you’re so not telling Itoshi Sae you broke his rent-a-blender.

You return to the sight of Shidou finishing up your abandoned protein bar while trying to pick up glass shards between his toes.

“Stop that. What if you hurt yourself?! Seriously, what’s your deal?” You narrow your eyes at him while he blows a raspberry at you and the realization of his thievery hits you. “Hey, spit that out.”

Shidou smiles and throws the shard — yeah, with his toes — at your shins, but you ignore the action, your pre-existing rage rendering you unresponsive. “So demanding.” He waves your protein bar, or at least what’s left of it, in the air. “Come and take it if you want it so bad.”

“I’m not playing tag like a child when the floor’s covered in glass,” you say, despite already taking a step forward, ready to assume a stance and chase him.

You do, of course, end up playing tag like a child when the floor’s covered in glass. Your protein bar falls in the toilet. When Shidou reaches to flush it, you push him out of the way, and he pushes back, and so begins a brawl, any other concerns fading in the background.

Two hours later, you shriek out a piercing scream when you take a piss and flush without thinking.

___

You wake up to weird yelling. This is atypical since you’re usually the one who causes commotion. You laze around in bed, taking it as noise from your dream, until your consciousness clears and during your first moment being awake, you swear to make whoever’s responsible for this regret it. Through bleary eyes, you observe the room, and find the bed opposite of yours empty.

You slog your way out to brush your teeth, but the racket grows louder, and you identify the source as the balcony. Without thinking, you head there to scold Shidou, abandoning your previous task.

“Cytolysis!” What the hell is he even on about? “Ooh, and arteries!” Seriously.

“Douchebag, you woke me up. Stop screaming so early or I’ll- Why are you naked?!”

“You were really talking for that long before you noticed…?”

“Cover up,” you say, disregarding his indirect call out of how much you love your own voice, to the point you stop noticing your surroundings once you get going in a spiel. “What if you get arrested for public indecency? It could ruin your life.”

“I can’t sunbathe if I’m wearing clothes,” Shidou says.

“You literally can.”

“Yeah, if I want an uneven tan.” He rolls his eyes as if you’re being unreasonable for expecting him not to randomly be in the nude. You really don’t know how maintaining a tan is more urgent than avoiding the charge you brought up, but you don’t bother questioning him any further. “Listen, you’re not ruining this for me. I haven’t been able to do my morning routine for weeks!”

“What, so you couldn’t do it in front of the others, but you can do it in front of me? I’m way too dignified for… the sight of you. Right now and in general.”

“Snobby-chan, you can’t be for real. There wasn't any sun there.”

“You really are shameless, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, looking at his nails in disinterest. “Shame is just a shackle that gets in the way of my freedom.”

Your eye twitches, and your scowling is causing some tightness in your face, primarily in your forehead. Don’t try to make it philosophical now!

“Ugh,” you say, figuring you’re way too speechless to offer anything more constructive. “Step foot in front of me like this when you’re done and I’m going to boil you in a cauldron, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Prude-chan. Just don’t interrupt me again.”

“Call me by a nickname again and I’ll peel you with the peeler from the kitchen.”

Instead of replying, he sends you a kiss and a wink.

After some incredulous and judgmental staring, you slam the door shut, not putting much thought into the force of it. It rattles and the frame separates from the jamb, leaving it crooked and awkward. You fall to your knees on the floor and start crying — like, really bawling and torturing your throat with your wails of turmoil — and trying to shred your scalp with your nails. Shidou spares a moment from the bullshit he calls his ‘morning routine’ to laugh.

___

You emerge from your nap looking like you’ve been through the seventh circle of hell in Dante’s Inferno. It was to compensate for your early wake up. Now you stand in front of the mirror, finally brushing your teeth.

Shidou waltzes in not much later, at least wearing a shirt and shorts. He shoves you aside with the unceremonious command, “Move,” before leaning over the sink and pulling out eyeliner, trying to get in a good position.

You forget to yell at him, since you become fascinated by him when you see him put it close to his face with a look of concentration. Is he going to stab his eye out? This is so exciting.

… Shidou starts applying it over his lower lashline. You frown at the anticlimactic follow up. It’s pretty bizarre to be living with him like this, though.

Making your way around, you spit out the foam then rinse before moving on with the rest of your business. He slathers his hands in too much hair gel before beginning to work on shaping it into the ridiculous style he usually wears it in. This seems like an excruciatingly long and wasteful process.

You ask, “So you do this every day?”

“I thought ‘cause of earlier that you don’t know what a morning routine is, but are you really just gonna confirm it like that? You’re too easy.”

You almost make the mature decision to leave and do something else (maybe read a wikiHow article about how to fix doors), but Shidou proves to be too tempting of a target when he stands there, scrutinizing you with an almost feline expression as you pass by him. Twisting one of the loose strands on his head around your finger, you pull him down to eye-level, and he lets you, looking amused. “I’m gonna grab you by your stupid antennae and throw you out of the window.”

Instead of answering, Shidou backs away and flicks the one you weren’t holding. You tilt your head in confusion, not understanding what he’s doing. “My receptors are sensing bullshit.”

You scratch your chin in fake contemplation. “You know, you act kinda weird and you have this wild look going on… but deep down you’re just a lame biology nerd.”

“Me, weird?! I’m not taking that from you,” he says in mock offense.

“What?” you ask, in astonishment at his nerve to bring you up. “There’s nothing weird about me.”

Your genuine confusion is making Shidou assume you live in a parallel universe.

___

It would’ve been your third day of surviving on protein bars — Shidou keeps referring to this as ‘your fault’ because you ‘broke the blender’ (objectively it was a collaborative effort, from your perspective he is to blame) as if the blender is a cooking utensil — so you’re heading to some cheap place to eat.

“I can’t believe they’re benching us,” you say through grit teeth. The complaint serves as a distraction from your grumbling stomach.

“But the fight was pretty fun,” Shidou adds optimistically, looking extra cheerful.

Just the thought of it is making you want to shrivel up and die, but then again, there are many things which make you feel this way. “That was so embarrassing. I hope Sae didn’t see… If he did, I’ll commit seppuku during practice tomorrow.” The last statement is a promise you make with solemn seriousness.

He most definitely saw since you had a loud meltdown before you joined Shidou in attacking everyone, but instead of bringing this to your attention, he says, “Is that guy a big deal or something? You like him a lot.”

His accusation isn’t presumptuous in the slightest. The one time he got an accidental glance of your lock screen, the picture was a close-up of Itoshi Sae’s unimpressed face with a conspicuous placement of the gettyimages trademark covering a fourth of his forehead.

“What?” You raise an eyebrow. Shidou expects you to freak out again and scream in denial, but all you ask is, “Don’t you know who he is?”

He shrugs.

“He’s a genius! And really handsome, too. I love watching him play,” you swoon, caressing your cheeks. “He’s like a prince. A football prince… The best kind of prince.”

“I’ll see what he’s about during the game,” says Shidou with a grin as if he’s the professional player renowned for his skills all over the world, and Sae is some random guy. But you don’t think he’s trying to be arrogant. There’s this inane kind of excitement about him, like he hopes what you said is true because he wants to experience it.

“Hey, Shidou. What was your life like before Blue Lock?”

You can’t help being curious. Are his parents negligent or something? No sane adults would let their kid develop the habit of screaming random shit while naked every morning. You hate to admit it, but you’re concerned about him.

“No use thinkin’ about boring stuff like that.”

Makes sense he’d be a live in the moment type of person. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess dwelling on the past is pretty peasant-like.”

You smile at each other in agreement, though you’re on the same page for reasons so different, someone might wonder how you’re even managing a civil conversation.

___

“What’re you doing?” Shidou asks, resting his foot on the corner of the coffee table with his phone in hand, scrolling.

On the other end of the couch, you’re slouching and balancing a few cards from the deck you stumbled on while looking for tools to fix the door with. You’ve learned an important lesson: chisels and pry bars don’t just lie around rented apartments, waiting for someone to use them.

“I’m turning over a new leaf, so I’ve decided to rediscover patience and peace,” you say with a close-eyed smile.

The load of bullshit you uttered fuels some curiosity in Shidou, so he peeks at you over his phone case. This fake ass smile doesn’t suit you at all. You look like you don’t have a soul.

He slides closer to you inch by inch, moving his leg with himself, until he is close enough for you to see what he’s doing in your peripheral vision. Not about to let him ruin your hard work, you swat away his foot with the back of your hand, but the quick movement upsets the three pyramids and the card on top of them, sending them all toppling down.

Shidou cheers when you flip the table.

___

You’re lazing around on your bed when Shidou struts up to you with a triumphant aura. “Y’know that little problem we had? I solved it,” he announces.

You perk up, eyes shining. “You’re gonna stop screaming every morning?” You don’t even care about him being naked anymore. His ritual interrupts your sleep so often that it’s affecting your mood tracker, always starting the day off with an angry swearing red emoji.

“No, I meant the sink.”

True. You avoid making eye contact with it since it’s overflowing. In a technical sense, you know how to wash them, so it’s not incompetence that’s driving you to allow this to go on. But it’d be an act of subservience since Shidou also throws his dirty dishes in there, and you’re not going to do his chores. You will make him understand who’s the bigwig here, even if you have to eat without a plate by the end of this lesson you’re teaching him.

He continues, “You’re pretending you don’t like waking up to my angelic voice now?” Then clears his throat, not leaving you any time to reassure him you’re not faking your distaste for his idiocy.

You interrupt him and cut off the fifth tone deaf ‘la.’ “So, you finally washed them?”

“What?” Shidou asks, raising his eyebrows like your assumption is nonsensical. “I threw them off the balcony. Now there aren’t any more of ‘em to get dirty.”

He looks so proud of himself — while also clearly realizing you’re on the brink of a breakdown, if his manic grin is anything to go by — and you want to puke. Theatrically, you roll off and fall, hoping to hit your head and get a life-threatening concussion, but for better or for worse, nothing of the sort happens.

You can imagine him aiming at people with forks from above.

When you remain still for a while, Shidou nudges you like one might do to fresh roadkill with a long stick from a safe distance. “You there? Are you hibernating or something? Blink twice if you died.”

___

Your recovery lasts several hours, during which you do nothing but lie on the floor.

Once out of your stupor, you head to the kitchen to mourn your loss (not of the dishes, but for your inability to get Shidou to do them), perhaps to gaze out of the window with a wistful sadness in your eyes. It takes you a few morose steps to realize they’re there, intact. Clean. You blink.

You can be so stupid sometimes.

___

A cockroach crawls out from behind the mirror. You back away, startled by the sudden movement, not realizing what it is you’re seeing at first glance. The real horror starts when you recognize the creature in front of you and shriek in alarm. When it doesn’t produce the desired result, you cave in and yell, “Shidou!”

“D’you want toilet paper?” he asks, his tone way too casual in comparison to yours. You could be dying in here, kidnapped and tortured by the Cockroach King, and you’re convinced Shidou would not give a shit.

“No! Just come in.”

He does. With a roll under his armpit. And then he does nothing to help.

You point at the wall, your index finger accusatory. It hasn’t moved to hide yet, so at least you don’t have to be paranoid about its whereabouts.

“You just strike me as the type of person who’d tell someone to wipe your ass,” he says irrelevantly.

“Kill it!!!” You’re glossing over his apparent willingness to do just that. But your anger dissolves into panic when your imagination comes up with all sorts of alternatives that have you clutching your scalp. It could give birth. Maybe you’d have to be the godparents, babysitting every Saturday.

“Pretentious-chan is not so big and bad anymore.” Shidou pouts, as if disappointed, then grabs it with his bare hand and examines it, making a big deal out of doing so, squinting his eye while widening the other. The insect is squirming in his hold.

“Bro, get rid of it! What if it escapes?!”

He takes a step forward, beaming at you, which you read as a warning sign preceding sinister intentions. Though you want to back away, you’re already standing by the sink, the front digging deeper into your skin. You think to reach out and push him away, but it puts you at risk of coming in contact with it if he lets it loose on accident… or on purpose.

Very slowly, he brings it closer and closer to your face. Your chin is retracting into your neck while you lean back to the best of your ability, and it’s straining your muscles, making you clench your teeth out of both fear and disgust.

“The others call me a cockroach,” Shidou says. “Are we twinning?”

“Stop.”

“C’mon, do we look alike?” He has the audacity to smile, looking all innocent.

One of the antennas almost brushes against your nose. Your brows pinch together, and you’re reaching levels of facial tension you haven’t experienced before, which is impressive considering how many mood swings you flip through on a daily basis.

“Dude, get it away from me,” you beg, borderline crying.

It seems to click in Shidou’s head that this is more serious than your usual tantrums, and he hates to think he’s made you upset on a substantial level, scrambling to crush the roach and flush it away.

You relax from your ‘afraid turtle’ position, straightening your posture to glare at him. Shidou looks at you like a kicked puppy. Even though he knows you don’t have mercy for excuses — valid or invalid — he takes a crack at the worst one. “It was a joke.”

If looks could kill.

“I’m sorry.”

His mumbling is quite pathetic and therefore almost unable to reach your ears (this phrase isn’t really a part of his vocabulary, so it comes out like a foreign tongue twister), but after you make sense of what he said, your lips settle into a phony smile.

“I think it’s unfair the others call you an insect,” you say. “I mean, they’re animals, but you make the conscious decision to be a piece of shit.”

“I’m sooooorry,” he says, this time with more confidence, and tries to catch you in a hug. As if.

“Wash your hands, freak.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot about touching it already. Oops!”

You massage the bridge of your nose. He’s hopeless.

___

This noon, Shidou is preparing you a salad. You guess it’s a bit lacking, but you only have the tomatoes and the cucumbers and a block of cheese left. You’ve mostly been ignoring him since yesterday and he took matters into his own hands when he realized you were willing to starve over this. The protein bars ran out too, which is a shame since you love throwing them in as a side dish to your cooking.

Shidou liked the spaghetti. There wasn’t any sauce, so he suggested you grate protein bars over it, and you almost vomited after you tasted it. But at least one of you was happy.

You glance at him, mulling over whether you should continue being mad or not. Your wrath doesn’t seem effective on him, so you might need to switch strategies. Though you abandon the train of thought once you see how he’s gripping the knife like a toddler, cutting the vegetables and humming some annoying tune, so you rise from your seat and approach him. “You’re gonna hack your fingers off.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll show you.” You make a ‘gimme that’ gesture and hope it translates well enough.

Instead of passing it over, a gleeful expression takes over his face, and the sight of it disturbs you, since this is how you know he’s about to do something stupid. Your hunch proves correct when Shidou wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you in the air, looking up at you like you hung the moon or some shit, full of wonder. Usually, you’d appreciate people showing you due respect, but you have other concerns right now.

“The knife’s still in your hands, you fucking idiot,” you screech, squeezing his shoulder in alarm. What if he stabs you in the back, on some Julius Caesar shit?

“You’re so mean, but you still worry about me the most out of everyone,” he says, all but shoving his head against your neck, his nose poking your collarbone.

“RELEASE ME.”

You fall on your ass when he does. Shidou’s smile does not slip at the sound of you grunting in pain.

“You’re dangerous,” you say.

“For your heart, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah. I have high blood pressure, so.”

“Oh,” he says.

You pat yourself to brush off imaginary dust and make a big stink out of it, with downturned lips and aggressive motions. Then you ask, “Were you for real?”

“I’m pretty straight-forward,” he tells you as if it suffices.

Again, you hate to admit it, but you feel bad for him, if he perceives you as the one who cares about him the most. After all, you’re not all that kind to him.

___

“Are you awake?” Shidou asks the night before the match.

“No,” you say, continuing to scroll through your phone.

“Ok, listen. Do we share equal power in the relationship?”

“What?”

“Do we: A. work as a team or D. you get angry when I try to make decisions without you???”

“First of all,” you frown, “what the hell are you talking about? Second of all, why are you going from option A straight to option D?! It’s upsetting my balance.”

“I’m trying to see if you’re toxic, so I’m taking this relationship quiz,” he says before pressing something.

There might be some sensitive sort of nerve in your temple which is jumping out right now. “I’m not your lover.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shidou agrees while continuing to do whatever he is doing, not even bothering to conceal it. “I just wanna see.” Then, after more tapping, he lets out a performative gasp. “The quiz is saying you’re a red flag!”

“Shut up.” You throw your pillow at him, though they don’t spend much time together since he flings it back almost immediately. “You are, too.”

“Is it meant to be…?”

“Good night.”

“I thought you were already sleeping,” he lies with a facetious smile on his face. “Red flag, red flag!”

___

Shidou almost breaks out into a sprint, but you pull him back with a handful of his jersey, almost tripping him. “Let’s make a more nonchalant entrance,” you say, even if you don’t need to go out together.

“Huh, why? I wanna go out and play already,” he says, seemingly annoyed, though he does slow down to match your pace, shoving his hands in the sides of his pants from the lack of pockets.

You ignore the action and reply, “Well, I belong on the field and it’s natural I’ll be showing up, so there’s no reason to be too excited about it.”

“What a load of bullshit,” Shidou says, amused. “Are you any good when you’re shooting in the opponent’s net?”

“Guess you need to give me a good show. Otherwise, I start misbehaving when I’m bored.”

“You don’t need to worry about that at all!” Shidou swings an arm around your shoulder with a grin which seems a bit too elated. “Just keep your eyes on me and I’ll get you all excited.”

You’re about to retort with something about how you really doubt it, but grow preoccupied with blowing a kiss at the audience who doesn’t even know who you are. In this moment, Shidou realizes you’re some momentous kind of knobhead. It’s rare he’s the voice of reason, but you’ve given him a few opportunities to act as such the last few weeks.

___

Though Shidou already scored once, you’ve been stuck on defense the whole time, or getting marked by that pesky guy Isagi. You grit your teeth. He’s trying to piss you the fuck off and you know it. He wants you to lose your marbles so you become a liability.

If you have to be honest, you always think of everyone else on the field as an obstacle, even your teammates. You cannot name a point in time when this hasn’t been the case. In high school, you had the best scoring ability on your team, but messed up a lot and couldn’t synergize with the rest of them, and you’d get benched more often than not. And it always drove you crazy how your replacement couldn’t play to save his life, but somehow he was preferable.

Hell, you don’t even like playing most times. Your skin is always itching, giving you this familiar feeling that you’re about to burst into a pile of angry, gory entrails. Everyone else always calls these episodes tantrums or… or other synonymous words, you’re not good with words, but to you, it really feels like Armageddon when you get upset.

You mostly had fun practicing by yourself, kicking the ball on and on, running down the river for hours. It was liberating in a way, with no incompetent midfielder to tell you where you can and can’t shoot from, or missing the spot you’re trying to go for because your plans don’t match, or everyone telling you that you don’t fit in, or any people at all. It’s one big pain in the ass, playing football, but you’re so obsessed with it.

Shidou’s second goal snaps you out of this mulling you were doing. You blink in begrudging amazement. It’s like he took flight, or ascended, or something else dramatic of that nature.

The desire to score and steal the attention from him overwhelms you.

You don’t have to be the one who’s dancing out of sync anymore, if everyone’s going in your tempo. If Itoshi Sae doesn’t mind passing to these bad, bad spots you love so much, you can move freely just like Shidou.

When the ball goes back in play, you stay back and observe for a moment, before diagonally sprinting across the field.

“Hi,” you greet Sendou, before swiping it away from him and kicking it overhead all the way back to your side’s penalty area.

He stares at you in a mix of incredulity and irritation. “We’re on the same team!”

“Aces who can’t score don’t get to question me, okay?”

“You-”

But you’re already running again, continuing the zigzag pattern.

Aiku — who miraculously secures the ball and passes to Sae after your movements put everyone else on the field in disarray — hollers in half amusement, “Where the hell do you think you’re shooting?”

All this stupid fucking noise. ‘Winning’ and ‘losing,’ ‘heroes’ and ‘villains,’ ‘sensible’ and ‘irrational,’ everyone else always lets these plebeian concepts constrain them. Is it such a crime you don’t want to let anyone chain you down?

Sae passes the ball with you back and forth while you cut across the pitch, closing in, confusing and slipping past the defenders with your flitting and nonsensical dribbling. Karasu tries to intercept you, so you kick the ball to Shidou on the opposite wing with Reo breathing down his neck.

He has no choice, but to kick it a few paces ahead of you, where you arrive after shaking off Karasu by jumping around him during the shoulder-to-shoulder tackle.

“Ya move like a dumbass.”

“It’s really not fair when I have to give it back to you,” Shidou joins in on the yelling. By the expression he’s making, you can’t tell if he’s angry or excited. “Tease!”

You’re approaching the goal line, with Blue Lock’s side focusing on blocking you and limiting Sae’s courses. Oh, you can tell he’s gonna give you a really nasty one, so you can’t help but pass it back to him, hoping he can assist you in brute forcing your way through the rabble. Everyone is more or less floundering all the way to the left, drawn to your madness.

It’s kind of sadistic when he has you scrambling for the ball right in the middle of all this mess — unidentified limbs and bodies reaching for it at the same time. You jump and mime a kicking motion before trapping it, lobbing it over your head, then twisting your body in mid-air, viciously striking it into the net with your nondominant foot, right through the clear path where no one is guarding.

“A crazy feint in mid-air?! Against all logic, U-20’s [L/n] [Y/n] secures the goal!”

You land on your back with your legs shooting up in the air. You see Isagi hovering near Shidou, who was wide open. He must’ve been predicting you to give it up. He was reacting to you?

The audience is screaming my name… But right now, I’m just kind of happy to be playing with everyone.

Huh. It’s kind of like you’re practicing by the river again.

___

Sae knows you don’t need much provocation to blow a fuse.

What he doesn’t expect is for you to also be very easy to please.

He also feels like a really big, smelly, juicy slab of meat with two hyenas breathing down his neck, what with Shidou jumping on his back and babbling about something and you taking his hands in yours before kneeling and proclaiming, “Please marry me.”

What the hell?

He wretches his fingers out of your hold, leaving you in the same position since you’re apparently too delusional to stop, huge smile on your face and all despite the rejection. Then he throws Shidou to the ground.

The phone number would cost three points. Sae isn’t sure how much matrimony is worth.

Shidou averts his interest to you, leaving Sae as the witness to whatever embarrassment is about to occur. He grabs you and forces you to stand up.

“Your explosion was the freakiest I’ve seen yet. Ka-boom!”

Is this supposed to be a compliment?

“Are you kidding me, your goal before that got me all fired up.”

Wow, and you, by all accounts a big-headed prick, are returning the kind(?) words.

“Pretty fun, isn’t it?” asks Shidou. “I’m having a blast.”

“I’m so happy and free of restraints, it’s like I’m on acid. No, something stronger. Ecstasy! DMT! PCP! Meth! Feeling this good should be against the rules! They should suspend me for doping!”

“You get me,” Shidou says in astonishment, parting his mouth in surprise. “You totally get me! It’s not something that makes sense! It’s a sensation! A state of existence! Let’s stay in symbiosis forever!”

What the fuck is going on.

You intertwine your fingers with his and proceed to dance by spinning around each other in a circle like some freaks. Sae steps out of earshot inch by inch, fleeing the scene.

___

You’re gathering your things from the apartment since you and Shidou need to leave tonight. You spent two hours trying to DIY fix the balcony door again, but the endeavor was unproductive. For him, the most time-consuming task was retrieving all his products from the bathroom.

“You know, you’re so much fun when you’re in a good mood,” Shidou says, probably still thinking about the match, even though your team didn’t end up winning.

“Hey, Shidou. Do you remember that weird thing you said?”

“What thing?”

God, of course he doesn’t register the shit he spews as abnormal. You roll your eyes. “‘Let’s stay in symbiosis forever.’ Did you mean it?”

“I already told your demented ass I’m pretty straight-forward. I don’t say things just to say them! Get it through your head. Lip service is lame.” You frown and let out a noncommittal hum in response, which makes Shidou nudge you then poke you in the face until you respond. “What’s the matter? You’re not hitting me or screaming, so must be something bad.”

“I’m… I’m alone a lot, and I mean alone, not lonely, don’t get it twisted, so this is a big promise. We’ll have to make a blood pact over it if you’re serious.”

“Hm? Okay.”

“What, really? Just like that?”

“Make it the promise of a lifetime,” he sings, before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer so you’re standing cheek-to-cheek. “You drive my love cells wild.”

The stare you scrutinize him with is one of abject horror.

“Come on, say something.” He starts poking you — this time in the ribs — when you don’t respond for a long time, but his grin settles into a thin line as if he’s possibly afraid he might’ve put you off.

You elbow him in the stomach, which distracts him from the jabbing he was doing, and then your demeanor switches entirely because you smile, point up your index finger and declare, “You know what? I like how enthusiastic you are about me. Let’s get married.”

Shidou bursts out laughing and this is apparently amusing enough for him to forget the way you shoved him back. “You’re kinda intense.”

“Me? Intense? And you aren’t?”

“Nah, I’m pretty chill.”

How you’re both this self-unaware, no one will ever know.

___

y/n to sae: Me and my boyfriend saw u from across the bar and we really like your vibe

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #shidou ryuusei x reader #shidou x reader #blue lock x you

127 notes · View notes

bisexual-horror-fan · 4 months

Text

"The Best Gift He Can Give." Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader.

Okay, so the amazing and fantastic @mrsaltieri-real had a birthday a while ago, and I wrote this as a gift. I edited it to make it reader insert friendly and now I am sharing it with all of you! I hope you all enjoy it.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.4K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Your Boyfriend David Fucking Sucks. Your Boyfriend Cheats On You. Apologies To Dudes Named David Who Don't Suck. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Murder. Blood. Gore. Violence. Making Out. Grinding. Vaginal Fingering. Eating Out. Eating Ass. Hair Pulling. Spanking. Praise. Degredation. Rimming. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Confessions Of Feelings.

---

There are people in this world who do not deserve anything. They don’t deserve kindness, or understanding, they don’t deserve friends, they don’t even deserve to breathe. One such asshole was your boyfriend, David. You don’t even know why he is your boyfriend, honestly you’ve had friends ask, and you are never sure much what to say. He treats you terribly, he is mean to you, rude, constantly picks fights, and it isn’t like you can say, “Well at least the sex is good-”

Because it is very much not. You’d been together for four years, and it had never been good.

Mickey didn’t know about that, though. All he knew to start is that you were cute, and he liked how you looked, the rest started to become revealed to him through watching you over time. He remembers the first afternoon he started to pick up on that very clearly. He was in the library, one table over, trying to do some actual work, sure he wasn’t paying for his degree, but he couldn’t exactly flunk out either, and he overheard an interaction, “Do you have to turn your pages so loud?”

Your head snaps up, looking over to him, Mickey’s own eyes flick up, but his head doesn’t raise, brows furrow in question mirroring yours as you ask, “Excuse me?”

“You are turning the pages of your book really loudly-” He drew out your name, focused on it, and that made your expression turn from somewhat annoyed confusion to outright disgust, a roll of your eyes. “Fuck off David.”

His tone made Mickey’s skin crawl, “Sooo mature, this is a library, can’t you keep it down and show some class?”

Mickey had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping, who the fuck was this guy, and why was he so comfortable talking to you like that? He thought boyfriends were supposed to be fucking nice to their girlfriends, and here he was treating you like he hated you, as if you were shit on the bottom of his shoe.

That was not the only time he saw you being treated so shamefully by David, either. Seems whenever he overheard, walked by, you were being talked down to by him or already mid-fight.

Worse still he would complain about what you wore deriding any skin you wanted to show, and what you were into, he’d overheard him belittling your love of movies too. “How the fuck can you do that shit?”

“Do what shit, David?” You sighed, and he asked, “What the same fucking movies over and over, don’t you ever get bored?”

Your reply comes out almost bored, edging on annoyed, “Those same movies over and over are definitely more interesting than talking to you so-”

“Woooow, is that any way to talk to me?” He’d ask, and Mickey would think to himself that you should treat him a Hell of a lot worse for how he acts.

You and Mickey had been friends in secret for a while, it had been a very quiet affair, mostly because David would be threatened and jealous, something that bugged Mickey, but he was just glad for the time spent with you and to get to know you. Small moments carved out whenever that prick wasn’t around became absurdly meaningful.

One day he found you alone on a park bench on campus and seemingly very upset, he couldn’t leave you like that, your boyfriend isn’t around and so he comes forward until he is close enough to ask, “Hey uh, you good?”

Head raises, and you sniff, hands rushing to wipe at your nose and mouth, you nod shakily, mouth dry as you say, “Yeah, totally, so, so good.”

He lets himself smile this kind of sad smile as he sits down beside you, humming out, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Leave it alone.” You sigh, and he presses, “No way, there has to be a reason you’re this upset and I wanna know.”

You slump back further into the bench, averting your gaze as you confess, “You caught me, M’ not good at all. I just found out that my boyfriend fucking cheated on me.”

Immediate anger flares as does genuine concern for you, both emotions taking hold makes his eyebrows raise and his hand reach out to touch your elbow, your attention snaps back to him. Your eyes meet, and he says, “You can talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about?” It’s said very quietly, and his grip on you tightens by a fraction as he encourages, “Plenty. It isn’t healthy to keep this shit bottled up, what he did was fucked, talk to me about it.”

You haven’t opened up in such a long time but right now, something in his eyes beckons you and the urge overtakes, you feel safe and think, maybe you should open up. Your stomach is churning, and you think, what harm could it do? You start to tell him, a verbal torrent that once it began it was impossible to stop, as you vent about David and the series of horrible things he had put you through in your relationship. He listens, and only when you stop for breath does he say, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you could do so much better than an asshole like him.”

A small shrug as you brush him off, “It’s easier to stay in this relationship because it’s all I’ve ever known. Even if I broke things off with him, he’d never really let me go.”

“What do you mean he wouldn’t let you go?” His question isn’t entirely unexpected, but you still struggle for a moment to respond, “I dunno, I just…I know he would put up a massive fight, and I couldn’t ever just make a clean break. He wouldn’t let that happen.”

He licks his lips tentatively, an almost nervous action, “He…He doesn’t own you. Hon, you know that, right?”

You looked over at Mickey and said quietly, unconvincingly, “I know that.”

He wasn’t sold. He hated the look in your eyes right now. Not only that, but he tried to break the tension and asked, “Is the sex that good or-?”

You laughed, head tipping back, genuine smile crossing your face, you shake your head as you catch your breath and tell him, “God no, it’s terrible! So vanilla, nothing but missionary, he never even eats me out.” You exhale and expound further, “He expects me to blow him too.”

“Fuck off no way.” His reaction pulled another laugh out of you, and he insists, “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” You sighed. He speaks with conviction, anger but not at you, never at you, more frustration at your situation and how you seemingly have just accepted it. “Why the fuck do you put up with this asshole? Seems like you are doing all the giving with no take.”

A shrug as you tell him, refusing to look at him any longer, “I’ve grown used to it, it’s been just so long of the same thing, you know?”

That was fucking bullshit. Sunk cost fallacy much? Clearly you were never going to get out from under this jerk’s thumb on your own, so he was going to do something about this. It would take some work, but you were more than worth it. He started to stalk him, determined to get real dirt on him, he learns his routine and becomes far too acquainted with even the most basic and mundane things about your boyfriend.

It doesn’t take him long, around a month in is when Mickey catches David in the act of cheating, he was fucking some girl from his film class.

It was infuriating! Here he has you, a total fucking catch, and he doesn’t appreciate you, mistreats you, and cheats on you on top of all that. What a complete piece of fucking trash.

He has every intention of telling you when he has the adequate proof-

Wait.

What if he tells you and you still stay? You seemed so downtrodden, what if not even this is enough to convince you to leave? Fuck, that would be terrible, but he couldn’t let that hold him back.

He just needed to stay on task, stay focused, and this could work out. He clung closer, tried to be around you more and provide more support, but that, as it turns out, only made it harder. Having to be confronted so frequently with the damage he was doing to you, how sad you were, it made him hurt in kind. He really fucking cared about you.

On top of all of this, his presence is apparently putting more pressure on your relationship. He comes across you and David having a loud and public altercation a few days later, as he gets closer he realizes it is about him.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” You insist, and David bites back, “Oh, can’t I?”

“No! You can’t! What is the problem anyway?” You try to implore, and he isn’t having it, “I don’t like him! No, scratch that, I fucking hate him. You shouldn’t be talking to any guy, I don’t want you to even look in his direction-”

“You are so ridiculous-”

He can’t stay. He can’t listen to this. Furthermore, he can’t stand idly by any longer. He is going to do something about this.

Breaking into David’s place was easy, taking his time is what was difficult. He eases into his bedroom, costume on, knife already in his hand, and comes up to the bed. You were back at your own place, far away and hopefully peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of just what he was about to do for you, of the devotion he has and was about to display.

He wanted to spit in the fucker’s face for what he did to you, more than that he wanted to main and mutilate him, wanted to inflict as much physical pain onto him as he inflicted mental pain onto you. He reached down, he ripped the blanket back, and with one smooth motion he stabbed the sharp blade into David’s stomach.

The reaction was immediate, his eyes snapping open, mouth open in a soundless scream as it seems all the air leaves him, hands flying to his stomach trying to clutch at the blade but stopping short, afraid to touch the intrusion. He ripped the knife out and then stabbed it back in, immediately. He twists, David inhaled as much as he could but then breathed out, hiccuping on the air, it becomes a complete bloodbath. Mickey cuts, he stabs, he hurts him as he can’t hold back, and David chokes out, “Why?”

Mickey laughs, this cold and calculating kind of laugh before he takes the mask off, and then he starts to talk, “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, a worthless piece of trash-”

The knife is ripped out and brought back down harder than before, the steel scrapes bone, and he sobs, “-you don’t deserve someone like her, you know that, right? You’ve been mistreating her for way too long.”

The metal wrenched free and then drove deeply inward again, the next sound of pain is a short gasp, Mickey tells him further, “That is why I am doing this, I am going to step in and take over.”

David looked so pitiful, tears down his cheek, bloodstained and movements slowing, weakening. Mickey leaned down and told him lowly,“I’m going to make her feel so, SO much better than you ever did.”

He is unrecognizable. Organs are laying all around him, cuts on his face making it, so his identity is basically gone, partially skinned in places. He wished he could have taken the time to skin him alive, fillet him like a fucking fish, but even that would be too good for him. He is sure that he has drained him of about half of his blood, the mattress is soaked, heavy and thick, there is a squelching sound when Mickey gets off the bed. The blood has soaked through the robe, it is staining his shirt and jeans he is positive of it, the handle of the knife is slick, he can feel coagulated blood that has gathered between his fingers, the clots are slippery and almost black.

There is one place he wants to be and it’s with you.

He goes to your place.

It is obscenely late when you open the door, you are in your pyjamas, you look fucking gorgeous to him.

“Mickey?” You rub over your eyes, suppressing a yawn, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

He pushes past you, comes inside as he starts to talk, “I had to come see you, I just did something amazing tonight-”

You close the door, he is talking quickly, a mile a minute, excited, manic. “I was thinking about what told me about David and I just got so fucking inspired, you know? So I decided I just had to do it, so I did but, darling, you need to tell me, what else didn’t he do for you?”

“What he didn’t do?” You repeat, softer, confused, and he nods, brows raised and eyes alight, mischievous, “Yes, tell me all the things he doesn’t do for you.”

It is then that you take him in awake enough to register, and notice what he is wearing. A black robe, almost plastered to his body, your eyes flit downwards, and you see that it’s shiny in a particular way that tattles on it being wet, but wet with what? Eyes catch red droplets on the ground coming off of the frayed edged of the black fabric, your gaze shoots back up. You smell the iron, and you see the small flecks of red on his face, and so the question tumbles out, “What is with the robe and is that fucking blood?”

This half smile on his face and a cock of his head as he tells you as if it couldn’t be more obvious, “I just killed David. For you sweetheart.”

You don’t feel angry or upset, to your complete surprise, you feel an insane and immense sense of relief that David is gone. You no longer have to put up with him.

A sharp inhale as the feeling sinks in, you let it wash over you, not fighting it, letting it soak into your bones. Another question spills out as you ask, “What did you do to him?”

His grin is so wide you worry it hurts his face.

“I snuck into his apartment, broke in with no issue, I crept into his bedroom and I stabbed a knife-” He brought one foot up, boot rested on the chair at your desk, hauling up the robe, careful not to get blood on more than he had already his hand grasps the hand of the knife. He unsheathes it from the holster that was strapped to his leg, his foot comes back down, he is holding the knife up, you can see the dried blood all over the blade and his hand, he continues to expound, “-this knife, into his stomach.”

He mimics the motion, smile still pulling his features tight, “He gasped and struggled, it was pathetic. I ran him through over and over, the sound was wet, the blood gushed.”

A sigh crosses his lips, he is looking down at the blade, turning it over in his hands. You, too, are fixated on the glinting metal as it moves from one hand to the next. He keeps talking. “You’d think sound would be a concern. That he’d be screaming his fucking head off, right?”

You look up, he is staring at your face, expectant, you respond to the question, a shaky nod. He continues on, a point of his knife, “Wrong. When you stab someone right, it sucks all the air out of their lungs.” The images his is giving fills your head, of David lying there, bleeding and as Mickey put it, pathetic. He is still expounding. “I was relentless, kept stabbing him, he had no chance to catch his breath. You can’t scream if you can’t breathe.”

You listen enthralled as he describes how he cut flesh from bone, how chunks fell away, digging fingers into open wounds, manually separating cartilage and skin and muscle apart just because he could. He speaks of how much blood he drained and by the end of it you were breathing much harder as was he. Almost no space between the pair of you.

He is looking in your eyes, and he speaks, “I ask again, what did he never do for you?”

You can’t help it, inquiring, “Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Because sweetheart-” He sets the knife down on your desk, his hand reaches out to take yours, tacky with partially dried crimson, and he says, “-baby, darling, I want to make you feel all the things you’ve missed out on the past few years.”

You are as explicit in describing what you’d been missing as he was when describing the violence he did to David.

“He never made me cum with his mouth, his dick, not even his fingers. I haven’t felt a hot tongue on my clit in fucking years.” You start, a deep inhale before you force it out, speak in hushed tones, “He only ever fucked me in missionary, he never put a hand on my throat and choked me, never pulled my hair, he never praised me, fuck, Mick, he never even degraded me.”

You sigh now, “Never spanked me, never ate my ass, God do I want someone to eat my ass and above all else, he never overstimulated me-”

He cut you off. His mouth crashing into yours after far too long, he kisses you deeply, and you fall into it, into him. A moan into his mouth, hands reach out, fingers tangle in the sleeves, they feel damp, you flex your fingers, you squeeze, beads of blood squeeze through your fingers. Your tongue runs over his bottom lip, and you revel in the taste of him. Christ it was never like this with David, a simple kiss with Mickey was serving to do you in, the graze of his lips against yours, of his tongue brushing yours was sending sparks throughout you.

Feet stumble back, you pull him with you, keep him near, unwilling to break the connection you’ve made and yet you do, a quiet mumbling of, “Get this fucking robe off-”, pulling on his sleeves for further emphasis. The contact is broken for him to listen and obey, he pulls the robe off and drops it onto the floor, the blood has soaked through to his t-shirt he was wearing, and again you are confronted with what he did. He killed David for you, the evidence of his care for you, of his total devotion is splattered all over him, plastering his shirt to him, soaked into thin fabric.

This time, you are pulling him back to you, greedy and needy as you do so. Mouths meet again as you are moving backward, the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and you let yourself fall, tugging him down with you.

His leg slots between yours as his lips descend on yours again, you sink further into the mattress as he, in turn, sinks into you, melting into the contact, his leg presses closer, knee is tighter to you and that makes you inhale sharply. That sets something off in him.

One of his hands moves, threads in your hair, and he tugs, it forcefully breaks the kiss and pulls a moan from you at the delicious rush of pain. His mouth moves, presses over your jaw, down your throat, and he makes your hips move on their own, grinding against him, desperate for more already. A squirm of your hips as you drag your clothed slit against his solid thigh, and the wash of pleasure makes you have to suppress a shudder, a whining moan held back as well as you bite your bottom lip.

He notices immediately, pulling back from your neck, another tug of your hair, and he makes you look at him, “None of that shit, I don’t fucking care how late it is, I don’t care if every son of a bitch on this entire floor files a noise complaint, I want to hear you, no holding back.”

You are stunned, speechless, your hips shift, and you are drenched, underwear plastered to you and one of his hands locks onto your throat, he squeezes and says, “I’m not hearing you say yes.”

You just cannot believe everything you’ve ever wanted has fallen into your lap, you choke out, “Yes, yes, please, fucking yes-”

He shuts you up with another kiss and that is how things seriously escalate, both of you rushing to undress each other. You hadn’t been wearing much to sleep, the tank top and shorts were removed, his shirt and shoes are off now, and he stops. You are looking up at him, admiring him the same way he is you, even with almost all his clothing removed there is still the mark of the crime he committed, blood left on his torso after leaking through his shirt, splatters on his arms, the small flecks on his face. He is looking at you like you are a full meal with nothing more in his way than damp lace, “Fucking Christ-”

He sighs, his fingers trace the curve of your breast before he fully takes it in his hand, he looks helpless in regard to what he wants to do, he follows the impulse, he leans down, and his mouth latches onto one of your nipples. His tongue circles and you sigh, arching up into him.

His teeth graze as one of his hands slips between your thighs, he only gets one pass of his fingers over the wet material before he decides that isn’t good enough. Fingers hook in the thin garment, and he pulls, he hopes you didn’t give a shit about them because he cannot be bothered to remove them properly, he pulls until it rips and throws it aside. No chance of you complaining because his fingers are on you, strong digits press to you bare for the first time.

Your eyes roll back with a soft, “Oh my fucking God-” which Mickey absolutely eats up as he starts to move, fingers trace slowly, dipping low, catching some mess and dragging it up, using it as lube to rub your clit.

The increase in pleasure was immediate, your body slowly starts to tense as the feeling digs into your bones, you fully give in to what he is doing to you.

“Do you know how much I’ve poured over this?” He asks, and you say quietly, “No.”

“So many nights.” He confesses, his fingers pick up the pace, tight circles rubbed, and he tells you more, “I’d think about this, about having you under me, about doing-” Two fingers ease inside of you, and he moans like it’s his pleasure, breathing out, “-this.”

“You feel better than I ever thought you could, so fucking wet, so soft.” He groans, and you arch closer, his palm presses nearer, he moves and works with you, fingers curling into that sweet spot and hand grinding over your clit. You listen, and you feel, minutes later, very quickly between his hushed words and expert touch you are shivering and telling him, “M’ close Mickey-”

“Fuck yes, do it.” The firm command makes it impossible to stop, you tip over and cum. It feels phenomenal, it’s been ages since anyone has done this, showed this level of care and investment in your enjoyment. He doesn’t relent, keeps his pace steady and consistent, and draws out every bit of feeling he can from your high.

He doesn’t let you rest, your body sinks back into the mattress, you are panting, and he slides his fingers out of you and right into his mouth. Not only that, but he tastes you for the first time and moans from the salt and tang of you coating his tongue.

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He slips down your body, drags of his lips lighting further fire in you until he settles between your thighs, his mouth latches onto your still very sensitive clit and your thighs clamp around his head immediately. Your hand shoots down, fingers in his stupidly attractive hair, and you moan loudly, just as he wants you to.

He was ravenously hungry but still taking his time with this, he forces himself to slow down just a touch, he knows you haven’t had this in years thanks to that douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. He laps at your leaking slit, from hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, he swirls his tongue around the boarders once, twice, three times before passing over it again, making you gasp out his name.

Mickey luxuriates in the act and does his best to ensure that you do as well, sucks with purpose and is quickly rocketing you to another orgasm, you can barely string together a sentence to warn him of that, but he knows, fingers twist further in his hair, and you pull with a cry of his name, in another two short minutes you are cumming again, it’s stronger than the first, you are louder than you were last time, but he continues. He doesn’t stop on your come down, he just slows, goes lighter, his licks are running up the length of you, between your lips and on top of your twitching bud, over and over, methodical, and you can’t stop shaking.

Somehow through the haze of pleasure you manage to speak, calling out to him, “Mi-Mickey, oh my fucking God-”

He lifts his mouth, you expect him to give you a breather or to give some pithy response that will turn you on further and make you leak more, but instead his hands are on your hips, he tilts them up and his tongue dives lower. His tongue circles over your asshole, and you actually sob, shocked and broken from the sudden stab of ecstasy that hits your gut, your hand leaving his hair, instead gripping at the sheets. You can’t stop from squirming, which makes his job harder, you hear something that sounds akin to a mildly annoyed growl.

One of his hands lifts off your hip, and he lands a firm smack on your ass as he grits out, “Stop squirming so much babe, let me make you feel good.”

He gets back to it and your head is thrown back against the pillows, you try, you really do, but his tongue flicks just so and your body bucks. He instead flips you over onto your stomach roughly manhandling you, one hand pulling your hips up, and he dives back in tongue first. He eats your ass with passionate fervour, whenever you buck too much he reminds you to behave with another hit to your ass cheek. His hand that wasn’t on your hip slides under, and he circles your clit with fast and clever fingers.

The sharp slaps of pain and combined with him being tongue deep in your ass and rubbing your clit makes you cum embarrassingly fast yet again and harder still, legs trembling so much you almost fall on your face, with an ample gush onto his chin while sobbing his name into the pillow.

When you stopped shaking he came up, another smack to your ass, his chest to your back as he leans down and praises right in your ear, “Oh good fucking girl.”

You start to babble out into the damp pillowcase, “Mi-Mickey, ‘lease, fuck me, need you-”

He hums, and you hear his belt open, finally getting his pants open, he inhales sharply in relief, the pressure easing from him opening his pants. The rest of his clothes are discarded, and he pauses. His hand on your sore ass, right on the spot he kept hitting over and over, his thumb traces down, spreading your lips, over your hole, and he sighs, “I have been dying to get inside this cunt.”

He lines up, he pushes his hips forward and sinks deep inside you, in one swift and smooth motion. The moan you share is like music, beautiful, melodic, passionate collaboration. His hand goes into your hair, he fucks you like that, face down ass up, he starts a quick pace initially, rough, needy and you love it. His body is covering yours as he breathes into your ear, “You feel incredible, oh my God-” His head tips back with a loud moan, he drives into you over and over, “-fucking stunning too, you are so gorgeous.”

It has been entirely too long since you’ve been fucked in any position other than missionary. The sensation, his weight on your back, the sound of skin on skin, his breath in your ear, it’s fucking perfection. You rock back with him, meet him in the middle, you were giving back, showing just how desperately you want him in kind makes Mickey let out this sound, caught between a groan and something more possessive, not explicitly words, but it hits you low in your gut.

He starts to slow down, takes a little more time, and you are moaning louder and louder, you are so worked up, so sensitive, you feel alive and electric. On one level it feels like you can feel every ridge and vein of him and on another like you can’t determine up from down, completely drunk on feeling.

You completely lose track of how many times you get off that night, the pace will switch on a whim, from hard pounding and him calling you every name in the book to more easy and sensual, a writhing joint movement instead of an aggressive pounding.

You ride him, grind one out on top of him while he cradles your breasts, thumbs passing over your nipples as he calls you a beautiful fucked out angel.

He fucks you spooning, hand around you and between your thighs, strumming your clit with one hand, the other locked on your throat as he is fucking in and out.

The only thing that seems to make it stop is you literally sobbing for it to. Your cheeks are wet, you are babbling his name and the word stop, you have one leg over his shoulder and the other is pinned down near your knee by him. His stamina was impressive, he’d already cum once when you were riding him, had filled you up, but instead of that stopping it, he just flipped you over, still hard, and kept fucking going, his own cum providing even more lube.

That was a while ago, you could tell that he was near again, sweat down the side of his face, movements of his hips sloppy, panting your name over and over. You know you can’t again, you are too fried, too overstimulated and finally, just as the soreness is starting to teeter on the other side of being more unpleasant and painful than pleasurable he holds deep and cums again.

You feel totally boneless, your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around him loosely, his head dips down and rests on your shoulder, you are just trying to catch your breath.

He gets his back faster than you.

He is still inside of you when he comes back up, fingers push some of your hair aside as he looks down into your eyes. Your chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he confesses, for what must be the third time tonight, telling you, “I fucking care about you.”

A strong belief that is nothing but the truth hits, “You deserve way better than him, I wish I could have met you sooner so you could have had those years back of someone who actually gives a shit about you instead of that asshole.”

You want this, want him, damned what that says about you or your morals, you don’t care as you tell him, “Fuck that selfish cunt, forget about him, let’s just make up for lost time.”

He has every intention of doing just that.

#Mickey Altieri x reader #Ghostface x reader #Slasher x reader #BHF writing #HERE IT IS #ENJOY

138 notes · View notes

miguelswifey04 · 11 months

Note

puhleasee do where gabriella bringing over her gringo friend over to her parents house and they give miguel and y/n the most blandest unseasoned white food ever as a gift and miguel’s just like “oh…😦”

this shit got me DYINGGGG

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

“i’d like for you guys to meet, max!” gabriella introduces max to you and miguel in which you both were happily delighted to meet gabriella’s new friend. you both shook hands and conversed a little with max. to your surprise max had bought food he had cooked to you both as a kind gesture. miguel was taken aback since none of gabriella’s friends have ever done something so kind and so miguel appreciated the gesture. you were happy to know your daughter had brought a good friend like max who had manners and good morals.

gabriella, max, you, and miguel make your way to the dinner table as you all sit in your seats and talk about anything that comes to mind. max as generous and kind as he is offered to serve you all plates of his very “unseasoned” food. miguel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape. he struggles to conceal his bewilderment, his mind racing to comprehend the peculiar offering before him. the blandness of the gift is far from what he anticipated and certainly different from the vibrant and flavorful cuisine he's accustomed to.

you, on the other hand, aware of the importance of being polite and considerate to guests, make an effort to maintain a composed demeanor. though you can't help but share a brief glance of surprise with miguel, you quickly recollect yourself. you put on a pleasant smile, offering gratitude for the well-intentioned but decidedly plain gift.

"thank you so much," you say, careful to keep a polite tone. "this is... an interesting choice. we appreciate the gesture." the last words leave your lips with a slight twinge of humor, as if acknowledging the unexpected and amusing nature of the gift.

“oh, of course, i’m so glad you like it,” max exclaimed as he sat down and immediately went downtown on his food. gabriella, noticed her parents’ bewildered expressions and couldn’t help but feel embarrassed of her friend, max. she didn’t except max to be so unskilled in his cooking but nonetheless she couldn’t say anything to her friend.

meanwhile, miguel is still struggling to find the right words. he clears his throat and, with a touch of incredulity in his voice, manages to say, "oh... um, thank you. this is quite... unexpected." he tries his best to maintain a neutral expression, not wanting to offend or seem unappreciative, but his surprise and confusion are difficult to hide.

gabriella slightly kicks miguel’s knee under the table giving him the “DAD! please, be nice” kind of look. max was oblivious and so engrossed in his own deliciousness. miguel did his best to compose himself and you, you couldn’t help but chuckle. your excuse was that you thought of something funny and everyone decided to laugh with you.

the awkwardness of the situation hangs in the air, and miguel and you exchange a glance, silently sharing a mix of disbelief and amusement. it becomes a shared moment of understanding, a covert acknowledgement that the blandness of the gift is an unintentional source of comedy. of course there was some cultural gaps but at least this was more so of a funny moment that all of you will never forget.

———

a/n: i know miguel was trying his hardest not to be outright rude 😭

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv x reader #miguel spiderman #spider person #miguel o’hara x y/n #spidersona #unseasoned white food #funny miguel moment #🌱 lin writes #answered asks #lin’s asks #gabriella o’hara #gabriella atsv

249 notes · View notes

imaginepirates · 1 year

Text

An Unexpected Reunion

Essentially, this is a sort of sic-fic for an anon who wanted to see the reader look after James. After his stint in Tortuga, when he doesn't have the strength to care for himself, he ends up on the Pearl, and the reader helps him out. The two just so happen to be previously acquainted—the reader is a pirate James once had in custody. Mild angst ensues.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovy-lady @ghoulishbehaviour @wordsinwinters

~3k words

~~~~~~~

If you knew one thing about former Commodore James Norrington it was this: he did not know how to take a break.

Even now, as you watched him struggle to keep upright, he didn’t quite seem to understand the disadvantage he was at. He wavered, leaning hard on the ship’s rail before trying to stand on his own. He convulsed a little, as if he might throw up, and though you wouldn’t have been surprised, a fresh wave of pity rolled over you.

You had feared him, once. Done your best to keep out from under his iron grasp of the law. You’d failed, too. Other than Elizabeth, you were the person aboard the Pearl who knew him best. I knew his prison cells, too, you reminded yourself.

He looked up at you, and you made eye-contact. There was a foggy recognition in his face, and you watched the gears in his head turn as he attempted to make sense of who you were.

“Am I that hard to remember?” You walked toward him, hoping he wouldn’t fall on you. “I’m offended,” you teased.

Norrington looked you over with disgust, as if he were in a position to do so. “I arrested you.”

“I’m flattered you recall.”

He frowned. “You escaped.

“I hope that’s not a sore spot?”

Norrington shot you a venomous glare, though there didn’t seem to be much actual hatred behind it. Oh, it had been one for the ages. The escape had been anything but easy, you’d give him that, and most of it had been the opportunity of chance, but you were one of the few, if perhaps the only, pirate to have escaped the young officer. You’d hoped never to see him again, to boast your tale without being caught a second time. You’d even left the Caribbean for a time to evade him. Now Jack shared your fame, though on a technicality, you knew, and here poor Norrington had to put up with you both.

You’d never expected to meet him again, and certainly not like this, brought so low. You hadn’t even known the world was capable of bringing a man like him to his knees.

“You look like you just crawled out of a pigsty.” You frowned, hoping you weren’t right.

Norrington smirked, an expression you’d never seen on the man, and it was not a particularly pleasant thing to see. “Sparrow employs from interesting places.”

You sighed. “At least let me help you not look like hell?”

“What would you care?” Norrington cast you a suspicious glance, though he let you wrap a stabilizing arm around his shoulders.

“You didn’t let me look like shit when it was your ship I was on,” you mumbled, somewhat reluctantly.

In truth, James Norrington had taken shockingly good, if not necessarily tender, care of you while you were his prisoner. It may have been humiliating at times; being ordered to wash, getting inspected by the ship’s surgeon, and having your hair shorn to prevent lice; but it had kept you healthy, and, in Norrington’s reasoning, kept you alive until your due time at the gallows. That, and rendering you incapable of getting his crew sick. Though you had cursed his name every day, you knew he hadn’t needed to go to such lengths.

Surprise crossed the man’s face, but he said nothing. You helped him belowdecks to a rather empty store room, bracing him on the stairs to keep him upright. You left him a moment, returning with a basin of water, some cloth, and a comb, hoping that it might do something for his raggedy appearance.

“The wig has to go.”

James snatched it off his head, regarding the thought with reluctance. “It’s one of the last reminders of home.”

“Which is half the reason you need to get rid of it,” you said, tone softening. You took it from his hands, setting it out of sight. “It’ll only make you more miserable.” You pushed the coat off his shoulders as well; it was well overdue for a meeting with a washing board.

For a while, you stood in silence, James letting you wash his face with the cloth, trying to get mud out of his hairline. He scrubbed down his shins and forearms, rolling up tattered sleeves to expose newly tanned skin. There were scars there, too, old ones and new, and you remembered an occupation in the Navy was every bit as dangerous as piracy was.

“You gave me one of those.” Norrington interrupted the silence, rubbing his thumb over a small scar on his left arm. “Capturing you wasn’t as easy as planned. You nearly gave me another, too, when you tried biting me.”

You laughed, taken aback. You’d forgotten about it—you lashed out at him when he made the surgeon wash and cut your hair.

“It wasn’t funny,” he said, but he was smiling all the same. “I thought you were going to take off a finger.”

“Oh, I wanted to. I do hope you aren’t thinking of returning the favor.”

“Does this mean my hair is next?”

“It certainly does. I’m going to have to pull all manner of debris out of it, aren’t I? Maybe I should’ve grabbed gloves.”

James snorted. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“I could say the same about you.” You moved to stand behind him where he sat on a barrel, taking the comb in your hands and gently teasing knots out of the ends of his hair.

James’ voice sobered. “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you have every reason to hate me. I held you as my captive, and when you escaped, I spent months trying to hunt you down. If you hadn’t managed to evade me, I would’ve been your ticket to the gallows. I might as well have been the noose around your neck myself.”

You sucked in a breath, unprepared for the question. Not that you hadn’t expected it. Why am I helping him? “You were doing your job, I was doing mine. I’m glad you failed.”

“That still doesn’t explain—”

“Look,” you interrupted. “I’d heard all the stories. When you’re a pirate, and you get arrested, the Navy does all sorts of things to you. You beat us, you maim us, you starve and strip and use us as entertainment. As long as we’re still alive to dance the hangman’s jig at the end, you can do whatever you want to us.” You’d stopped combing, and you could tell, despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, Norrington was listening intently. “You could have done all sorts of things to me, or let your men have their way.” Your voice grew soft again. “The worst thing you did was cut off my hair. Turns out I had lice anyway, so I probably should’ve thanked you for it.”

James turned to look at you, mouth half open to say anything, but there wasn’t anything to say. His gaze returned to his boots, and you couldn’t help but notice the tightness in his jaw.

You changed the subject. “How long has it been since you’ve kept a meal down?”

“Too long,” he grimaced. “I’m afraid the rum has done its job.”

“Do you want me to get you something? You can wash the rest of yourself while I’m away.”

James only nodded, but you took that as a good enough sign to go in search of food. Ships didn’t carry much fresh food, but if you could find bread without weevils in it, you might be able to keep him from throwing up.

You raided the kitchen, tapping biscuits against the wall to loose any bugs that may have burrowed into them. Before you headed back, you rested against the wall, taking a few steadying breaths. You didn’t like talking about your captivity, and you could never fully justify taking care of him. He was right: he might as well have been the hangman and the noose.

“How’s the former Commodore?” Jack stood in front of you, teasing expression firmly in place.

“Much better now that I’ve tossed the wig.”

Jack made a face at the mention of the wig. He’d made more than a few comments about how ‘that damned Commodore would be far more handsome without the stupid thing’. “I’m thinking about tossing him out entirely.”

“Jack.” You crossed your arms.

“What?”

“Why did you agree to let him on, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t say I agreed, love. Agreements aren’t made at gunpoint.”

Norrington still wants him dead, then. “And yet he hasn’t gone through with it.”

Jack shrugged, as if he hadn’t given the matter much thought. You knew better, of course. He turned to leave, but not before throwing a comment over his shoulder. “He’s not a killer.”

By the time you got back to James, he had his hair mostly untangled and was struggling to find a way to keep it out of his face. You stepped in, handing him the bread and braiding his hair back with practiced fingers. There was a weight to the action, and you felt it acutely, twisting strands of long, damp hair together, surprised by its length, wondering how Norrington could’ve kept it tucked under his wig like this, and you knew he felt it too.

“Eat,” you told him. “And try not to puke on me.”

He stuck the bread skeptically in his mouth, as if expecting it to taste like the bottom of a muddy boot. It was somewhat awkward to watch him, but you were right to keep your focus on him; it wasn’t long before he had his eyes closed against an obvious wave of nausea. You placed a hand on his back, rubbing his shoulder gently in hopes that it might distract him.

“I must seem pathetic like this.”

“You’ve seen me pretty low, too, so I can hardly judge.” James scoffed, but didn’t pull away from your touch.

“At least you had it in you to escape. Which,” he turned to you, eyebrows raised, “you never have explained to me.”

“Has that been bothering you all these years?” You couldn’t help but feel somewhat smug, knowing you got the best of a man who was, by all means, smarter than you, and who’d had many more resources on hand.

“Obviously,” he drawled, though he seemed more amused than embarrassed.

“Well, it was mostly luck. You had me locked up pretty tight.” That was an understatement. Beyond the obvious fact that you’d been behind bars, thick ones at that, there were two guards posted outside the brig at all times. Not to mention the leagues between you and any sign of shore. You may have been a fairly good pirate, but those were bad odds.

It had been the mailing ship, in the end, that had been your key to salvation. “I’ll forever be thankful that your holding cells had—and still have—one major flaw, not that I’m telling you what it is.” At James look of annoyance, you smiled. “Sorry. Old habits and all that.” Half pin-barrel hinges, you thought to yourself before continuing. “I also, through virtue of talking marines, knew the mail carrier had shown up. It gave me just the blossom of hope, and the opportunity, I needed.”

The door guards reduced from two to one as one of them headed off, presumably in the direction of mail. And why should they have worried? You hadn’t been able to cause any trouble, even when you were taken out of your cell for inspection by the ship’s surgeon. So that left you with one marine to deal with, and one iron door to pop off its hinges, which you did with the conveniently placed bench inside your cell.

The clattering of the door got the marine running into the room, leaving the door to the brig wide open for your escape. All it took was an elbow to the gut and a knee to the face and the poor man was on the ground. You’d almost felt bad about it. Almost. But you saved your pity and ran like hell, scurrying up to one of the gun decks before anyone knew you were missing.

“Then came the tricky part,” you mused. “I had to jump out of a gun port without anyone noticing, then scramble onto the mail carrier somehow. By all accounts it shouldn’t have worked.” But something had happened on deck which caught quite a bit of attention, and you were left to plop into the ocean below. “I’d never been so happy to be swimming in my life. I made it onto one of the lower decks of the other ship, through another gunport, and hid in a storage room until it reached St. Augustine.”

James grimaced. “You have no idea the strings I had to pull to get my men into that city.”

You shrugged. St. Augustine was a Spanish city, and you had no doubt tensions between Norrington and the city officials had run high. “I was already out by then. Seems those strings weren’t pulled fast enough.”

“No.” Your hand still sat on his back, though he’d managed to finish the bread. A light sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, a symptom you’d known to expect from an alcoholic, and you reached for the washcloth to wipe it away. “What if they had been?” His tone took on a miserable note.

You wiped the cloth across his face, your free hand gently holding the side of his head still. “Then you would have caught me, and I would be dead.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” You moved to the back of his neck, where sweat had begun to run into his shirt collar. “We led lives that were diametrically opposed. We both knew what that meant. I ran that risk willingly.”

You continued with the cloth, never dropping the hand from his head, and though it may have been your imagination, he seemed to lean into the touch. You wondered how long it had been since anyone had shown him a hint of tenderness—since before his arrival in Tortuga? Longer?

James changed the subject. “Once you’re done making sure I’m not puking on myself, what do you plan to do with me?”

“Do with you?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t plan to do anything with you—or to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You didn’t miss the flush that crept up his neck at your teasing. You found it kind of sweet, if anything, that he continued to have the bashful streak Elizabeth had told you so much about. “I hope you’ll consider staying around more than a week so I can get to know you better, though.”

“You do?” He turned to you, his surprise genuine. It hurt you a little to see, but you supposed it was to be expected. If your roles were reversed, would he be saying the same?

“You’ve been given a unique opportunity, Ex-Commodore. You have the chance to start over with a group of people who don’t particularly like you, and you have the chance to make a home with them. We can be a close-knit group, you know, us pirates.” You smiled. “I’d take that chance if I were you.”

“I’m not sure I have much of a choice. The admiralty wants my head.”

“Better give them a good reason for it, then.”

James laughed at that, and some of the heaviness in the air dissipated. He looked markedly better now that he’d relaxed and some of the color had returned to his face. He could even be handsome, you supposed. You hadn’t let yourself think of it during your capture, though he had looked dashing in that uniform, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard multiple women had eyed him with eager interest back in Port Royal.

He’d been a different man then. You couldn’t help the serious tone that crept into your voice as you spoke. “You’ll take better care of yourself after this, yes?”

He sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice in that, either. I can’t really make things worse.”

The words did nothing to assure you. “You owe it to yourself, you know.” Your hand had fallen from his face, but you placed it there again, drawing his eyes to yours. “No matter what happens to you, no matter how low you think you’ve gotten, you still deserve your own care.”

James looked too lost for words, instead turning away shyly with no little amount of shame.

“Hey,” you softened your voice. “You’ll learn. Here, with us. Most of the crew have spent their entire lives looking out for themselves. And we’re the lowest of the low; the poorest, the drunkest, the most battered and beaten and worn. We still take care of ourselves, even when we sometimes wash up in the brig of a Naval ship. We’ll teach you how to quit carrying shame.”

James looked back up at you, nodding. He kept your hand in place with one of his, callouses from his palm brushing against your skin. You ran your fingers through his hair with your other hand, gently carding through dark tresses, and when he closed his eyes, you could feel him suppressing tears.

He took a steadying breath, bracing himself before he could open his eyes. “Thank you. For all of this. I hope I can repay you for it, someday.”

“Given the shitty circumstances under which we tend to look after each other, let’s hope not, actually.”

He smiled wearily, and you moved to sit on a barrel across from him. The voyage ahead was long and likely not without its dangers, and having Norrington as a friend through it all didn’t seem like a terrible prospect.

As you talked on, sharing stories as sailors did, you knew he’d make it. Of course he would. A man who had the dedication to chase you across the Caribbean for months had it in him to live with you for a few weeks. You’d already survived each other once.

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #james norrington #james norrington x reader #norrington #commodore norrington #potc fanfiction #pirate #pirates

380 notes · View notes

modelbus · 2 years

Note

hiiii would you be willing to do a tommy x fem/gn reader where the reader doesn’t have a prom date and tommy offers to fly to america to be their date teehee … perhaps starting platonic and ending romantic ?

Starting platonic and ending romantic my beloved Also, uh, this got a bit long...

Pairing: CC!Tommy x gn!Reader (who wears a dress)

Perfect Prom

“Where have you been? It’s been ages since I’ve talked to you!” Tommy whines when you join his VC.

“It’s been a day.”

“You didn’t answer any of my messages!”

“Someone is clingy.” Tubbo coughs.

“Fuck off! No I’m not!”

You sigh, opening Minecraft to join him. His stream is pulled up on your second monitor so you can see his expressions while talking to him. It seems to be a chill day today. Or as chill as it gets with Tommy and Tubbo in the same stream.

“I was busy!” You defend

“Too busy for big man Tommyinnit? What were you even doing?!”

“Helping my friends shop for prom. It’s a whole day thing, you know?”

“Oh!” Tubbo exclaims, suddenly sounding eager. “Is your prom soon?”

“A week, yeah.”

“I expect photos.” He tells you.

You give an awkward laugh, moving your Minecraft character to try and find Tommy and Tubbo’s. “Uh, I’m not going?”

“Why not?!” Tommy yells.

This was the embarrassing part, the part you were about to admit to thousands of viewers.

“I, um, don’t really have a date.”

Your popularity started and ended online, leaving you completely and utterly alone. Sure you had friends, but they all had dates. And with prom in a week… well, you had just given up. It wasn’t like you wanted to go to prom that bad.

“What?!” At least Tommy seems outraged for you. “What about your friends?”

“All have dates. I’d rather hang out with you guys and stream anyways. Right chat? You’re more important than some dance.”

Chat seems to disagree with you, but that’s fine.

“So you don’t want to go to prom at all? Not even a little?” Tubbo questions.

“Nope.” You lie. “Now where are you at? I can find you.”

“Have you ever heard of the man cave?”

The topic doesn’t get dropped forever though, coming up later off stream. Tubbo had left the VC immediately after ending stream so it was just you and Tommy now.

“Genuinely, you’re fine with not going to prom? That’s super important, isn’t it?” He asks, breaking the post-stream silence first.

“I wish I could, but the administration has rules against going alone.” You shrug despite him not being able to see you. “Besides, what’s the point of buying a dress if I’m not going with anyone?”

“So you want to go?”

“You’re just rubbing it in now.”

“I’m not! All you need is a date to prom to go?”

How many times did you have to repeat this for him to understand?

“Yeah. All I need is a date.”

“Then I’ll be your date!”

Immediately, you choke on your own saliva in shock. “What?!”

“I’ll be your date to prom! So you can go!”

“Tommy, there’s a few problems with that. I’m in America and prom is in a week, for one.”

“I’m already looking at flights.”

“Second, you do realize a date is romantic right?”

“Platonic date then.”

“Why can’t you just let me be alone?!”

“Because,” he starts earnestly, “that’s shit. Besides, it’ll make for a pretty cool vlog.”

“Tommy, you know I couldn’t ask you to-“

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Say yes for the content if not for yourself.”

“…fuck this. Yeah. Come to America and be my prom date.”

He cheers, making you laugh.

“I’m gonna get to experience an American prom! No more content searching! There’s a flight out tomorrow.”

“Should we, like, ask Phil about this?”

“Probably, but I already bought my flight.”

“This is going to be a fucking mess.”

“This is so fucking stupid! Why won’t it stay in the fucking pocket?!”

You laugh, trying to adjust the pin pinning the flower in his pocket to no avail. “I told you the corsages were a bad idea!”

“Dream said to buy them. All or nothing.”

“And here we are, putting holes in your suit. Isn’t this a rental?”

“How dare you think me so low that I’d rent a suit instead of buying one.”

“Aha! The flower is on!”

You step back, taking in the sight of Tommy in his full suit. He had gotten you both matching corsages, red and white flowers that stuck out on his black suit coat and your wrist. Tommy turns to the bathroom mirror, filming with his phone.

“Oooo! Damn, I am sexy.”

“Okay, we’re going to miss the reservations.”

“Oh! The ones at Applebees?!”

“I still can’t believe you wanted to go to Applebees. We could’ve gone literally anywhere.”

“Okay, but Sapnap said-“

“Do you think Sapnap got any bitches?”

“Have you seen Sapnap?”

You stare at each other for a moment.

“He’s from Texas. Never trust a man from Texas.”

“So Applebee’s isn’t good?”

“I’ll let Applebees talk for itself.”

“Really? It’s that bad?”

“It’s… it’s something.”

With the newfound lack of courage in his choice of restaurant, you two set out for Applebees. Considering most people go somewhere nice on prom, it’s pretty dead. Maybe you’ll actually get good service for once.

“I swear the waitress just quit.” Tommy laughs, glancing around.

“Or maybe she’s disgusted by the fact you got a medium rare steak.” You suggest.

“Hey!” He yells, throwing a fry at you. “Don’t insult Dead Henry!”

“You named your food?!”

Dodging another fry, you start to throw your own back at him.

“This is fucking war!” He declares, grabbing a handful.

Under the sudden pelt of fries you half hide under the table. Tommy laughs maniacally, seemingly evil. And it’s all because you insulted his choice of steak. You should never get steak from Applebees to begin with!

“Excuse me, sir?”

Oh, of course the waitress comes back now.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.”

Fuck.

“Oh.” Tommy says, apparently too shocked to find a response.

“I am so sorry.” You apologize, scrambling to try and find your card. Tommy’s won’t work because it’s English and Applebees isn’t refined enough to take English cards, so he promised he’d pay you back somehow.

“Yeah, you’re disrupting our other customers.”

Tommy glances around and mouths, “what customers?” to you.

“Mhm, mhm.” You hum as the waitress prints the receipt.

“…have a good day. I guess.”

The second the door closes behind you two, Tommy erupts. “What the fuck?! There were no other customers! It was just us! And she could’ve asked us to stop, not fucking kick us out!”

“It’s Applebees, Tom. What did you really expect?”

“America is the worst!” He laughs, “we really got kicked out because we threw fries, fuck.”

His words make you realize exactly how stupid the situation is. It’s prom night, Tommy came to America to be your date, and you both just got kicked out of Applebees.

Soon enough you’re both laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“How far is the boat?” Tommy asks after a little while.

Because your school was stingy on literally everything else they made up for it by going all out for prom. If you hadn’t known that then maybe you would’ve declined Tommy’s offer, but goddamn was prom meant to be cool.

“Walking?” You ask, pulling up Google maps.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, Google maps says fifteen minutes.”

He nods, offering you his arm. Without a second thought you take it, walking where he goes.

“Where are we going?”

“Prom.” He answers confidently.

“…wrong way.”

“Fuck. I knew that.”

The walk is only slightly cold, but after a few minutes you completely forget about the breeze in favor of joking with Tommy. You definitely owe him a lot. He came all the way to America just to be your date so you could go to prom!

Platonic date. You couldn’t forget that word: platonic. Because although your feelings before this were entirely platonic (were they really...?) seeing Tommy in person was changing that too fast for you keep up with your own feelings.

By the time you reach the docks it’s been well over fifteen minutes, tipping into thirty, which makes it perfect timing.

“When you said prom was a big thing I didn’t realize it was this fucking big.” Tommy says.

“Yeah, there's a lot of people." You agree, joining the line. "At least we're moving quick."

"I was more concerned about everyone dying at seeing my stunning dance moves."

"Oh, yeah, that's a pressing issue."

Soon enough you're both on the boat. It's actually really cool. There are three floors to the boat: the top one has an open-air dance floor, the middle has an indoor dance floor, and the bottom just has food and drinks.

By the time the two of you make your way to the top floor where everyone else is, prom is already in full swing. That is, to say, crowded and loud as fuck. Tommy grabs your hand so you two don't get separated in the huge sea of dancing people, pulling you a bit closer to him.

"Now what?" He asks.

"Dance, I guess?'

With a nod, he steps back and starts doing his weird dance moves. You can't help but laugh, although you do admire the confidence.

"Why aren't you dancing?! Dance with me!" He yells, eyes lighting up at a Taylor Swift song.

"Oh no no no, I am staying far away from you and your embarrassing moves."

"You're on the phone with your girlfriend she's upset!" He sings, grabbing your hands and forcing you to dance. After a second you give in, dancing with him.

The next songs pass so quickly in the blur of having fun with Tommy that you don't even realize he never dropped your hands. In the classic Tommy way, he's just dragging you around and forcing you to do his shitty yet wonderfully fun dance moves.

"Alright guys, we're over halfway through this thing, let's let the couples have some moments." The DJ announces.

As the current pop song fades into a much slower one, you start to head off the dance floor.

"Wait, we have to dance." Tommy quickly says. "Y'know, for the whole prom experience."

"Do you know how to slow dance? Because I don't."

"I am Tommyinnit the womanizer, of course I know how to slow dance!"

You laugh and loop your arms around his neck. "Alright then, womanizer."

He hesitates before placing his arms around your waist. The two of you just sway to the song, slowly relaxing throughout it.

"Thank you." You finally say, breaking the silence that had fallen between you two. "For coming."

"I came for Applebees, not you."

"Oh, of course, how could I not know." You roll your eyes.

He laughs, glancing around. "But of course I fucking came."

"You didn't just come though. You're in a whole suit. You're slow dancing with me."

"Because I'm your date."

"Platonic date." You correct instinctively. You've had to mentally correct yourself for a whole week now.

"...right. Yeah."

He doesn't sound entirely happy with that, and you can't help the way your heart leaps. It's foolish hope, but hope nonetheless.

"Actually, Wilbur's been telling me to make a fucking move for a while now." He suddenly says. "And that's why I offered. I know it's super shitty of me to tell you this now, but I just- you need to know, and I need to know, so I can stop getting my hopes up. I-"

Stopping your swaying, you cut his words off with a kiss. Maybe it's some Disney bullshit, but you swear this feels different than any other time you've kissed someone. Perfect, almost.

"What if I suggested we went to prom as a not-platonic date?" You ask.

"I'd say we're already fucking doing it." He responds with the stupidest grin you've ever seen him wear. "Wilbur's never gonna believe this."

#tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit #tommyinnit mcyt #mcyt #dsmp #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit imagine

720 notes · View notes